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mysticheathenn · 1 month

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What Kind Of Love Do You Need?

Hi, Hexlings!

This pick-a-card reading is a Patreon All Tiers reading about what kind of love do you need. This can be romantic, self-love, platonic, or even familial.

This is a general reading, remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement your need to seek professional help.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

Extended Patreon Includes:

How will this love change your life?

Extra Messages

MasterList

Patreon Link

Ko-Fi Donations

Pile l:

What kind of love do you need? Tarot: The Lovers, Ace of Cups, Ace of Pentacles, 6 of Wands, Hanged Man, & Page of Swords.

Romantic. "I want a real love, dark-skinned and Aunt Viv love, [Redacted Part Of Song], That leave a toothbrush at your crib love, And you ain't gotta wonder whether that's your kid love"- J.Cole & Real Love by Mary J. Blige played in my head as I was shuffling pile l. You are in need of a healthy love. The kind of love where you both celebrate each other's wins and even losses, being each other's cheerleader, a shoulder to cry or lean on when life knocks you down, a love where there are no games just pure love, communication, and peace. There is a heavy sense of peace and fulfillment for you, with the kind of love you need. You probably have dated people who wanted nothing but to waste your time, and energy, or even unfortunately use you. You are now working on yourself and if you aren't I feel a glow-up is coming soon where you do work on yourself to help manifest this kind of love into your life because you want a partnership. A true soulmate that was ordained by stars (God, Allah, etc) themselves. There will be no confusion with this kind of love. I'm hearing Greenday- Broken Boulevard but only the part of " I walk a lonely road The only one that I have ever known Don't know where it goes But it's home to me and I walk alone" I feel for some of you those who aren't working on themselves yet you have some ways to go before this kind of love comes into your life. You may still be hurting from your previous relationship or if not still hurting you're in the energy of "Everybody ain't shit and you're better off alone." For others, it's not too far but it's also not going to show up tomorrow the window I am intuitively feeling is within the next two years. This is a long time coming for you pile l. I can feel it's something special. Patreon Post Link

Pile ll:

What kind of love do you need? Tarot: 5 of Pentacles, The Fool, The Hierophant, Ace of Cups, Awakening.

Self-Love. Singleness. Adventure. You are in desperate need of some self-love pile ll. You have been on a wild ride when it comes to allowing others into your life whether platonic or romantic and it's time for you to go into hermit mode for a while. The Tiktok audi "Be by yourself, get to know yourself" which is said in an island accent is coming to mind. You need to figure out who you are pile ll. I feel you have some sort of sense of who you are but you aren't sure if this is actually you or the you that has been crafted by social media, others and their idea of you, or your survival mode you where you crafted parts of yourself and chose the "safe" is to show others who don't like to see your full light because it dims there. There is also a need to let go of some people in your life. I didn't ask Spirit who because if this part resonates you should know. It's typically the first two names that popped in your head when you read the sentence but it's time to let go of people who are not good for you or add any kind of value to your life. Not only getting rid of people but getting rid of the old you. It's time for you to walk into a new light where you are glowing, thriving, and enjoying life how it is meant to be enjoyed instead of barely getting by day by day. You were meant to shine and not follow what everyone else is doing. You were meant to be authentic pile ll. Figure out who you are. Do things you never thought you would never enjoy and do them. Learn some new skills and hobbies. Take an Eat Pray Love trip even if it's just a trip to New York, Miami, Atlanta, Los Angeles, or even fucking Houston Texas if that is more your speed. Get out of your comfort zone. Shed your survival mode personality and shine. It's time for a new adventure. It's time to release this old story you keep playing over and over and start something fresh. What are you waiting for? Patreon Post Link

Pile lll:

What kind of love do you need? Tarot: 5 of Cups, Queen of Swords, 10 of Wands, Knight of Wands, 3 of Pentacles.

Friendship.Self-Care. There is this feeling that you pile lll are the type that likes to do everything themselves without bothering anyone. You may also like to say sorry a lot even when you didn't do anything as well as just not tell people how you are really feeling going through your struggles alone. Please stop. If you have people around you who truly care about your well-being please do let them know how you really are doing. There is nothing worse than having a friend going through things in silence and later on axe themselves off (speaking from experience). You do not have to suffer in silence pile lll. There are people in this world who would or do care about you and your well-being and want to take the load off of your shoulders. Stop being the strong independent cap that social media keeps trying to feed people with the whole grind and stay silent. Stay silent when it comes to goals until they happen, not your well-being. For others of you the kind of love you need is self-care other than taking better care of yourself this is more so having to do with your skills, abilities, and even your career. Some of you want to do more in your career whether it's at the job you are currently at, in the same field, or wanting to do something differently and this is the time to do so. Start learning and sharpening up your skills. Even sharpening up your mind whether it's reading more books maybe by Robert Greene on Mastery or Art of Seduction, learning languages, or whatever it is that you want to do to sharpen your mind ow is the time to do so. Patreon Post Link

Pile lV:

What kind of love do you need? Tarot: Ace of Swords, The Hermit, Awakening, Page of Cups, 3 of Cups

Singleness. Self Love. You may have been drawn to pile ll because they have received a similar reading to what your reading is about to hold on being by yourself, yours is just a little different. Pile ll reading was more so on finding themselves and getting to know themselves while your pile is more focused on loving yourself. Loving who you are and who you have become as a person because I feel a sense that it wasn't easy to become who you are today. You had to fight along the way to become the person you are because many people have probably tried to turn you hard, cold, assertive, or just overall mean and you had to fight to maintain a little bit of kindness, compassion, and some love you feel for others because you know that what others say and do to some people is not a reflection on you but them it's how you respond that is a reflection on you. This is a season of celebrating who you are and loving every inch of yourself. Whether you have body fat, a temper, watching weird shit, whatever it is that others try to put you down for and you somewhat have allowed to let those thoughts creep in this is your time to rebuke them and go forth in loving who you are and what you like. This is a time to go inward and really hone in the ability to not waver on what makes you you. Basically setting boundaries more so for yourself than for others while still remaining loving and kind to yourself. Your pile may also be a bit short like pile lll because it's quite straight to the point with no extra messages. The love you need is the love from yourself. Loving everything about you. Whether you hate your skin tone, voice, body, your interest, whatever it is embrace your flaws, embrace the many things people have been trying to put you down for, and let your beacon shine bright. You were meant to be who you are and nobody else. Don't let the ugliness of the world change who you are. Patreon Post Link

Thank you for liking and reblogging my readings. I always appreciate you guys on here and on Patreon.

Stay Safe and Be Blessed

#spirituality #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #tarotblr #witchblr #pick a card #tarot cards #pac tarot #pick a pile #pac reading #pick an image #pick a picture #pick a photo

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jjunieworld · 4 months

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25. operation: get him back ⸝ ˚⋆

↳ mostly written, some texts. word count: 1.4k

you and your friends were at the library, textbooks and notebooks covering the table you shared. pencils and pens were still as you talked about anything but the upcoming exams that has been looming over you all for a while now.

“i know nobody wants to hear this right now, especially after everything…” you started. jake let out a loud groan, causing the nearby table to stare at you. you elbowed him and continued. “but honestly, i do feel lighter after talking to soobin. my shoulders don’t feel as heavy.”

your friends sighed and looked away from you. “i’m just glad you can walk a little easier, y/nie. redacted on the other hand…” kai spoke. you laughed a little. “you do know you don’t have to keep calling soobin redacted, right?”

