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astroboots · 11 months

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Stitches and Claws

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You find yourself in a compromising position on your knees when you help stitch up Miguel's wounds.

Content: Blowjob, riding cock, overstimulation, fangs and claws. Miguel kind of likes his horniness with a little bit of pain? Just a smidge.

Word Count: 3.3k

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

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"Miguel, can you please just relax?"

"I am relaxed," comes the sharp reply, as he glares down at you. Jaw so tense, you're surprised his molar teeth hasn't cracked under the pressure.

Your hand comes to his knee, as you spread them wider, and you can feel the plane of his thighs tense underneath your palm.

Yeah, the man is anything but relaxed.

Miguel is still in his suit. Skin covered in dark blue and red. The only part of him not covered in the fancy spandex (and if he heard you call it that he'd be livid, cause it's Unstable Molecule fabric, not spandex) is that scowling face of his and a small patch on the inside of his left thigh. An area the size of your hand that's bare, revealing his tanned skin underneath and a nasty looking injury.

You poise the needle in your hand against the gaping wound. You don't even get the chance to make skin contact with the tip before he's hissing at you like some damned feral cat.

"I haven't even touched you yet. This is going to hurt a hell of a lot more if you keep fighting me."

You probably sound more than a little bit irritated, because this position isn't exactly comfortable. The hardwood floor is digging into your knees, and with hindsight you should've taken the cushion he'd offered you before.

God, up close, that wound look really bad. Four inches in length, red and angry. You're not a doctor. You don't know why the hell you agreed to do this. For all you know you're going to get the wound infected or worse.

"Miggy, I don't know about this, don't you think it's better go to a hospital. What if it gets infected? You'll end up with gangrene and then we'll have to amputate it and then what?"

"That's not going to happen. It's a tiny cut."

"Fine, but I'm not a medical professional and I'm probably gonna make it scar to shit."

"So it'll scar. It'll be your permanent mark on me."

"I'm worried I'm going to mess this up".

"No", he says, shaking his head. "I trust you."

Your cheeks warm at the words, barely able to look him in the eyes after he's said it.

Fuck, he'd have to go and pull that card didn't he?

With a big sigh and bigger reluctance, you dip your head down as you pierce the needle through the skin, threading it across. There's a muffled pained noise from above. The leather of your armchair squeaks as he grips it tight.

A sympathetic ache tugs in your chest at his pain and your hand still against his thigh. "Do I need to stop?"

"No, keep going," he bites out through gritted teeth.

From the corner of your eyes, you catch a glimpse of the pointed edges of his corner teeth protruding against his bottom lip. It's hard to keep your hands still when your fingertips tingle at the sight of them.

Jesus, you need to get your head out of the gutter. This is hardly the time. You persevere, dipping back down for a better view, so you can sew up the gaping wound as best as you can, ignoring the warmth of his firm thighs that are caging you in at your sides.

You try to pretend you don't hear the strained noises he's making. (Noises that are much too similar to the ones he makes when he's the one between your thighs). Practically bury your head into his thigh so you can no longer see the way his broad chest heaves or how he bites down hard on his lip when you make another stitch.

"Stop, stop!" he demands.

His hand grips down hard on your shoulder, pressing you backwards, but you ignore it, because the needle is already halfway through his skin, and for a man who is constantly battling supervillains on skyscrapers with jetpacks and regularly crashes into skyscrapers, he can be such a baby sometimes.

"Miguel, stop, I need to--"

"Enough!" He growls, his hand pushes more insistently, determined to pry you off him until your ass lands on the hardwood floor behind you.

"Let me do it myself."

Let him? Let him?! As if you had forced him to make you do this? This asshole. Swear to god! He's the one who came home in this state, plonked his dumptruck ass in your chair and asked you to help him. He's the one who sweet-talked you with his: "I trust you," when you had soundly suggested he go to the hospital.

He's always like this. Running hot then cold. Asking you to help, then pushing you away in the next second. It's a miracle you don't have permanent neck injuries with the metaphorical whiplashes he keeps giving you.

You drag your eyes upwards, the way he's hunched on himself in your chair, covering his thigh. His face is turned to the side away from you.

You don't know why he's being so unhelpful about this.

Stitching up your superhero boyfriend with a $10 Amazon sewing kit isn't your idea of a perfect Saturday night. But now that you've started you need to finish up with the stitches, you can't just leave it as it is.

"I'm sorry that I went too rough. If I hurt you, I can go slower, okay?"

He doesn't answer you, just drags one large hand over his face. It's only then that you notice that his ears and bits of his cheeks are flushed a darker shade of red than the tanned tone of his hand.

"That's not the problem I'm having," he mutters.

"Well then, can you tell me what the problem is?"

No answer.

Leaning forward, you place your hand back on his knee. That finally seems to get his attention and he removes his hand.

"You said you trusted me right? So let me know what's wrong so I can take care of you. Please?"

For all his obstinate stubbornness, Miguel is just as susceptible as you are to that card. He groans dramatically, collapsing back into the chair with a defeated expression on his face.

His legs shift in the chair, spreading outwards. The arm draped across his lap falls away, and the tight fit of his supersuit does absolutely nothing to disguise the shape of his cock, hard and heavy under the clinging fabric.

Oh. oh.

Clearly you’re not the only one being affected by the forced proximity of this situation.

"See the problem?" he says.

You look up and his eyes flicker away sheepishly. If you didn't know better, and if it wasn't for the scowl still plastered on his face, you might've mistaken him for being embarrassed. If you didn't know better, you might've made the mistake of calling him cute.

You ache between your thighs at the sight of him. But even though there's nothing more you'd like than leap into his lap and fill that ache with every inch of him, there's other priorities right now.

Crawling forward, you shoulder your way back between his thighs and settle there.

"Let me finish," you insist. "If you let me finish, then I'll help you with your problem."

It's an uneven bargain to say the last. Because the reward you're offering him, is something you want more than your next breath, and you have to bite back the 'ohthankyousweetjesus' on the tip of your tongue, when he gives you a small nod to seal the deal.

Maybe it's your newfound incentive, but this time as you pinch the needle between your fingers to stitch him up, it's a swift and efficient ordeal. You refuse to allow yourself to get distracted, eyes focused on your goal, even as you hear him groan above or shift underneath you. Not until the last stitch is done.

When you finally let yourself tilt your head back up. His eyes are pinned on your face, and you can see now that the familiar brown shade replaced by a red tinge.

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, and you try to keep your eyes fixed on his, holding the contact as you lean forward. Anticipation rides heavy on your spine, as your mouth inches forward, until your lip press against the thin fabric of his crotch, and you nuzzle against the rigid shape of him.

The leather of your chair creaks, and there's a rip. From this angle your view is a bit obscured, but you catch sight of his hands, the firm unforgiving grip he has on your poor armchair. The extended sharp talons piercing through the soft leather in his excitement.

All you hear from above, is a breathy, "Fuck", then the thin fabric separating him from your mouth disintegrates, the dark blue fabric making way for his tanned skin underneath.

Then he's right there. Bare and naked for you to touch. His cock jutting upright between his thighs. He's ruddy and flushed, the fat tip of him glistening with precome that wells from the slit that you can practically already taste on the tip of your tongue.

Your mouth salivates as you part your lips to take him.

To call Miguel thick is an understatement. It's a struggle to fit him in your mouth, your jaw strain with the effort as you slide him further down. As deep as you can, until the blunt tip nudges against the back of your throat and you have to swallow around him in a panicked fit to suppress the reflexive gag pushing back in you.

It's always the hardest the first time. Your mind and throat instinctively fighting you, as you try to swallow down the intimidating girth of him.

"Take it slow nena," Miguel rasps from somewhere above. His voice is a slow and melted hum that drips sweet and honeyed in your veins, and that helps.

You take a deep inhale from your nose, taking in the familiar musky scent of him, and feel your throat relax around him, accommodating to his thickness.

Your thighs ache with arousal. Panties wet and slick as you clench down around nothing. Everything is tightly wound inside you. Your stomach heavy with the dizzying heat as the weight of him rests so fucking perfectly on your tongue.

It's all you can take. You shove your fumbling fingers between your thighs, tugging at the edge of your panties until the obscene wetness greets you and drag it up against your clit.

Relief and pleasure surges through your head, filling your veins with the sensation and you rock into the palm of your hand seeking for more of your own touch.

"Are you touching yourself?"

Your fingers still at the question. You're not exactly embarrassed, it's not like you're doing anything wrong, but you feel sheepish all the same at being caught.

You pull off his cock, letting it slide between your lips and when you finally look back up, he's staring down at you with a dark hunger in those otherworldly crimson eyes like he wants to eat you whole.

"Fuck, come up here," he directs, but you ignore him. Tongue lapping at the tip, savouring the heady taste of him as you run the flatness of your tongue down the length of him.

"Nena," he bites off impatiently. "Up!"

He doesn't wait for your reply this time. So fucking impatient this man.

He's already lunging forward, arms circling your torso as he pulls you up and into his lap with an impressive ease. His arm comes to your thighs, rearranging you to his liking in his lap, one large hand gripping his cock as he positions you above.

"Sit on my cock, nena. Ride me."

Your eyes flit to the poorly stitched up wound on his thigh that looks flimsy to say the least.

"Won't that hurt you?"

His head tilts, brow arching with that sardonic expression of his as if he doesn't see what the problem is. "And?"

This is such a bad idea. But you'd be lying to yourself if you said you wanted to stop now. Instead you settle on a compromise to ensure that you can at least limit the potential damage on him.

"You have to stay still for me, or you'll tear the stitches," you warn.

He nods perfunctorily in agreement and you don't think he's even listening to you. No surprise there, Miguel has never been the best at listening to yours (or anyone's) instructions. He'll do what he wants as he sees fit.

But you can't find it in you to stop. Not when you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and the velvety smoothness of it twitch in your grip. Not when you notch the tip of his cock to your slick entrance and can feel yourself dripping down his length.

The only thing you care about is to have him inside you.

You lower yourself onto him, sliding down, inch by maddening inch, as that thickness stretches you to your limits and white hot pleasure invades every one of your cells until you feel drunk on the sensation.

"That's it," he encourages, with a sharp inhale, hand gripping to the sides of your hips. The honed edge of his talons gripping into your flesh, but never breaking the skin.

Your thighs are shaking as you inch down on him until they are pressed flush to his hips, and his cock is kissing that perfect spot deep inside you that has your vision whiten. Thick and sweet.

As promised, he doesn't move. Even though you can tell from the muscle twitching in his jaw, that there's nothing more he wants than to flip you over and thrust into you hard and deep until you're screaming his name with a force that makes your lungs burn out.

