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aweina · 7 months

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౨ৎ. KIMSET LUST ( 17﹢) ; mike schmidt

tags fem reader. mike’s pov. established relationship. mentions of blood. male masturbation. cunnilingus. mike being put into silly sexual situations + 1.8k words.

unintentionally perverted mike who cannot seem to catch a break from weirdly calculated sexual situations, but ends up going along with it — was it god’s plan? he doesn’t know. all he knows is that it began to unravel when you recently moved into his humble home, though it all seems like some erotic coincidence.

mike hated laundry duties. he’s always done them himself, sluggishly tossing a mixture of dirty clothes while abby plays with the cheap detergent and the sweetening softener. half that time he’s at the verge of toppling over the washer because a good night’s sleep seemed to be his enemy. now with you around, he found himself peacefully lounging on the couch cushions beside you — admiring your delicate hands folding each garment with precision and neatness he couldn’t emulate.

night shifts were less stressful. mike would find his security vest freshly ironed and laid perfectly over his bed. his nightly meal was already packed in his work bag, containers of his favorite food tucked in a orderly stack. you would be at the front door, peppering kisses all over his face while saying your hushed goodbyes — giving him a natural energy booster. despite working gruesome hours and the paranormal nature of the abandoned children’s pizzeria making him rethink all his life choices, mike was thankful you’ve put so much effort into taking care of him.

the office was eerie, darkened and covered in disheveled merchandise. the white noise from the bulky monitors began to irritate him. he could never seem to stay awake, despite the wavering feeling of death — other pairs of eyes stalking his movements, although mike convinced himself it was just all in his head. but restlessness weighed heavier than the feeling of danger, so he decided to steal in a few hours of sleep. tucking his hand in his pocket, the cassette tape he brought felt weird, like thin fabric? mike tugs out the foreign object in curiosity and immediately sputters in embarrassment.

it was your underwear. wrinkled from being confide by his jean pocket — seemingly lost when it was tussled in the dryer. mike was no stranger to seeing you in underwear, but he’s never held them before. damn, it was cute. made with white lace and silk fabric, a pretty little bow hemmed on the waistband. his first instinct would be to put it aside and give it to you probably in the next five hours. but then there were lingering thoughts, not-so-innocent ones.

mike halfheartedly folds the intimate garment until he stares at it for more than a few seconds — so pretty, just like you. he’s imagining you wearing it, how it wraps around your plush waist, how it looks when you bend down. ever so slowly, mike brings it to his face. the silky material felt gentle on his skin, perfumed with floral detergent that you picked out. he pressed it harder on his face, desperately taking in any remnants of your natural scent — even when he knew that wouldn’t be the case. but mike still blindly smelt you, like how would when you’re spread apart in front of him — those quiet nights. his face was completely submerged in the fabric, every audible sniff made him feel a little shameful, but he couldn’t help himself. your heady scent kept him awake that shift.

it was morning, the night shift only hours past him. mike huffs a curse when he guiltily pinches at the hem of your underwear — tainted with his own seed. his face grows hot at his unusual pastime. did he really jerk off with your underwear? in the middle of his job? mike knew he was pathetic, but he didn’t know he could even stoop that low. what’s done is done, he thinks. nervously fiddling with the lock, the sudden sound of a whirling car engine made the keys in his sweaty grasp collapse to the ground. it was a cop car and that really only meant one person.

the tinted windows slid down, a peek of blonde hair made him stumble just a bit.

“hey mike, the shift okay?” vanessa asked with a small smile — blue eyes watching him carefully.

with your underwear still in his grasp, mike suspiciously tucks it in his pocket as he feigns a cough — hoping that could draw away attention from it. he shrugs with attempted composure, keeping his slightly sticky hands deep in his pockets.

“yeah, didn’t sleep this time.” mike was honest, but not too honest.

vanessa squints her eyes, the nervous tone in his voice setting off alarms. it didn’t help that she saw some weird object in his hand, how much more messy his curls were, a weirdly placed lace print marking his flushed face, or the white stains that blotched against his unzipped jeans. actually, she knows exactly what’s going on, but she’ll spare herself from having such an awkward exchange.

at least he hasn’t figured it out yet.

“that’s good, make it back home safe.” vanessa disregards the relieved exhale from mike, quietly amused at the fact that he really thought he was even subtle in his nightly activity.

“thanks, i will.” mike waves as he watches the car drive away, zipping up the fly of jeans with one hand.

that was two days ago. he’s never really told you what happened out of guilt. your soiled underwear was immediately washed twice and dried when he got back home, right before you could even greet him from the kitchen — wafting with the hungering scent of buttery pancakes and sizzling bacon. he even tried to fold it the same way you did to draw away your keen eyes.

it was funny enough that the next day, a blurry photo of your nude body was planted in the folds of his leather wallet. he was lucky to fish it out at a secluded gas station rather than a grocery store. mike stared at the photo for a while, completely enamored by your misted curves and the hazy, lustrous gaze at the camera. of course he saved the photo, tucking it back in his wallet as he patted down the hardened tent on his pants.

then his night shift came along. though, it was much worse. the time looping nightmare kept him shaken, pints of sweat falling from his brow bone. it felt like he was mindlessly holding his breath, choking himself in his own sleep. the jagged cut on his arm bled, stinging with every shallow movement — a deep slash that managed to cut through the thick fabric of his jacket. mike has no idea how he got it, but he didn’t care enough to figure it out, at least for now. it was bandaged rather poorly, done with a trembling hand and limited knowledge of medical attention. all his muddled brain could process right now was the directions back to his home and the desperate feeling to be splayed on his warm bed.

he was an hour late when he got back home, nearly collapsing into a permanent sleep once he sat on the driver’s seat. it was a miracle that he made it back home — with the road being a complete blur and the traffic lights floating behind his eyelids. abby was at school around this time and you were … where were you? despite his worry over your absence, mike promptly darted towards his room — hoping that he could soothe the sores penetrated deep into his muscles, to keep his mind away from the smell of rot that haunted him in his familiar dream.

flinging open the door, mike senselessly tosses his work bag towards the side — bumping into the legs of his littered nightstand with a loud bang. he falls face first on his bed, a comforting warmth instantly washing over his aching body. it felt so soft, much more different than sitting on a hard, freezing chair for hours on end.

“mike?” your soft voice ringed in his ears, you were here.

“hey baby, i’m sorry. i’m tired … really tired.” mike apologetically mumbles, knowing his absence must’ve been unusual — maybe the crash from his bag startled you so early in the morning.

“m – mike.” your voice was much more pitched, you probably didn’t hear him.

the second his mouth fell open, a soft whimper escaped your lips — the magazine you were once browsing through was thrown to the side as your grip on the sheets were tight. mike blinked in confusion, but then he suddenly smelled it. your dripping arousal, his nose buried so deep into the source. from the moment he laid on the bed, he must’ve accidentally fallen his face between your legs without even realizing. was he that tired? why does this keep on happening? the underwear situation only happened a couple of days ago, the nude photo, and now this? he couldn’t tell if he was lucky or not.

the energy that was initially sucked out of his body rushed back into his veins. your body always kept him awake, even in his most restless days. lifting his head slightly, he peeks at the sight of your adorable pout and your watery gaze that could draw him away from the endless nightmares. it was still so early, everything under the sky was filtered blue, the sun was nestled beneath the morning shadows, the biting cold fighting against the whirling heater. but then again, these opportunities kept on falling on his lap, fantasies that mike never realized he had. it all centered around you, like the universe neatly wrapped you in silky ribbons and made you appear in his grayish moments — all the sexual repression he put himself through this week was somehow rewarded.

maybe he could indulge in this gift, thanking whoever is scattering your intimate belongings in his presence and letting him nuzzle between your legs without even having to open his eyes.

with this new epiphany, mike mouthed over your clothed mound, lapping his tongue on the thin fabric with much enthusiasm. he remembered the texture fairly well, how the silk tingled his skin, the press of cotton threads forming floral designs on his cheeks — it was the same underwear he used to masturbate. but now he was blessed with the source of your slickness, not washed away from artificial scents. his jaw moved in fervor, licking and suckling at the dampening fabric. each desperate groan that fell from his lips vibrated into your core — a rush of heat creating goosebumps all over your skin. your moans sounded so pretty, like a sweet tune. the call of his name echoed the empty halls when he finally pushed aside the soiled fabric and latched his mouth eagerly onto your soaked pussy.

something new seemed to happen everyday, all these freakish manifestations of his perverted fantasies.

mike couldn’t wait for what’s next to come.

#.୨୧ ina writes #.purple mark #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut #fnaf movie x reader #josh hutcherson #mike schmidt

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generalsmemories · 9 months

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An Immortal's Delight

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ synopsis: i think jing yuan just needs someone to kiss his worries away to survive another day tbh, he deserves that.

✧ contents: established relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort, smooches and kisses in the bathtub (scandalous), he's just a tired baby please let him rest and get some cuddles and a pat on his fluffy head. spoilers for the main story in 1.2

✧ a/n: enough attempts on angst as the main genre i want my man happy again for like 3 posts before i attempt again, and i know ya'll want it too. it's cheesy, but HE NEEDS TO HAVE CHEESY MOMENTS PLEASE HE'S BEEN SUFFERING EVERYWHERE ELSE.

Jing Yuan has been submerging himself in the bath without answering your calls long enough for you to grow concernerd. You contemplate for a bit, there's still scrolls of unfinished work sitting by the dining table that you had brought from the Realm-Keeping Commission along with two plastic bags of Immortal's Delight that you bought on a whim while on your way home staring back at you.

Yanqing's not at home. The paperwork can also wait until he's out of the bath and in bed sleeping, and there's no pressing matters at hand for the both of us currently either- with those reasons in mind, you take another sip from your own immortal's delight to savor the taste while it's still cold before walking up to the bathroom door and opening it slowly.

You're immediatey hit with a wave of steam, barely able to make out Jing Yuan's figure amidst the mist. Your husband having an elbow propped up at the edge of the bathtub while resting his cheek on his closed fist. If he heard you come in he doesn't react, eyes closed while the water from the tap still runs, having long flowed over the edge.

Jing Yuan isn't behaving like his usual self lately - not after fate had toyed him like this to make him use two of his ones dearest friends whom he had had once released years back for the sake of Luofu. You can tell, you can see it in the wry smile he sports every day, you can see it in his eyes that flicker with the tiniest of emotions whenever he reports back to you for you to record and in his voice that wavers a tiny bit when he addresses his two old friends as names that are foreign to him.

He's the same general in everyone else's eyes, but in your eyes he's reverted back to his younger self who took on a role far too burdensome on his shoulders all those years ago. He can hide it beneath every meticulous plan and carefully thought out strategies, but you always see through him. You had back then, and you have now as well.

You strip off of your outer robes which leaves you in an undershirt whilst you slowly walk up to him. Making yourself comfortable by the edge of the bathtub, your fingers find the red ribbon that situates his long ponytail and pull it off.

"Darling," you hum, "If you're going to let yourself turn into a prune in here, at least make sure that the ribbon also comes off no?" your hand rests on his left cheek, a silent sign to make him look at you. And Jing Yuan is always obedient around you, opening his eyes to direct his gaze towards you. His other hand comes up to wrap loosely around your own hand, holding it still while he turns his head around to press his lips against your palm, "I would still be quite a handsome prune though, no?" he jokes with an empty chuckle - you're pretty sure his laughs have sounded empty since the stellaron incident first started.

"Debatable," you whisper, gently pulling your hand away to grip the edge of the bathtub, instead leaning down to press your lips against his cheek, "But you would most definitely be the most handsome prune in my eyes."

"That's a relief," he huffs playfully - although there's no playful tone present in his voice. It's numb and automatic, a trained response fitting of the general Jing Yuan of the Xianzhou Luofu. It could've fooled every other person, but not you. He can't fool you after all.

"I thought you had passed out in here, you were taking that long," you emphazise, lips moving from his cheek to kiss across his face, settling on pressing your lips a bit longer on the mole underneath his eyes.

"Mmm, sorry dear," he leans away from his fist, letting you cup his face between your hands while his right arm drops limply over the edge of the bathtub, "It was pretty comfortable in here that I lost track of time."

He never loses track of time.

"Jing Yuan," you call out gently, "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

He doesn't answer immediately, instead averting his eyes from your own as he grows quiet. He's probably contemplating an answer, if you were anyone else he could've easily breezed past the question with a mere acknowledgement that he's fine, but it's you. You're always able to figure him out as fast as his own foresight is able to foresee a necessary plan for a better tomorrow.

He still tries, "I'm fine," he ends up saying, "Just tired," he opens his mouth to add on more details, as if to prove to you he's really just tired, but no sound comes out.

"I know," you whisper, bringing your hand further up his face to brush his bangs away to bump your forehead gently against his, "I know you're tired, dear. But what's gotten you more tired than usual?"

Gently, he lifts a hand from the water up to your wrist. And you're already aware it's a silent request, to which you answer with a small smile and a nod. With a light tug, you get dragged down into the bathtub with your legs dangling over the edge. Jing Yuan had immediately buried his face into your neck, letting out a shuddering breath.

There's no people to care for in this small space, there's no general duties to attend to here and no setting aside his personal feelings or using old connections for his people. In this small space, there's only the feeling of your soft skin against his and the warm press of your lips on his head.

Just like back then after he had come back from defeating his master, after he had witnessed the deaths of his closer friends in battle and the punishment given to another. You're always there at the end of the day - waiting for him.

"Will you tell me what's wrong, dear?" you implore once again, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

"As much as I'm able to keep it hidden at the heat of the moment," he whispers into your neck, taking another shaky breath to which you pat his naked back for, whispering for him to breathe. "I do admit that I once again had a bit of a youthful hope to bring something back from the past that I knew was not plausible."

You merely press your lips to his temple, aware that he's not finished talking judging by the way he takes another deep breath that ends in a low chuckle - a chuckle that sounded a tiny bit more genuine than his previous one.

"... And I think I can still feel the aftermaths of the fight against Phantylia."

"... Well that's no good," you hum. You've been very much aware that Jing Yuan is still recovering from the last battle against Phantylia. His body still weak and food even harder to consume. The little he does consume end up getting thrown back up because: "It feels like my insides are having a battle of its own still," which makes it harder to get Bailu's prescribed medicine down his throat.

You run your fingers down his back a couple of times before leaning away to pull his head out of your neck - he tries to protest, wanting to stay nestled in your neck so he can live inside the personal bubble you've created away from reality. But you're too insistent, gently coaxing him with small pats to his head until Jing Yuan finds himself staring back into your eyes. "In what way can you feel the aftermath?"

He's staring at your lips, "There's a vile taste in my mouth."

Your lips are immediately slotting over his own after that. It's soft, but sweeter than usual. He can taste a hint of brown sugar on your tongue, and perhaps it's because he's not directly consuming it, but he finds it easier to want more. So he leans in for more, grabbing the back of your neck to push you further into him. More, he needs more.

"You're going to swallow me up whole at this rate," you say with a giggle, parting slightly away from his lips and giving them a brief peck when he leaned slightly further into you, "But how did that taste?" you question.

"It tastes like someone's had an Immortal's Delight before coming in here," he jests, "It's good, I like that," he confirms before settling his forehead back on your shoulder.

"That's good, maybe I should drink more of them then before kissing you silly. I'm sure whatever you're eating now paired with Bailu's medicine won't give your tastebuds the best of flavors."

"That would make eating and drinking them a lot easier for my part," he mumbles from your shoulder, "Would have something to look forward to, being that Lady Bailu bans me from drinking such sugary treats at the moment."

You chuckle at the hint of sadness present in his voice, once again wrapping your arms around his shoulders so his senses are filled with your scent. Only then does his shoulders sink in relief - And you know that Jing Yuan will be fine for another day again.

"I can't guarantee that tomorrow will be any better from today," you mumble, "Neither can I guarantee that you won't be faced with a past that you were forced to move on from too soon for the sake of the Luofu," you let go of him to climb out of the bathtub, ignoring your clothes sticking to your skin as you extend a hand towards the man before you who meekly grabs it - squeezing your hand hard upon contact.

"I can however, guarantee that I'll be there waiting at the end of the day every time," you grab one of the fresh towels by the shelves to throw over his head, ruffling his hair slightly, "And take care of you when you want to just be Jing Yuan, and not the Arbiter General of the Luofu," you declare with a smile, "And kiss the vile taste of medicine in your mouth with the flavors of immortal's delight."