“until he starts acting right that will be the only thing i refer to him as. unless i want to cuss him out.”

the table let out a low chorus of laughs, still trying to be somewhat mindful of the studying students around you all. yunjin pouted and crossed her arms, her pen twirling in her hand.

“i don’t know…” she trailed. “i feel like we should get him back in some way. he has to pay at least somewhat for all this shit.” you furrowed your eyebrows.

“in what way?” yeonjun asked. jake leaned onto the table in anticipation. yunjin uncrossed her arms and rested them on the table.

“i don’t think soobin should be able to sob and apologize his way back into your life. he wants this to be all for a bet, fine. it’ll be all for a bet.”

you looked down to your half written notes as you tried to process what she said. is yunjin saying that you should continue the bet, but from your side? there’s no possible way you’ll be able to do that.

voicing your thoughts, you reply, “i don’t think i can pretend that i don’t love him… that i don’t want to be with him…”

yunjin leaned over the table towards you. “you don’t have to pretend! marina and the diamonds. how to be a heartbreaker. rule number three.”

“rule number three, wear your heart on your cheek,” jake replied. “but never on your sleeve. unless you want to taste defeat.” the rest of your friends joined in. you took in a deep breath.

yunjin tilted her head slightly, “let’s give him a taste of his own medicine. you’ve been drinking from his hands for too long now.”

you shook your head a little. an unapproving and anxious look was on your face as you listened to your friends hype up yunjin’s idea. you tried to be the voice of reason. but a small voice in the back of your head considered her proposal.

twice now he has broken your heart. and you still let him keep it. you still love him, but at what cost? maybe you wouldn’t go to the level soobin did with the bet, but it shouldn’t hurt to put up extra armor. right?

still, you were unsure. “isn’t this just going to make things worse? make us on the same level that he and his friends are on? and besides, i don’t think this is healthy.”

“who cares about that! when they go low, we go lower. he can’t just hurt y/n like that and decide that ‘oh, nevermind! i do actually love you and i meant what i said!’” hueningkai said. his words cut deeply into you, bringing back the memories of the party again.

“cause girls don’t want, we don’t want our hearts to break in two. so it’s better to be fake. can’t risk losing in love again babe!” yunjin exclaimed. your friends began hyping the idea again.

“i agree,” yeonjun said. “he’s been walking all over you, whether he means to or not. just because you love him and he claims to love you.” he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. “and don’t get me wrong, it’s plausible that soobin does actually genuinely love you like he says he does. but after all of this, it’s a little hard to believe.”

you shook your head a little, deep in thought. you went over yesterday’s events of your talk with soobin. trying to search between the cracks, trying to see if there were any lies in them. anything he was trying to hide. you came up with nothing, or at least, nothing that you could see.

“i don’t know guys… i feel like this will just make the whole situation messier and worse than it already is. and i do still deeply love him, i just don’t see this whole counter bet working.” you finally spoke.

jake wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close to him into a hug. he leaned his head onto yours. “think it over, y/nie. the decision is ultimately up to you. we’re not gonna try and sway you in either direction.” he gave a pointed look to your friends, who raised their hands slightly in return.

“we’re just cautious about him.” said hueningkai. “we don’t want him to end up hurting you again, y/n. we have to put up protections around your heart.”

if only they knew that that was no use. that soobin already had your heart and you had his. the secret exchange you didn’t tell them about from yesterday.

you sighed deeply once more. you gave the whole proposal one last think over. “a counter bet, i’m not sure about. i just genuinely don’t think that will work. but i am willing to put up some armor. wear my heart on my cheek, if you will, instead of on my sleeve.” yunjin jumped in excitement in her seat and raised her arms, a huge smile on her face.

“and maybe, maybe, we can get him back slightly. and that’s a maybe. i am still in love with him and i don’t want to break his heart despite everything. nothing super drastic. just a reminder that i will no longer be walked over like a welcome mat.” you finished.

yunjin came around the table and pulled you into a hug. you rolled your eyes slightly, a small smile tugging at your lips as you hugged her back. she then returned to her seat, still giddy.

“can we actually start studying again?” jake asked. “because like lowkey, i might actually fail these exams…”

you and your friends all laughed as you picked up your pencils and pens and continued from where you last stopped.

you and yunjin were in your dorm room, surrounded by a bunch of furniture and clothes. yunjin decided that since your other roommate moved out that she was going to move in.

the two of you were now standing in the center of the room, dumbfounded, trying to figure out how you wanted to set the room up. you had your beds figured out since you basically just kept them in the same place, but you were having difficulties with the rest.

“aren’t we going to get in trouble for this?” you asked for the millionth time since yunjin entered your now shared dorm. once again, she shrugged. “i mean, it shouldn’t matter if i move from one dorm to the other. if they ask, i’ll just tell my old roommate to say that i moved somewhere else or something.”

you shrugged again at that and tried to push the worry out of your head.

after a while, everything was finally organized and cleaned. yunjin was now officially moved in and is your new roommate. the two of you giggled together as you kept opening and closing the door to your new room.

“this is going to be so much fun!” you exclaimed, and yunjin agreed. there were both equally big smiles on your faces. you sat on your respective beds facing each other.

“hm… once you and soobin do get back together this whole setup is going to be very awkward. now that i’m thinking about it… do i really want to room with you?” yunjin contemplated. she then started making fake moaning sounds and you threw a pillow at her in embarrassment. her muffled laughter came from underneath.

“once we get back together?” you then asked. “i thought you were against me getting back with him.”

yunjin shrugged and laid on her bed. “you’re too in love with him to not get back with him at some point. i just hope that now he’s learned his fucking lesson.”

masterlist.

summary: choi soobin has always been the popular kid surrounded by his popular friends. y/n… not so much. one night, soobin and his friends make bet that soobin can’t get y/n to date him in a month. unfortunately for y/n, they’re a hopeless romantic.

A/N: i wanna get him back i wanna make him feel jealous wanna make him feel bad oh i wanna get him back cause then again i really miss him and it makes me real sad oh i want sweet revenge and i want him again i want to get him back back back

taglist: @jjunberry @gothgyuu @spooksh0wbabe @beargyuuzz @carengene @binluvsu @seunnimg @vixensss @kittyhyuka @beomsite (if your name is bold it wouldn’t let me tag you!)

— kipo <3

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bits-and-babs · 10 months

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 — 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

synopsis : photographs from a gangland crime scene just beyond mexico's border send ghost into a spiral. as his superior, you feel it is your duty to bring him down from delirium by any means necessary.

pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader (colonel)

warnings : 18+ mdni. heavy use of the canon comics, gory imagery, mentions of torture, brainwashing, corpses. ptsd, delusions, simon in a submissive headspace. d/s themes, softdomme!reader, praise kink if you squint, oral (f receiving), fingering, cumming in pants, i wanted to write simon as a sub so i fucking did. please note this is a fic about using sex to navigate trauma. it will not be for everyone.

ghost masterlist ୨୧ main masterlist ୨୧ join taglist ୨୧ ask

He's like a spectre in the back of the briefing room, his shadow looming over the gory photographs spattered over the table and smothering the map beneath them. Snapshots of gruesome, twisted corpses reflect in the honey liquid of his irises, his usually expressive eyes made mute by the ghastliness of the savaged bodies.