You lift your hips, savoring the sweet drag of his cock against your cunt, slow and unhurried until only the blunt tip of him rests inside you and stay there.

"Nena," Miguel says, and the nickname on his tongue sounds like a warning.

He's not a fan of the slow pace you're giving him apparently.

But you've never been one to heed his warnings. Instead you slide down on him, just as slowly, letting his cock fill you at a leisurely pace and it is fucking heaven.

You still as he bottoms up inside you, before you do it all over again. And again. Then again. To each grumpy groan of his that's mixed with pleasure and impatience. Then you do it again.

It's only a matter of time before his short-spanned patience snap. You can practically see it in the furrowed line of his thick brows, as you raise yourself up on his knees. His sharp canines bites down on his bottom lip, breaking the skin and that is all the warning you get before his arms wraps tight around your ribs, knocking the very breath out of your lungs.

Miguel's arms pushes you down flush on his cock, it's strong and demanding. A stubborn grip until he makes sure you've taken all of him to the root. It's blinding you with the force of it, and all you can do as he buries his face, sharp teeth poised at your shoulders, is whine.

Good, it feels so fucking good. The sweet ache of his cock filling every inch of you. You can't think anymore.

You try to raise yourself again on his cock but you wobble, the muscles in your thighs screaming in protest and gives under, unable to lift yourself back up again.

Fuck, you don't know if you can move anymore.

In a split of a second, Miguel straightens up and pulls you into his chest. "So pretty, nena," he groans into your skin, while he ruts up and into you, fucking his cock deeper.

You should probably scold him. Try to stop him somehow, so that he doesn't rip the tenuous stitches on his wound. But you can't bring yourself to open your mouth. Not when it feels this good. Not when aching pleasure is pulling you down under and robbing you of your breath and every word in your vocabulary.

"You feel so fucking good. Stretched so tight around me. Just so fucking pretty when you take my cock."

The sharp edge of his fangs skirts gently across the soft flesh of your throat, and sets every nerve in you alight. Every part of you tingles. From the tip of your fingers to the curl of your toes. That telltale warmth and heat coiling in your stomach and spreads outwards ratcheting up to a fever pitch.

Your orgasm breaks. It rushes over you, hard and punishing. Your body shakes, thighs tensing and your heart is beating hard and fast into a gallop in your chest. You shake and tremble in his lap as it courses through your veins. Lungs squeezed painfully tight as the sweet bliss of it invades your ribs and you struggle to catch your breath.

You still feel it, rushing and pulsing from your stomach down your thighs, it doesn't even have a moment to properly subside.

Miguel doesn't stop. His hands are already on your waist, lifting you up and almost off his still hard cock and you gasp at the shift in pressure inside you. You're clenching down around the fat tip of him reflexively, and there's no time to adjust, no time to think, next thing you know, he lifts his hips while pushing you down on the length of his cock. All in one swift, and harsh, unforgiving motion.

It's so much, too much. You whimper at the next thrust, the whole of your body wracked in shivers as the sensation overfloods your brain. As good as if it feels, you don't know if you can't take much more.

"Keep going, don't stop. I know it's hard nena. I know you're sensitive." he coos, his hands are gentle on your hips, guiding your movements, but for all his sweet cajoling words, and for all that you're struggling he's not easing up.

"Keep going. Keep squeezing my cock like that and I'll fill you up. I'll fill you up with every drop of me."

He keeps encouraging you, as if you have any other choice but to take his demanding thrusts. As if there is anywhere for you to go with how firmly he's holding you to him.

Fuck you can't, you can't-- oh fuck, you're--

Your arms scramble to grab onto something, anything, fingers digging deep into the firm muscles underneath.

It's chaos.

He thrusts up again. Deep and demanding and your brain shortcircuits.

Sharp electricity surges through your spine and it is blinding. All you can do is hold on to him, to claw on and hold for dear life, or you're pretty sure you're gonna fall off the edge of the earth into oblivion if you lose your grip.

Distantly, you hear him hiss in your ear, feel his hips stutter up against yours, cock pulsing inside of you, but you're too far gone to piece it all together.

All you know is that you're coming again or maybe you never stopped and this is that first orgasm still wreaking havoc on your body. Maybe it'll never stop. The sensation feels like a punch to your gut, consuming and all at once. Your eyes must cross behind your head, because your vision goes dark and blank, wiped clean of thoughts. The room seems to tilt, and crash then disappear. There's no weight to your limbs, and your thighs are so numb, you're not even sure they are there anymore. Your body is not your own.

When you come to, you're still perched on his lap. You feel like wrung out and boneless, body spent and broken. His arms wrapped around your torso the only thing that's keeping you upright.

The arms of your leather chair have been scratched up to hell. Long claw marks brandishing each side.

He looks like an absolute mess. Brown curl a deranged mop on the top of his head, sheen of sweat over his tanned skin. But he looks good, messy. Looks fucking beautiful in a way that has your chest squeeze tight when you gaze at him.

Miraculously, the stitches on his thigh has held up somehow and you feel more than a little ounce of pride of your own sewing skills at the feat.

Your hands slide off of him from where they're still gripping on tight onto him and Miguel's eyes follow the motion to his biceps where your nails have broken through skin. The tiny crescent marks looks red and raw and painful.

"Shit, Miggy I'm sorry."

He blinks up at you, eyes a little bit dazed before he breaks out into a smile. He raises his arm and looks at the mark with a pleased and admiring expression one filled with pride.

"I hope it leaves a scar," he says.

Dedication & Credits:

For @thirstworldproblemss who had to listen to me figure this one out, I'm still trying to find my voice for Miguel so sorry if this is a bit clunky for you.

Also dedicated to @guruan whose artwork literally inspires me to write/think/breathe smut 24-7 like a 7-eleven store. It's always open for slut business here. This artpiece with the spread thighs definitely inspired this oneshot.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

#miguel ohara smut #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #oscar isaac #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fic #across the spiderverse #spider man 2099 #spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you #marvel #spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse

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not-so-mundane-after-all · 2 months

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I am actually going insane over the difference in how Hunter and Wrecker approach the whole situation this episode. Both are obviously prioritizing Omega's safety. Both know and understand how important getting the information they need is and that getting it can and will cost them. And yet...

Hunter is doing exactly what we expected him to do after last episode - he's hyperfocused on protecting Omega and getting the information at all and any cost. His desperation is showing in the way he is willing to do literally ANYTHING to get it, the shadiest, most dangerous things - he doesn't like doing it, he'd rather not be doing it, but he does it without a word of objection, and almost without a thought about his own wellbeing and no I do not want to think where it might lead. He's doing it because he must, because that's the only way to keep Omega safe. Even Fennec notices this:

"Just seems odd. You're both willing to work for me, considering our past. That information must really be important to you."

Every time he's about to dive into the water or do anything else risky this episode, I can almost hear his brain going for Omega, for Omega, for Omega.

But Wrecker is more careful. He'll follow Hunter anywhere and do whatever it takes but he's threading carefully. He's pointing out risks and second guessing every move:

"Yeah, I don't like it. We can't trust Fennec. Not around Omega."

---

"We're working for her now? We don't even trust her."

[Hunter] "What choice do we have? We need that information."

---

"it's risky" about disarming booby-traps

---

"Oh so we take all the risk and you get all the reward?"

and only doing it when Hunter gives him a go. He's even growing frustrated and then really getting pissed at the way Fennec is using them to do her dirty work and risk their lives while she stays on lookout (for real, that "You heard me!" sounded real furious.)

And it's probably because they've already lost Tech, then Omega got captured and now Wrecker just doesn't want to take unnecessary risks. And it's also a matter of yeah we're doing this for Omega, but we're no good to her if we end up dead.

I'm really excited (and scared) to see how this develops further.

#star wars #the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch season 3 #the bad batch spoilers #bad batch #bad batch spoilers #tbb #tbb spoilers #tbb season 3 #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #tbb omega #fennec shand

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lookingformoondrop · 2 months

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Yan!Andrew with his Reader who found out she's pregnant? Spoiler: She didn't want to have children.

Yan!Andrew Graves x Preg!Reader

TW: Unexpected pregnancy, hints at abortion, reader in captivity, manipulation, yandere Andrew, unwanted pregnancy

♡ Notes: I wrote this entire thing while on a train so you'll probably find a wild typo or error font somewhere here. I said in my last post that my next work would be a fluffy one, I lied. Sorry. Remember kids, practice safe sex, and dont act like Andy. Thank you so much for supporting me, anon! I appreciate all the requests and asks from you guys. <33

Andrew hummed as he removed his shoes and took off his coat.

Work was a drag, his boss was a dick, and his family was unbearable. But despite it all, he had you at the end of the day.

When he came home, he'd always hear your padded footsteps coming down the hall to greet him.

You'd wear one of his shirts or wear a cute outfit he'd pick out for you, all to make him happy.

He just loves you so much.

I mean, that's why he took you in the first place.

You had no idea who he was, only that he was a customer that came at odd times of the day in the cafe where you worked.

He could only guess how poor the pay must've been. How miserable you were... Yes, that's it.

As he watched you, he could spot the circles under your eyes, and he knew instantly that fate had brought you here, or maybe it was a cult summoning? Either way, you belonged with him. And he would bend heaven and earth to keep it that way.

Andrew blinked away his train of thought and looked up. He hadn't heard your footsteps.

That was unusual.

Andrew quickly slipped his bag to the ground and walked further into the house.

The kitchen was empty, minus the dishes and pots from last night's dinner that still remained untouched in the sink.

The living room was empty, minus the tissues scattered all over the floor, and the blankets that pooled the floor.

With his heart racing, he sprinted to the last room he hadn't checked. The bedroom.

He pushed the door open with haste; his eyes wildly searched the room.

The bed was unmade, and the sheets were shoved off the mattress, trailing onto the wooden floor.

As Andrew stepped further into the bedroom and he could hear the sound of the shower, and small sniffles coming from inside.

Andrew let out a sigh of relief, you hadn't left. You were still home with him. But now he had another problem to deal with.

He knocked on the bathroom door and heard a quick shuffle from the other side. The water turned off and Andrew flinched at the sound of objects crashing.

Then out you came, your eyes were red and your hair was messy, as if your fingers ran through them constantly.

You mustered a smile for Andrew, muttering out a weak 'welcome home' before Andrew grabbed your arms for inspection.

"What happened? What were you doing? Why were you crying?" He craned his neck out to try and look inside the bathroom, but you quickly closed the door.

"I was about to take a shower when you came home so uh, I dropped some bath products when I realized I hadn't greeted you." It was a horrible lie, really. You knew lying was one of Andrew's biggest pet peeves, even if he lied consistently himself.