Before you can turn around again to grab a new towel to pat your clothes dry, Jing yuan tugs at your wrists and pulls you towards him. A hand coming up to cup your cheek before he bends slightly down to kiss you hard and hungrily. Kissing you breathless like you're all he has left - from back then and now in the present.

He can still taste the sugary drink on your lips - He wants to keep tasting them, he has quite a sweet tooth after all.

"I like the taste of immortal's Delight," he says, pressing his forehead against yours while he gazes at you softly, "So I hope you bought some for me too."

"I did, you can afford one cheat day," you grin, bringing both hands to cup his cheeks before pinching them, "But knowing you, you would still claim it tastes better on my lips, no?"

i- i'm. can someone tell i really love this man. like i want to wrap him in a blanket and say everything's going to be okay, that he can rest now because he's done his job and way more. that he deserves rest as much as the next person- i can volunteer to do that. please.

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #star rail x reader #jing yuan x reader #x reader #reader insert

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peachesofteal · 4 months

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Dead Disco / Chapter 12

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 2.5k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Explicit sex. Creampie. oral sex - fem receiving. Angst. Crying. So many feelings. Relationship issues. Eating/food issues. Brief suicidal ideation. Toxic behavior. Complicated dynamics. We're getting close to the end. You make a decision

“Knock, knock.” Your coworker hangs on the door frame, fingers clutching a brown paper bag and soda cup. “There’s a truck out front, for lunch. I guess they’re buying every Friday for the rest of the year?”

“Oh, yeah.” You vaguely remember seeing that email. You think.

“Anyway, they’re just wrapping up now and I didn’t see you go down, just wanted to make sure you knew.” She means well, you know she does. She’s always very kind to you, so you smile warmly and nod.

“I did, thanks.” She makes herself scarce after that, vacating your office with another pleasantry, leaving you to stew behind your desk, trying very hard not to look at what you packed yourself this morning, a lackluster sandwich, a cluster of green grapes. The idea of eating turns your stomach, the feeling piling onto the depths of your uneasiness, pushing you to seek comfort.

You can't bring yourself to eat, but you know you have to. You know you should be, aware you cannot survive on the same three half bites of things alone.

If they were here...

You glance at your phone.

Stop this.

You flip it facedown, turning your attention back to your laptop. Focus, you have actual work to do.

The bath has gone from scalding your skin off hot, to lukewarm too quickly. It urges you to get out, tells you it’s well past time, that if you headed to bed right now, you’d still be able to manage five hours before your alarm went off.

Fat chance.

Instead, you drain the tub. The porcelain turns to ice within a matter of moments, and you linger in the shiver, languishing in the discomfort, muscles tense, stomach sour. You nearly let yourself rot in it, knees tucked up close, goosebumps long erupted over every square inch of your skin.

You close your eyes as the tub refills, steaming water rushing out from the tap, slowly covering your feet, then your shins, until it’s deep enough for you to lean back in again, submerging yourself as deep as possible.

What are they doing right now? Are they working? Are they at home? Do they miss you? Is there someone-

No.

You’re not supposed to be… fixating on this. You’re supposed to be taking some time, thinking about what you want, what you think is best for you. This is what you wanted. You decided this.

You asked for this.

Why can’t you detangle yourself from them?

Everything twists and turns inside your brain, spinning together into a murky morass that you can’t make sense of, but it’s nothing compared to the agony in your heart. An infected, weeping, organ that sits heavy inside your chest cavity, now with a giant hole in the middle.

You don’t even notice when the first drops of water spill over the side, eyes fixed on the ceiling. You picked this rental for the tub. It’s massive, the biggest you’ve ever seen, and the cost to secure it for the entire month was probably more than you could afford on your own, but… it’s not like you haven’t made bad decisions in the past.

The water sloshes.

“Fuck.” You flip off the spigot in a hurry and sink back beneath the water, letting it flow over your mouth, your nose.

You could-

You could take a deep breath, fill your lungs with water.

You could turn it off.

You could make everything stop. You could just close your eyes and… rest.

“Johnny.” You breathe, surprised. Your heart bellows, begs you to fling yourself into his arms, but warning bells go off in the back of your mind, and you chew on your lip. He shouldn’t be here. They agreed. They promised. “What-“

“Ah had to see ye.” What if something has happened? You look him over, but he seems fine. What if something is wrong with Simon?

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong-“

“Then why are you here?” It’s harsh. You cringe at the tone, at how it's so caustic, so careless, and he rubs the back of his neck, shifting unsteadily on his feet. Your resolve starts to melt, turning reticent, falling away into a slick puddle of weak opposition. He’s here. He still loves you. He’s here.

“I know ‘m not supposed to be doing this.” He mutters, and you nod. “But… we- I miss ye darling, miss ye so much.” His cheeks are red, turning his normally tan skin a deep rogue, and he swallows between breaths. “Are ye alright? Ye look… ye look tired, love.”

“I am tired, Johnny… I’m…”

He steps forward.

You step back.

It’s like you’re looking in a mirror.

His eyes are rimmed in stress, skin beneath them sallow, and he sags in a way that tells you he hasn’t been sleeping, bones and muscles not doing much except keeping him upright. Tears build behind your eyes, and they burn through the tip of your nose until you can’t hold them back anymore, raw agony in the form of a serrated blade cutting through your sense.

“This isn’t fair.” You cry. “Why are you here? You’re not- you’re not supposed to be here, Johnny.” His face changes, spirals through one hundred different things in the span of a second, half of them you can name. He’s still your Johnny, still the same, and you’ve never felt so homesick in your entire life, eyes stuck on the exposed skin just above his collar.

Johnny.

Your Johnny.

Simon’s Johnny.

“Please… dinnae cry, darling. I’m sorry, I-“

“You’re so selfish.” You don’t know why you say it. It just comes out, flying from your mouth on its own. His head snaps backwards like you’ve struck him, features shifting into panic.

“No, no I’m sorry-“ A spiral swirls, sucking you in, dragging you under, and you shake your head.

“Just… just… shut up. Please.” You whisper, fingers stretching out into the space between your bodies, tugging on the edge of his shirt. “Shut up.” The demand has more backbone now, and he blinks, confused. You can feel his heat, warm skin and breath vibrating away from his body into yours, tugging you closer and closer as you’re tipping your head back, heart overflowing with an insane, chaotic mix of emotions. You feel like you could fling yourself off the top of the tallest building in this city, and he’d still find a way to catch you.

He'd always find a way.

They both would.

“Darling-“ He's worried, rife with it, imbued with the sense of a logical man, but you don't care. You can't. You're already on a path, already made a decision, anticipated an outcome. And now... you want it.

Rules be damned.

“Kiss me.”

“I understand how you feel.”

“No you don’t!” You turn your back on him, shaking your head. “You don’t, Simon. You don’t know how it felt to sit there and listen to that doctor call Johnny your HUSBAND! How it was to realize you two are married! It was like… it was like I don’t even exist! Like I’m a footnote, in your story.”"

"We're not, I told-"

"I know what you said. It doesn't change anything. Married in the eyes of your fucking boss and your entire life is as good as being married."

“You are not some footnote in our story. You are a part of us, love.” You haul one of the blankets off the back of the couch and try to cram it into the duffel.

“Darling, we dinnae want ye to leave.”

“Johnny.” Simon hisses, turning to where the other part of your heart lurks inside the bedroom doorframe. “Don’t talk right now. You’ve done enough.”

“I’m sorry, I said I was sorry, I wouldnae-“

“Stop.” Simon snaps, and Johnny breaks, eyes filling with tears, frustrated fingers tearing into his hair before he stomps off, bathroom door slamming so loud it could rattle the entire flat.

Your head hurts. It throbs, pulse banging around under your skin, and the walls are too close, or too tall, everything is too much. You want to sleep. You want to disappear under a heap of blankets and close your eyes. You don’t want to face this, face either of them.

You should have just kept walking. Should have stayed outside, shouldn’t have come back. Then you wouldn’t have had to do any of this.

“Don’t cry.” Simon whispers. “Don’t cry, darling, please. It’s alright.” You hadn’t realized you were crying, but when he steps close, tapping his forehead to yours, strong arms holding you tight to his chest, you feel the wet stain on your cheeks, the heaviness of your lashes.

“It hurts too much, sometimes.” You whisper, and he nods.

“I know.”

“Fuck.” Your mug from breakfast tips over, rolling towards the sink, and you vaguely register the brown trickle of coffee that spills over the side.

“I’ll clean it up,” Johnny’s mouth sucks a mark into your belly, shoving the rest of items that sit next to you away, either to the floor or across the countertop, hiking your knee up in their place. “later. Promise.” He’s still working himself lower, biting and kiss and snarling against your skin, strong, scorching hands spreading your thighs so he can bury his face in your underwear.

“Oh-“

“Darling.” He groans, and you scramble, trying to pull them free, trying to push him closer to where you ache, already wet, desperate and out of your mind. You want him to crawl inside you, stitch himself to your skin and devour you whole.

“Johnny, Johnny.” The world vibrates in a million different colors, and you fist his hair, pushing yourself up to his face.

“I’ve got ye. Gon’ make ye feel good, love.” He does. He does every time, and this is no different, the way his hands cup you, the stroke of his tongue against your clit, the way he buries himself as far as he can, eating your twitching cunt as you lay flat on your back atop your own kitchen counter, begging him to make you come.

Is this wrong? Is it? Are you betraying yourself? Are you betraying him?

Are you betraying Simon?

It’s too much. It hurts too much.

You need it turned off. You need your entire brain powered down, need to not think or feel or cry about anything for just a second, for a single second of this almost thirty days.

Johnny moves, teeth nipping at your neck, and you meet his lips with your own, panting against him, holding him in your arms just like you’ve been dreaming about.

“I need you.” You whimper, and he nods, a thumb against your cheek. “Please, I- I want… I want you inside me,” your voice hitches higher, delirious, and insane. “Please, Johnny. Please.” Turn it off, turn it off, turn it-

“C’mere, c’mon, love.” He brings you to the edge of the counter, touching you so sweetly, so gently, like you’re a fragile treasure sort of thing, something to be revered, to be cared for.

You’re none of those things. Not now. Not ever.

It’s a mess, a tangled, fumbled mess of your mouth and his, your hands and his, clothes, teeth, hair. You claw at his back as he frees his cock, one foot on the corner, spread wide for him, and it takes nearly no time until he’s breaching you, heavy hardness pushing into you halfway, his eyes fluttering shut with a groan.

“Bleedin’ christ.” He takes his time, takes it slow, reintroducing you to a feeling that you could never forget, the pressure of his cock notching against your cervix, the fullness and weight of having him seated inside you. It’s so good, like home, like something you could spend the rest of your life with, or the rest of your life chasing, and you barely register the words he is whispering into the side of your face, spit and sweat and tears all running together.

Something's missing. Something's off. Something is missing, it's missing, it's-

“Move… p-please-“

“F-fuck.” He hisses. “Feel so fuckin’ good, darling. So perfect… missed ye, missed ye so much.” He babbles, pinning your hips in place, tendons in his forearms flexing as he thrusts harder and faster, moving your bodies together. “I love ye, cannae live w’out ye, darling. We cannae do it.” His fingers trace around his cock and then to your clit, where he starts to circle and rub the swollen bud exactly as you like it, muscle memory guiding his touch in just the right way, allowing him to drag you to another impending orgasm, cunt clenching down around him. “Ah fuck, that’s it. Squeezin’ me, ye-“

“Johnny.” You cry, and he kisses you, insistently, deeply, sealing you off from any air that isn’t his own, covering you entirely with his body, grinding his hips.

Your orgasm explodes between the two of you, and he shouts when he feels it, clutching you too tightly, chasing his own with a vigor that makes you stutter. Your legs jolt, closing around him, anchoring him, tying him to you, his body going rigid when he fills you with his cum.

Your kitchen is dead silent except for the echo of ragged breathing, sweat dotted skin and shaky hands still languishing together, aftershocks sizzling through your belly.

"Are ye.. are ye alright?" He kisses you, kisses your cheek, your temple, still holding onto your hand, cock still lodged deep inside of you, his cum leaking out between your legs.

Are you alright? Are you?

Your chest feels tight, brain desperately trying to catch up, heart bleeding inside your chest.

"Darling? Hey, look at me." He shifts, cupping your jaw and you blink at him, mouth moving without words.

You wallow there, in the silence, in the little space that exists in this moment, in the in-between.

Neither of you speak. He pulls back to cradle your face, and you see the tears again, fat ones that roll down his cheeks, illuminating the brilliant blue blaze of his eyes.

What have you done?

You stare at each other. Realization starts to form, panic fluttering in the ache between your ribs.

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh god, oh what did you do, what did you-

The shrill shriek of his cellphone interrupts, forcing both of you to turn to look at the screen that proudly displays the name of the caller.

Simon.

#peaches writes #dead disco #john soap mactavish #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #simon riley #simon ghost riley #john mactavish #soap x ghost x reader #soap x reader #simon riley x reader

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beforeimdeceased · 7 months

Note

IM SO EXCITED FOR THE NEXT PART OF CRYBABY

CRYBABY! - (E.W) PT7

pairing: mean/cruel ellie x sensitive/emotional reader.

synopsis: make it go away…

warnings: cunnilingus + fingering (r!recieving)

a/n: oh wow. oh wow. this was actually quite fun to write and i wanted to cry half way through because ironically enough my ex is being mean to me lmao 😭 i’m trying to cut contact and she’s just teasing me like “oh is she really leaving this time? really??” i’ve had ENOUGH

And I'm already actin' like a dick, know what I mean? So you might as well stick it in

masterlist.

the party is nothing like their usual after parties, but to be fair, you hadn’t been to one of these in months. crowds of people in their best clothes grinding against each other. dina onstage djing while jesse dances behind her. whispering sweet things in her ear. you spot a clear target in the crowd and walk down the stairs towards her.

flashing hues of red, blue, green, and purple cloud your vision as you struggle to approach abby. she decided to show her fucking face again, remembering she was your ride back home. once you push through everyone, you tap her broad shoulder and pull her to the side.

“where you been?” you lean against her, clearly gone. not in an intoxicated way, but a mental way. she could see it in your face. in your eyes. in the sunken areas underneath. in the way you were leaning like you were in pain. you fix your posture, putting more walls up. you could tell she was seeing through you.

“are you okay?” she furrows her brows, holding her hand out to touch your cheek. you dodge it. “why the fuck wouldn’t i be?” you spat. she places the tips of her index and thumb finger on the bridge of her nose, scrunching her face, and sighs. “i should’ve never said that to you. i was still mad at ellie and i took it out on you. i’m sorry—“

“oh fuck it. who cares? everybody keeps treating me like a punching bag and you know what? punching bags don’t have feelings. i don’t want to feel anymore i just—“

she’s looking at you horrified now. watching ellie take full effect over you. all her cruelty submerging itself into your brain. slowly acting as a parasite on the you she used to know. pieces of that girl were being lost. she was watching it happen in real time.

“i—fuck i need to get you out of here.”

“but i just got here abs. and we haven’t seen ellie—“

as if it was on cue, ellie appears from a gap in the crowd. her eyes meet yours, and she rushes over to you as she watches abby wrap her arms around you and try to lead you out.

“wait. let me talk to her.” ellie grabs your arm.

“you better fucking let go or you’re gonna loose all your fucking fingers.” abby chimes up, pulling you towards her. ellie laughs. “i don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but you only get one of those. and that was it.”

“oh really?”

“guys seriously.” you pull out of both of their grasps. “enough. i’m not a fucking baby. everybody always treats me like i’m some fucking fragile fucking baby. fuck off.” you look between the two of them. “we’re at a goddamn party, so let’s party.”

the music is louder than it was before. you let it take over your body, taking one of each girls hands into your own and leading them into the crowd. body grinding against them to the beat of the song.

“listen, i really need to talk to you!” ellie yells over it. abby is behind you snaking a hand around your waist to pull you closer to her. maneuvering her body to move the way yours was. “no way in hell is that happening.” she yells back for you.

ellie’s thinking about how hard she wants to punch her. while she’s looking at the way she’s holding you. while you’re smiling. while she balls her fist up and her knuckles turn white. while her breathing starts to calm when she focuses on your hand still in hers, prompting you to dance.