Ghost's vast frame appears to shrink the longer he gazes at the glossy, printed pictures.

Price continues his mission briefing. His forgotten cigar smoulders in the cigarette dish placed haphazardly over the map, ashes building an eminence of embers on the glass platter. His tar-drenched lungs rasp as he talks, gritty voice booming as it ricochets from the walls in the tiny box room.

"Intel confirms a congregation of armed cartel members just beyond the Mexican borde-…."

Leaning against the wall, Ghost's shadow retreats from the tabletop and slinks back into the corner. He crosses his arms over his vast chest, charcoal grey fleece sleeves pushed to his elbows to expose the ebony ink scrawled across his chalky skin. His scarred knuckles bleach when he tightens his grip on his bicep, silently stewing in his own conviction.

He knows.

It's as though you can see them play like a film reel in his gilded irises, flickers of his trauma in Mexico. Ghost's file had been heavily redacted during your time as his equal, reams and reams of black ink ribbons distorting the writing and camouflaging his colourful history. Serving alongside him, you learnt that the SAS Lieutenant approached conversation similarly, censoring himself by remaining relatively silent.

Since your promotion to Colonel, you had gained access to transparent files and learnt precisely why Simon' Ghost' Riley kept mum about his time in Coahuila… You'd seen those gnarly scars, pink and magenta and silver welts that raised or gouged into the porcelain of his pale skin. Yet, the answer to your concerned queries was always a singular, gentle remark. "Classified."

Ghost's attempted brainwashing and the ultimate death sentence were confidential. He'd never told you that the scent of the decaying body of his Judas commanding officer, Vernon, had clung to the walls of his nasal cavities for weeks after escaping the coffin. Never revealed the way his hand sunk into the putrefying corpse when he attempted to break his way out of the casket. Wouldn't admit to ripping the jawbone from the rotting carcass to pry open the lid.

His reason for convalescent leave was also confidential. Extreme temper-management difficulties handing the vulnerable Ghost over to ex-teammates Sparks and Washington and the conclusive massacre of his entire family. Three generations, blown away with a bullet through the skull.

And the man at the centre of it all, Manuel Roba, stared back at him in the pictures of horrid, mangled, ripped flesh littering the table and pinned to the map. Puncture wounds from being elevated on meat hooks, emaciated following daily meals of mind-altering drugs––

"Riley."

Ghost's honeyed eyes dart from their fixated aim on the pictures towards Price. Concern furrows the Captain's brow as he observes Ghost's self-preserving body language. "You hearin' me?"

"Loud and clear, sir," Ghost's gruff voice rattles like gravel in his chest. His eyes appear hollow through the gaps in his ski mask, black grease paint making him look particularly gaunt.

It's a split second, momentary, but Price casts a precautionary glance your way. You know that expression, can translate the concerned crevices on John's face; he knows.

"... Good Hunting," Captain Price issues his dismissal, pointed looks urging the members of 141 out of the room quickly. The rubber soles of your boots stay rooted to the floor, gaze set on Ghost as the task force leave the conference single file. The Mancunian doesn't budge, his eyes aimed at their target on the table.

It takes a handful of moments, Gaz and Soap gawping over the brutal torture details and Price urging them both with an insistence to 'shut up' that was far too authoritative for them to ignore. Then, finally, the door swings shut, clicking in place. Ghost blinks at the sound, a minute, barely there flinch that wouldn't register with outsiders, but you notice it.

Silence creeps through the room and settles between you like a blanket of gunpowder, charged and ready to blow. Ghost's body is tense, oddly postured in an attempt to retain his intense emotions.

"Ghost." You say his codename, and immediately he moves his head in a slight shake—a silent urge for quiet. He pushes his back from the wall, slowly approaching the table he had glared at for hours.

"It's him, isn't it? Roba," Ghost's voice is tight with fury, those gravel pieces sounding a lot more like glass shards, "He's come back."

You watch, lungs seizing behind your ribcage when you hear him speak Manuel Roba's name. The vile man had lived like a ghoul amongst Simon's memories, fictitious as long as he remained unmentioned. Talking of him was almost like speaking the behemoth into existence.

"I know you read the file, Colonel," Ghost spits through gritted teeth, reaching forward to pinch a photograph from the table. You see it, the almost imperceptible tremor in his fingers as he does. "He did this to us- Strung us up like pig carcasses-"

"I understand that you're scared-" You begin your attempt to ease the spiral that Ghost appears to be silently falling into, his almost normal outward appearance betrayed only by microscopic symptoms of panic.

"I'm not," he insists, agitation edging his tone of voice as he holds up the image of a gutted corpse, "I'm not scared; you're all tip-toein' around this like I'm fuckin' stupid!"

"Riley."

The use of Ghost's surname makes the hulking mass of man stop in his tracks. He swallows the words he holds on his tongue, realising his disrespect to a commanding officer should not, and would not, be tolerated under any circumstance.

Stepping forward, you gaze right back at the shell-shocked man before you. "Manuel Roba is dead. You killed him. You know this. Shot him right between the eyes."

You demonstrate the bullet trajectory by tapping between your eyebrows with your index finger, triggering a visual for the shaken Ghost to project the image of the slaughtered drug dealer. "The bodies you're seeing are probably a result of his control over the Zaragoza Cartel. Remnants of his fighters lashing out in a last-ditch effort to obtain some power."

Ghost nods slightly, a singular tilt forward of his head as his hand lowers to his side, fingers loosening their hold on the gory picture so it falls to the ground. He clears his throat awkwardly, eyes following the path of the image as he casts his gilded irises to the floor. You note how vulnerable he looks, flayed raw by his memories and the stalking PTSD that had gripped him without detection.

"You're right. 'M sorry," he lets out a shaky sigh, chest trembling as he attempts to expel the tension in his chest, "Don't know what I was thinkin'."

You dismiss his embarrassment with a wave of your hand. "Don't mention it."

"How much do you know?" Ghost asks, the question uttered in a whisper.

You consider his query carefully. A good question. How much did you know? Had the files revealed the total of Ghost's catastrophic timeline from Mexico to Manchester? Or was there still unforeseen information hidden behind censorship walls that even you couldn't worm your way behind at this high a rank?

You're careful in your choice of words, attempting to curb any particular language that could trigger upsetting recollections. "I know Roba used to brainwash you. Drug you. Make you fight."

"And?" Simon urges you onwards, his aureate irises staring coldly at you through the blackness of the grease paint and mask–– awaiting the agonising stab of the truth.

"He used to offer sex or death as a means of control." You carefully place your palm against his shoulder, a warm and weighty presence to help ground him as you speak. "Attempted to hardwire your brain to find arousal in fear."

Ghost swallows. You see the bob of his Adam's apple beneath the thick material of the ski mask. A minuscule quiver of his eyebrow indicates his inner turmoil, the usually composed and inscrutable Lieutenant Riley slipping away as you peel away each layer of his trauma.

"Do you still? Find arousal in fear?"

Silence twists your stomach; Ghost's incessant, piercing stare causes the hairs on your forearms to stand up.

"On your knees, Riley."

"Yes, ma'am."

Simon sinks to his knees, slow and deliberate, in a latent attempt to please you. It's as though Everest has crumbled, its foundations bending beneath its enormous weight. Simon is an unshakeable force, an indomitable summit, yet when his patellas hit the floor, his giant palms meet the edges of your thighs in reverence for you.