"My little lamb, you're not making a lot of sense right now..." Andrew tried giving you a sweet smile, but the vein twitching in his forehead told you how he really felt.

His grip on your arms became tighter, and he leaned in closer, "I would like to know what you're keeping from me, please."

"I... I was crying," you cringed at how weak your voice sounded.

"Clearly, what else? Don't stall for time you don't have Y/N. Tell me who hurt you, I don't fucking care for the reason."

You peeled Andrew's hands off of you which was surprising giving his intense tone. You slowly walked to the bed and sat down, tracing the thread that was imbedded in your mattress. Your eyes lingered on the white sheets for a second too long.

Andrew followed suit, instead opting to go on his knees in front of you as to hold your hands.

He traced his name on your wrists with his finger and hummed a low tune, unremarkable at best, but it calmed your nerves.

"You are my bleeding heart, Y/N. Everything you feel, I long to taste, everything you love, I devour, and every secret you keep from me I savagely rip apart to find. What could you possibly keep from me, that I wouldn't find out in under a day?"

You kept still, refusing to meet Andrew's gaze.

"You have to promise you won't.. um, get mad." You chewed on your lip as you thought about your next words. The lump in your throat grew harder to swallow the more you thought about it.

How were you supposed to deliever such... news, when that news made you want to rip your hair out from stress.

"yeah, I promise. My little lamb, tell me, what is wrong?"

"I'm scared, Andrew." You looked up.

"Scared?" Answered Andrew, who let go of your wrists to instead settle around your waist.

He continued, "What could you possibly have to fear while with me? Are you afraid of someone?"

You shook your head, "no, well maybe, not yet I-" You took deep breaths, your chest felt like it was going to crack from the pressure.

"Not yet? What does that even mean?" Andrew furrowed his eyebrows and scrunched his nose, trying to make sense of it all.

"Andrew, do you know what day of the month it is?"

Andy groaned; his patience was begging to grow thin. "Y/N, I'm done playing this game with you. Are you trying to provoke me to extreme measures or something?"

"No! Just... answer the question. What day of the month is it?"

Andrew shrugged, "It's the first of the month. It's my mom's birthday. It's trash day. It's Monday. I don't fucking know what this has to do with our conversation, Y/N!?"

"No Andrew, just listen to me! Look, I usually get my period on the first of every month. But last month I didn't get my period."

"So?" Andrew looked at you with annoyance in his features.

"So.... I should have gotten my period last month, but I didn't. I'm not an irregular person and I've been here awhile so..."

Andrew's features stayed scrunched with confusion and annoyance as the words mulled over in his head.

Then it hit him.

Andrew fell back on his butt in shock, staring at you, your belly, and then back to you. The realization so big that his brain stopped the train to language station.

"You're pregnant?" He muttered.

You nodded, the tears that danced on your waterline finally falling. Your chest shook, and you gasped deep breaths, the pressure you had on your chest this morning, becoming ten-fold the weight as Andrew processed this information.

Your head hung low as the sobs shook your ribcage.

Without realizing it, Andrew got back up and sat beside you on the bed.

Wrapping his arms around your head and body, so that your body pushed against his chest.

A gigantic smile placed itself on his face, every bad thing that happened up until that point dispearred in a cloud. The only thing he could think about was the baby you were growing.

His baby.

Finally, Andrew let you go and grabbed your face, lifting it up so that he could place gentle kisses on your forehead. "My Y/N, thank you. This... fuck, I thought you were going to say something horrible, but this? Shit, this is the best news I could have ever heard, well maybe besides news of my sister's death or imprisonment but shit this is even better!"

His kisses became harder and more passionate. But he hadn't noticed the soul that had left your body. Instead, you looked at him terrified.

"But... Andrew, I'm not ready for this. I- I don't even think I'm old enough to be raising children, let alone birth one. This thing could rip me apart." Your breathing became quicker, the pressure on your chest becoming an unbearable pain.

You were so sure that Andrew would hate the idea of children, that he would have the initiative to take this thing out of you, but he was so happy, so much so he couldn't be bothered to notice your despair.

"Doesn't matter. You need to stop worrying about things that haven't even happened yet. You're pregnant, and that's all that matters. You're pregnant with my baby, and you will live through every moment." His smile never faltered as he leaned his head into the crook of your neck, humming a sweeter tune this time and rubbing your tummy.

"I'm not ready," you cried, shaking your head profusely.

Andrew looked up with a smile, trailing his forefinger down the bridge of your nose.

"Doesn't matter."

You held onto Andrew's hands as he leaned forward and embraced you. Sighing deeply into your chest.

"I love our little family. Don't you?"

Thank you for the ask!<3

#the coffin of andy and leyley #x reader #andrew graves #andy graves #y/n #andrew graves x reader #andy graves x reader #headcanons #tw pregnancy #tw yandere #yandere x reader #toxic relationship #not proofread #dark content

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sukunasun · 1 year

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how would gojo treat his partner/wife?

gojo doesn't really do the whole boyfriend thing very well, not for lack of trying but he's made it very clear. or as clear as "i've never had a girlfriend" can be. which pretty much explains everything.

there are late-night meetups and month-long breaks in between. maybe a gift or two when he's trying to make up for something, it's the only way he knows how to apologize. the latest being cartier bracelets tucked in a red bag, one he holds up to your face eagerly wishing that you'd just forget he's so flawed, in no way ready for commitment, or to talk about it. "i'm sorry, it's just really complicated," he'll sigh. nothing holds gojo down you think. he comes and goes as he pleases. always growing, changing, keeping the end of the world from happening all in plain sight while you move on with a life filled with mundane things he’s probably got no time or reason to care about.

it feels a lot like loving a god sometimes, how he's just that bit out of touch, and...impossible. one who’s desperately trying to be human. with so much fear in his shaking hands and bated breaths, with his lip tucked between teeth, holding back the words he shall never utter, 'don't leave, don't look at me, don't touch me where it hurts.’ gojo treats you—at least initially—like he would anyone else. like he’s learning to love for the first time.

backdraft or whatever they call it. opening a door to a burning house, a fire that bursts and screams at the first rush of oxygen. he wants you to step inside and manage these tempers, seething and roiling resentment, a roof that falls in on itself.

all this and he's yet to tell you how he really feels about you, however, every once in a while, he does make the effort to call.

“hey it's me,” he says the moment you answer because who else would it be at this hour...does that thing with his voice that's so effortless. warm, and inviting. seductive really. ringing through right as the snow outside begins to frost over wilting leaves.

“sorry, don’t think i know who this is,” you reply, adding a playful lilt to the end of it. there’s a low chuckle in return, then the rustling of sheets, it’s enough to paint you a picture of him in bed. a very large bed from what you remembered, but the last time you’d stopped by his place, there'd been no need for accurate measurements, thread counts, and whether or not he’d gone with sustainable options. in fact, there was no need for talking at all, only muffled moans into the crook of your neck, a whining plea here or there. gojo likes to grit through his teeth, pausing before every first thrust, a savourer is he.

speaking of which, he asks, “how’d you like a reminder?”

you weigh things out, tucking your phone between ear and shoulder. "it's a tempting offer...but i'm starting to feel a little used here," you say. this is just a check-in point for him. just so he knows he still can have his fill of you and...whatever it is you bring to the table, he hasn't actually told you.

'it's the sex' your brain reminds you—all the multiple orgasms in under an hour–type sex, in an onsen, over a balcony, backshots and binding you to fancy rig, will accept a blowjob only if you want to, eager to please, so willing to learn—no, that's not true, the both of you are so much more than that. you talk about very important things like the news and whats good on tv right now. just as long as it doesn't have anything to do with his past or his future or what exactly is the state of this relationship...so it's definitely the sex.

"i thought that's what you wanted, weren't you screaming it at the top of your lungs that night?" for effect, he acts it out for you, "oh use me, do whatever you like," he doesn't try to pitch his voice higher, which makes it all the more embarrassing when hearing your own words said back to you with such impassiveness, such tease. who you were during the throes of passion is not the same person outside of it. to think he'd been a virgin when he met you.

"that selective memory of yours never ceases to amaze me," you can't help the smile that widens on your face.

he smiles too, despite not being able to see it, you know it's there. "well im a very selective man, i don't just ask anyone on a date." you roll your eyes at that. oh how you should feel so lucky. most times he chooses the place because gojo likes what he likes and your recommendations end up getting shot down or made fun of anyways.

you'd say the best part is that he shows up every time. something about how he detests people who flake on him. which is surprising because if anyone were to be tardy and forgetful, it'd be the man who's maybe a bit too blase about anything that doesn't hold his interest for long. that includes when and where his missions are, a flailing hand brushing off any bit of urgency or seriousness. picks and chooses the things he finds worthy of his efforts, his overly exaggerated bouts of emotion—"you wanna go sit by a lake and talk?" people often say he talks too much, besides didn't he just get off the phone with you hours ago.

"we're bonding, there's a difference," you defend, putting your foot down on the matter. if it'd been months earlier, you wouldn't have thought to stand your ground, and maybe a part of you would have been anxious over his reaction but gojo only gives you a pout. shiny, moistened lips giving it away, he's not coming out of this one without a fight and he's annoyed about it. reluctant.

so he'll make an exception, "fine, we'll psychoanalyze each other, how exciting—" the sarcasm is slathered and piled on thick. if he weren't masked you'd kick him in the shin for that eye roll he gives you, childlike almost, given the chance he might even stick his tongue out, "—but i get to choose the place, ah, ah, it's about compromise darling."

——————————————————

later on, when he's three parfaits deep into a sugar rush at a maid cafe, he admits, "you scare me sometimes," of course, he understands the importance of communication, and getting to know one another is part of the deal, this is what girlfriends and boyfriends do, but— "how are you still here?" there's something hidden in his question, sometimes it feels almost like he's testing you to see if you'd be offended, taken aback, huffing out indignantly and stomping away, making him watch you leave.

still, your answer remains the same. "i like you," you sigh out into the night, feeling his arms wrapped around your middle. gojo doesn't need worshipping or sacrifices made to please and appease, but he’s feeling ten feet tall in this body, too long and large, housing power he didn’t ask for.

“you really mean that?” he whispers in the crook of your neck, you don’t miss the hint of self-deprecation there, or the uncertainty.

so you reach a hand up, just enough to hold his head full of self-doubt, “yes," is all that's needed for him to crumble. walls coming down.