“we’ll talk after this then, okay? at the hotel?” her tone is hopeful.

she’s being such a party pooper. prying you for an answer, making it hard for you to enjoy the moment. you feel a rush of emotions creeping in. another memory, another after party.

a very unhappy ellie that’s made a simple mistake onstage. an unnoticeable strum of the wrong string. it was fucking her up. she was drunkenly stumbling around until someone had started to help her sober up. then she stumbled across you. sweet, angelic, kind, perfect and happy you. enjoying the fucking party. ofcourse, you’d left crying that night.

you feel the tears welling up but you swallow them down. “fine let’s go talk ellie, since you’re begging so fucking much. i’ll be right back abs.” you reply.

she leads you to a secluded bathroom in the far back. holding your hand and dragging you along like purse. she closes and locks the door, leaning against it.

there are fucking tears threatening to spill, you can hear it in her voice when she speaks up. “i don’t—fuck i don’t know what i’ve done to you.”

you scoff.

“no i mean i do. i fucked you up. fuck. how do i fix it? what do you want me to do?”

you’re transported back again. another bathroom, holding ellie as she cries into you. switches to screaming at you, then crying into you again. blaming you for the guitar string mistake. blaming you for her forgetting the lyrics onstage. telling you that you’re truly useless, and she has no idea why dina and jesse drag you around with them.

why won’t it go away?

“make it go away.” you look into her glossy eyes. interlocking your fingers with hers and looking up at her with desperate eyes. a little bit of the old you slipping in before your face molds into a devious expression.

“make it fuzzy. make me forget. make it go away.”

she’s confused at first, and then she laughs cockily. she’s laughing as you pull her closer. she’s laughing as she pushes you up against the counter with a fervor, finding your low grunt of pleasure pure ecstasy.

her lips crash into yours, hands grappling into your waist. “i’m sorry.” she pulls away then dives back in. “i’m sorry.” she kisses your cheek. “i’m so fucking stupid.” she kisses your jawline. “let me fuck all of this away, okay?” she whispers into your ear.

your mind is growing fuzzy with her hands all over you. tugging up your shirt to kiss and lick and smile against your skin, down your chest to your stomach. tugging on your pants and your underwear. spreading your legs, pushing them apart before attaching her lips to your dripping cunt. tongue slipping in between your folds spreading your wetness to your clit.

you slip your hands into her messy hair, tugging when she sucks harder. slapping her tongue against your bud. the vibration of her humming hard against your heat. she’s eating you out and she’s being so fucking sloppy with it. she’s making a mess of you. making your legs tremble underneath you. you hadn’t realized you’d been crying out for her. actually crying. tears of pleasure were spilling down your face as you moaned her name.

she pulls away when she realizes, hands cupping your face to wipe them away. “i’m making you cry again.” she states.

you open your mouth to respond, but you’re cut off by a moan getting pushed out of your throat when her fingers slip into your sloppy sopping hole. curved to hit a spot that was pure euphoria. better than drugs. better than revenge. you were intoxicated. feeling a knot in your stomach start to build as ellie stares into your teary eyes.

she looks like she’s about to say something but she chooses to kiss you instead. on your forehead. on your neck. on your tear stained cheeks. on your pouted lips.

in, out. in, out. at an unsympathetic pace, she’s pounding into you so hard you can’t think. she’s doing exactly what she promised. she’s making it all fuzzy for you. she’s helping you forget. she’s helping you feel something other than pain.

you feel yourself coming undone, throwing your head back as you reach your peak. her lips are at your ear as she whispers softly.

“there you go baby. i got you. it’s okay. i’m sorry. just let it go.”

and you do. you let it all melt away as the pleasure pins and needles run up and down your body. as your eyes roll back. as you forget. forget the hurt. forget the past. forget how to feel.

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miraclewoozi · 9 months

Text

BURNIN' UP. - h.js

you really were just trying to enjoy a cool treat by the pool on a hot summer’s day. honest.

pairing : joshua x fem reader. content : plotless smut. MINORS DNI. (smut tags utc) wc : 3.1k notes : not proofread. intentional lowercase. hoping this gets rid of the insane josh!rot i've had the past few weeks. i'm very sorry. (i'm not that sorry)

nsfw tags : swearing. making out, manhandling, choking, oral sex (m rec), face-fucking, hair pulling, dacryphilia, big cock!josh. he has a bit of a gagging kink. cum swallowing. meanie dom joshua. degradation (use of the word slut), exhibitionism/semi-public sexual acts in that they could have been walked in on at any time (but they weren’t). PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything. notes 2.0 : this is for my sensitive gag reflex gang. i see you. i hear you. i am one of you. i would still let joshua hong violate my throat, anyway. 🫶

he’s such a gentleman.

each time you’ve introduced joshua to one of your friends, they’ve all said the same thing. he’s so nice. he’s so sweet. he’s so caring. so dreamy… a real gentleman — you don’t find many people like him, anymore. and each time, you’ve rolled your eyes. each time, you’ve dry-heaved for dramatic effect, pulled a face, waved them off, told them to shut up. because yeah, whatever, you know he’s a nice guy. you know he always pulls your chair out for you and walks you home when it’s getting dark. you know he’s the first to offer his coat, the first to ask if he can get you a drink.

seeing them all get hearts in their eyes over him makes you feel kind of squicky, though. because you’ve never, not a day in your life, looked at him the way your friends all seem to.

at least… not until today.

not until he tugged his hawaiian shirt off his shoulders and dove gracefully into seungkwan’s swimming pool. not until he surfaced, grinning brightly, pushing his hair back off his forehead. not until the swell of his shoulders glistened in the summer sunlight, broad and tanned and decorated with droplets of water from tip to tip. not until he locked eyes with you as he waded through the pool with hansol on his back, engaging in something of a jousting contest against mingyu and chan. (not until they won said joust and joshua threw hansol off him to celebrate their victory, and it looked like he was shrugging off little more than a bag of sugar.)

not until now, as he rests his forearms on the side of the pool and calls your name. as if he needs to do anything to get your attention from where you’re laid out on the sun lounger. as if he hasn’t had it for hours.

“are you getting in?” he asks, raking those thick fingers through his dripping hair again, slicking a few stray strands back.

now, submerging yourself in the water sounds unbelievably tempting — it’s such a hot day and your skin is slick with sweat even as you relax in the shade. but there’s a lot of splashing going on in there right now and you could really do without a six foot two man-puppy trying to use you as a human shield, so…

“nah, not right now,” you say, shaking your head.

that brilliant grin is replaced by a playful looking pout. still, he’s all honey-voiced when he asks, “later, then?”

“sure, yeah. maybe later.”

“i’ll hold you to that,” he says, cupping water in his hands and squeezing them so that it shoots straight at you. a squeak escapes your lips at the chill when it hits your bare legs; joshua kicks away from the wall of the pool chuckling to himself and swims back over to where his friends are still playing around without him, leaving you to stare slack-jawed at his toned back as he retreats.

half an hour later, you’ve moved to sit at the edge of the pool and you’re kicking your feet slowly through the water. an intense game of marco polo is well and truly underway when seungkwan appears at one shoulder, offering you a popsicle; you take it gratefully, unwrapping the treat and having a taste, sighing blissfully at the frozen cola flavour that melts onto your tongue.

the host sits down beside you for a little while and you talk comfortably while the fun and games continue. he stays for a while, laughing and joking and catching up with you, before he disappears back into the shade and leaves you to your own devices.

and at some point during all this, joshua takes notice of you. he sees the way your lips close around the ice pop. he sees the way your eyes flutter closed at how sweet and refreshing it tastes. he sees how your cheeks hollow out around it, how your tongue sweeps over the tip, how you hold it so gently between your teeth and giggle at what seungkwan’s saying to you, how you wipe your lips with the back of your hand to clear the stickiness…

so when you glance over to him, after saying goodbye to the host, joshua’s eyes are already on you; his jaw is tense and his eyes are dark as he stares from the opposite side of the pool. chan is slowly edging towards him but he doesn’t seem to care all that much. all it appears he can do is look at you and watch as your throat bobs with each swallow you take.

so, in the spirit of giving him a good show, you suckle a little more of the popsicle into your mouth with your gazes locked firmly together. and a little more, and a little more. just a few moments later with his lips locked into a tight line and a bead of sweat on his forehead, joshua silently lifts himself out of the water, beckoning you with one tweak of his fingers to tell you to follow.

you lift your feet up out of the water and pat your legs dry with the towel you’ve been sat on, heading inside while trying very hard not to think about the fact that the man you’re about to run into is the sole cause of the ache between your thighs.

you toss the stick to your popsicle in the trash on your way through and no sooner have you crossed the threshold into the hallway, one of joshua’s devastatingly large hands finds place on the small of your back. with hardly any pressure at all, the contact stops you in your tracks and you find yourself turning to face him.

“that was quite the… performance,” he says quietly. if you strain, you can still hear the fun being had outside, but the quiet surrounding the two of you in the house makes it so that every syllable that comes from his perfectly shaped lips shoots straight through you.

“i don’t know what you mean.” you shrug, acting as unfazed by his fingertips grazing over your bare skin as you wish you could be.

joshua gives a soft chuckle by way of a response, his other hand lifting up to your cheek, thumb and forefinger toying with a couple of the baby hairs right in front of your ear. “you don’t?” he asks, and you shake your head at him, playing down the slight stutter in your breathing. he isn’t fooled. “i had no idea our little y/n was so brazen.”

“brazen,” you scoff, pressing one hand against his chest. he’s scorching hot (no doubt a symptom of having been in the sun all afternoon), but you double down anyway, curling your fingertips against his skin. “josh, i wasn’t even doing anything.”

“sure.” he pauses, moving to press his thumb to your bottom lip, feeling the slight chill on your skin from your treat before. “if sitting in full view of everyone and eye-fucking me with that popsicle halfway to your throat counts as ‘not doing anything’, i guess you’re totally innocent.”

this choice of phrasing from your supposed most gentlemanly friend reduces all of the thoughts between your ears to mere static. you can probably count on your fingers the number of times you’ve actually heard him curse, but you’d run out of cogitable numbers before adding up the number of occasions he’s told others to mind their language. shit, it’s so alien on him, but… it’s so hot. in his slightly lower register, quiet and hushed and only for you…

you’ll drench through your bikini bottoms any minute if you aren’t careful.

“totally,” you mumble, the word only half-audible beneath the pad of his thumb. with your eyes as wide and sweet as you can make them, you do what is about the only reasonable thing you can think to do (even though it’s not actually very reasonable, at all). you purse your lips slightly before parting them and sucking the tip of his thumb into your mouth. his jaw tightens, throat tensing as you swipe your tongue across his skin, but his own lips lift up into a twisted sort of smile after a moment anyway .

“all talk,” he breathes, sliding his thumb out of your mouth and gripping your jaw a little harshly. “all talk, no action.”

“is that right?”

“feel free to prove me wrong.”

joshua turns you both around so that he has you pressed against the wall behind you. with one forward push of his hips, you can feel his cock hard and prodding at your abdomen. a gasp escapes before you can do anything about it, and the metaphorical envelope bursts open. the line is crossed. there’s no turning back – and god, are you pleased about that.

the first move is completely on you. when you push up onto your toes and press your lips to his, it feels as though your whole body catches alight. you don’t waste time with pretty kisses, either – you go straight in, parting your lips, licking against his own. his tongue meets yours, his hands tighten around your waist – it’s messy, sloppy, feverish; you grow lightheaded and dizzy, but whether it’s because you don’t come up for a proper gulp of air for several minutes, or because the man whose arms you’re currently occupying is kissing the life, death, rebirth and repeat out of you… you’re not sure. regardless, you feel like you’re making out with him on the surface of the fucking sun.

his hand drops from your jaw to your throat and his fingers squeeze in just the right place to trigger another rush of heat between your legs. your pussy tightens around nothing and you get out a quiet whine, lips stilling completely; joshua pulls away from the messy kiss smirking at you, tightening his fist a little more.

“so you can take my tongue down your throat,” he says directly into your ear, his usually delicate voice hardly more than a low rumble. it sends shiver after shiver down your spine. “but is that all, pretty girl?”

you shake your head as much as his hand will allow and the pressure from his fist starts to push down against your collarbones, weighing you towards the floor. you obediently drop down to your knees, straightening your back until you’re eye level with his cock. all the while, your gaze stays upwards at his face, lashes fluttering when he eventually has to relinquish his hold on your throat.

“i’ve always thought you had the most beautiful eyes,” he sighs, cupping your chin before sliding his hand around to the back of your neck. his cock twitches against his swimming shorts as you shuffle on your knees to get a little closer to him. “never thought i’d see them like this, though.”

“never knew you wanted to,” you say, lifting your hands up to his sides. they find the waistband of his trunks and start to tug at them playfully but joshua swats them away.

“behind your back,” he tells you. he fucking tells you, and it flashes through your mind briefly to take the bait and snip back at him. you don’t take instructions. you don’t take commands. but there’s a very real fire in the way he’s staring down at you and lord, it’s so hot that you think it’s actually scalding you.

maybe you can bend your rules, just this once. just for him.

so you clasp your hands behind you and watch as he tugs his cock free from his shorts. when he holds it in his palm, strokes up and down the length a few times right in front of your eyes, you’re stuck trying to figure out if maybe his hands aren’t as big as you thought or if his dick is actually just huge. either way, you can’t stop staring at it; your lips fall apart and he chuckles down at you, swiping his thumb over the tip, smearing the bead of precum collecting there. he just about manages to suppress a shudder.

“open,” he says.

you don’t hesitate.

your lips part and almost straight away, he presses his tip into your mouth. the weight of him on your tongue makes your pussy flutter and you close your watering mouth around his shaft, massaging your tongue over every inch it can reach. one of joshua’s hands comes to rest on the wall above your head to keep him steady; the other returns to the back of your head, fingers pressing into your hair, tugging at the strands already.

the first thrust of his hips takes you entirely by surprise; he slides through your spit-slickened lips all too easily and he hits the back of your mouth much quicker than you’d expected him to. you feel your throat constricting in a gag, muscles squeezing around his tip, and joshua lets out a deep, animalistic grunt at the feeling that shoots all the way into his gut.

“fuck, baby,” he groans, eyes falling closed as he pulls at your hair hard enough to sting. “that felt so good.”

you take a couple of breaths and regrasp your hands behind you, preparing yourself for it to happen again. you know you can take him – you’re sure you can. he just caught you off guard.

but he presses forward for a second time, bumping that super sensitive spot in your mouth, and you gag around him again. and again, and again, and again. your throat takes a beating, but joshua is relentless and he doesn’t stop fucking into your mouth, swearing and moaning with each strangled sound that his cock successfully muffles from you.

“poor little slut,” he groans, teeth gritted in an attempt to keep as quiet as he can manage. he continues to use your mouth like a damn fleshlight and all the while, he keeps talking, curling his fingers into the wall for stabilisation. “can’t handle me, can you? bet you thought you’d be able to take it so easily. fuck, you keep gagging like that and i’ll come right down your throat.”

your eyes are wet and streaming from the corners when you pull off him to catch your breath, chest heaving deeply, forehead slick with sweat.

“so fucking big, josh,” you gasp, swallowing around nothing. your jaw aches already from the exertion but you miss having him in your mouth, even if he’s right. even if maybe it is too much. even if you can’t handle him without choking a little, without your eyes dribbling with tears. you don’t care. you want – no, you need to taste him again, you need to feel the sheer heft of his cock on your tongue.

“look so pretty when you cry over it,” he tells you, bending a little and grabbing your face with one hand, pinching your cheeks so your lips purse. “think you can take a little more?”

you nod even though you really aren’t sure, technically speaking, if you can. but your cheeks sting deliciously from the harsh press of his blunt nails and you’ve managed to suck a little bit of air back into your lungs, so you open your mouth again and joshua lets go of your face, letting you lave your tongue over his cock for a moment first before he rams straight back into your mouth.

you groan and whine and whimper as he continues his assault on your throat, trying to relax the muscles to make the slide a little easier but it never seems to let up. your clit is throbbing, neglected, sore, but pressing your thighs together only makes it worse, and though you’re sort of morbidly curious as to what joshua would do if you were to start touching yourself right now, you also think that he’s far more likely to help you out if you behave.

“gonna let me come in that beautiful mouth?” he asks, straining for every word, and just the thought of him shooting ropes of his climax straight into your throat has you about ready to collapse. you try to nod, but his eyes are clamped so tightly shut that he quite obviously doesn’t see you. as clearly as you can, you manage a quiet ‘mhm’, and the vibrations of your hum makes him swear. loudly.