His touch is precious and delicate with its weight–– not as though he's afraid he'll break you, but more like he's trying so hard to earn your favour as his superior. His blonde lashes dip low, heavy-lidded, unable to stand looking at your face when he's laid bare for you like this.

"Please." When Simon speaks, it's as though the cocktail of gravel and glass shards has excoriated the walls of his throat. It's broken, choked and pitchy as he begs you. "Please."

"Please what, Simon?" You query, maintaining an even, commanding tone. His eyelashes flutter slightly, trembling so prettily for you as arousal floods his spine.

"Please, ma'am. Can I be of service?" It's spoken through his gritted teeth as though he's mortified that he's voicing these torrid desires, even in the vaguest terms. You slip your naked palm beneath the woven canvas of his mask, clutching his jaw and forcing his face upwards.

It's amusing, you think, that Simon believes himself unreadable as long as he wears the skull mask. It couldn't be further from the truth. His eyes are so expressive, constantly betraying his innermost thoughts without even exposing the expressions of his visage.

The probing gaze you offer him has him twitching in his camo cargo pants. You see his thick length bob against the fabric, aroused by the ease with which you read him.

"Is that what you need, Riley?" It's rhetorical; you both know it. He's never required anything so desperately in his life. Simon had been lost in the Congo jungle without food for weeks and escaped a kidnapping attempt that had him stumble through the Iraqi desert without water, yet he looked at you with those keening eyes as though he'd die without a taste of you.

"Tell me."

"Yes," he gasps, inhaling sharply as though he'd forgotten to breathe, "Yes, ma'am. Please, I need to tast––"

Simon barely manages to finish his sentence before he pushes his trembling fingers beneath the hem of his mask on his throat, shoving it over the point of his chin and balancing the bunched-up material on the bridge of his nose. He groans out as he fumbles with your khaki belt, unwinding it with great difficulty.

While Simon busies himself with your zipper, your fingers delicately trace the silvering scars on his throat, many of Manuel Roba's love letters to evil etched into his ivory skin. The files had labelled each laceration and its cause; S2 below his chin issued by a butcher's knife, S5 against his clavicle the product of a dagger during a spar with another brainwashed hostage. You can't help but smile when your fingerprints find S7.

"S7 - a two-inch superficial scar from a tricycle accident."

A desperate groan rumbles in Simon's chest when he shucks the waistband of your cargo pants over the flesh of your hips. Your hand quickly grasps the edge of the table when he buries his nose against your clothed cunt, your heavy-handedness knocking more of the long-forgotten gory images to the floor.

"Fuck," Simon exhales, his warm breath fanning across the soaked fabric of your panties. "Thank you, Thank y- fuck."

Your gasp of pleasure catches even you off guard as Simon drags the flat of his tongue against the wetness of your underwear, a groan sneaking from his open mouth as he relishes in the taste.

"This good, ma'am?" he breathes, hot and heavy against your core. He's desperate to please, a slight flush to the lower half of his cheeks that you can see. It takes you a moment to compose yourself, overwhelmed by the exposed flesh of his face.

"Yes," you praise him as he uses his fingers to push aside the cotton in his way. "So fucking good for me, Simo-nhgn-"

The tip of Simon's tongue seems to find your clit almost instantaneously, curling around the sensitive bud and teasing it as though he knew exactly what you needed. His moan is muffled and pathetic against your soaked cunt, lapping at your arousal and drowning himself in you.

He keens when your fingernails dig into the soft flesh of his shoulder, digging reddening crescent moons into the skin. They blend amongst the charcoal of his tattoo sleeve, but they're there, little arches among the skulls, guns, and warfare.

Simon paws at the backs of your thighs, spreading the wingspan of his fingers across the curve of your asscheeks and squeezes, using his hold to drag your body impossibly closer to his mouth. He nuzzles in, the tip of his nose teasing at your clit as he sinks the hot, wet flesh of his tongue into your entrance.

"Hah-" you gasp out, Simon's moan vibrating against your needy clit forcing you to grind forward against his face in search of more friction. Your fingers find purchase in the fabric on the top of Simon's head, curling your knuckles around it but ensuring you don't lift the mask from his face.

The Lieutenant feels your grazing fingers against his scalp, burying his face further into your pussy as he tastes your arousal from the source. He sighs heavily, shakily into your cunt as he savours the ambrosia on his tongue, greed forcing him in for more–– licking and tasting and sucking and swallowing more of you.

"So good for me, Simon," you reward him, voice trembling as he assaults your cunt with his probing tongue. He retreats from the soaked flesh of your cunt to tease at your clit again. You can feel your pulse concentrating in it, thudding against his tastebuds.

"Mhmm," he huffs, vast chest heaving with heavy breaths that add another layer of pleasure to your arousal as they waft over your wet pussy lips. You could cry when you look down at him, his eyelids drooping (one lower than the other thanks to the scar that ran across his left eyelid. "S4 - a superficial scar from a fist fight during detention in Mexico").

A single, calloused palm skirts around your waist, splaying wide across your lower abdomen as Simon feels the muscles beneath his hand tremble and tense at his ministrations. He groans again, his other hand teasing at your pussy lips from behind in a silent plea for entry.

"Simon- Simon, do it," you urge him, desperate to be filled as he teased at your clit with his nimble tongue. You'd never had guessed a man so intent on disguising his countenance would have the perfect face to sit on.

"Yes, ma'am," he responds, only momentarily before reestablishing the relentless rhythm of the swipe of his tongue. Then, without much warning, he sinks his index finger into your entrance. A delicate press of his fingertip at first, testing the waters, so to speak. Only when you let out a blissful sigh does Simon continue to ease the digit into you.

His fingers are so thick. You stretch around him, your head dipping back between your shoulder blades and gasping a curse to the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. The bliss that sweeps through you is overwhelming, toes curling in your combat boots as you attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure.

Simon won't let you.

"Please," he moans in bliss as he pulls you closer again, your feeble body unable to fight his firm control when your limbs are gelatinous and malleable to his whims.

His cock is bobbing beneath his cargos, a dark patch of precum soaking into the camo print. A flood of arousal drips through you, your eyes rolling back at the realisation that he might fucking cum in his pants, untouched, just with the taste of you.

"S-Simon-" you wail, losing all control as your voice cracks. "Right there-"

God, he ratchets up the intensity of your bliss by sinking another finger into you. It faces no resistance, sliding down to the knuckle with an ease that had you seeing stars when it pushes up against something utterly devastating within your abdomen.

"There!"

Simon groans around your cunt, lathing his tongue over your throbbing clit with an eagerness that seems so alien for the stoic, unreadable Special Airforce Soldier. His fingers ease in and out of you ever so slightly, rocking back and forth against that mind-numbing spot inside you that has your knees buckling beneath your weight.

"Oh my g-aha-" you choke on your words, both hands now fumbling to hold onto the table with a white-knuckle grip. Tension curls in the pit of your stomach, twisting and shape-shifting.

You feel it before you hear it. The vibrations of Simon's desperate groans of bliss rock through your cunt before the sounds reach your ears, his mouth sloppy on your cunt as his own arousal begins to take root. The fingers not buried inside your walls take a bruising grip on your waist, branding you with his prints.