"you're the only woman i've ever been with," he admits. waiting for the moment you face away from him so it's not as revealing, not as vulnerable, and he can say it with just that little bit of courage because he wouldn't see your reaction, he's escaped death many times, he'd be able to say it now, say it here. "and i intend to keep it that way..." you know he's waiting in anticipation for the final blow, the real death that comes for him is when he loses you because of how unlikely it sounds, gojo satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive, only bedded one woman.

his fingers come up to graze the slope of your shoulder, before he wraps an arm around your chest, pressing his weight into you from behind, wrapping you up, only it's ten times heavier when his admission presses down on your thumping little heart alongside with it.

——————————————————

in the middle of a restaurant in ginza, gojo breaks his chopsticks in half along a deep line with fine precision, before rubbing them back and forth to remove the thin, stray hairs of aspen. there are people who look up when the sound catches their attention, then avert their eyes away. but not before lingering over his striking looks for that split second, blue eyes and white hair, what a combo.

he barely notices at this point, but he does know you’re watching from where you sit. food untouched, like you’re waiting for something to happen. you don’t need his permission he thinks, or at least, no one had ever waited for it. so he explains before you get the chance to ask, getting it out of the way and maybe then you’ll start digging in and he wouldn’t have to sit in this weird, silent tension, “he always did it this way,” gojo shrugs.

you don’t ask who 'he' refers to, “i wasn’t going to say anything,” you reply, nodding along, trying to ease some of the nerves there because this isn't to do with the chopsticks, but that gojo gets like this around christmas. actually, he gets like this almost all the time these days.

“why aren’t you eating? the unagi’s really nice,” he points to the piece of eel that’s cooked to perfection, glazed and sticky. “is it not to your liking?” he looks up quickly, searching your face, looking for any sign of distaste.

“it’s fine,” you stop him from waving down the waiter, knowing he intends to order something else for you. but he never asks, not about what you would prefer or if you had any aversions to seafood. instead, he plays a guessing game, only tries, and tries again. hoping that he’d get it right immediately. just another thing satoru does. that he's way more accommodating than most would give him credit for. so much so you forget that he's barely touched the unagi himself, choosing instead to nudge it closer to you.

and maybe he’d been to used to this, maybe he’d always gotten it right with the one before you, maybe that’s why it hurts so much. and you're too occupied with wiping tears behind a blindfold that night to make sense of it when he can’t stop dreaming about long silken hair tucked into a bun, of a scent that lingers on a street crossing and by a classroom window.

still, he tucks a finger underneath the band. revealing clumped-up strands of white, silver, grey...a storming ocean swirls. a woman finally found, what a sight to behold. who chooses him and cleaves his heart in two every time she so much as smiles, calls him by his name, and touches his skin with her own. gently at first and then in a pressured, firm grip. "i'm not going anywhere," hand wholly encompassing his, fingers entwined, or maybe it's the other way around. gojo's got a wide expanse of palm, life and heart lines spanning across a region of an untouched, unmarred surface, all the power to bend space, time, and an infinity simmering above it.

“it’s gonna be okay,” you say, feeling a minuscule gap close where you finally feel him, really feel him.

#happy belated gojo unsealed day #brought this one out of the drafts and dusted it off #gojo satoru #gojo hcs #gojo headcanons #gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru hcs #sunpiece

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slocumjoe · 2 months

Note

How do you think Nick's questline could have changed if all he found at the end was a skeleton inside that room?

lets go boys more reason for me to go off about

Nick and his purpose

So, Nick's purpose is to finish off the last thread of the guy he's a ghost of. It isn't, actually, but he thinks it is. He thinks he must tie up Valentine's loose ends so the guy can rest knowing that someone carried out his revenge.

Nick is not a man who cares for revenge. He isn't that cold, or eye-for-an-eye. This is not a moral he carries. Nick is not a "get them how they got you" kind of person. But Valentine is someone he feels he wronged by existing, fundamentally. This cop gets abused by the system he thought was supposed to protect him, which he thought was protecting others, and then they violate him further by scanning and copying his brain. Nick is the result of this ethical violation and betrayal. Nick could not exist without this. This is a guilt he carries.

Nick doesn't care for revenge, but he does believe in doing right by people. Valentine is someone he wronged; when Valentine died, he died never getting what he wanted, in a time of extreme hurt and trauma. He didn't get his revenge. So, Nick, a walking freeze-frame of all this pain and probably discomfort (Valentine was in a sketchy university, undergoing a sketchy procedure he didn't want to do), and he thinks this is what he has to do. This is what Valentine wanted, and he owes it to the guy.

Some people like to think Nick is an exact copy of Valentine, but I think circumstances, context, and experiences are what make a person. If I was put in different circumstances, I wouldn't be the me I am now. Valentine was not a robot in the post-apocalypse struggling with identity issues. Nick and Valentine cannot be the same. Valentine was the baseline Nick was built off of.

So, all this to say, Nick probably doesn't have the best, clearest idea of what he's meant for, or what he owes to the world. His idea is built off how he knows Valentine felt. But Valentine was going through it when his brain was scanned. His ideas of morals and justice were skewed. That's how anger and grief work.

Considering this, Nick walks into the bunker, and no, Eddie wasn't a ghoul. Just a guy who died God knows how long ago.

There is no thread for him to tie up.

There is no way for him to make it up to Valentine.

This is a wrong he has no way to right.

I think Nick is a lot more emotional than people give him credit for. He just keeps it all inside. Emotion you don't see is still emotion. Pain not expressed is still pain. I think in the moment, he'd try making it a joke. "Well...would'ja look at that. Something did the job for us and didn't even leave a note to save ourselves the trouble. I guess courtesy went out the window long before the bombs."

If Eddie Winter is already dead, Nick has nothing to do, functionally. He thinks that was his ultimate goal. His goal was done long ago. It was never something he needed to stew over. Valentine got what he wanted even if it wasn't by his hand or the ghost of it. But the thing with revenge is that it has to be you. If the person you hate most, who hurt you most, tripped on a weed and ate shit, is that revenge? Or is that just life not playing favorites?

Is it enough if life goes on?

Is it enough to say you don't have any obligations and can live despite someone else? Whether it's someone you feel you owe, or someone who owes you? Moving on without that gratification is not satisfying. You want an answer. You want "It's okay" or "I'm sorry."

Nick sees he has no end. There is no Eddie Winter. Valentine's only mark on this world, the only person who remembers him, is Nick. Nick is the only one to grieve him, or know his pain, or what he would think of all of this. Maybe, deep down, Nick wanted to find Eddie Winter not just to kill him, but to prove to himself that he isn't the only ghost. That it wasn't just him, keeping a good man from a good rest. That Eddie was what was really keeping that book open.

But if Eddie is dead, it's just Nick. Nick is all that's left.

You go in the bunker and Eddie Winter is dead.

From here, Nick has a different goal, whether he likes it or not; move on. Be Nick. Figure out who Nick is and accept himself as such. See that he is more than a copy of memories because he's made his own. That looks like a lot of things. Finding family in Ellie and the Survivor.. Finding community in Diamond City. Finding purpose in helping people. Finding himself in what he does now, how he does it, what he thinks of it.

Before he can do any of that, he has to accept that Eddie is dead, and so is Valentine, and just because they are doesn't mean he has to be..

His only path is to accept that he has no answers, and owes no answers. For someone who holds himself so responsible, who thinks he has to fix whatever he comes across, who hates that someone had to hurt for his existence...this seems impossible. To accept that he doesn't have to fix anything.

That there is nothing he can do for what he has of Valentine. That he can't take a dead man's anger away.

That he has nothing of the man he remembers being.

#nick valentine #fallout 4 #fo4 #this is so messy im sorry but nick had so much potential #great character but i think bethesda has a habit of striking gold and going #oh cool we can plate our plastic spoons with this #like no buddy theres a better use for this put down the smelter PLEASE

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alexisomnias · 1 year

Text

— A BRACELET FOR YOU. . . | twst

⤷ every relationship needs friendship to work - platonic/romantic

characters | ACE , FLOYD , JAMIL

✎ ACE TRAPPOLA

• Ace thought friendship bracelets were dumb. Sure he may of made some for him and his older brother before but that was way back when he was a child! • Ace is a tsundere, well known fact right? Well it definitely shows when he receives it! Snickering, teasing you about such a childish gift, the fact your giving it to him of all people too! • He won't say anything, but he actually finds the gesture sort of cute! (taking that to his grave) • Probably the definition of says they hate it, but refuses to let it go. He wears it around very often although he normally covers it with his sleeve he still always has it on him!

• When he goes to bed he always has the bracelet resting carefully on the bedside table! he sleeps next to it and sometimes when laying in bed he'll stare at the colors mixed in the bracelets and just think about you. • Ace (in denial) Trappola often tugs at his bracelet as an anxious habit, or as a comfort for him in less then favorable situations! • Probably make you one in exchange! (he won't say its him but you'll know from the colors and the way he glances down at your wrist proudly when its on) • He and his past girlfriend never did anything cheesy like this, but then again they didn't do a lot of things! It was realistically mostly touching and titles with her, so this kind of cheesy gesture... its embarrassing and cringy but welcomed.

Ace's fingers wandered over to the handmade bracelet you created for him, his thumb slipping under the cord as he tugged up anxiously, it became a habit he didn't realize he did as he faced you. His nails slightly covering the hearts sewn into them as he avoided eye-contact.

"Ace?" you ask, the boy in question taking a deep breath as he brings a matching bracelet out, he scoffs slightly handing it over to you.

"Don't say a word! Thanks... now bye!" he finishes, handing (more so throwing) you the bracelet before kicking off and running away leaving you standing there with a bracelet in hand. It clearly was handmade, you could tell from the loose ends and weird colors in some parts. But staring down at the bracelet in your hand you don't seem to care as much.

Putting it on, you smile. You big fucking tsundere.

✎ FLOYD LEECH

• Floyd's ecstatic at the gift! He just finds it so cute of you to give him something like this! • He's made one for Jade and Azul in class before, although only made out of loose seaweed which made it nothing special other then an idea he wished to act upon randomly. But this is instead made for him! He's never taking it off, he exclaims. • And that he stays true to. Floyd is emotionally attached to the thread, and will freak out if you even consider taking it from him. So just let it stay on his wrist, he's keeping it, its his. • He probably flaunts it at random times and to strangers. Like he'd never even met someone before and he'd still go up to them and be like, "My partner made me a bracelet! Isn't it pretty? Isn't it great!?" he says, while the poor guy he approached is subjected to say yes. • He'd absolutely make you one in return, and ask you to make one alongside him! He finds the gesture fun to create and heartwarming(?). He appreciates it, even if he doesn't say directly those words, he does want to return the favor. • If its one of those letter bead bracelets, its pretty much always set to "shrimpy", its a lovely reminder of you to him when your not near. A reminder that his shrimpy made him a friendship bracelet. • Floyd within the first week of receiving it never shut up about it, he's loud and proud of it! He'll tell everyone he knows and scream it out if he has to. He wants you to absolutely know he loves it. Who cares he's in high school? His lover made it for him! • The most hyped about it, you wouldn't even finish your sentence and he's already snatching it and putting it on. He hasn't taken it off in a month, please Floyd let your wrist breathe.