“good little slut, – shit.” his hips start to stutter and you hollow out your cheeks, sucking at his cock for all you’re worth. “fuck, keep doing that. m’so close–”

the vein that runs down the underside of his length throbs against your tongue and you feel him release as he stills completely, grabbing the back of your head forcefully, holding you in place. all you can do is swallow around his shaft, let your throat massage all the cum out of him, whine and moan and let him empty himself until he can barely stand.

he taps the back of your head once he’s completely spent and you swallow one last time before gently pulling away from him, not standing to your feet yet but lifting one hand to rest it over his own. he squeezes your fingers, laughing drily and shaking his head before he gets a little bit of his strength back and tugs you up to your feet.

“i really didn’t know you had it in you, y/n,” he says, both his hands resting on your shoulders and gently massaging them. “are you okay? didn’t hurt too much?”

your throat is burning and all your muscles in your jaw feel like they’re going to seize up any minute, but you shake your head anyway. some pains are worth the gain.

“m’okay,” you assure him, pressing your back against the wall and sighing out at how cold the tile feels on your skin. “just… fuck.”

“yeah?” he asks, thumbs working magic on your skin.

you nod. “never been this turned on in my life,” you groan. “you’re hot when you’re an asshole.”

“feel free to get used to it,” he grins, slipping one hand down and pressing his fingers into your tit instead, the thin material of your swimsuit offering little barrier from the pleasure he’s already sending through you in shockwaves.

“yeah?”

“yeah. especially if you’re gonna act like that in front of everyone.”

you roll your eyes at him, sucking your front teeth but you can't quite stop the devilish grin that settles onto your face as he slips beneath the fabric of your top. “i don’t know what you mean,” you tease, echoing your own words from before. “i wasn’t even doing anything, josh.”

thank u sm for reading!! likes, reblogs, comments + feedback are all always so greatly appreciated.<3

#joshua hong smut #joshua smut #hong jisoo smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #joshua x reader #joshua hong x reader #hong jisoo x reader #kpop smut #j writes.#*

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tojisun · 4 months

Note

sunnyyy!! omg omg okay so idk what you put in your toxic dbf series but im sure its crack cause i know its freaking hurtful but i love it!! ur mind is >>>>>

alsoooo, i have this idea that i plan on writing for miguel but idk where to start SO IM GIVINF IT TO YOUUU!!

so lets call her bunny in this one. say bunny is enough of his shit, won’t let him do her dirty anymore because she refuses to be stupid. she’s no longer cassie howard and moves on to another man. a man who knows what he wants and who isn’t afraid to let her know that he wants her. he’ll cherish her, he adores the fuck out of her, he shows her off and he makes a promise to put a ring on her finger,

but simon doesn’t like that. not even one bit. and it ticks him off because why is he like this? why is he so worked up that she finds someone who finally treats her better than she can? yet, he can’t let it go. he lets her know. she has to know.

and so, at two am he comes knocking at her door. flowers in his hand, nicely dressed for the first time to let her know that he’s doing it for her and only her. not erin.

and it takes a lot in her to not slam the door in his face because she’s happy right now,

“you look at him the way i wanted to be looked by you, sweetheart” he admits, swallowing the lump in his throat. “and i envy that.”

she stares at him with a deadpan look. not really feeling a single thing anymore, leading him to continue.

“i have no right to say that, i know but—“ he pauses to take a deep breath. “i want to be with you. i want to be your man and i want you to let me”

she doesn’t want him to

ANA?? ANA MY LOVE???? THIS MAKES ME VIOLENTLY ILL

thinking about this in the dbf!simon series??? oh but im absolutely sobbing // same timeline as this !!

thinking about how you cry and wail and mourn for the years wasted on simon. thinking about the way you crumple on your bed, curling underneath your sheets, your cries now having been reduced to silent tears—this doesn’t mean you feel any better. instead, you feel even more distraught, upset in a way that feels bigger than yourself.

thinking about the promise you make to yourself. how, when the morning breaks, you will move on. that no matter how painful it may be—and it will be—you will strive to let go of simon. truly and completely this time around.

and that’s what you do. you fall asleep in exhaustion, heart heavy and mind buzzed. in the morning, you blink your eyes open and lay in bed for a few more minutes, suspended above your heartbreak, before it all comes crashing down on you. tears trickle from the corners of your eyes but you stay resolute, strong grip corralling your grief into the corner of your heart, before you get your day going.

you start by throwing everything that reminds you of simon: polaroid pictures and framed photos, shirts and clothes and socks and lingeries, towels and bedsheets, trinkets and accessories from across the globe—little souvenirs he’s brought to appease you.

(in the long haul, many of them were actually donated, while some were sold. but today, as you submerged yourself in your heartache, you dumped everything in a black garbage bag. out of sight, out of mind.)

blocking simon’s number actually turned out to be last. you deleted the pictures you have with simon in your phone prior, and then blocked and deleted his number altogether.

you breathed in deeply once you’re finished and collapsed to your bed again, trying to ignore the bareness of the walls and the emptiness of your room (let alone your heart).

the tears come again—they will come more often than not—and you let them. you open the locked corner of your heart and let the grief out. you mourn for what was lost; for what could’ve been. but most importantly, you mourn for the ways you’ve let yourself be trapped in such an unhappy moment.

moving on comes slowly; it comes so torturously that you thought it would never happen. but it does, and it does so during one quiet afternoon.

on that day, you realize that not once did you think of simon. not once did the memories trickle in to rip you away from the jovial present. and as you stand there in your kitchen, the sounds of the microwave beeps piercing through mutedly, you feel remade.

you feel whole, once again.

simon noticed, of course. he noticed the way your messages stopped coming in, or the way you no longer use your dad as an excuse to meet simon, or the way you just fell off the radar.

simon tried to reach out to you once and realized that you’ve got his number blocked.

it’s whatever, he thinks. because simon has never known you well, has never tried to learn more about you, so he thinks that this—your silent treatment and your detachment—is all a ploy. something like you playing hard-to-get.

so simon doesn’t think much about it until days turn to weeks, and weeks turn to months, and months are slowly building up to turn to a year.

simon doesn’t hear from you and, despite all his posturing, he realizes that he’s missed you. so he decides to drive by to pick you up for dinner and maybe apologize for whatever it is now that he’s done.

he gets to your dorm and rings your room. the intercom scratches awake, the person from the other side, your dorm mate he’s sure, asks who it was, and simon tells them his name. then, he tells them that he’s here for you.

there is silence for a while, almost loaded in a way that simon knows it’s not the intercom breaking up, and he gets his answer when he’s given a curt reply of, “she doesn’t want to see you. bye.” there is the distinct screech and then the line drops before simon could even ask why.

and simon feels lost. untethered.

john is a good man. that’s the first thing you realized. it terrified you, at first, how much you looked forward to meeting him. how much of being with him—simon’s friend—makes you happy.

you waited for the other shoe to drop, shoulders perpetually hunched as though that can shield you from the inevitable of john leaving you. of john using you.

but john is so warm. john is so gentle and kind and patient and loving.

john holds your hand and you know he isn’t looking for more. he drops you off at home, tells you to rest well and to say hi to your dorm mates, before taking off on his bike.

john kisses your cheeks and you know he isn’t looking for something more passionate. more heated. and you crave for his touch, yes, but there is something so special in the way john shows his affection—all crinkled smile and quiet chuckles; all whispered words and promises fulfilled; all soft and tender and secure.

it was a love so different, so beautiful, so really it wasn’t surprising at all when your relationship grows, thriving alongside your healing.

(he promised, you know? he promised, as he played with your hand, that he’ll one day put a ring on your finger. your lips wobbled and you told him to stop making loaded promises such as that, but john just turned to you with a soft smile and said, “i look forward to the day we share the same vow, bunny. if you would have me.”

you hiccupped sob and threw your arms over his shoulders, nodding because, “i would. john, i would!”

he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close and sharing warmth with you. you burrowed your head on the crook of his shoulder, breathing him in, letting his presence wash over you.

john, you thought. johnjohnjohn.)

simon drives to you the day after he confronted john. he drives to you with all of his messy heart spilling from the ridges of his ribs, beating only one name—yours.

he’s never felt this way before. not with all the pretty people he’s gone out with, or his first love, or even erin. erin who simon once imagined a future with. erin who simon once loved. not even that could triumph over the expanding turmoil that simon’s basking in.

he calls on the intercom of your dorm again, begs your roommate that may you please hear him out, and then he sees you.

god, you’re just as beautiful as he remembers.

“love–”

“what’re you doing here?”

your words are soft, quiet, but simon isn’t fooled. he sees the anger in your eyes, the hurt having festered into resentment. he wonders how apologies could trickle from his lips—where to even begin?

“please,” you say when simon’s silence stretches on. “just tell me whatever you want and then leave.”

“this. this is what i’m here for. the anger in your eyes– it’s just–…” he breathes in sharply. “i saw you and john, you know? and the way you look at him, it’s how i want to be looked at by you, love.” he swallows the lump in his throat. “i didn’t know what i had until i lost you and i’m so envious of him, i am, so please.”

you stare at him with wide eyes even when your face is smooth of any emotion. simon wonders what you must be thinking but he bulldozes through, hoping that you can give him one last chance.

he promises this time, truly, he’ll be better.

“i have no right to say this, i know, but–” he pauses to take a deep breath, his fists balled tightly. “i want to be with you. i want to be your man and i want you to let me.”

a heartbeat passes, and then, “simon, you are a selfish, selfish man.”

your words are barely louder than a whisper but they scratch at simon’s heart. he looks at you, gaze turning desperate when he sees nothing but bubbling fury and disappointment in your own.

“how dare you,” you say. “you tell me that you saw me and john, and then what? instead of letting me go, instead of letting me move on, you come in here and demand that i return to you?”

“love, i–”

“don’t call me that!”

your anger tips over, now spilling out. he watches the way your eyes glisten, tears dripping to stain your cheeks.

“i’m not your anything, si! not anymore!” you take in a ragged rasp of air, choking on your sob. it tugs at simon’s heartstrings and he moves to comfort you but you pull away, sneering at him in your anger. you wipe at your eyes, scrubbing furiously.

“everything about what you’ve said just now, everything, was all about your wants. all about you. just like how it’s always been,” you murmur, the fight leaving you.

you looked small, hunching into yourself, and simon is hit with this feeling; something that lodges itself in his throat.

“lov–… i’m sorry,” he says because he is.

gods he is.

“just go,” you tell him, meeting his eyes for one last time because he knows that this is the end of it all.

you turn away from him then, closing the building door behind you. he watches from behind he glass doors as you disappear into the hallways and stepped into the elevators and, just like that, simon’s lost his chance of making things right.

ANA MY GOD THIS MADE ME FERAL!! i hope u would like this one bb :(( hope i gave ur vision justice

#ana <3 #dbf!simon #simon ghost riley x reader #john price x reader #simon ghost riley #john price #ask #suns

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dabisbratz · 1 year

Text

FREEFALLING. — gojo satoru x male reader

wc: 1.7k

additional tags: male reader, established relationship, spit(ting), fingering, penetrative sex, frottage, gojo’s a little mean but sweet at the same time, petnames, kissing, praise, dirty talk, subspace, daddy kink (but only briefly + in a joking manner), author was sooo sleepy while writing this

genitalia terms: cock, hole (though if you don’t have that it’s still ambiguously written!)

a/n: im not ignoring requests!! im just very busy with school and it’s kinda hard to find motivation…. gojo just happened to be on my mind + i was in need of comfort so……… anyway i hope it’s okay! it’s definitely not my best but i think it’s okay for the long break….

Your metal keys clink in your hand, keychains and miniature decals swaying gently as you unlock the front door of your shared apartment— which remains quiet and almost vacant, save for the distant sound of ever-changing television channels. Sluggishly carrying your tired body through the door, you slip off your sneakers with a quiet huff. You press your palms against your eyes until you see an amalgamation of blue and purple swimming into your vision, teeth bared in frustration. Your jaw aches, your throat feels sore, and your tongue, heavy.

School was beating your ass.

When you get home, you expect departing sunlight peeking through the curtains— warm, pink rays of light that dance and flicker across blue irises. Warm, pink rays that caress your cheek like the knuckles of your boyfriend, the palms of his strong hands. It’ll overwhelm you at first, you think, so bright and unapologetic as your weary eyes adjust and focus, but you’ll quickly crash, pupils constricting as the disturbance dwindles. And, suddenly, the star’s saturation is comforting. It’s home.

Home— the only thing distracting you from the heavy textbooks weighing down your back and uncomfortably bending your spine. Home was Satoru.

…Satoru. You miss him, even if you had seen him just a few nights ago.

Huffing once again, your socks pad against the hardwood floors of your apartment as you make your way to your bedroom, backpack slowly descending down your sore shoulders. With each step you take, the foggier your vision becomes, and you feel as though you’ve been submerged in the deepest part of the ocean, unrelenting and ruthless as wave after wave crashes into your ribcage. The static in your ears grows louder and louder, ready to combust and burst your eardrums. Instead of the inviting (though somewhat frustrating) laughter of your boyfriend, the cruel sea storms forward against your chest, shoving it back and forth. Back and forth, to and fro, against your body as your knuckles turn white and your vision starts to spot.

Back and forth, you come undone.

“‘Toru..” You sniffle, absentmindedly dropping your bag down with a loud thud the minute your eyes land on your partner. He’s laying on his back, white hair catching sunlight like a makeshift halo, as specks of dust dance around the room and shimmer over his eyelids and lashes. Gray sweatpants that hang dangerously low on his hips, and if you look close enough you can see where his happy trail begins to disperse lower. Just a sliver of his stomach can be seen, where he rests a large hand beneath his black t-shirt. Angelic.

“Ah, you’re home!” He chirps as if he didn’t know you were home before you’d even actually got there. His blue eyes flicker to meet your face, his wide grin slightly dropping once he sees the tears welling in your eyes. His eyebrows raise along with his body, his forearms flexing as he sits forward and onto his knuckles, leaning forward to get a closer look.

“I missed you,” Your voice comes out barely as a whisper, knees buckling as you fall forward onto the soft mattress. It dips under your weight, and Gojo makes an effort to cup your face as you fall. You find yourself leaning into his hand, eyes fluttering closed to sedate the burn consuming your senses. He hums, waiting for you to continue. “…Had a bad day.”

“Oh,” Satoru purrs, because he’s a little mean, and he’d be lying if he said you didn’t look pretty with tears in your eyes— even if it does tug on his heartstrings. Still, his hand is warm and comforting, as he snakes it down to the back of your neck and pulls you into a hug. He sucks his teeth, and you can feel the gentle shake of his head. “My poor baby.”

His trimmed nails gently scrape against the nape of your neck, rubbing soothing patterns into your skin. Your next huff is much more content, as you melt in his embrace and sink further into his arms. Gojo always knows what you need, even when you don’t. You notice it much too late, a whimper escaping your parted lips as he pulls away to kiss your forehead.

Satoru’s pupils are blown wide, sparkling irises almost enveloped by deep black pupils as he presses his plump lips against yours. The kiss is soft and sweet, fogging up your brain and leaving your mind blank as you press your skin against his. He hushes you, lovingly, gliding his tongue against your own.

“I thought about you all day, all I could think about.”

You’re both breathless, gasps leaving your lips as he all-but consumes you, veiny hands slipping beneath your clothes. Your shirt slips off easily enough, and your body arches against his fingertips as he moves to unbutton your pants. You wish you could burn it into your skull, the sight of his pale hands tugging down your jeans. As if he can feel your gaze, Gojo looks up at you through his lashes.

“God, you drive me crazy. So fucking sweet, aren’t you? Sweet voice, sweet hands, sweet hole.”

Like a broken record, you whine, “I need—”

“I know, shh, honey, I know,” He laughs, wholeheartedly and dizzy as he presses a kiss to your stomach, white hair spilling onto your ribs and tickling your sides. His cheek presses against your hip, and he inhales deeply before murmuring: “You got me. I’m right here. Gonna let me fuck you, baby? Nice and slow, or—”

Your legs spread on instinct, hands sliding down your skin as you reach for your boyfriend’s, lacing your fingers together as he results in using his teeth at the band of your boxers. “Hard and deep? Wanna watch you take it, get you all sloppy and wet, hit that spot that gets you whiney and pliant.. Fuck, hold on, baby.”