He notches that paradisical spot inside you one more, and your failing knees quake at the vicious burst of ecstasy it unleashes. You moan loudly, the lewd sound wracking through your body as though Simon had just set off a stun grenade, light bursting through you with a crack. Your hips buck against his chin and nose mindlessly as you ride through the peak of your bliss.

Simon lets his jaw hang loose, tongue flat as you ride against it— pathetic, utterly disgusting groans of delight drip from his lips as you use him. He pants, and you only just manage to force your eyes open as a particularly pitchy wail of your name to witness his undoing.

His hips rock forward against nothing, just barely finding friction on the seam of his pants as his orgasm rocks through him. You watch his eyelids flutter and his brows twitch as he cums in his standard-issue military cargos. He slumps back slightly, jaw loose as he sucks in deep breaths. It's utterly unbecoming of someone who appeared so unshakeable, a submissive, needy man taking his place.

At first, you allow him some space. The forceful inhale and trembling exhale of his lungs tick like a clock, in and out, in and out. Simon's hand delicately smoothes over the flesh of your ankle, a feeble attempt to feel close to you in this moment without overstimulating his vulnerable mind.

When he lifts those honeyed eyes to you, searching for your comfort, you allow your palms to smooth down the fabric of his ski mask and offer him some privacy, restoring some dignity to the usually stoic Ghost.

He leans into the weight of your palm for just a second. A barely there moment, like the grip of his biceps from earlier, the twitch of his brow. It fades quickly like his S7 scar, the dripping molasses of his eyes hardening beneath the skull image.

"Not a word," you order him, tone aggressively authoritarian when you issue your directive.

Ghost is glad for it, a curt nod of his head indicating his return to lucidity as he begins to rise to his feet.

"Yes, ma'am."

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joshusten · 5 months

Text

honeysuckle (guy/honey, redacted audios)

Guy is having not-so-wholesome thoughts about his recently turned roommate-to-lover.

NSFW CONTENT!! (minors dni pls!)

(suggestive, making out, dirty thoughts, implied sexual content at the end)

3.2k+ words [ao3 link] [masterlist]

[cw/notes: idk man guy is horny and theres a lot of horny stuff but it's not SUPER explicit (i think) and plsplsss im asking for feedback bc this is the first time writing something this suggestive hope u enjoy!! OH also as always theres probably grammatical errors and guy might be OOC]

A HUGEEE thank you to the wonderful @slushiepizza for all the amazing suggestions and support throughout writing this fic!! this rlly would not be finished without ur help thank you for ur service in providing quality guy/honey content SHAKING U RN ILY!!!

Guy is a daydreamer.

Ask anyone who knows him, from his grade school teachers to his apartment neighbors, and they can attest that Guy never seems to run out of topics to talk about. Never a dull moment, much less a dull idea to mull over when he’s around.

In fact, his imagination is something he prides himself in. After all, as an aspiring writer, it’s what gives the very soul of all of the stories he wants to share with the world—whether it’s the exciting plot of a potential novel he has been writing (and rewriting) all night throughout the week or an epic fantasy he was able to make up on the top of his head and narrate to the kids by the playground of the middle-school he makes deliveries to.

Guy is a daydreamer.

And it might be the very trait that would be the root of his current predicament.

Slow hands, languid movements

“Does this feel good, Honey?”

Heavy breaths, sharp gasps

“You can get r-rougher, babe. I can take it…”

Warm bodies, warmer lips

“M-mhm, Guy…”

Fuck. Their lips…

“Guy?”

Fuck.

“Guy!”

Fuck.

“Hello? Earth to Guy? You with us, buddy?”

Shit. Fuck. Fucking shit.

“Wh-wha-what? H-hi! Yeah, of course I am. I am here. On the earth. Present. With you guys,” Guy cleared his throat awkwardly after seeing the unconvinced, deadpan looks on his co-workers' faces. Rosa specifically had her brow raised in suspicion to which Guy responded with a nervous smile. “Uh, what’s up?”

“What’s up,” The woman repeated, “Is your constant staring into space! You almost burned the dough if it weren’t for me keeping an eye on you! I’m used to your head in another world but you’ve barely said a word for the past few hours!” The others nodded in agreement.

Rosa's hard eyes softened, “Is everything okay with you? Something botherin’ you or what?”

Right. Dough. Pizza. He’s making pizza. He’s kneading dough. The flour clinging to his hands suddenly felt heavier, the scent of basil overwhelmed his nose and the chattering of the customers increased in volume but that meant that everything was starting to make sense. He took in his surroundings, which were quickly clearing up for him, to finally decipher that he was still in Max’s, in the kitchen and it was still his shift.

Definitely not with his recent roommate-to-lover and definitely not in their dimmed bedroom, straddling them on their bed with a delightfully sinful expression painted on their face as his shaky hands slowly creep up between their—

Oh my god.

The very thought of them already leaves Guy's legs feeling like jelly. These daydreams had been a problem for him for quite some time. It wasn't like it was a crime to get all hot and bothered over his partner! Yet, lately, an unexplainable sense of shame builds inside him whenever his mind wanders to more…impure scenarios with them.

Because despite what anyone might think of him and how he jokes about it, he's a little scared of being intimate with someone—no—with Honey.

Oh fuck, someone asked him a question.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine. Just a lil’ tired, I guess.”

And he isn’t lying, really. The fatigue of making pizzas and serving tables was no joke and, with all the very interesting fantasies occupying his mind, his shift slightly just got more difficult to get through than what he was used to. (Thank god he's not on delivery duty right now. He's self-aware enough to know he would get into an accident with his current situation)

His co-workers still looked suspicious but accepted his answer nonetheless, hurriedly going back to their tasks to avoid the wrath of their manager. The man let out a sigh of relief as he resumed his own tasks for the day.

As his grueling shift came closer to an end, he was more than ready to take the apron off and get the absolute fuck out of that kitchen.

—

Guy might actually be the first person in all of Dahlia to dread coming home to an apartment that he shared alongside his (literal!) dream partner who was waiting for him after a long, tiring day at work.

Honey, who was all bundled up in a blanket on the couch, paused the show playing on the T.V. to face their boyfriend and properly greet him, “Hey, welcome home. How’s work?”

“It was shit. Did you eat already?”

He saw them already heading their way to their small kitchen, reaching for something in the refrigerator. “Yeah, I left some for you in the fridge. We can heat it up if you want?”

“Nah, it’s okay. I ate back at the restaurant. What are you watchin’?” But before he could get a reply, Guy’s body stiffened when he felt a light shock from where Honey had suddenly touched his upper arm.

Light touches.

Heavy panting.

Hot air.

“Oh, f-fuck, Guy. Do that again, hon. Please. Don’t stop, don’t—”

“ —think I didn’t hear you, mister! What do you mean your day was shit?” If Honey had noticed their boyfriend flinching at the mere tap on his shoulder, they didn’t comment on it.

“U-uhm,” He coughed and shrugged lamely to hide his reaction. “Just the usual stuff.” The man put down all his stuff on the nearby coffee table. “C-can I just lay on your chest for a while? If it’s okay with you.”

Despite Honey’s aloofness, they can recognize when their partner is truly in need (And who could say no when their boyfriend’s usual chaotic self sounds so adorable being shy?) The gentleness in their gaze was enough to calm Guy’s frazzled mind, even just for a bit, before sitting on the sofa and patting on the empty spot beside them, albeit looking quite unsure on how to comfort him.