"Floyd, here's a gif-" you start, bringing out the bracelet nervously, despite being his partner, you could never predict his actions even if you tried. But yet, before you even finish what you were saying the bracelet disappears from your grasp and reappears in his hand.

He gazes at it like a curious, excited child opening a present on Christmas day. Putting his arm out into the air as the stares at the bracelet attached to his wrist with a large smile on his face. "I love it!" he drags out, happily. You could practically see his blood beat in excitement. "I'll never take it off!" he exclaims as he maul– goes to hug you.

His arms reach around you, hanging over your shoulders as his head lays on your shoulder. His left arm (the one with the bracelet) is reached out, and his smile softens from his energetic one. Floyd lets out a laugh.

✎ JAMIL VIPER

• Jamil is... awkward about it. He doesn't really understand it all that much? He remembers kids in his class making them, he's also pretty sure Najima and her friend has had the 'friendship' jewelry exchange before. • He'll take it, and he most absolutely appreciates the gesture! In fact it warms his heart knowing you took the time to make him something with threads, but he can't promise he's going to wear it often. He does wear it though, especially if its just a regular day. But its not an everyday/week accessory, which I mean? is normal. • When receiving it, he'd probably stare at it ever so often and just soften. The gesture truly is sweet of you to even think of. While could be considered childish or an immature gift, its something he appreciates. Having something physical to prove your care. • He doesn't really know how to really respond to it? He doesn't think its dumb, but he doesn't think its grand either. He still thanks you though! • He hides it, but not because he's ashamed, its because he's possessive aha. He wants to be the only one that knows of how much you care for him, its his bracelet to keep, not everyone's to see. • He sometime wears the bracelets on his errands! He might deny it to your face, but you definitely saw it on his wrist! He's just shy about it. • He puts the bracelet on a special part of his room, he doesn't want to lose it. He may neglect wearing it, but he never wants to lose it. Its a physical reminder that somebody cares about him, somebody made him of all people something.

Jamil stares down at the friendship bracelet blankly, and you start getting antsy, waiting for any voice reaction from him. "Jamil? What do you think of it."

He blinks as if coming out of a trance, "Oh? Well... I like it." he nods, the delivery might make you feel as if he's lying but the small smile growing on his face as he stares down at it tells you otherwise. He slips it onto his wrist and when he looks back up at you his face is back to a neutral resting. "Thank you for the gift, I appreciate it, the time you spent on it must've been a pain."

You smile and tell him it was no issue. What you don't tell him is that the small glances he takes to his wrist where the threads create jewelry makes the gift worthy time spent.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #floyd leech x reader #ace trappola x reader #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper #ace trappola #floyd leech

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apomaro-mellow · 2 months

Text

Every Baby Needs a Daddy 16

Part 15

The next day, Steve was probably the clingiest he'd ever been. He thought his heat had ended but the new pack bonds brought on a new crest of lust. For the first time since he had arrived, he ate breakfast with everyone in the kitchen. After the meal, Steve made himself comfortable in Eddie's lap.

Eddie and Jeff were talking about concepts for the next album. Gareth was nursing his coffee, still waking up. Grant got up to refill his own mug and Steve's eyes followed him like a hawk. Eddie was pretty attuned to Steve's wants and needs. And when he felt Steve's fingers brush against his lips while staring at the unaware beta across the room, he had a pretty good idea of what his baby wanted.

"Remember sweetness, you gotta use your words. The boys don't know all your tells yet."

Steve whimpered and whined at first, but not longer after he was purring as Grant ate him out on the counter.

Soon enough though, it was time for Corroded Coffin to return to the public eye. And almost just as quickly, the fans with a keen eye noticed a certain omega showing up much more. Not just on Eddie's arm but the rest of the band's as well.

The more it was seen, the more permanent Steve's position appeared. It was February when the competing hashtags #ccomega and #notouromega showed up. Of course, the overwhelming majority of the fans were in the camp of 'neither one is gonna fuck you, so stop wasting your time arguing about it'.

Eddie was reading through a couple of argument threads, snickering to himself when Steve stepped out of the dressing room.

"What about this one?"

The outfit consisted of tight leather pants, a blazer, and a mesh shirt under that. Eddie's hands fell to the magnetic force that was Steve's nipples and started playing with them through the shirt. He let that be his answer and the online comment wars were forgotten for a moment. The new outfit was for an award show the band was attending and throughout the whole thing, Steve ignored his own reserved seat and stayed planted in Eddie's lap.

Given that it was an award show, many eyes were on it, even those not typically concerned with celebrity gossip. When it started spreading to such a degree, even THEY couldn't ignore it. Helen Harrington should have known something was up the moment Irene got that nasty look in her eyes, taking a sip of her champagne flute before speaking.

"Of course, we can't all have such famous children. Steve has been in so many magazines these days. I think the last one actually caught him with his pants down", Irene laughed haughtily.

Helen's face was tight with control. "You're such a charmer Irene. Not most people would admit to reading such tabloid trash."

It was reaching their circle of colleagues, which meant something must be done about their son. She and her husband Richard discussed as much. Steve couldn't be allowed to drag their name through the mud like this anymore.

-----------------------

Steve had basically taken up residence in the band's house. He slept in Eddie's room, which was now functionally his as well. Every morning he woke up with their scents mingled and it made his omega purr with satisfaction. He liked whenever the rest of his pack's scents lingered on his body too. Every time he went out, people knew who he belonged to, even without a bite.

But the thought of getting a mating bite did intrigue him.

He wasn't sure how to bring it up though. They'd already taken a major step in their relationship. Asking to be mated forever seemed like asking too much too soon. But relaxing in the living room, warming his alpha's cock with his mouth while daytime television played on sounded perfect.

And everyday with Steve was perfect in Eddie's opinion. Valentine's Day needed to be more perfect. He had a hunch why Steve was spending February 13th with Jeff and Gareth. It didn't make him any less crabby about it though and unfortunately Grant was left to deal with his crabby ass. He was even crabbier when he realized Steve had awakened much earlier the next day and that Eddie wouldn't be seeing him until evening.

CC had a radio interview and Steve was off doing who knew what. Eddie had half a mind to send him relentless thirst texts but instead just made sure he remembered they had reservations at a private restaurant. Eddie sent a car to get Steve and by 8 they had both arrived. Eddie was practically drooling at the silk shirt Steve was wearing.

And the thrill of later events got to him as he put a hand to Steve's back and felt something lacy underneath the shirt.

"You got a surprise for me, baby?"

Steve's smile was coy. "Maybe. Maybe I did a little shopping and I needed a couple of extra eyes to make sure it looked right."

Well that explained why the other two tagged along. And Eddie was only a little jealous that they got to see his present early. Only a little. Steve was pressed to his side for the entire dinner, feeding each other and feeling his surprise just under the silk.

"Baby, I don't think I can wait any longer", Eddie murmured against his ear.

"I can't either", Steve whispered back, legs rubbing together.

There was no way they were making it back home. Steve needed Eddie inside him now and he let him know that by letting out quiet whimpers directly into his ear. Eddie bit his lip, getting a naughty thought in his head.

"I've got an idea...if you're into it."

Steve was definitely into any ideas he had and soon the bill was paid and they were rushing back to the car Eddie had driven here. Eddie started driving with one hand, then other cupped Steve between the legs. It didn't take long for Eddie to find what they needed.

A 24 hour car wash.

They both climbed into the backseat as soon as the car was set on the track. Steve sunk down on Eddie's cock and rode him without an ounce of shame, letting his voice ring out among the noises of the brushes and soap and water. Eddie knew he must have hearts in his eyes, watching this beautiful creature, shirt falling open to reveal the dark green lingerie underneath.

When they came, they only had a few moments to make themselves decent as the car started to exit the wash. Steve didn't even try, just lying in the backseat with his pants off while Eddie scrambled back to the front. With very little regard for much else, Eddie peeled out of the parking area to preserve Steve's modesty.

Meanwhile, Steve had few qualms about having his cunt out in the backseat. This time of night, it was dark besides a few streetlamps. he reached down to feel his own wetness mingling with Eddie's cum. Eddie wasn't playing any music, so the sound of Steve's pussy sounded like it was echoing in the car. This man would be the death of him.

The rest of the night was spent in romantic bliss, just the two of them. But Steve had already given the rest of his pack chocolates.

The next morning, Steve's dream of a domestic life with Eddie was interrupted by his phone ringing. Eddie groaned at the intrusion and Steve reached out to grab it and see who was calling him. The number had no name attached, but he knew it by heart. He'd known the number since he was young but it had been years since he'd called it. Or since it had called him.

He ignored the call to stop the ringing and cuddled back up to his alpha. Eddie was all who mattered right now. Not them. He ignored the call that came a couple of hours later, and the few that came the next day as well. He didn't even listen to the voicemails left for him. Whatever they had to say, couldn't be anything good.

It was two weeks later when he got his first piece of mail since he started living here and who else could it be from but his parents. He leaned against the fridge as he opened it, finally curious enough to find out what they wanted.

"So what'd they send you?", Eddie asked before spooning some cereal into his mouth.

For a moment, Steve simply stood there, mouth agape as he read the envelope's contents.

"Sweetheart?"

"My parents.... sent me a cease and desist letter."

Part 17 (final)

Tag Team CLOSED

@awkotaco24 @lingeringmirth @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @tartarusknight @velocitytimes2 @mrsjellymunson @trashcanniballecter @paintsplatteredandimperfect @a-little-unsteddie @sllooney @starman-jpg @oxidantdreamboat @xxbottlecapx @newtstabber @tiny-enthusiast @desidrarry-wolfstarshipper @y4r3luv @hello-fellow-nerds @anonymousbandgirl @alyelf @potato-of-the-lord @beckkthewreck @croatoan-like-its-hot @pluto-pepsi @abstractnaturaldisaster @ellietheasexylibrarian @eyesofshinigami @dragonmama76 @greatwerewolfbeliever @chaosgremlinmunson @blackpanzy @millseyes-world @batxsignalsx @lilpomelito @goosesister @libraryofgage @aresthelostboy @royjaimie4eva @silenzioperso @she-collects-smut @lost-wondering-souls @eddielives1986 @marklee-blackmore

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie #omegaverse #a/b/o

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penkura · 23 days

Text

last forever [3/13]

Summary: Zoro only offered to marry you to keep you out of an arranged marriage with a man much older than you. You agreed with the caveat of ending it via annulment once you received word from your parents regarding the original engagement, despite your growing feelings for your close friend.