The imprint of his dick against his boxers is prominent, your eyes widening as you watch him grip his shaft through the cloth, squeezing gently as his cock twitches in his hand. Satoru’s gasp is choked, and his head falls forward as he tugs once, twice, three times for temporary release. Your skin prickles and ignites as you reach for his waistband, almost jealous of his hands but completely flustered by the idea of being so hot to him that he can’t help but jerk himself off. “My sweet boy, sitting around rude people who don’t appreciate the work you put in— my sweet boy, dealing with so much stress when all he needed was some dick.”

Gojo grins, dimples pooling at his cheeks as he watches you free yourself from the confines of your underwear and buck your hips forward, almost trapping him between your legs. He grabs two handfuls of your thighs, pulling you in to rut against your inner thighs. Your cock twitches, jumping at the contact of cotton against the sensitive head.

Your open-mouthed pants have Satoru’s eyes rolling into his skull, and he reluctantly moves a hand to gently tap your cheek, “Open, sugar. Wider.”

“Ohh,” You moan, opening your mouth to catch the spit leaving your boyfriend’s mouth. He smears a bit of it against your cheek, later placing a kiss directly on top. He makes a comment about slapping his cock against your tongue, how deep you’d take it down his throat, and groans at the sound of your appreciative moan. “‘Toru.”

“Okay, m’sorry, Daddy’s being too mean, huh?” He tacks on a nasally voice, high pitched and condescending as if to say you sound like that. And if you could, you’d slap his chest for the remark, but seeing as he’s stripping before your eyes, you have no complaints.

His cock claps against his abdomen, leaking and throbbing as he spreads your knees up to your shoulders. Subconsciously, you hold onto the back of your knees, watching as his lubed ring finger— when did he get that? — gently prods at your hole. It sinks in slow, immediately rubbing against the bundle of nerves that has your eyes crossing and fingers curling.

“Fuck, this hole,” He groans, watching it clench and unclench around his finger. There’s an obscene squelch, and Gojo has to manually swallow the drool pooling in his mouth. “Gonna let me fuck it baby, hm? Gonna let me use it over and over again? Make it mine, fill you up?”

“Uh-huh, please, I can take it,” You babble, squirming down to take his finger in deeper. There’s no resistance as he adds another finger, curling and stroking your walls deeper than you could ever imagine when doing it yourself.

“Oh honey, of course you can,” Satoru hums, placing a kiss at the back of your thighs, right below your ass. You tremble, sobbing into your arm as he continues to thrust his fingers in and out, in and out. “Even if you couldn’t, Daddy’ll make it fit.”

He swats your arm away from your face, his left hand trailing down to your neck to lightly squeeze. Your hands hold onto his wrist, and a shy smile graces your swollen lips. “Let me see your pretty face. I wanna watch you while I feed this greedy hole with my cock.”

On queue, the thick head of his dick slowly presses into your hole, and your grip on his wrist tightens, eyes fluttering shut as you squeal, throbbing around him. Satoru coos, slowly pressing in further as he reminds you to breathe in and out. Like clockwork, you can feel the vein in his shaft sink into you, drool escaping your parted lips.

Eventually, his cock pistons in and out of you, deep and thorough as you whine, only able to hold onto your lover and take it.

“That’s it, that’s it. Such a good boy, you take me so well. This is all you needed, right, sugar? Whenever you’re upset, just need a cock deep inside this pretty little hole to feel better, hm? It’s all mine, right, honey?” You nod, frantic and rushed as you reach down to rub your cock along with his thrusts.

“All yours, s’yours— my- s’your hole.” You wail, toes curling as Satoru’s thighs slap against yours, loud and competing against your shared moans.

“Atta boy.”

2K notes · View notes

python333 · 9 months

Note

hi! i’m not sure if you’re taking requests atm but if you aren’t feel free to ignore this!

anyways, i was thinking what would it be like if you were back on base and did something nice for everyone and made their fave coffee/tea while you’re all relaxing after a long mission? like how would the 141 react and what would you make for them?

that’s all but i hope you have a great day and i absolutely love your writings!! they seriously are so detailed and amazing, you do a beautiful job w each one💌

unwind — python333

— — — —

synopsis the 141 + you are back from a super long mission and u make them their fave coffee/tea!!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader.

word count 3.6k

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign], gaz being a little shit.

note thank you so much for the req!! i am taking them right now, but apologies if i post them 2+ days after i get them, my writers block is slowly creeping back into my mind and im fighting it off the best i can! also, thank you for the compliments :3 ilysm youre too nice!! i saw ur reblog of bedbound too and i was so sjdfksdfks!! hope u have a good day too and hope you enjoy this fic, it's all fluff and way too in depth descriptions of making tea/coffee!!

As soon as the electric kettle clicks, signaling to you that the water inside of it has been boiled, you unplug it and pour the water into a mug you’d pulled from the cabinets. It still surprised you that there were any mugs left, with how many people kept stealing to put on their desk to hold pencils—by people, you mean Soap, and only Soap—but you weren’t complaining.

You set the kettle back down once the mug is filled up just an inch below the brim and grab the tea bag you’d grabbed earlier, wrapping the string around the handle of the mug a few times before putting the bag itself into the water. Almost immediately, you see small tendrils of dark brown flow out from the drowned tea bag into the originally clear water.

As that happens, you walk the small few steps over to the small fridge from the kettle and open it, grabbing the small carton of cream and closing the fridge shut. You walk back over to the mug and unscrew the cap of the carton, pouring some cream into the mug, adding a half inch of height to the liquid already in the mug before screwing the cap back on and setting the carton down.

You don’t bother to grab a spoon and mix anything yet, instead reaching over to the small terracotta container beside the coffee machine that contained sugar, and taking off the lid.

You think for a moment if you should grab a spoon for this, but ultimately decide against it, instead just tipping the container over the mug and letting what you hope is two teaspoons of sugar spill over into the mug.

Afterwards, you put the lid back on the container holding the sugar and set it back next to the coffee machine, and grab the cream to put back into the fridge.

Once the cream’s been put back, you open the drawers in the counter and grab a small spoon, one that’s just tall enough that it won’t be fully submerged in the tea, and put it into the mug.

You close the drawer and give the tea a few stirs before picking up the mug, being careful of the scalding heat and holding it solely by its handle. You carefully walk out of the snack bar extension of the kitchen and head towards Price’s office.

After a year or two of working with him, you’ve learned a lot about his tea preferences—he likes Yorkshire tea, the original one, not the gold. He only likes cream and sugar in his coffee, just to make it smoother and make it a bit sweeter, but doesn’t like it too sweet.

You vaguely remember him telling you he’d never had honey or any other sweeteners besides a bit of sugar in his tea, and remember more vividly you thinking, God, that’s such an old person thing to say, but not saying it out loud.

Once you’ve reached his office, you knock a few times and Price’s tired voice calls out, “Come in!”

You open the door, careful to keep the mug from spilling in your hands, and walk in, closing the door behind you. Price looks up from his computer, presumably writing a report on the mission you’d all just come back from an hour or two ago, and offers a small smile when he sees you. He’s about to say something before he catches sight of the mug in your hands.

“Did you…” He doesn’t finish his question, but you know what he was about to ask, and you nod in response.

“If it’s too sugary let me know,” You tell him, setting the mug down a safe distance away from his computer, “I can remake it.”

“I won’t make you remake it,” Price looks at you, almost offended, “You didn’t have to make me anything in the first place, but thank you, I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” You hum, walking away, saying over your shoulder, “Hope you like it.”

You open the door without another word and walk out, closing it behind you, heading right back to the snack bar. Now for Soap.

Soap typically preferred coffee to tea, despite tea’s popularity in Scotland. He’d told you that he really couldn’t taste the difference between different coffee blends, but upon hearing that there was a Scottish blend, he declared he’d only drink that one, because of course he did.

He pretended he could tell if the coffee he was drinking was of that Scottish blend, but you knew he couldn’t. How did you know? You’d only ever given him Scottish roast once. Every other time since then, it’s been French roast.

He’s never really used a coffee machine for himself, going to cafes or coffee shops most of the time for coffee, keeping his usual coffee order written in his notes app because he couldn’t remember it for the life of him.

He’d sometimes modify his order if certain coffee shops didn’t do certain things that he usually got, but his order stays mostly the same every time he gets coffee. Medium (or grande, if he’s at Starbucks) latte with a double shot of espresso.

Typically, he’d get some shortbread too, but you didn’t really have any in the base, so he’d have to do without it today.

Once you enter the snack bar, you grab another mug from the cabinets above the counter and place it under the coffee machine. You open the cabinets right by the ones that contained the mugs and grab a bag of ground French roast, pulling it out and putting it on the counter.

You open it up and find that there’s conveniently already a small cup in there to scoop the coffee grounds up, and use your free hand to grab a new coffee filter from the same cabinets you got the coffee grounds from, swiftly putting it into the machine.

You use your other hand to scoop up some coffee grounds and put them into the filter, closing the top of the coffee machine afterwards and turning on the machine. You’re grateful there’s more options listed on the small digital screen that lights up on the machine than just plain black coffee, not really in the mood to try and steam milk right now.

You tap on the ‘latte’ option and watch as the screen changes and hear the coffee machine start to whir.

As it does that, you put away the coffee grounds and open up the cabinets that contained mugs once again, pulling out a small espresso glass and setting it onto the counter.

You wait patiently for the coffee to brew, and once you hear the small beep sound from the machine that signals that it’s done, you pull away the steaming hot coffee and set it down right next to the coffee machine.

You quickly put the espresso glass under the machine and start it up again, this time tapping the ��espresso shot’ option—surprised that’s even an option, honestly—and hearing the familiar whirring noise start up again. It doesn’t take nearly as long as brewing the latte did, the small beep coming much sooner than it did just a minute or two earlier, and you pull away the small espresso glass from the machine almost immediately after you hear it.

You pause for a moment, looking at how much the latte part had filled up the mug, and look around for a moment before opening up the same drawer that contains the eating utensils and grabbing a straw, putting the straw in the still hot latte—is that a good idea? No. Did you do it anyway because you physically can’t think before you act? Absolutely—and taking a long sip of it.

You pull the straw out once the liquid in the mug is at a good inch below the brim and then pour in the espresso shot, setting the glass down after you do so.

You look around for a second for a trash bin and find one just a few steps away from you, quickly throwing out the straw you’d used and then walking back over to the empty espresso glass, picking it up and setting it down by the sink. God forbid we get a dishwasher in here or something, You think absentmindedly as you pick up the mug and carefully walk out of the snack bar with it, Would it hurt to at least get some dish soap in here or something?

You make it out of the snack bar without burning your fingers and start the much longer walk to Soap’s sleeping quarters. You’d caught him walking out of his office in that direction earlier, so you can only assume that he’d gone there.

Once you make it there, you knock on the door a few times and wait for Soap to call out to you and allow you to come in before twisting the door knob and opening the door. He’s laying on his back on his bed, thumb paused on his phone screen as he looks over at you as you enter. He notices the coffee and sits up a bit, grunting as he does.

He wasn’t really as talkative after long missions like the one you’d all been on earlier—usually it took him a day or two to be more social and back to himself, so you didn’t take much offense to him not greeting you as loudly as he usually did.

He nods at the coffee, “Is that for me?”

“Mhm,” You hum, handing him the mug, “Be careful, it’s hot.”

“Got it,” Soap carefully takes the mug into his hands, and softly blows on it before looking at you again and grinning at you, “Weel, thank ye for this. Ye really didnae hae tae.”

“Price actually said the same thing,” You muse, almost to yourself, before speaking a little louder, “No problem.”

“Oh did he?” Soap asks, raising an eyebrow, before his expression shifts and he feigns confusion, “Wait, how come he got a drink afore me?”

“Because his office was closer to the snack bar,” You explain, crossing your arms.

“… Nae, it’s definitely ‘cause ye hate me,” Soap disagrees, shaking his head in mock disappointment, “And tae think I thought we were friends.”

“It is no— you know what?” You begin to argue, before sighing and rolling your eyes, “I do hate you, and we were never friends, you ungrateful piece of shit.”

Soap laughs, quieter than he usually does but it’s still a genuine laugh. He looks down at the coffee again and back at you, before saying, “Thank ye. Again.”

“No problem,” You replied, walking back towards the door and opening it, walking out of Soap’s sleeping quarters and closing the door behind you. Now for Ghost.

Ghost typically liked tea more than coffee, but you think that’s just the British in him talking. Realistically, you could give him either or, and he’d say a polite ‘thank you’ and move on.

From years of being apart of the 141, any preferences or additives he liked to put in his tea or coffee slowly dissipated and instead he just drank either one plain. Which should make the tasks you’ve forced yourself to do today easier, but knowing you, you just couldn’t take the easy route with this.

You remember a conversation with him that happened several months ago where you had been talking about your own tea and coffee preferences. Ghost had commented that he didn’t often put any additives in his own hot drinks anymore, but back before he’d joined the military, he liked to drink keemun tea occasionally with nutmeg in it.

Keemun tea—which was fucking expensive by the way, costing around sixteen pounds for twenty tea bags in every store you could find them in—wasn’t too hard to find, so the next time you went on leave after that conversation, you’d bought a box of bags of keemun tea leaves and some ground nutmeg.

You didn’t let Ghost know about it, and kind of forgot about it just a week after you bought it, but now the memory of you buying it and storing it in the snack bar behind a few other boxes of tea bags has resurfaced and it’s the only thing you think is appropriate to give Ghost at a time like this.

You get back to the snack bar and almost robotically you pull a mug out from the cabinets above the counter and set it down on said counter, deciding to grab another one just so that you wouldn’t have to do it later, and setting that one down right next to the other. You open the cabinet beside that and move some of the boxes out of the way to find the keemun tea box in the very back, right where you last left it.

You snatch it out of the cabinet and open it, pulling out a small packet and opening it up to pull out the tea bag inside. You go ahead and put the tea bag inside of the mug and put the tea box back in the cabinet, closing the small cabinet door afterwards.

You then grab the electric kettle that’s right by the sink and pop open the lid, putting it under the faucet and turning said faucet on, waiting until the water fills a quarter of the kettle. Once it does, you turn off the faucet and put the kettle down right by the outlet on the wall.

You put the lid down and wait for it to click into place before you plug the kettle into the outlet and press the small button below the handle to turn it on, and listen as it starts to make a small whirring noise. You don’t waste too much time just standing there, waiting for the water to finish boiling, instead putting the other mug you’d pulled out from the cabinets under the coffee machine and turning it on.

You tap on the ‘decaf flat white’ option and watch the digital screen change and another whirring sound starts up, now coming from the coffee machine.

You were starting to make Gaz’s while making Ghost’s drink because Gaz often made the mistake of drinking his coffee before it was cool enough to not burn his tongue, so if you made it earlier, it’d have more time to cool, and Gaz wouldn’t have to wait as long before drinking it, therefore solving the whole ‘burning-his-tongue-because-he’s-impatient’ problem he has.

Gaz liked simple flat whites, and sure, he liked tea too, but nothing could top a good flat white for him. He’d get them anywhere and everywhere he can, and you honestly admire his dedication to getting a flat white everywhere he goes.

The coffee machine finished up quickly, a small beep sounding from the machine as it stopped its whirring and a few more drops of coffee made it into the mug before it completely stopped. You pull the mug out from under the machine and set it aside for now, just waiting for the water to finish boiling in the kettle.

Once the kettle clicks and the whirring from that machine stops, you unplug it and pour some water into the empty mug you’d picked out for Ghost, waiting until it’s filled up about a half inch below the brim of the mug before taking the kettle away from the mug and pouring the rest of the unused water into the sink.

You set the kettle down beside the coffee machine where it belongs and check the drawer below the one that held the eating utensils, looking through some of the spices and drink additives in it before finally finding the ground nutmeg you needed.

You unscrew the cap and tilt the small spice jar over the mug, letting some of the powder spill into the mug before tilting it back and screwing the cap back on. You put it back in its spot and close that drawer, now opening the drawer above it and grabbing a small spoon, closing that one after you’ve grabbed the spoon and putting the spoon into the mug to mix the spices in it around a bit.

You leave Gaz’s mug on the counter, hoping that nobody steals it while you’re away, and instead pick up the mug meant for Ghost, carefully walking out of the snack bar with it.

Ghost’s office is fairly far away, but you still manage to get there without burning your fingers or anything on the mug. You knock on the door a few times and wait for Ghost to call out permission for you to come in before you open the door and walk in.

Ghost immediately looks over at you and spots the mug in your hand, but ignores it for now, instead opting to ask, “Did you need something, [c/n]?”