“C’mere. Do…do you wanna talk about it?"

Guy simply shakes his head before letting himself crash onto the couch and into his beloved's (with the second "e" pronounced!) welcoming arms—or, at least, what welcoming might look on Honey. He can feel the rigidness of their posture, remembering how awkward they can be with physical touch, yet here they are, going out of their comfort zone just to make sure he feels better.

It makes him guiltier to know why he was acting like this in the first place.

“Can you…talk about your day instead, Honey?”

They rolled their eyes with a fond smile, “Fine, but don’t think I’m letting go of it that easily, m’kay?”

As Honey recounts the events of their day (which honestly isn't much), their stiff demeanor eventually relaxed to the point where they were more comfortable with absentmindedly giving affection, unaware that they’d been playing with Guy's hair for the past few minutes. The gentle massages on his scalp were a much-needed distraction for his mind.

That is until he felt a sharp tug from Honey in an attempt to untangle their fingers between his messy locks.

Fistfuls of hair.

Skin on skin.

Arched backs.

"Fuck, keep doin’ that, Honey. Oh–”

“—shit! Sorry about that. Did I pull too hard?” Honey was already moving their fingers away from his head before Guy quickly (a little too quickly) halted the movement. Guy guided Honey’s hand back to its original place on his head, squeezing ever so slightly.

“No! It's okay, Honey. Just…keep it there.”

Honey gives him a knowing smirk, “You are acting so weird, you know that?”

“Just indulge in a poor man’s wishes, will you?” Guy dramatically lamented, really wanting to avoid the conversation and go back to relaxing and getting some rest.

“Whatever you say, man,” They replied, resuming from where they left off with their story.

As much as Guy would love to listen, his focus started wandering elsewhere as his mind drifted to sleep.

The ticks of the clock, the scent of Honey’s body wash, the number of their eyelashes.

The texture of Honey's soft blanket.

Messy sheets.

Desperate thrusts.

Sweat dripping.

"Oh god, G-Guy, I think–I think I'm g-gonna–"

"--come?"

"H-huh?" Guy hadn't realized how hard he was gripping the throw pillow on his lap. At this point, he’s going to expose himself one way or another if he keeps being out of it. He tried his best to compose himself, hiding his distress behind a laugh. "S-sorry, Honey. Could you repeat that?"

Honey did a face, softly chuckling for a bit, before repeating their question. "I said; 'I'm gonna go buy a gift for Ollie’s birthday tomorrow morning, do you wanna come? It’s your day off tomorrow, right?”

“Uh, y-yeah. Of course. I’d love to, Honey!”

Honey stared for what felt like forever before making a face again, this time, looking like they had just been enlightened by something and letting out a snort that was so adorable, Guy almost forgot why he was avoiding their gaze.

"Pfft– Guy, you—" Honey said through their stifled giggles (that was a tell-tale sign of the belly laughs they only share with him and no one else). They never got to finish the sentence, trying but, ultimately interrupting themselves with their own laughter.

He smiled, happy to see them show this much emotion towards him when to others they tend to be more closed off (albeit, a little confused about what caused it so suddenly). “I'm what, Honey? Hey! I'm what? Do I have something on my face?”

“You’re—pfft!”

Familiar playful slaps targeted his thighs with a faint sting he’s too far used to. He notices that their smile had their teeth showing, too busy laughing to cover it with their hand like they often do.

Guy’s crumbling.

He knew his desires were seeping through the cracks and it took all of his willpower to resist tackling them then and there—to feel every inch of their body and give them every last bit of pleasure they rightfully deserved. But he can't. He shouldn't.

So, he opts for a kiss on the cheek instead.

Something sweet enough to mask how hard his mind was reeling with overly aggressive affection. As he continued with his fleeting, featherlight attacks on Honey's face, his lips felt the smile that their mouth formed (accompanied by an out-of-breath “Guy, that tickles!”) and he found that pulling away was more difficult than he thought.

After a while of innocent pecks and bubbling snorts, Honey raised a hand to wipe a tear from their eye. They were looking directly at him now, eyes soft with their lips slightly parted and panting from laughing too hard.

Lips. Their lips.

“Guy, you good?”

A man can only have so much self-control before he breaks.

The next few moments felt like a blur. A hitched breath, a tightened grip. His lips hungrily meet theirs and the moan he immediately lets out was almost pathetic. But he couldn’t give a damn about anything other than the pleasurable weight grinding down on his crotch.

They felt so good. Everything felt so fucking good. The spinning in his mind paired with the aching throb of his cock were all too much to handle that he can’t even tell if this was real or if it was the same fantasies that had been torturing him all day.

No. It’s real. It’s all real.

Despite the haze in his surroundings—despite all the noise—the only thing occupying Guy’s thoughts were the whimpers coming out of Honey that were better than anything he could have ever dreamed of.

“Fuck,” He swore under his breath, the friction against his growing bulge breaking down any sense of sanity he had left. Guy squeezed their thigh a little harsher than intended, making Honey loudly moan out in surprise.

He took the opportunity to slip his tongue into their mouth, lapping up all the sounds he managed to coax out of them. Honey’s hands found their way to his hair, tugging like last time with more intent than before and it dragged out a needy whine from his throat muffled between their lips.

Unfortunately, the breathlessness he was experiencing isn't the same type he feels when he's around Honey and he remembered that humans do, in fact, need oxygen in their system. He pulled away from them for a quick breath, taking pleasure in how they desperately chased his lips with a soft whine, before immediately aiming at their jaw, sucking, licking, and biting skin as it trails down on their neck.

Honey is quick to respond, their fingers ghosting the hem of his work uniform before sliding them up, keeping his squirming body steady by grabbing his waist with one hand as the other roams to his chest, the shirt riding up with it and they feel his heartbeat speed up against his ribcage.

The sensation leaves Guy lightheaded. He swore he could see stars, especially after their warm palms stroked past a particular spot he didn’t even know he was sensitive to. The action had him writhing under the weight on his lap and Honey’s sudden thrust against his clothed dick brought out a stuttered gasp from him with his hips bucking up involuntarily.

“Shit, baby,” Honey whispered, the strain in their voice evident as they grind down harder just to hear Guy’s wanton moans one more time. “So fucking needy.”

Hot breaths.

Bare skin.

Intoxicating scents.

This felt like Deja vu.

Guy had seen this before. He dreamt of it so much that it felt like second nature for his body. During nights when his partner hadn’t been home yet and he was feeling oh so, lonely—so desperate. Nights when his imagination had gone truly wild, the same scenario that he had been replaying over and over again. The one where he would have them in a panting mess.

He vividly remembers what goes next. The movement is practiced—etched into his memory. Every bone, every nerve in his system practically has it memorized in its core.

He pins them on the arm of their sofa, the air is hot and heavy. One final passionate kiss, one final slip of his tongue, one final grind between their legs, and his hands would reach down, down where they needed him the most to—

“A-ah, Guy, w-wait!”

And just like that, Guy’s mind snaps back to reality.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“I-it’s okay.”