Pairing: Zoro x Fem!reader, mentioned Sanami later (like epilogue later so chill)

Warnings: Marriage of Convenience, Fake Marriage, referenced sex (waaaaaay later on), mutual pining, Zoro is bad at feelings but what's new there, eventual romance I promise, mention of past attempted assault (I'll warn in that chapter), creepy older dude later on

Note: At time of posting, this is the most recent chapter I have finished. Chapter four will be worked on and hopefully posted tomorrow (4/29), then I will update every Monday, hopefully.

[Ch. 1] ● [Ch. 2]

Your stress is through the roof, watching Zoro fight against Dracule Mihawk. You're wringing your hands hearing Luffy tell Johnny and Yosaku not to interfere, and it makes you want to jump over and help. You knew this was his plan as soon as name left Johnny's mouth before you all arrived at Baratie, you hadn't gotten the chance to tell him he should wait, and seeing his swords break, the large attack from Mihawk that left him bloodied and Luffy screaming his name now makes you wish you could go back and do that.

"Sis, we need your sewing skills!!"

Johnny and Yosaku brought Zoro onto a small ship manned by Usopp, one you'd probably be taking to go after Nami and bring her and the Merry back.

You're about to jump in and go to them, before remembering the one thing keeping you from doing so.

Damn it, I can't swim!

"You have to bring him over here! You guys know I can't swim!"

"We can't get close enough," Usopp yells and looks between you and Zoro, "He's bleeding really bad!"

Biting your lip, you barely notice Luffy wrapping his arms around you three times before he says your name.

"You're gonna fly!!"

"Wait wha–"

Luffy lifts you up and stretches his arms all the way over, making sure you've touched down on the boat before he lets go, arms snapping back as he tells you to help Zoro. You start getting your supplies ready, your heart pounding in your ears and you barely notice Zoro awake, lifting up Wado Ichimonji and making a promise to Luffy with heavy breaths and tears you've never seen before.

Actually, you've never seen Zoro cry before this day.

"Until I become…the world's greatest swordsman, I swear…I'll never lose again! Got that, King of the Pirates?!"

Hearing Luffy's agreement makes you smile as you stare at Zoro, quickly remembering you have to start stitching him up or he'll bleed to death in this tiny boat. Usopp starts you all in the direction Nami took the Going Merry, while Johnny and Yosaku watch you with tear filled eyes as you stitch up the gash from Mihawk down Zoro's chest, he's nearly fast asleep by the time you finish and cut the thread.

A very quiet word of thanks leaves his mouth before he's asleep, you simply respond telling him not to mention it, rinsing your hands in the sea water. Johnny gives you praise for being able to stitch up such a large wound, Usopp saying you were one of the best he'd ever seen for a makeshift doctor. You hear them, but don't respond, watching Zoro sleep instead. Despite his loss to Mihawk he looks as if he's resting peacefully, and that makes you happy to think about for the time being.

You're quiet as you place a hand on his face, stroking his cheek slightly while telling the others that he'll be alright, before removing your hand from his face.

You'd love to tell him how amazed you are and that you have feelings for him, but now's not the time. Maybe another day, when you aren't chasing down your friend who's stolen your ship and is going off to who knows where, and maybe when Zoro isn't unconscious from nearly bleeding out after taking on a fight he couldn't win (but oh how badly you wanted him to win it).

Right now, you have to focus on Nami.

+!+

How you all have now liberated three towns from Pirates or the threat of Pirates, you aren't sure. Your crew isn't anything like the Pirates your parents had tried to teach you to fear as a child. Luffy was far too kind and really only wanted to be King of the Pirates, but helping Nami came first.

Freeing her home from Arlong and his Fishman Pirates was the main priority of the day, and you were glad to lend a hand. Nami had become your best friend in no time, you had to help her. Even when you were told (ordered really) to stay back by Zoro, you made sure you were ready to help if needed.

And you tried. Tried to pull Zoro away after he'd beaten Hachi and was on the verge of collapse from a fever and his wounds from Mihawk, but he tried to shove you away and tell you he was fine despite the dizzied look he had. Arlong ripping his stitches out caused you to try again, trying to help him, but you were stopped by Johnny and Yosaku pulling you back, telling you not to bother because you'd just die.

Even seeing Luffy swap places with Zoro terrified you that he was going to be even more badly injured, but you were still held back by your old friends through the end of Luffy's fight against Arlong, finally freeing Nami and her hometown.

Your biggest concern afterwards was Zoro, but when you saw him later that day with a drink in hand you knew he was fine. Most of your time at the party was spent with Nami and her sister Nojiko, listening to Usopp tell his stories to the kids, and sharing Sanji's food with Luffy. Every now and then you'd look for and find Zoro, a few times smiling brightly at him when you caught his eye, which made him look away from you immediately.

Sanji, still brand new to the crew, noticed the looks you and Zoro shared that night. You were strange, your relationship with him, whatever it was, was strange to him.

Even stranger, he notices you leave Nami and Nojiko at one point, hurrying over to Zoro and latching onto his arm, making him lean in to hear whatever you had to say. He rolls his eyes while you smile, but doesn't shake you off, letting you move his arm around your shoulders while he has another drink.

You're weird, both of you. The rest of the crew isn't phased at all by the two of you being so buddy-buddy, but Sanji wonders what you two have going on. Are you together? How long have you known each other? Surely you only met when you each joined Luffy, right?

When Zoro leaves you to go look for Luffy, food, or another drink, whatever it is, you seem content to be left alone, until Sanji sees your shoulders drop and you look almost like you're going to cry. Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him, he's not sure.

But if Zoro said or did something to upset you, Sanji was going to make sure the swordsman paid for it.

+!+

The majority of your crew doesn't know of your struggles with nightmares. Normally they take the form of your parents, the man they were going to force you to marry, and being trapped in a loveless life in your home village where most treated their children like property to be sold. Your only solace there being your older brother who was protective over you. Being the one to help you run away, making you swear to never come back and to take his sword to protect yourself after he'd spent the last few years teaching you how to use it.

You were good at keeping those demons to yourself, to not worry anyone. The nightmares had been less lately anyway, you felt safe with everyone around. The six of you on your way to Loguetown, you and Nami snatching up the office area as your room, both turning in late in the night after long talks about numerous things.

Your bad dreams, however, took a new form that night. This time, the dream takes you back to Baratie, back to Zoro's fight against Mihawk, and instead of him waking long enough for his promise to Luffy, you're sitting beside him while he bleeds from the wound and you're unable to move. You can't bring yourself to start stitching him up, and before anything else happens, you've woken up.

While it wasn't as bad as the dreams about your parents, it was enough to shock you awake and into a seated position on your bed. Nami is still fast asleep in her own bed, apparently not having noticed or heard your heavy breathing from the nightmare. You don't know why your nightmares took this turn, you'd much rather deal with seeing your parents in your dreams than seeing your closest friend and ally dying in front of you, even though he was just down the hall and alive.

It's several minutes of tossing and turning before you decide to get up and sneak off to the boys' bunks, turning back to your habit you'd been determined to stop as more crewmates joined, but you can't help it.

The past nightmares have been enough to make you slip into bed with Zoro before, he never fought you over it and let you stay, let you continue when it was just the two of you, but with more friends you worried they'd all get the wrong idea.

And maybe they will, but if Zoro doesn't mind and it helps you sleep, they shouldn't complain or tease you. Hopefully.

Usopp and Luffy are both spread out on the floor, making you have to tiptoe around them to get to Zoro's hammock, not even registering that Sanji's is empty.

You're quiet while you slip in and under the blanket, wrapping your arms around Zoro and making yourself comfortable. You figured he was asleep when you walked in, but his hand moves to grab one of your own, thumb stroking the back of your hand while he waits to hear if you say anything.

You don't, Zoro doesn't mind, he knows you won't tell him the contents of your nightmares anymore, not after the first one. If you're unable to sleep, he's glad to let you join him and keep you safe. He promised he would do so, helping keep your demons away so you could rest.

Unfortunately, your peaceful sleep is interrupted early in the morning by Sanji shouting at Zoro to get off you, like he'd done something wrong when you were the one to climb into his hammock.

"What do you think you're doing to [Y/N]-chan, you moss head?! Get your hands off her!"

A pillow lands on your face, likely aimed for Zoro, but it misses him due to the fact his face is buried in your shoulder while one arm is around you. Normally your face would be red at this, but with Sanji still nearly screeching for Zoro to "unhand" you, all you can think about is crawling in a hole and dying.

Zoro gets fed up and eventually lets you go, taking the pillow that disturbed you both and throwing it back at Sanji with twice the force.

"Shut up already!! You're going to wake the whole damn East blue!"

"I will as soon as you stop violating sweet [Y/N]!"

Yeah you really want to just up and die right now.

"Who's violating her?!"

"You are, you savage!"

"How do I violate my own wife when she's the one that crawled into my bed?!"

Everything goes quiet, you don't want to know what look is on Sanji's face at the moment, but you're grateful for Nami coming in and telling everyone to shut up, even though she's a moment too late. Luffy and Usopp were awake and just watching the scene unfold, until Zoro's statement which makes Usopp's eyes go wide and Luffy laughs. He just knew you two wouldn't be able to keep this secret.

You're so embarrassed that you pull the blanket up over your now definitely bright red face, wishing Zoro and Sanji didn't feel the need to egg each other on and instigate all these petty fights.

When you finally decide to look and see what's going on, Luffy's still laughing, Nami is confused, Zoro's still got a glare set on Sanji, while your chef and Usopp are both looking at the two of you wide eyed, disbelief on their faces before there's one outburst from Sanji.

"Your WHAT?!"

+!+

It feels like an interrogation. You're in the kitchen still in your pajamas with Usopp and Sanji both questioning you and Zoro about your little marriage, Nami and Luffy enjoying breakfast to your side.

Zoro's completely unbothered by the whole thing, answering Sanji's questions with an annoyed look, while you answer Usopp's inquiries with your face still red from the way everyone was woken up that morning.

Eventually, they come to realize you two are only married to prevent the arranged one your parents set up, making Sanji sigh in relief and Usopp is slightly concerned but seems to understand.

“So, one more time,” you just can’t look at Usopp while he relays your situation once again, “You and Zoro got married to prevent you being forced into an arranged marriage, but you’re going to annul?”