“Not really,” You shrugged the best you could while holding scalding hot tea, “Just needed to give you this.”

You set the mug down on Ghost’s desk before he can say another word, and watch as he eyes the mug with curiosity and confusion.

“What’s this?” He asks, carefully picking up the mug, holding the top up to his nose to smell it. Before you can answer his question, you see his eyes widen and he questions a little louder, “Is this… keemun? With nutmeg?”

“You can tell just from the smell?” You ask, mildly impressed, watching as Ghost’s gaze turns into one more in awe of the mug.

“Yes, I can,” He mumbles, smelling the brim of the mug again, before looking over at you, “How did you know I liked keemun with nutmeg in it?”

“You told me about it, like, a few months ago. Six months ago, maybe? I dunno.”

“How do you remember a conversation from six months ago?”

“It was an important conversation, I guess?” You shrug, crossing your arms.

You watch in silence as Ghost eyes the tea and you take that as your sign to leave, walking towards the door, stopping right in front of it to twist the knob to open it before you’re interrupted by Ghost.

“Wait—” You turn your head and look at him over your shoulder, and immediately upon seeing his face, you think, oh my God is he tearing up? “Thank you, [c/n]. I really appreciate it.”

You offer a small smile and reply, “Yeah, no problem. Enjoy your tea.”

You open the door without another word and close it behind you, taking a deep breath before continuing down the hall back to the snack bar.

You’re relieved when you get there and see the mug, still steaming a bit, still on the counter. You quickly walk over to it and pick it up, walking right back out the door with it and heading straight for Gaz’s sleeping quarters. You remember him being so tired from the mission—you don’t know whether to hope he’s asleep and getting some rest, or to hope that he’s awake so you can properly hand him his coffee.

Once you make it to his sleeping quarters, you knock on the door, and there’s no response for a few moments, making you think he might actually be asleep, but then you hear Gaz’s drowsy voice call out, “You can come in!”

You open the door and see him rubbing the sleep from his eyes and sitting up on his bed, looking over at you. His lips twitch up into a small smile once he sees you and he lets his hand drop into his lap.

“Hey, [c/n].” He looks over at the mug you’ve brought with you, before raising an eyebrow, “You brought something for me?”

“Very bold of you to assume it’s for you,” You close the door behind you and walk closer to him, “But yes, it is.”

Gaz perks up a bit at that and happily takes the mug off of your hands once you hand it to him, and his smile grows significantly bigger once he sees you’ve brought him a flat white.

“It’s decaf, don’t worry,” You say, as if reading his mind, “I figured you’d still want some sleep after drinking it.”

“Always so considerate,” Gaz sighs teasingly, raising the mug to his lips like you’d thought he would. Thankfully, his tongue doesn’t burn this time after he sips the coffee, and you let out a small sigh of relief at the fact.

“You know me,” You respond dryly, crossing your arms as you watch Gaz take a few more sips of the coffee.

“Thank you for this, by the way,” Gaz thanks you, taking another sip of the coffee before stating, “I hope you know you’re my favorite now.”

“Your favorite what?”

“Just my favorite, in general,” Gaz hums, “This is the best flat white I’ve ever drunk. Ten out of ten.”

“Thanks,” You thank him flatly, “It was made with love and a coffee machine I learned how to use yesterday.”

“I can just taste the love in it.”

“Not the coffee machine?”

“Well, it’s a bit concerning if someone can taste the coffee machine in their coffee, innit?” Gaz raises an eyebrow at you before taking another sip of his coffee.

“Not if it’s the one I used.”

“Whatever you say,” Gaz mutters, taking yet another sip of his coffee, making you huff out a small laugh.

“You enjoy your coffee,” You say before walking back over to the door, closing the door behind you as you walk out and letting out a tired breath, starting to head back to your own sleeping quarters.

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strawbxrryanime · 3 months

Text

red sweat dripping from his back - cale henituse x male!reader

"What the hell am I supposed to do with a bag of lemons?..." Cale scoffed, he hated sour things, so what bag of lemons could be useful than anything? "Do the neighbors think I'm trash? Cause they're absolutely right..." Cale muttered. You watched from a distance in the comfort of your own space. You were living your own lavish life with him, during his trips to find relics he'd always take you with him.

He fell in love as soon as he met you, and you can't possibly deny that. As soon as he saw you it clicked instantly for the both of you. You were his beautiful angel, someone whom he can redeem himself to. You always counted and depended on Cale no matter what and you would do anything for him.

Cale was sweating, rooms get hotter during the day. "Hey..." Cale approaches to you, smiling. "My sweet guy, how are you feeling?" Cale questioned you, as your eyes were graced by his abs after just having his shirt taken off due to the heat. Cale caressed your cheek slowly as he generously smiles, you reassured yourself that you were doing just fine to him.

Cale kisses your lips softly, as he crawls up to you in the bed. "My baby has to be doing alright~" Cale mutters as his eyes focus upon your pretty face. Cale loves you no matter who you are, he loves all your impurities, he loves the way you stand out by anybody. Cale's heart skips a beat whenever he sees you. Cale slicks back his bright red hair as his reddish-brown eyes adjust to glare at you even more.

"It's so hot in here.." Cale smirked. "Even when I have the slightest motivation to get up and turn on the air conditioner, the heat always manages to get to me..." Cale was always known as the lazy type, but often most times when it comes to you, he'd do anything for you. "You know what I really love about you?" Cale said to you. "I love everything, the way you speak, the way you laugh... sure, you may be insecure about it, but I think it's beautiful.. I replay it everyday just for me to relax.." Cale smiles, oh my goodness he's really reeling into your heart.

You began to kiss Cale again, in the heat of the moment as you thanked him. "I guess you feel the same way too hm?" Cale mutters, as you nod your head. "My beautiful baby~ You're the cutest..." Cale commented as you make more of a move, kissing him and being in the moment, as Cale kisses back more aggressively as grunts echo in the room. "Do you really want it Y/N?~" Cale asked... you nod your head vigorously. "So needy aren't we?~" Cale smirked.

And so you two hit it off, oh how you loved Cale so much. You loved every aspect of him, as the both of you stripped of clothing, bare as Cale smirks. "You're the only one I could ever want Y/N~" Cale mutters as he kisses you and lays you down at the bed. “My guy~ My one and only~” Cale would whisper as he slowly inserts his cock inside of your asshole, making you whimper and groan.

“Shhhh…” Cale smirks as he holds you against your waist. “Save the noises for when I really get you screaming~” Cale covers your mouth as he starts to thrust deep inside of you, burying his cock so deep in your ass that you tried your hardest to not moan out louder and louder. Slowly but surely, his thrusts slowly start getting harder and harder, slamming his ballsack into you.

His hands wrap and grip tightly around your mouth now, as he's now starting to thrust even faster, his cock being submerged by your walls as he kept fucking you over and over. Your muffled groans and grunts echo across the room as Cale scoffs. "You can't be serious right?~ Moaning now?~ Already~ It's like you barely even know me~ You'll see how hard I'll go~" Cale groans as his thrusts get bigger and bigger.

"Don't be shy, you can take it~" Cale started to chuckle, grunting as he shoves his inches in and out of your asshole, fucking you so good and hitting the right spots. "Oh, you're so pretty~ I'll fuck you so good~" Cale would praise you, but also humiliate your pathetic little moans as he thrusts harder and harder, telling you to save them for when he's really in it.

Now, Cale is really putting in his works, he's now thrusting deep and fast inside of you, panting and groaning each time he thrusts inside your tight ass, you couldn't contain the moans anymore and you just start to scream, scream in the mixture of pain and pleasure. "Fuck~ You're so cute~ Gonna fuck you so good~ Mm~" Cale would keep grunting as you moaned and moaned, he's really doing your ass amazingly. The heat fills up the room even more as the two of you are both sweating and panting.

Cale's thrusts, now laced with precum, is getting more sloppier and sloppier as his pants start to shake, his breaths becoming more shallower as he tries to hold back his load onto you. Slamming deep inside of you like there's no tomorrow, groaning and grunts echoing the room without a care in the world. Cale kept thrusting harder and harder, he's already at his limit. "FUCKING TAKE IT Y/N!~" Cale would yell out as he fucks one more thrust inside of you until he splurts inside you, painting your walls white with his cum as Cale chuckled.

"Shhh.. don't worry, you can do it baby~" Cale smirked, he was now lying down as you tried to lower yourself onto his fat cock. Fucking you crazy was enough, but fucking yourself onto him was another level. You started to take all his inches down. "Fuck~ Look at your hole swallowing all of me hm?~" Cale would chuckle again as you'd moan and groan, as you try to bounce, riding him as your eyes rolled back.

"Look at you~ You're fucked senseless~" Cale smirked as you start bouncing even faster, already getting addicted to the pleasure, fully in the heat of the moment. Already pounding deep, crushing his ballsack going faster and faster as groans and pants from the both of you echoed the room. Cale kept grunting as you kept moaning. "Fuck!~ Gah you're so good!~" Cale would yell out, as you just kept bouncing on his cock.

Cale's gleaming red hair shined through the sunlight as the heat was getting hotter and hotter. As you kept riding him faster and faster on the brink of pleasure, Cale arches his back upwards as he grabs onto your neck and gave out one last final groan as he cums deep inside your ass, you start screaming and panting as you were filled up.

"You're my baby~" Cale said as he caresses your cheek, you and Cale were sweating, in the heat of the moment, as you cuddled with Cale in the end. "I love you so much~" Cale kisses you, as he smiles. "My dear Y/N~"

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lizlazer · 2 years

Text

homecoming

tangerine x fem!reader

3.5k words

rated E, nsfw, no minors y’all

thanks to @basichextechml and northerngalxy for being my beta readers!

this was supposed to be a short, silly little fic about having a “good time'' with Tangerine and how he keeps getting interrupted by Lemon constantly calling his phone. it is now 3.5k words. i also ended up tying in some small details from the book. this is my first time writing smut in a while so enjoy!

-----

Tangerine has been away so long, the longest you two have been apart since you started seeing each other.

Lemon had driven him to your apartment from the airport without Tangerine even telling him that this was the only place he wanted to go. This last job had a high reward, but it was one of the more brutal jobs he’d ever done. It had involved weeks of surveillance, an agonizing stint undercover, and one of the most vicious fights of his life. And every night, often under a cold shower watching someone else’s blood circle the drain, he'd think of you. He knocks at your door, but waits a total of five seconds before kicking it open.

You were standing at your kitchen sink, hands submerged in soapy dishwater. The knocking makes you stop, and you listen closely until the door is kicked in. You grab a knife from the drying rack and step into the hall, terrified that it’s some enemy coming to collect. Instead, it’s a very disheveled Tangerine.

You come to an abrupt halt, knife hand dropping limply to your side as he stomps into the entryway. Upon looking up and seeing you, he slows, his arms also falling to his sides, dropping his coat and bag. “Fucking hell, have I missed you, love,” he says.There’s a deep cut across his eyebrow, and he’s got a split bottom lip. Dressed in well-tailored but wrinkled black suit pants, his white shirt is equally wrinkled and smeared with dirt all over, and what could be a little blood at the collar. The shirt is hanging open, and his gold medallion glistens in the afternoon light around him.

He starts toward you, but you hold up the knife, pointing it at him.

“You said you’d call every other day, or text, or something to let me know you’re still alive,” you say in a low, angry voice, emphasizing each mode of communication with a stab of the blade. It had been a week since you’d had word from him. For a while you had forced yourself to be calm, patient, but seeing him now, alive and well, releases a dam of pent up feelings. You’re fighting dueling urges to cry and scream at him.

He holds his hands up, his gold chain bracelet sliding down his muscled forearm. “I tried, I swear. There was no helping it.” He gives you a tired, defeated look. “Things went tits up, the phone was used as an incendiary device, and we had to lay very low. I stowed away on a goddamn plane to get here!”

He steps closer, slowly reaching his hand toward the knife, but you quickly stick the point of it against the underside of his chin. Stupid of him to get that close to you when you’re this angry.

“I told myself I wasn’t going to make a big deal about it, be the cool girlfriend, but I was fucking worried, Tan.” The blade isn’t overly sharp, a well loved and well used chef’s knife, and you let it slowly drag down his throat, softly over his Adam's apple. It bobs as he swallows, and he starts to feel his energy coming back, or maybe it’s just his pants getting suddenly tight. The tip of the knife comes to rest at the hollow of his throat.

“Fucking hell, I still think you’re ‘the cool girlfriend,’ whatever the fuck that means. Darling, I missed you so goddamn much.” He moves a little closer despite the knife digging in a little bit more, his hands moving up to cup your face. “Can you put the knife down now so I can bend you over the dining room table?”

He’s never been a very proper gentleman, but the request is so vulgar that you let out a small laugh despite yourself. Carefully, you set the knife on a nearby table in the entryway. In the next instant his lips are against yours in a heated, breathless kiss. After a second, you start to taste copper from his bleeding lip. His mustache is coarse against your skin, but you only kiss him harder. His hands move from your face, running down your arms to rest at your hips, pulling your body flush against his. Your hands slide into his hair, tangling in his messy curls. You grab a fistful of hair and tug, and he groans into your mouth. His hands leave your hips to squeeze your ass, barely covered by cotton pajama shorts. You can feel him inching his fingers up and underneath the fabric of your shorts and panties

He breaks the kiss, pressing his lips along your cheek and jawline, up to your earlobe. Taking it between his teeth, he alternates between biting and licking. His tongue feels like it’s a thousand degrees against your skin, and the chill of his breath on the trails of saliva makes you tremble against him.

“Tell me how much you need this,” he says into your ear, nipping at the lobe one last time before dropping kisses and bites along your neck again.

Just as you’re about to respond, a tinny electronic song starts playing. Tangerine freezes as if he’s been shot, and you feel something vibrating in his pocket. Before he can pull away, you reach into his pants and pull out a silver flip phone.

“You fucking bastard,” you say, voice back to its quiet angry tone. The caller ID flashes LEMON in the tiny pixel screen. “You’ve had a phone this whole time, and couldn’t be fucked to give me a ring?” Your voice is rising, but Tangerine is stunned silent.

“Listen, really listen to me,” he pleads, reaching for the tiny phone. “I have no fucking idea how I have that.” It was true. He’d been dog tired by the time the plane had landed, jostled repeatedly in a storage area that definitely wasn’t meant to transport people. Lemon had slept the entire time, squeezed shoulder to shoulder with his brother in the tiny compartment. When they’d landed and successfully dodged all airport staff and security, Lemon had said something about getting a car and wandered off. But wait. Had he also said something about grabbing phones? As soon as Lemon pulled a car around to the pick up area, Tangerine folded himself into the passenger seat and fell into a deep sleep. He’d only just woken up right before he kicked in your door. Had Lemon slipped him the phone while he was out?

Good ol’ Lemon was actually being a “useful train” for once, but of course it would backfire magnificently for Tangerine.

You throw the phone at him, and it bounces hard off his chest, but he manages to catch it. While he flips it open and greets Lemon, you storm away back to the kitchen. Tangerine tries to reach after you, grab you before you get away, but he fails and nearly falls flat on his face.

“Fuck!” he yells, frustrated in more ways than one.

“You good, bruv?” Lemon asks. “Little early to be upset after a successful gig, yeah?”

Tangerine stares after you, raking a hand through his hair. The memory of you pulling it seconds ago makes his cock twitch.

“Not our most successful. What’d you need?” Tangerine tersely asks, tonguing the cut on his lip. He can taste blood.

“What’s got you irritated? You’re back for two seconds and you’re already fighting with her? Must be a personal best for you,” Lemon says. “Or personal worst, I s’pose.” Before Tangerine can rip him a new one, Lemon continues, “I checked on the rest of our pay. It’s all been deposited into the account.” He pauses, takes a breath. Tangerine clears his throat, impatient. “And, alright, I took a little bit. Thought I might treat myself to a very nice dinner.”

“That’s great, Lemon. I hope you fucking choke on it.” Tangerine can hear you resuming your dish washing, the soft sounds of running water and clinking glass floating into the hallway.

Lemon clicks his tongue. “Take a breath. Christ. While I was checking on the money, Momo sent a message. Tip for another job, but she only said that we could find the full details in a ‘chartreuse tome’ in the historical society’s archives,” he says, making his accent more posh when he mentions the book. He’s actually being incredibly productive for once. Tangerine’s impressed, but also too tired and hard to appreciate it.