“No, no, I’m really sorry. I–” He hurries to back away, pushing off his body and sitting upright with an arm’s distance away from an equally disheveled Honey. Fuck, they looked so pretty with their lips swollen like that. His eyes guiltily avoided the abundance of purple marks he wasn't even aware he left on their neck. Shit, focus! “I don’t know what came over me. I’m–”

“Guy, it’s okay, I like it!” Honey cuts him off, not allowing their boyfriend to give himself to blame for something that didn’t even need his apologies. “I like it a lot. I was just…worried. Ever since you came home you were acting kind of off and I don’t want you to go through with this when I feel like something’s bothering you.”

Honey reaches out to him with concerned eyes, which should probably be an indicator for Guy of how odd he has been acting as of late. Their fingers find his knuckles, gently tracing circles on them as they patiently wait for his response.

Guy never knew his heart could beat faster, given how…intimate their latest activities were, but here he is, out of breath and falling in love all over again.

“I-I know this is kinda weird and I’m being really weird and everything is weird right now but I…uhm. Well, I guess you were right about me being all bark but no bite after all, eh?” He cringes at the way his voice cracked at the end and clears his throat for the nth time today.

“Okay, what I’m trying to get to is that…I've…been thinking about you…in a not-so-wholesome way for a while now. And I know, I know, this isn't new. I've flirted with you before and you already said you were okay with it, even with the raunchier ones but I'm just…"

Guy nervously looks away to the side, his eyes downcast to avoid Honey's curious stare. "This feels like a whole new thing now that we’re actually together and it really means a lot to me. Us. You're actually one of the best things to ever come into my life and I don't want my lack of…keeping it in my pants…to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry for not saying anything sooner."

The deafening silence that followed his vulnerable confession might possibly be one of the worst things he ever had to experience. Then, a sudden giggle tore through the tense atmosphere.

Honey was laughing again.

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to laugh but w-was that the thing that’s been bothering you?”

They moved closer to their boyfriend, that's currently sporting a comically betrayed look on his face. “I've noticed your hard-on already, Guy. And don’t worry, I've been…thinking about you like that too for a while now.”

Guy wished nothing more than to get swallowed by the ground beneath him.

“I–What the fu–YOU—!” Guy sputtered, not quite sure if he should feel relieved or embarrassed at the moment but one thing stuck to his thoughts, Honey felt the same.

“Honeeeey! You can't just say that and—I can’t believe you would—! Oh, you have no idea how much I've been through today!”

“I'm sorry!” But their shit-eating grin says otherwise and Guy can't help not to get mad anymore with that face. “Besides, it was kinda cute seeing you all flustered for once. Serves you right, you brat.”

“Oh wow, I’m the brat in this situation? You…torment me and now you degrade me with such scornful slander?” The man places a hand on his chest melodramatically. “I’m heartbroken, Honey…and still hard!”

"Hm…Well, then," Honey's half-lidded gaze directs itself to Guy's lips. The sultry tone of their voice tickles his brain in the best way possible. "Do you want me to—"

Guy lets out a surprised squeak as his back suddenly hits their sofa with a forceful 'thump!' Their hand is placed on the side of his head, fingers twisting around his curls. The other found its way on his thumping chest, carefully sliding downwards at an antagonizing pace.

"—lend you a hand? After all, I must’ve been quite the headache for you, in more ways than one."

“Oh no,” Guy started, easily maneuvering their positions to have his partner on their back “No, no, no, you’ve been teasing me for far too long, Honey.”

“Let me," He drags his hips across theirs and he revels in the way Honey chokes on their breath. “Handle this. Is that alright with you, baby?” He wishes he could take a picture of this moment. Seeing them writhe under him was a sight he never wanted to forget.

Honey gulps before their lips form a nervously excited grin. Their pupils are blown wide in anticipation. "You better get to work then, Guy."

Then, they slowly lean towards Guy to whisper their next words to his burning ears, “And don’t worry about being rough, hon. I can take it.”

Guy is a daydreamer.

But no daydream can ever compare to the reality he's going to be experiencing right now.

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted guy #redacted honey #redacted fanfic #suggestive #mdni #sten writes!#wow how long since i last used that tag

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crimsonkenjii-writes · 1 year

Text

Watching Giyuu Play With Himself

cw: gn!reader; Giyuu jacks himself off (and overstimulates) and you watch ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

a/n: this came straight from my [REDACTED]. Literally out of nowhere. Was watching YouTube and was like “I’d love to watch Giyuu pump his own cock” and then wrote it….. anyways I have normal horniness levels for this fictional man

NSFW • MDNI

── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───

Giyuu holds back a strained breath, his face flaming with a deep blush. His hand gripping his sensitive cock, trying his best to replicate the way your walls would usually feel around him. Letting out your name and begs in stutters and slurs. His mind fogged with pleasure making nearly anything he said incoherent. Tears stinging his eyes as he continued to overwhelm himself, his overstimulated cock twitching in his own hand that continued to pump up and down his length. All the precum that had spilt from his tip acting as a lubricate for him, fist spreading it all around his shaft making it glisten in the dim lighting. The lewd, wet sounds from each little movement of his fingers mixing well with his whines and whimpers.

Your eyes stayed on your lover, watching intently as he pleased himself in front of you. Giyuu’s heavy lidded eyes staying locked on yours —which occasionally flickered between his sapphire eyes and his leaky cock. Watching his chest heave up and down and his thighs trembling as he kept them as wide as he could.

“P-please… Y/N…. L-let me cum. I’m hah I’m so close…” Giyuu begged, his fist not slowing down.

“Not yet, baby.” You smiled, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Just a little more, give me a little more.”

Giyuu let out a sigh that turned into a pathetic whimper. His head falling back as his eyes screwed shut to hold himself back from going over the edge. His arm nearly giving up and his rhythm stuttering. Sweat rolling down his face as his breathes quickened even faster, his other hand that held him propped up gripping onto the sheets below him. His thighs threatening to close as he felt his body clenching even more, taking every fiber in his being to hold back his climax. You placed your hands lightly on his knees, making him shudder. You finally lean your body in close to him. Your hands slowly grazing down his thighs and pushing them more open.

“Don’t close them, I want to see.” Your voice sounded sultry, your eyes staring back into his glossed over ones. Giyuu swallows a moan as he nods slightly. Your eyes drift back down to his cock, his hand still wound tightly around it and pumping up and down. You let out an exhale, enjoying the view and just thinking about how pretty your boyfriend looked; hair tousled and bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead, bright red blush spread across the entirety of his cheeks and ears, lips parted as he whined and begged, brows scrunched up in concentration and his cock twitching with anticipation, wanting so badly to finally release all of its pent up cum.

“So pretty, you look so good like this, Giyuu.�� You speak out softly. Giyuu feels an electric spark run up his spine and cause his body to shake even more. You start to lean in closer, your hands gliding more down his thighs until you reached his hips. Fingertips softly grazing over his skin, up and down his sides. Smiling and humming out in delight before placing a kiss on his lips. Giyuu whined out, his lips eager on yours. Just so desperate for your touch, his lips moved frantically on yours, his tongue already seeking yours. His hand nearly stops until your reach down, your own hand ghosting over his as you broke the kiss to whisper to him to not stop. Giyuu’s hand continues again as your lips move on to his jawline. Kissing all the way down to his neck where you started to suck and bite.

“I-I can’t hold back anymore, I’m… I’m gonna cum…” Giyuu whimpers, more moans spilling from his throat as he felt your wet tongue lick the marks and bruises your left on his neck. With your lips still placing delicate kisses on his skin, you encouraged him to release himself. To spill all of his cum all over his own hand and stomach. To make an absolute mess of himself, more than he already has.