You nod, taking glances at Zoro, who continues to glare at Sanji for waking you both too early. All of this was too much first thing in the morning, and you both had decided to keep this little marriage a secret from any new recruits, wanting only Luffy and Nami to know because you’d both slipped up with calling each other husband and wife without thinking about it in front of them.

"And you're just waiting for your parents to say something?"

You nod again at Sanji's question. "It's weird, I know but…I just can't go back there. My older brother told me never to go back, or I'd definitely be forced into that marriage."

"Your parents suck." Luffy nodded, still eating his breakfast when you look over at him with a smile. "But we'll keep you safe! We'll fight anyone that tries to take you from us!"

"No one's forcing you back home," Zoro doesn't look at you, instead moving to leave and start his training for the day despite not having breakfast yet, "I'll make sure of that."

There's something in the way he says it, as you thank everyone, that makes Sanji lean back in his seat and watch Zoro leave. Even with you both stating you were not in love and were going to annul the marriage as soon as you heard from your parents, Sanji swears there's something weird about the way Zoro treats you.

It might just be friendship, but it feels like something more that neither of you are saying. You absolutely could be hiding real feelings for each other, he knows that, the way you two speak to each other and work together seems to say so, but until either of you say anything, Sanji isn't willing to believe this is anything more than a sham marriage.

There's something else, he's noticed in his short time with you all, in the way you look at Zoro, the way you speak to him as well. Zoro's a tough guy, but you speak so gently and kindly to him, it's almost like you really are his wife and want to stay that way. Maybe it's just your dynamic since you two have known each other much longer than the other Straw Hats, but Sanji isn't convinced. You and Usopp break him out of his train of thought by asking for breakfast, which he proceeds to provide you both with a grin, deciding he'll have to ask you another time if you have feelings for the moss head swordsman. If your heart's already taken, he'll gladly leave you be, despite his rivalry with Zoro.

#zoro x reader #roranoa zoro x reader #one piece x reader #reader insert #last forever #fem!reader

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ravixen · 9 months

Note

hello! i just read you svt forgetting about date thread and its so good! Would like to request for the remaining members reactions if possible 🥹 thank you!!!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

svt + forgetting your date (pt 3)

➔ reaction || requested

➔ warnings: none || 0.9k words ➔ notes: general, fluff ; yep! excited to get this series completed and out of the way. if you liked the reactions, please reblog :) for any new followers, please make sure to read my pinned post.

SEUNGCHEOL: he often jokes that money can solve the world's biggest problems, and for the most part, it's true...when the problem is jeonghan's desire for fancy items. but when the problem is him not showing up to a date that he planned? he doesn't think expensive gifts will placate you, especially when he wakes up to missed calls and text messages that quickly go from confused to annoyed. he's in the middle of typing an excuse when you call one more time, and he answers with a sheepish laugh of your name. "um, I can be on the way in like 10, 15 minutes? it doesn't take me long to get ready." he's already rolling out of bed and pulling clothes out of the closet, but you sigh into the phone and that stops him in his tracks. "we've already missed the train," you say, and with a start, he realizes just how late he is. "even if you somehow make it here within the hour and we catch the next one, the lines will probably be too long. wouldn't be worth it." oh, this sucks. he's the one who got you all excited about a first-come, first-serve festival a few hours away, and he didn't deliver. "let's get breakfast and come up with a new plan then. we can't go there, but we have all day to do whatever you want."

SOONYOUNG: his ambition, an attractive trait on its own, comes with the tendency to over-estimate his capabilities. for example: when he got drunk during lee youngji's show and immediately headed to practice after. at the time, you watched the video of his tipsy dancing with an amused smile. his work ethic was admirable...and kind of funny in a way. now? you don't think it's very funny at all. you tap your foot as you stare at your text thread, where two hours ago he said that work was wrapping up and that he had time to freshen up before coming to your date. well, he's late. right when you were about to text him for an update, he calls you. "hey!" there's a muffled crash and a mumbled swear before his voice is back. "I'm so, so sorry. the shoot ended, but they asked for a short interview and I thought we had time. and we did! but I think I fell asleep and forgot to set an alarm and—" he huffs, zipping something up. "I can make it there in twenty minutes!" you check the time, frowning. "with traffic, it's probably closer to half an hour. why don't we re-schedule, soonyoung? I'll just go home." "no, but you cleared your schedule for today! why don't we meet up somewhere halfway, hm? I want to see you at least."

WONWOO: he's a runner (he's a track star), and he uses those long legs to book it down the street, trying his best to ignore the judgmental glances of passing strangers. faintly, he can make out your figure in front of the restaurant, your phone in hand as you scroll. when he skids to a stop in front of you, you don't look impressed, but that's better than looking angry, he supposes. he doubles over with his hands on his knees, taking gasping breaths and spitting out excuses for his lateness. the only thing you say in return is, "they gave up our dinner reservation," which makes his heart sink because you made the reservation months ago. with how popular it is, he had to bring out the celebrity card, and even then, he barely got on the list. "do you want to try the place across the street?" he offers his hand and a weak smile that you only glance at. "and spend the entire time knowing that we could've been over here instead? no, thanks." you show him your screen. "let's go here." it's closer to the apartment, thus in the direction he just came from, but he'd take driving back over you giving him the cold shoulder all night.

JIHOON: "you stood me up," you say when he finally picks up the phone. and then you laugh and tell him that it's not a big deal—it's just a maplestory date, after all—but he hears the disappointment in your voice and he knows that it was more than simply meeting up in a silly video game. it was about making time for each other for the first time in forever, about being on call for as long as you can, about laughing as you watch him fall off the platform for the nth time in a row. it was about the fact that he made a promise and broke it for such a stupid reason. he looks at the time. "when are you planning to sleep?" he asks, already opening the game launcher and sliding on his headphones. "I don't have anything tomorrow. why?" he hums. "let's go farm those rare items you wanted." it must've been the right thing to say because you gasp, "really? it's going to be such a waste of time, though...are you sure?" of course he's sure. being with you, regardless of what you're doing, is rarely a waste of time. plus you were venting the other day about how no one wanted to help you farm. "load up. I'm waiting."

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nuri148 · 9 days

Text

My Take on Levi's Age

I originally wrote this as a rb addition to another post. I've been meaning to make it a stand alone post since then, and with all the talk about Levi's age since the publication of bad boy, here it is, finally.

If you ask me, Levi could not have been more that 4-5 years old at the time Kenny found him around 829.

Why?

He's severely malnourished, probably spent several days cloistered in the room with Kuchel with nothing to eat. So my guess is that, though he was old enough to speak and understand Kuchel was dead (even if he could not quite grasp the bigger concept of Death), he was too young to go out and procure himself and his mum some food, be it by stealing or begging. And for that, he's need to be very young.

I lived in Greater Buenos Aires more than half of my life (the infamous "conurbano"), and I've seen lots of very small kids, 4-5 years old, begging like pros for either change or food. It's unfortunately very common in impoverished areas. And I wasn't even in the bad ones. So, in that aspect, the Underground wouldn't be different from our villas or Brazil's favelas.

Kuchel was a prostitute. She wouldn't want Levi to witness her at work. It is fair to think that as soon as he was old enough to cross the street she'd let him roam and go play with other kids while mummy's busy. There, he'd quickly learn how to come by a piece of moldy bread to stave hunger.

So in order to just sit starving by his mother instead of going out looking for help, Levi must have been young enough that his mum could still keep him under wraps; too young to know his way about the Underground's streets, too much of a rookie in terms of using his charm or his cunning to get a bit of food.

Uri Reiss inherited the Founding Titan in 829. BUT, nowhere does it say that Kenny's encounter with Uri happens right after the latter became a titan. So Kenny might have joined Uri up to a couple of years after 829 (not many, as Rod Reiss still looks young in that flashback).

So Kenny finds Levi between 829 and 831; And Levi is 4-5 then, meaning he was born, at earliest, in 823 (considering his b-day is only one week before the year's end, that'd make him 5 in for most of 829) and latest in 825 (same if Kenny found him in 831). That makes him 10-12 years older than Eren and company. , ~20 when he joins the SC, ~26 during seasons 1-3, ~30 after the time skip, and ~33 in the epilogue.

"But Yams said he was thirty-somethiiiing!"

TLDR: I wouldn't consider canon some spur-of-the-moment answer given by Yams in a panel where he's probably tired, nervous, and doesn't have his timeline handy.

Allow me to speak here as a writer: the whims of your imagination often don't align with the logic of what needs to go on the page. So it is perfectly possible to imagine your character in a way that is inconsistent with your timeline. You see them with short hair and summer clothes fixing lunch in their sunny kitchen in a scene and, when they move to the dining room you see them with hair 4 inches longer and serving supper as a snowstorm rages outside. When you write it, you're going to have to pick up one, and go back to your notes often for continuity after, bc your brain keeps forever placing the kitchen in sunny summer and the living room in a winter night. Oh, and they're both simultaneously on the ground and the second floor. Escher pictures make more sense.

The story of AoT spans many years, so we don't know which year Levi is the default Levi in Yams' brain. It could even be the Levi from the time skip, or from a future after the last chapter that only exists in his imagination. Also, Yams has bungled up numbers before so, personally, I don't trust him much in that department.

In any case, Math is a hard science, so if Kenny found Levi with 4-5 years in 829, he can't be 30+ in 850. 5+21=26. No matter what Yams says.

Additional notes:

The original post. With additions. I recommend reading the quoted twitter thread.

Another, recent twitter thread on Levi's age

A lengthy post by an actual psychologist providing scientific foundation for Levi's age when Kenny finds him.

I saw yet another post on Levi's age recently, but I can't find the link rn and I have to make lunch. if/when I find it, I'll add it (and others I may come across)

#levi ackerman #levi's age #aot meta

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vtoriacore · 2 years

Text

✧ they feel too much, too deep, too fast

note: huzzah, me waxing weird fvnking yandere poetry (not really) at ungodly hours of the night when i should be writing an essay.

extra note: PLS tell me i’m doing sebek justice, i didn’t want to bring malleus up at all (because i don’t really like him don’t really want this to be sebek’s yandere personality lol). also didn’t really proofread this enough so there probably are silly errors but spare me the shame thank you mwah!

characters: cater, vil, sebek, ace, jamil

tw: gaslighting, manipulation & bit of mind games if you squint, delusional mindsets

synopsis: in which the boys' love is a bit intense, but you don't necessarily pay it attention with how focused you are on them reciprocating.

✯; It was a novel experience, really. He couldn't surmise the feelings he felt in that one moment that seemed to change the trajectory of his entire life - and this was by no means exaggeration.