“Again, fantastic, Lemon. Get the fucking book and don’t call again until you have it.” Tangerine hangs up before he can respond, sliding the phone back into his pocket. He’s confident that Lemon can handle finding a book on his own. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out in one long exhale before heading to the kitchen.

It’s an open concept with the dining room just on the other side of the counter from where you’re currently occupied. He comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder. You try to ignore him, focusing on the task in front of you. He sighs loudly and dramatically, clearly seeking your attention.

“How’s Lemon?” You finally ask after the longest minute. You’re still angry, but it feels so nice to have him wrapped around you like this that the rage starts to fade.

“Fine, oblivious, annoying. Same as always,” he grumbles into your shoulder, kissing his way up your neck to your jaw. “I swear I didn’t know about the phone until it started ringing.” Judging from how flustered he was, you’re inclined to believe him. You let the bowl you were washing slip from your hands back into the water. Leaning into him, he turns your head just enough so that he can kiss you, his lips soft and gentle, lingering against yours. He peppers you with kisses, dipping his head to yours over and over. He only kisses you like this when he thinks he’s fucked up, and it melts your heart every time. You take your dripping, soapy hands out of the water and turn to face him. They’re overly warm, and when you bring one up to his face he leans into it, closing his eyes. He’s so obviously torn between falling asleep and fucking you senseless. Your other hand starts working on the buttons of his shirt, making the choice for him.

“Let’s try this again,” you quietly tell him, pulling his shirt up and out of his pants, the white linen hanging open on his shoulders. There’s a little dark smudge of something across his collarbone, but your eyes are drawn to the chiseled expanse of his abdomen. Your still damp hands run over his skin, combing through the soft auburn hair on his chest. When he opens his eyes there’s a heat in them that makes you weak in the knees.

He takes your hand in his, leading you over to the dining room table. “It wasn’t jokes earlier. I fully intended to bend you over this table.” It’s sturdy, solid oak with a rustic look but polished to a mirror shine. It was a gift from him when he couldn’t stand your old wobbly table any longer. He leads you to stand against the edge of it, facing away from him, your hands pressed against its surface. Lips on your neck again, his tongue drags a slow trail to the back of your ear. His hands move to your breasts, kneading them gently over the soft fabric of your old t-shirt. One of his hands slips under your shirt, ghosting over your belly and up to your nipples, taking one between two fingers and giving it the slightest squeezes.

His other hand moves south, slipping under the waistbands of your shorts, cupping your warm, damp pussy over your panties. Breathless, you say his code name, the only name you’ve ever gotten out of him.

“Tell me what you want me to do,” he says in your ear, one of his fingers curling up against the fabric, applying a tiny bit of pressure. You give a little moan, and he pushes around them, dragging a finger against your wet curls.

“I want your fingers inside of me,” you quietly plead to him, grinding back against his cock. “Please.”

Tangerine lets out a small chuckle before he gently presses your body down against the table. “That all?” He slaps your ass, playful but hard enough to sting a little. “Just my fingers? Nothing else?” He pulls your shorts and underwear down in one agonizingly slow motion, you lift up one foot and then the other to step out of them.

“Spread those legs just a little bit more for me, love,” he instructs you, quiet but straining. You do as you’re told, aching for him to touch you. He doesn’t leave you waiting long, falling to his knees, pulling your cheeks apart. After a brief moment, he drags his tongue from your cunt to your asshole.

“Jesus Christ, Tan,” you gasp. The fingers of one hand slide against your wet slit, pushing against your entrance.

He presses one finger into you slowly, and you moan, biting your fist. His tongue is working against your ass, circling it over and over, occasionally trying to push itself in. The combined sensation of his tongue and an added finger in your pussy has you wiggling, pushing yourself against his face. This display of wanton need makes him moan, the vibration adding another level of pleasure. His mustache is chafing against the soft skin of your bottom, but you can’t ask him to stop.

“Holy shit,” you mumble against your hand. His fingers have developed a steady rhythm, hitting in just the right spot. You wish you could watch him, see the depraved look in his eyes as he takes you apart. But there’s something to be said about blindly letting him have his way with you.

He stops for just a moment to ask, his voice gravelly, “Do you forgive me yet?” His mouth is back on your ass before you can answer.

The cell phone begins to ring again, playing a lively little tune. Tangerine continues his important work, pushing his tongue past your tight little ring of muscle, making you gasp. The phone rings on and on, stopping for maybe ten seconds before starting again.

“Fucking hell!” Tangerine stands up, tearing the phone from his pocket. You sag against the table, flushed and a little deflated.

“Lemon, what the fuck can I do for you now?” he answers.

You try to stand up, but Tangerine bends you back down, his free hand moving from your back to between your legs, his fingers sliding into your wetness. You turn your head as much as you can to see him, and he closes his eyes, shaking his head and pressing his lips together. Don’t say a word, darling.

“Don’t hang up on me again, you bastard,” Lemon says on the other end. “I’m at the place, but I don’t know what color chartreuse is!”

Tangerine takes in a slow deep breath, transfixed by his fingers and the wet sounds they make as they move into you. He’s wearing his typical large signet rings, and he gets an immense amount of satisfaction watching them disappear inside of you. Goddamnit, he will not let Lemon distract him from this. He’s waited too long. You’re doing your best to fight the noises rising from your throat as he fingers you while on the phone.

“Isn’t this a question better suited for the internet?” he says, incredulous.

“I’m also working off of a flip phone, prick, and trying to bring up the browser on this thing makes me want to pry my fingernails off,” Lemon complains in his usual flat tone.

“Where did you get these phones, a couple of pensioners? It’s a kind of fucking yellow, mate,” Tangerine tells him, and then hangs up the phone again.

You bark out a laugh, shocked that that’s all Tangerine gave him. “‘A kind of yellow’? He’ll definitely be calling you back.”

He puts the phone back in his pocket before undoing his belt and trousers. Palming his cock for just a moment, he frees it from his boxers, letting it rest against your ass.

“I’m not answering,” he stubbornly says, withdrawing his fingers from you. The sudden emptiness makes you whine softly, trying to push yourself back into him. “I’m a little busy at the moment,” he says, basking in the sight of you desperate for him.

You push yourself up to a standing position, and he lets out a noise of disapproval, but you turn to hop up on the table. He steps in between your legs, and he stops short, letting his cock linger just out of reach of your core. His hands come to rest on the soft skin of your thighs, squeezing.

“You’d better fuck me right now, before he calls back,” you tell him, your lips close enough to his that they brush against each other as you speak. You tilt your chin up, dragging your tongue over the cut on his lip. He kisses you fiercely, and you can feel his cock rubbing against your clit. You reach down between your bodies and guide him to you, feeling the tip push inside. His hips take it from there, sliding inch by inch until he’s fully inside of you. Your breath hitches at the wonderful sensation of him stretching you, gripping each side of his open shirt with white knuckles. No one has ever filled you like he has.

“Goddamn it, you feel so fucking good around my cock, darling,” he groans, rocking his hips back and forth, sliding out and back in. The intimacy of this is overwhelming, your foreheads pressed together, his half-lidded blue eyes staring into yours. He moves to the side of your head, saying directly into your ear, “You are all I’ve thought about for two straight months.” He pulls your shirt up, exposing your breasts. Leaning down he captures one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking, licking, and biting at the tender flesh. One of your hands goes to his hair, tangling in his curls. As you make a fist it pulls the hair taught, and he moans against your skin. In response he picks up speed. He pulls his lips from your breast and hooks his hands under your knees, pulling you into him with each thrust. You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching this beautiful man fuck you.

You can barely form words, but you manage to say, “Yes, Tangerine, god yes.”

A wicked grin forms on his face and he maintains that speed. He loves hearing his code name in your gasping, barely audible voice. “Touch yourself for me,” he says, watching you like a starved man eyeing a buffet.

You obey, reaching between your legs and massaging your clit to match his strokes. You can feel the build up of your impending orgasm in your belly, warmth spreading through your hips and radiating out from your core. You clench around him as it washes over you, blood rushing to your face and chest, rubbing your clit through the waves of intense sensations. You cry out his code name, begging him not to stop, and he groans and bucks into you a little more forcefully.

Tangerine’s not long after you, burying himself up to the hilt and gripping your legs so hard you know you’ll find bruises there later. He stands like that for a moment, shuddering with his orgasm. The sight of you, flushed and panting, on the table he bought you makes his chest tight. Through every beating taken and every bullet fired, he only thought of you. The gentle touch of your hand, the sting of your nails and teeth. In every horrible moment, he was always looking forward to this reunion.

“Jesus,” he sighs, still inside you, not wanting to move. “That was… fuck.”

The phone begins to ring again, the song becoming a trigger of rage for Tangerine. You laugh at the absurdity of it, and after a beat he does too. Leaning over, he kisses you sweetly, lingering.

“I’m gonna shove this phone down his throat when I see him,” he growls against your lips. He stands, withdrawing from you and tucking himself back into his boxers. You can feel his come dripping down your thigh as you stand up, trying to right yourself as best you can. Shirt and pants wide open, Tangerine retrieves the phone from his pocket and answers the call.

“Lemon, if you don’t have that fucking book,” he starts, but Lemon is yelling over him before he can finish.

“I don’t know what color ‘chartreuse’ is! You say yellow but there’s only green books here!”

#tangerine x reader #tangerine x y/n #bullet train #fanfic #fanfiction #my stuff #cannot believe i finally finished this whew #tangerine bullet train

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pin-k-ink · 18 days

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ambrosia // chrollo lucilfer

tw ⇢ casual relationship, fluff, mild angst, highly suggestive content, mutual pining, unspoken feelings (kinda)

wc ⇢ 2.8k

a/n: this is about as short as i could make it 💀

The exhaustion weighed heavy in your bones as you trudged down the dimly lit hallway, feet dragging with each step. With a resigned sigh, you fumbled for your keys, missing the lock a couple times before managing to shove the door open.

Your bags and belongings hit the floor in a scattered heap, but you paid them no mind. The lure of your bed called out with the comforting promise of blessed respite from the day's tribulations. However, no sooner had you stepped into the bedroom did your gaze fall upon the mussed sheets - a tangible reminder that slipping straight into oblivion wasn't an option until you'd cleansed away the day's grime.

Letting out a soft groan, you cast a longing look towards the balcony doors, curtains billowing gently in the wake of the warm evening breeze drifting in from outside. With leaden steps, you began peeling away the sweat-dampened layers, leaving a trail of discarded clothing in your wake as you shuffled towards the bathroom.

The simple act of submerging into the lavender-scented bathwater leeched away the worst of the day's stresses. You allowed your head to loll back against the tub's rim, eyes drifting shut as the tension slowly bled from your body in time with the low, ambient melody drifting from the speaker.

For a few precious moments, you simply existed - unraveling into the tranquil cocoon of heated water and fragrant steam. Until a niggling sense of unease began to prick at the edges of your consciousness. Something...wasn't quite right.

Your eyes snapped open, suddenly hyperaware of every minuscule sound and movement within the apartment's confines. Wasting no time, you surged upright and hastily wrapped yourself in a plush bathrobe, not even bothering to secure it before hurrying back towards the bedroom.

The bag you'd carelessly discarded still hung undisturbed from the door handle, instantly dismissing any fears of an intruder having slipped in behind you. No, whatever raised those subtle alarms originated from--

The balcony.

Those billowing curtains no longer danced upon an uninvited evening zephyr. Something...someone had allowed that inner sanctum's privacy to become violated.

You barely registered the faint footfall before suddenly being enveloped in an overwhelmingly familiar presence. A solid wall of warm strength molded itself against your back as a calloused palm cradled the sharp line of your jaw with surprising tenderness, tilting your head to allow the searing brand of heated lips to crash against yours.

For an eternal beat, you simply surrendered - muscles unlocking as your body instinctively arched back into that solid masculinity pinning you from behind. Your lips parted with a trembling sigh, allowing the sinuous glide of his tongue to delve deeper as you basked in the sensual possession.

A rumbling groan reverberated through his chest, reverberating against your water-slickened skin as thick fingers buried themselves in your damp tresses. He drank you in like a desert wanderer gulping down the first rain sublimely offering in a century of barren torment.

Just as abruptly, he tore away - both of you gasping for air in the wake of that searing conflagration. You blinked up at him through a heavy-lidded daze, reveling in the sight of his usually severe features slightly disheveled.

"Chrollo..." you breathed out his name like an oblation to the heavens. "Can't you ever enter through the front door like a normal person?"

One dark brow arched in a wordless exhibition of sardonic amusement. You could practically see the gears turning behind those fathomless black eyes as he studied your bemused expression through the lens of near-alien inscrutability.

"I was merely...testing your instincts," he finally rumbled in that rich baritone that never failed to ignite smoldering embers low in your core. "You've certainly improved in that regard, at the very least."

There was no need for clarification on what he referred to. This game of shadows and subtle violations was one you'd danced a thousand times before - each encounter carrying the same deliriously heady undercurrent of hunter and hunted.

Chrollo's hands drifted in an almost absent caress, parting the plush terrycloth folds of your robe to fully drink in the vista of your bare form. A muscle ticked in the hard line of his jaw as his gaze roved over every subtlety and curve with unhurried intensity.

"As beautiful as I remember," he murmured in that same deceptively mild timbre that somehow conjured visions of forbidden passions and nameless risks.

You couldn't resist the shiver that cascaded through you at the sheer, unrestrained honesty in that simple avowal - spoken so matter-of-factly. As though remarking on the weather or making philosophical commentary over an ancient text.

Chrollo's intense stare finally tore away, a ghost of something indefinable flickering through those black depths as they traced over the unmarred expanses of your throat and collarbones. "The marks I left have faded..." he noted with the barest undercurrent of what might've been disappointment or perhaps chastisement for your audacity in letting them fade.

Unable to resist puncturing the momentary tension, you let out a soft peal of hushed laughter. "It's been months since your last visit," you reminded gently, allowing your own hands to roam with deliberate seduction over the lean muscularity of his form. "If you require me to bear your mark so desperately...I'm happy to offer up a new canvas."

A low, rumbling growl spilled from between Chrollo's lips as he drank in the naked invitation burning in your eyes. In the next breath, his mouth had descended to scour heated, opened-mouth kisses and wordless growls of possession along the sensitive column of your neck and the upper swells of your bare breasts.

You rewarded each blazing caress with soft mewls and stuttering gasps, fingers spasming against the rigid terrain of his back as your head lolled shamelessly to allow better access. Only when Chrollo's avid ministrations had painted your skin in an intricate latticework of blossoming bruises did he pull away.

The self-satisfied smirk curling his mouth should've looked unbearably smug. But there was a fierceness, a rawness to his expression that stole the breath from your lungs and kindled flames throughout your core.

"There..." he rasped, onyx gaze roving over the fresh marks dotting your skin with undisguised relish. "That's better. Now you look more...yourself."

And with those few, softly uttered words, the final crumbling damns of propriety surrendered to the sweeping tide of unspoken wants thrumming vibrant between your essences.

Chrollo's fingers danced with unhurried reverence along the edges of your robe, allowing the plush material to slither free and pool in heavy folds around your feet. You stood before him in all your naked vulnerability, yet the searing intensity blazing behind his obsidian stare ignited no shame - only the delirious thrill of being so utterly laid bare before this singular force of nature.

His head dipped, mouth capturing yours once more in a searing conflagration of heat and restrained ferocity that had you melting back against the solid wall of his body. Chrollo kissed you like a man dying of thirst, desperate to drink down every nuance and subtle cadence that made your essence so intoxicating. So all-consumingly addictive, despite the countless others who might offer similar ambrosia.

You whimpered into the searing brand of his kiss, fingers scrabbling uselessly against the rigid musculature of his shoulders and back. Seeking any handhold, any corporeal tether to keep you anchored against the steadily mounting vertigo as Chrollo plundered the depths of your mouth with relentless passion.

Then, he was guiding you backwards - one large hand splaying against the small of your back to urge you towards the tangled haven of your bed. The backs of your thighs hit the mattress edge with a breathless jolt, momentarily breaking the heated melding of your mouths.

Chrollo took full advantage, dragging his lips in a scorching trail over the sharp bracket of your jaw and down the fragile collars of your throat. His tongue laved at the fresh marks already beginning to mottle and darken under the rough abrasion - a silent lay of claim and possession over every inch of your pliant, willing form.

"I can never seem to stay away for long," he confessed in a low, heady rasp muffled against your damp skin. "No matter how far my travels may take me, I always find myself pulled back into your orbit like a comet chasing the gravity well of a newborn star."