Your hand softly wrapped over his own that he was using to rub himself, your thumb rubbing over his slit. His already sensitive tip feeling like it was set afire from your touch. Giyuu moaned out loudly as he emptied himself out on both of your hands — slightly embarrassed that such a simple touch from you sent him over edge. You watched in amazement as his seed shot thick ropes all across his abs, dribbling down the ripples as he continued to breath heavily. His whole body twitching as everything he held back overflowed out of him. Some of his cum seeping down your own fingers that your brought up to your mouth to lick off, not breaking eye contact with your boyfriend. Bringing the same hand back down to gently graze your fingertips up and down his length.

“P-please. So sensitive….” He begged and whimpered.

“Cum one more time for me? Please?”

#tomioka giyu x reader #tomioka giyuu smut #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny smut #tomioka giyuu drabble #tomioka giyuu x you

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honeypiehotchner · 8 months

Text

Devil's Backbone (Unsub!Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part twelve

Welp. Once again I have nothing to say for myself. I find this way hotter than it should be. Nobody @ me idk what happened to me

Warnings: 18+ duh, this one definitely teeters more on the non-con/dubcon line than the last, just a heads up! listen there's...so much. gun play, knife play, face fucking, choking, unprotected sex, reminder that he is not a Good Guy and this is meant to make you hot and bothered (emphasis on bothered)

Don't forget to follow @honeypiehotchnerlibrary and turn on post notifications to be "tagged" when a new chapter goes up!

Twelve: [REDACTED FROM THE RECORD]

Your mind fought your body as Aaron pressed into you, grinding against you, listening to you whimper.

The cold barrel of his gun traced your jaw. It made the unbearable heat flood your entire body, and you felt ashamed. This was wrong. This wasn’t supposed to feel good.

“I think you’re just as gone as I am,” he whispered, his voice thick. “I could shoot you. Right here, right now. Instead,” he paused, pressing the barrel to your lips, “you’re squirming underneath me like a whore.”

“I hate you,” you snapped, taking a deep breath, trying to compose yourself.

“No you don’t,” he cooed, taking his gun away to cover your lips in a blistering kiss. He ignored your protests and worked his tongue between your lips until you surrendered, relaxing against his body, giving in. “There she is,” he laughs, returning to your neck. “Undo my belt,” he said. He lifted his head, looking into your eyes. “Try anything, and I’m pulling the trigger.”

You believed him. You nodded, your eyes heavy.

“Good girl,” he murmured, pulling some of his weight off of you. “Go on.”

With your arms released, you worked him out of his belt, unzipping his pants, slipping your hand inside. He fell against the car the moment your hand wrapped around him. His hips jerked into your hand, his lips pressing against yours again.

His sounds were addicting. Listening to him fuck into your hand, his shaky breaths on your lips. You felt in control, just once. Until he took it back.

“Down,” he groaned, his hands pressing onto your shoulders. You resisted, shaking your head, until he pressed harder, and with the gun. “I said down.”

You sank to your knees, knowing what came next. He pulled his boxers down, and gripped your hair with one hand, shoving you forward.

He hit the back of your throat immediately and you gagged, not prepared for the intrusion. You barely had half of him, and he forced more, until your nose was against his stomach. You squirmed, trying to get away from him, from the pleasure that you hated you were feeling. He noticed. He gripped your hair tighter, and shoved his foot between your legs.

“Since you clearly need something,” he laughed darkly. “Grind on me, baby.”

He lifted his foot and the bump against your clit was all you needed. Your pleasure won over your logic. Nothing felt more right, grinding against him, swallowing his cock down your throat, letting him hold you down.

“That’s it,” he hissed, pulling back to give you air before you went back down, and he held you there. He gripped your throat with his free hand, feeling his head beneath your skin. “Fuck.”

You felt him twitch only once before he spilled down your throat, refusing to let you up. You coughed and choked, your vision speckling right when he pulled you up. He hauled you up to your feet by your hair, pressing you against the car, covering your lips with his. He ground his hips into you and you sobbed. How was he still so hard? It made your core ache with a need you had never felt before.

You were close to an orgasm, and he ripped it away from you, but now he was bringing you back to the edge. He gripped your hips, pressing his knee between your thighs as he lifted you up.

“I have never,” he groaned, leaving bruises beneath your pants, “wanted to cut someone open as badly as I do with you.”

Fear ricocheted through you at his words.

“But I won’t,” he grumbled, pulling back to look at you. “Because what fun is it, to end it here?”

He set you down and spun you around, pulling your pants and underwear down in one swift move. You leaned over onto the hood of the car, accepting your fate, accepting your shame because you wanted it. You wanted this so bad, you spread your legs without being asked.

He traced your spine with the gun, then you heard him toss it to the ground. If you weren’t out of your mind, you’d reach for it, but it was far from your priorities.

“I know how we can make this interesting,” he whispered, and then you felt a blade against your lower back. “Don’t make me hurt you, and I won’t. This can be pleasurable.”

You rested your head on the hood of the car, taking a deep breath, whimpering when you exhaled without meaning to.

“Shhh,” he soothed, rocking his hips against you as he drew circles on your back with the knife. “I’ll give you what you need.”

He pushed into you with no warning, immediately hitting your cervix, causing you to cry out in pain. He began rocking in and out of you until the pain resumed to pleasure, and as he brushed your G-spot, he dug in with the knife. You felt the skin break, but felt no pain, only a sting, and it was intoxicating. You wanted more.

He felt your walls flutter when he did it, and he laughed, leaning over you to whisper in your ear. “I knew you’d like that.” The knife found your neck, lightly tracing your main artery. “Sick and twisted. Just as bad as me.”

Your eyes rolled when he rolled his hips, nicking you with the knife just under your ear. Nothing compared to the white hot pleasure that ripped through you with your first orgasm, or the way he chased you right to your second.

“Now that is addicting,” he breathed, pressing his hips into you. “If only you weren’t following orders.”

You didn’t know what he meant by that. Did he want to kill you, but would he refrain since your whereabouts were known? You never had time to think about it. He continued fucking into you until you couldn’t see straight.

You didn’t remember how many marks he left on you with the knife, just that each one felt better than the last. And that more than once, the feel of the knife nearly sent you over the cliff of an orgasm.

You were done only when he was done, and Aaron made sure you had four orgasms before he let himself cum inside you, sending you flying into a fifth climax. He wanted you fucked purely dumb, so he didn’t have to worry about you fighting him. And it worked.

He righted himself and returned his gun to his holster, choosing to use yours to make you obey him if necessary, but he didn’t think he’d run into any problems. You laid there against the hood of the car for a while, with your pants around your ankles, his cum running down your thighs. It was a sight he wished to take a picture of.

Until he remembered he had a bigger issue at hand.

“Get yourself together,” he instructed. “You’re driving me back to the motel.”

You nodded and pulled your pants up, your legs shaking as you attempted to move. You didn’t think you’d be able to drive, but you didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter.

You climbed into the driver’s seat and tried not to think about what you did. But the cuts from the knife screamed when you rested your back against the seat. A black shirt was your best decision this morning. “Now,” Aaron said, settling into the passenger seat, now pointing your gun on you. “We need to talk.”

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