You shivered at the darkly poetic murmur, fingers combing through the thick silk of his hair in a silent beckoning. A part of you wanted to respond with levity, to deflect the undercurrent of visceral need thrumming through each graveled consonant. But the sheer intensity of Chrollo's presence - the overbearing weight of his focus - robbed you of any coherency beyond stunned capitulation.

So you simply held him closer, drinking in the ephemeral closeness while it lasted. For you knew the truth of things, didn't you? That this impassioned reunion, no matter how desperately you might wish to prolong the fever-pitched raptures, would all too swiftly reach its crescendo.

Leaving you once again awash in the cold solitudes of his absence. Merely another in the long succession of devastatingly finite encounters to be savored until his all-too inevitable departure from your world.

Yet even that unshakable understanding of your transient circumstance failed to dampen the rising swells as Chrollo continued his unhurried, sensual worship of your body. If anything, the sharp undercurrent of bittersweet temporality only amplified the profound catharsis of surrendering your every truth and vulnerability to inevitable brevity.

When at last he surged upright, features taut with an exquisite rictus of rapture and firelit shadows dancing across the harsh planes and angles, you drank in the sight with unabashed relish. Here was the man you knew in those fleeting ephemera - passion distilled into its most primordial essence and given razor-edged focus by the promise of imminent passing.

"Now," Chrollo rumbled in that dark, impossibly rich timbre that resonated straight into your depths. "Let's see if I can't reacquaint you with what it means to be truly...undone."

And with that softly uttered promise thrumming betwixt your essences, he began a slow, inexorable descent into the rapturous oblivions you'd both been chasing from opposite celestial shores...

The soft sounds of late night traffic eventually roused you from your contented slumber. Blinking slowly, you took a moment to let your eyes adjust to the dim, reddish glow filtering through the curtains from the neon city lights outside.

As wakeful awareness seeped back in, you became intensely aware of the warm weight pressed against your side and the steady puff of breath fanning across your bare thigh. Slowly, carefully, you pushed aside the heavy white comforter to reveal Chrollo's sleeping form beside you.

Even in the depths of slumber, his chiseled features held an intensity, an uncompromising edge that made your breath catch momentarily in your throat. He looked every inch the powerful, self-possessed man you knew him to be - not soft or vulnerable in the slightest despite the naked vulnerability of true rest.

Unable to resist, you reached out and lightly trailed your fingertips along the rigid planes of his back before sinking them into the tousled ebony waves of his hair. He was achingly beautiful like this, you thought. Not merely handsome in that overtly masculine way, but strikingly compelling in a manner that transcended the physical.

As if he could sense the weight of your reverent regard, Chrollo stirred beside you - obsidian eyes fluttering open to meet your enraptured gaze. He blinked once, slowly, before the hard line of his mouth curved into the barest hint of an amused smile.

"You've only been asleep for a couple of hours," he murmured, rich voice still rough and graveled from your earlier lovemaking. "It's still far too early to be waking up."

There was a hushed tenderness to his tone that caught you momentarily off-guard. As if speaking any louder might somehow disrupt the cloistered sanctuary you'd managed to carve out from the relentless momentum of the world beyond these walls.

"Tomorrow's your day off, isn't it?" Chrollo continued in that same soft timbre as one calloused hand drifted up to splay possessively across the dip of your waist. "We can delay my departure for a little while longer then."

You hummed a wordless affirmative, unable to tear your gaze away from the piquant lines of his profile as he settled back against the pillows. Unable to shake the strange sense of melancholy that always crept in during these afterglows, no matter how fleeting or indulgently you tried to immerse yourself in the present.

Unconsciously, your fingers resumed their idle combing through the silken strands of his hair as you struggled to commit every nuance, every detail surrounding you to the most indelible corners of your memory.

"When do you leave again?" The plaintive question slipped out before you could rethink it, immediately followed by a soft indrawn breath at how desperate, how painfully vulnerable you sounded in that singular query.

Chrollo's wandering hand stilled fractionally at your words. You watched, holding your breath, as a myriad of inscrutable micro-expressions flickered across his severe features before smoothing out into that same unstudied mask of characteristic impassivity.

When at last he responded, you could've sworn you detected the faintest rasp of reluctance roughening the normally impeccable precision of his diction. "Is that truly what you wish for me? To leave so soon while we still have time together?"

His gaze swiveled towards you with that uncanny, penetrative intensity that never failed to scour you down to the utmost core. As if he could already sense the treacherous undercurrents of yearning and unvocalized hopes battening against your restraints.

"Or perhaps..." Chrollo's deep timbre lowered to an insinuating rumble that catalyzed the fine hairs along your nape into an exquisite frisson. "Perhaps you’re unsure about…the nature of my attentions. Wondering if I have lovers waiting in every city I visit."

Slowly, too slowly for your rattled composure to fully process, he shifted until the hard planes of his body were aligned flush against your softer curves. One corded arm snaked beneath you, fingers splaying in an unspoken claim across the exposed expanse of your lower back as the other palmed your nape in a grip just shy of bruising. Holding you utterly subsumed and immobile against him without leverage or option to retreat.

"Let me be clear. These encounters we share are not mere dalliances to me. Meaningless flings I indulge in from city to city only to discard and forget," Chrollo's mouth hovered a teasing hairsbreadths from your own, each precisely enunciated word seeming to reverberate straight into the most primitive root of your nervous chassis like a forbidden tuning fork. "You are the only one, the singular connection I allow myself in this life. I don't share myself with others the way I do with you."

His fingers stroked the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck. "If you wish for me to be here more often, to spend more time in your presence, you need only say so. But do not doubt that what we have is uniquely mine...and yours alone."

You searched Chrollo's eyes, letting the weight of his candid confession settle over you. His unwavering intensity made it clear he spoke nothing but the unvarnished truth.

For a long moment, you could only gaze at him in silence, struggling to make sense of the profound intimacy underlying his words. This went far beyond mere physical satisfaction for him, you realized. He had anchored some part of himself, his truth, to you in a way you hadn't grasped until now.

Slowly, you lifted one hand to trace the sharp line of his jaw, marveling at the way his penetrating obsidian stare seemed to strip you bare in more ways than one. You opened your mouth to respond, to try giving voice to the tangle of emotions binding your chest.

But Chrollo merely shook his head in a minute negative, silencing you with the faintest brush of his thumb against your parted lips. His expression took on a softer, almost wistful aspect as he pulled you flush against his body, burrowing his face into the haven where your neck and shoulder joined.

"Don't ruin this with words just yet," he murmured lowly, the rumble of his voice reverberating through you. "For now, just...exist here with me. Like this. While the moment still lasts."

You acquiesced without protest, slipping your arms around his waist as you allowed the solid reality of his embrace to surround and enfold you. Chrollo seemed to grasp your need for this elemental connection in the wake of his soul-baring admission.

No more words were spoken as you lay intertwined. The intimacy you shared transcended the physical, reaching an almost metaphysical resonance where the simple act of coexisting became a form of profound communication unto itself.

For now, this was enough. More than enough. As the night deepened and the reassuring thrum of Chrollo's heartbeat lulled you back towards contented slumber, you knew this truth:

No matter how far the tides of circumstance temporarily swept him away, the invisible tethers twining your souls together could never be severed. Not truly. This was your northstar, your truth - an unshakable constant at the core of your very beings.

#hunter x hunter x reader smut #hunter x hunter x reader #hunter x hunter smut #hunter x hunter #hxh x reader smut #hxh smut #hxh x reader #chrollo x reader smut #chrollo smut #chrollo x reader #hxh chrollo #chrollo lucilfer

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myveryownfanfiction · 1 year

Text

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

warnings: spoilers for season 5 episode 14, swearing

AN: alright so this (https://livelovecaliforniadreams.tumblr.com/post/708057089960034304) is what I’m talking about I just couldn’t find still pics for it. I love it so much 😭

I walked the hall to get to the shop when I heard someone muttering behind a closed door. It sounded like Tim so I knocked on the door and slowly opened it. Slipping in, I took one look at Tim before I burst out laughing.

“Oh my god Tim! What happened?” I took a step towards him when he shot me an angry glare.

“Metro happened.” He grumbled as he turned back to the mirror and tried to peel off the unicorn stickers stuck to his shirt. I bit my lip to stop laughing and slowly made my way over to him. “They glued them?! Of course they glued them.” He muttered. “I can’t get them off.” He turned to me, seething and on the edge of losing it. I gently put my hands on his shoulders and squeezed.

“It’s ok. We’ll figure it out.” I smiled at him and he nodded, eyes still raging but slowly calming down. “Do you have another shirt to wear?” He shook his head.

“This was my last one. Todays laundry day.” He looked away from me. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” His voice cracked and he winced. Rubbing his arm, I waited for him. “(Y/N), what am I going to do? I have to go back after lunch.” I nodded and turned back to lock the door.

“Alright. Doors locked. No one’s coming in.” I gestured for him to take off his shirt. “Shirt off. Let’s go.” Tim looked at me incredulously. “Let’s go Bradford. I’m gonna soak it.”

“Will that work?” I shrugged.

“Worth a shot.” He continued to stare at me. “Let’s go boot! Shirt off!” I commanded. Tim snapped out of it and shot me a glare as he stripped off his shirt.

“No staring. Get to work.” He said. I smiled at him and blocked the sink. While I waited for the sink to fill up, I turned towards him and kissed his cheek.

“Sir yes sir.” I teased. Tim laughed as his hands settled on my waist. I tossed the shirt into the sink, holding it down and making sure all the unicorns were submerged. Tim wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on my shoulder.

“Thank you.” He whispered. I hummed and leaned my head against his. “I mean it. Thank you. I don’t know what I would do today if it wasn’t for you.” Smiling, I turned to kiss his cheek.

“Be covered in unicorns all day and not be taken seriously.” I teased. Tim rolled his eyes and gently swayed with me. He jumped back suddenly and let go of me.

“I forgot! I have something for you.” He dug through his bag and pulled out a small slip. Turning back to me, he held it out. Letting go of the shirt, I waited to see if it would float to the top. When it didn’t, I turned towards him and cocked my head. “Go ahead take it.” I took the slip from him and laughed.

“Really Tim?” I teased. “You’re giving me your last unicorn?” Tim rolled his eyes again and hugged me.

“Shut up.” He kissed my temple and rubbed my back. “It doesn’t have glue. I checked. I know how you like stickers.” Leaning his head against mine, he hummed contentedly.

“That’s true. And kind of sweet actually.” I murmured. “Tim are you going sweet on me? Keeping things you think I’ll like in your pack until you see me again?” Tim smiled as he pulled back to kiss me.

“Sounds like I am.” He joked. I kissed him again before turning back to his shirt in the sink. Pulling it out, I gently peeled the stickers from his shirt.

“Success!” I cheered as he joined me and we took off the stickers. “Now hurry to the bathroom, run this under the hand dryer and hopefully it’ll dry out quickly.” Tim nodded as he kissed my cheek.

“Thank you (Y/N). I don’t know what id do without you.” He left the room and I smiled to myself, tucking my sticker into my pocket. Shaking my head, I left the room and headed back to my shop.

#Tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #tim Bradford fanfic #Tim Bradford fanfiction #Tim Bradford imagine #Eric winter fanfiction #Eric winter #eric winter x reader #eric winter imagine #eric winter fanfic

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nev3rfound · 11 months

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strike twice : b.b

bucky sure knows how to put his foot in it sometimes. but when a storm causes a powercut throughout new york, he's quick to make amends. (1k word count)

warnings - just a fluffy piece :)

masterlist / permanent taglist / etsy shop

feedback is appreciated!

"Fine!" You scream in response, exasperated from the argument that arose between you two other such a trivial matter.

Scoffing, Bucky picks up his bag and heads for the door to your room. "Night, Y/n." Bucky manages to say through gritted teeth, not daring to spare you a glance in response before slamming the door shut, almost breaking it from the hinges.

"Asshole." The word leaves your lips in a whisper as you collapse onto your bed with a heavy sigh.

The rain lining the windows mirrors the tears falling down your cheeks, all of which slowly link together before disappearing through the cracks and quickly replenishing.

Reaching over, you grab a hold of your phone, only to see it's dead. "Fuck!" You groan, throwing your phone at your wall before bringing your legs to your chest, allowing your cries to increase in the comfort of your own room with the rain battering down on the windows.

On the lower levels of the compound, Bucky sits with a scotch in his grasp, nursing it tenderly whilst Steve sits beside him, slightly dumbfounded.

"So what were you guys even arguing about?" Steve asks, brows remaining furrowed following Bucky's slightly rushed explanation.

"Doesn't even matter now." Bucky huffs, taking another swig of his drink. "But she's not happy, and neither am I frankly."

Humming in response, Steve glances behind him noticing rain starting to hammer against the windows. "And you had nothing to do with that?" He dares ask, hearing his friend's glass slam down on the counter.

"No." Bucky is too quick to respond, knowing for a fact it is his fault this time. "Possibly." It passes his lips softly in defeat. "I might've messed up, pal."

"You don't say." Steve chuckles, now fixated on the rain lashing down, and the rumbles of thunder following suit. "Storms on its way." He motions, oblivious to Bucky tensing at the statement.

"A stor-" Before Bucky can finish his question, the lights above start to flicker, TV monitors start to glitch and FRIDAY blares gibberish. Quick to stand up, Bucky heads for the door just as the entire compound is submerged in darkness. "Oh no." His lips turn to a frown upon hearing a well-known cry from across the compound.

Your eyes frantically search the room for your phone, only to find it and remember it's out of battery. "No, no." Mumbles pass from your lips in a panic whilst the rolls of thunder boom closer to your window, causing you to jolt with every sound.

Reaching for your blanket, you quickly grab a hold of it before stumbling into the bathroom and quietly close the door behind you.

Eagerly running through the compound, Bucky hears numerous conversations happening at once, but none of them concern him as he runs several flights of stairs to reach your floor. Once there, he slowly lets himself into your room, trying to see your silhouette through the lightning strikes.

"Doll?" Bucky calls out, now fully in your room but you are nowhere in sight.

With a sigh, Bucky turns to exit your room, wondering if perhaps you went to find solace in Natasha or someone else. "Bucky?" He pauses, hearing you whimper from the bathroom.

Wasting no time, Bucky opens the door to vaguely see you in the bathtub with a blanket wrapped around your body. "Hey, it's okay, I'm here." Apprehensively approaching you, Bucky can see you shaking frantically and tears lining your cheeks. "Let me get in the tub, yeah, baby?" Bucky ensures his tone is soft, tensing at the drums of thunder and your immediate panic.

"I, I heard the thunder, then I saw," Struggling to form words through your shaking lips, Bucky hushes you into his embrace. "and then the power went." Sniffing, you wipe your nose with your sleeve. "I'm such a wimp." A watery laugh sounds from you, and you can feel Bucky chuckling behind you.

"You're far from one, Y/n. Everyone has irrational fears." Stroking your arm with his right hand, you focus on that feeling, his fingertips circling. "When I was a kid, I was terrified of snails." Bucky smiles at your laughter bouncing the walls.

Glancing up with a grin etched on your lips, Bucky only shakes his head at you. "Of all the things, snails?"

"What can I tell you, doll." He shrugs. "Steve used to help 'em out. He'd see them in a weird spot, pick it up, and," Bucky shudders at the thought, only furthering your amusement. "yeah, so I don't exactly love snails, even now."

Now leaning back against his chest, your breathing has finally evened out. The storm outside is dull whilst Bucky continues to tell you stories, anything to distract you, make you laugh, smile and reminisce.

"And then I stopped in my tracks, nearly went face first into a-" Bucky cuts himself off at the flickering lights above you both. Within seconds you're both submerged in warm-toned lighting. "Would you look at that." He nudges you, now able to see your blanket clad self. "You look so snug, doll."

Sighing heavily, you shuffle to stand up with your blanket around your shoulders. Bucky rests his hand on the edge of the bath to help, following you out afterward into your bedroom.

"Thank you," You reach for your phone, finally placing it on charge. "for all of that."

"Y/n," Bucky starts, reaching for your hand and squeezing it lightly. "I'm sorry for earlier, but I'll always be there for you, through storms and all." He tugs your hand and brings you into his arms.

"I appreciate that, Buck." You mumble into his chest. "And same here, if a snail dares appear I'll show that sucker who's in charge." A laugh sounds from Bucky as he tugs you onto your bed.

"Wow, my hero." He rolls his eyes, now lifting the blanket up to join you for the remainder of the night.

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