Cater felt the rapid beating of his heart, felt the way his breathing picked up dramatically, and most of all felt the warmth as it spread throughout his body at the notion of feeling wanted. Feeling cared for. And by the great seven he didn't even realise how much he craved this until now.

It was almost comical how it only took a simple "i want you to be honest with me" on your end to absolutely send his heart into overdrive, how the phrase "i care about you, you know" escaped your lips so easily and just how effortless it seemed for you to look at him with concern gleaming in your eyes when you noticed his smile didn't quite feel genuine that day.

He felt his entire world flip for just a second before everything came crashing down and the sudden weight of emotions he couldn't even begin to name grounded him into reality - where he actually felt he wanted to stay for once if just to see you for a second longer.

There were so many different thoughts swimming around in his head but most importantly- you were still waiting for an answer. And he'd sooner combust than keep you waiting any longer.

"I know you do, prefect! But really don't worry so much~ I'll be fine as long as you keep me company," he silently prayed you couldn't see the raging crimson hue settling on his skin under the darkening sky. It was a miracle he managed to vocalise his sentence anyway with how abalze his entire body felt.

"I'll worry anyway, but I'll always be here if you do want to spend time with me. Just us two or with others."

'Just us two, just us two, just us two'; he nearly squealed, feeling the temptation to take you up on that offer immediately. In fact, he really did not want to go back to the dorm and have to share your attention. No, he needed it on him and only him and he wouldn't let anything get in the way of that soft gaze of yours.

"Hmm, I actually wouldn't mind getting away from the crowd just this once!" with a grin, Cater's eyes bore into your frame with an intensity he couldn't quite halt but he figured you wouldn't notice anyway, seeing as you offered a smile and a nod in return to his statement. He simply couldn't wait to get you on his own after that revelation.

✯; Vil carefully threaded his fingers through his platinum blond hair in front of the vanity mirror, knowing you were beside watching his every move. He could feel your stare burning into his side profile and in that moment, he was so grateful that years of acting had allowed him to keep his calm when all he wanted to do was combust into flames.

"Hm? Is something the matter, dear?" he purposefully lowered his tone, made it sound as sultry as possible, expecting the little surprise on your face as you quickly tried to keep composure when he side eyed you. The urge to take you into his arms was incredibly strong in that second, especially when you cast your eyes to his lips momentarily.

God, he had never wished to smudge his lipstick by locking his lips onto yours more than in that particular moment, when the soft lights in his room highlighted your face in a manner that made you look so ethereal that it was hard to breathe.

"I'm . . . Fine. Yeah," you swallowed thickly, willing yourself to look away so you wouldn't do anything stupid. The blonde found himself delighted at your reaction, willing his own gaze to rip away from your face otherwise he might just end up making his own intense decisions on a whim.

And yet, he found that he almost didn't mind. Sure, he had wanted to make his confession of love absolutely perfect (having asked Rook to give him all the information on you he possibly could get away with) but at the end of the day, he flourished in the way his efforts to enamour you had been paying off. And, and, and! He could clearly see you wanted him, maybe not as much as he wanted - no, needed you, but still wanted him nonetheless. It was progress all the same.

However, at the same time a part of Vil had wanted your admiration to be deeper . . . more intimate. Although he knew it was wrong and absolutely sick, he had hoped you would do something more. He wanted you to secretly follow him, thinking he can't sense your presence when it's the only thing filling his mind. He wanted you to take pictures he wouldn't ever find, but would know were taken since his gaze never leaves you. And he so desperately wanted your attention all on him, and nothing but him, never straying away for more than a second.

He was going to make you obsessed with him, one way or another. And soon, he will be the only thing occupying your thoughts - he simply has to be.

✯; There wasn't a semblance of sense to Sebek's thoughts, and he knew it. Just how could a simple 'human' (he refused to admit you were more than that, so much more than that) be so captivating? If anyone had asked him in that second, on who was the most fair in his eyes, his answer would've been you. Delusional or not, your name would inevitably slip past his lips.

The conflicting feelings he felt within him didn't ease at all; he felt like he was betraying his master, but at the same time, he didn't really have control over what he was thinking. And this once, he didn't want to think about anything other than you. He wished for you to be the center of his attention, and he couldn't even describe why. It just felt so liberating, despite it holding his mind captive. The irony didn't even register as his lime coloured eyes simply inspected your form.

Great seven, you were just so beautiful. And he so wished that you saw him that way too, because lord knows he was addicted to your gaze whenever it landed on him. He always needed more and more and more. But he wasn't selfish, no! - he was willing to give back twice as much and he would do anything to get the chance to do so.

His rational thoughts telling him this isn't normal be damned! That overpowering need to have you to himself was too strong. His own master and Lilia expressed that this is something worth pursuing anyway, that his adoration is 'perfectly reasonable' and 'aww, so cute!'. How could he stop pursuing you this way, if his own role models encouraged him to keep going? How could he stop when they affirmed this is normal, completely okay?

And besides, it wasn't as though you were rejecting his advances; you were actively awaiting his next move and he could tell from the teasing glint you held in your eyes each time. Even now, as you simply looked at him, he could tell you wanted him to do something. Anything. If he wasn't actively feeling what he was doing, he would've suspected you had complete control over his body with how his rationality couldn't win over.

But well, he wouldn't have minded if that was the case. This line of thinking may not be right, but it sure as hell does feel it.

✯; Ace could really be cruel at times. Really cruel - and he knew it, you knew it, everyone knew it. But even he could recognise that this time, maybe he went too far. Scratch that 'maybe' actually, he may have just ruined whatever friendship you two had. And what better way to do that than kissing you senseless against the empty alchemy classroom's door as you both struggle for air?

"Ace I- I need . . . Some, some oxygen," you barely managed to rasp out against his lips as his ruby red eyes barely shifted into focus. Great seven, he felt so incredibly dazed with how tightly he was pressing against you as could barely keep his hands from moving through your hair.

"Fuck oxygen, I wanna kiss you," the redhead felt his heart hammer (even more so than previously) against his chest at the sound of your giggle. Without a second thought, not that he could think in the first place with what you were doing to him, Ace dove right back in to slot his lips against yours.

Could you really blame him though? It wasn't his fault you were so breathtaking that he could barely keep his eyes away from your form. It wasn't his fault that every time you looked at him, you had that certain look to you - the kind which told him that if he'd ask you to pluck the stars out of the sky for him, you wouldn't even hesitate. And it sure as hell wasn't his fault that you were actively trying to pull him into you more, if that was even possible with your current proximity.

Ace was never one for discipline or self-control, and he was completely aware of it. Sure it proved to be a hindrance most times, but he thought that today, when he spontaneously decided to press you up against this door, it wasn't such a bad thing after all. He knew he had gone too far, that the carefully crafted friendship was now over, that he was being particularly cruel with the way he kept biting your lower lip to get a reaction and, that by kissing you senseless in this very second, he knew that he couldn't ever let you go.

✯; They say that love at first sight is a very magical experience, and that it can completely change a person and their outlook on things. But Jamil would have to disagree with this notion. There never was a love at first sight, nor a love at second sight, or the third and fourth and so on. It was never about sight anyway. Because the first time he met you, he just felt it. He felt how the universe had perfectly aligned itself for that one fateful meeting, how you simply had to accidentally run into his arms as if scripted and how effortlessly he had caught you as if taking stage directions like a professional actor.

It didn't register immediately of course, quite the contrary as it took him a few weeks, if not months to understand what he was feeling. He did eventually come to the realisation that maybe he had liked you as more than a friend (in fact, liked would be putting it mildly) but each time he thought back to that certain encounter, he just knew the feeling was there from the beginning.

At least, he remembers it that way, and has memorised it to be that way. Every time he thinks back to your smile and eyes when he had helped you, they seem to get brighter and brighter and more clouded with emotions he could never transcribe. And it simply has to be true because you had to have felt the exact same thing and he is convinced.

Sure, the jolt of electricity and sparks and the effect of time slowing down were missing - you two weren't in some half hearted romance movie after all - but he just knew that you both felt it. Maybe you didn't remember it that way initially, but after enough description on Jamil's end, you were finally starting to remember!

And it made the heat creep up his skin at alarming rates, as it simply solidified one thing; you were meant to be together. It's cliché, and he knows it. But does he care, with the way you run into his arms every time you see him? With how he feels his heartrate pick up just as upon your very first meeting?

It feels like the first every time, and he could see you were starting to believe it too. If he wasn't certain of his own strong ideology regarding this, he almost would've thought you believed it even more than him by this point! But he knew it wasn't because he was blindly making up excuses to keep you tied to him, despite what Azul was trying to claim. Azul was simply wrong; there were no rose coloured lenses involved, nor any gaslighting into making you think he was the only person worthwhile in your life and certainly he wasn't making you depend on him so you could never leave even if you tried to.

Jamil was convinced your love was pure and it was honest and it was true, and he didn't have to convince you of anything any longer, because by this point you were the one trying to convince him.

[;-] i usually never do this but i’m thinking of expanding that jamil thought into an actual fic because whoo shared delusions and manipulating each other (and he’s my fave anfkgn). plus originally i was gonna get his UM involved but it would’ve gotten too long whoops.

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f1reghoul · 5 months

Text

Major warning for watersports/piss kink, this is nasty.

Swiss/Phantom watersports and shower sex under the cut:

Phantom shuts his laptop, looking up at Swiss with wide eyes. He doesn't bother to take his hand off his dick, but he stops moving it. Holds it, firm. Swiss chuckles a little and shuts the door behind him, locking it.

"What'cha watching?" Swiss inquires as he makes his way toward the bed, crawling over between Phantom's spread legs.

Phantom stares at him. He coughs, glancing between his hand and the shut laptop in front of him. He pushes it to the side and gives Swiss a forced smile, spreading his legs to allow for him.

"Nothing. C'mere." He opens his arms, letting his dick slap lewdly against his belly, and Swiss hums and accepts his offer.

He places a quick kiss on the side of Phantom's mouth, resting his forehead on his shoulder to look down at his flushed cock. He swipes a finger through the slit, sucking the fluid off with a hum.

"You're pretty wet. C'mon, tell me?" He looks back up at him, rubbing his hand up and down his right thigh.

Phantom's cheeks flush even more than they already are. He shakes his head.

"Porn. I don't know. Normal stuff." His voice squeaks a little at the end.

Swiss knows he's full of shit. But he hums in understanding nonetheless, and lies down in front of him to suck him off. He finishes way quicker than usual, maybe it's the fact that he'd had a head start, maybe the porn was that good, maybe it's the shame of getting caught. All Swiss knows, is he's gonna get his hands on that laptop.

Phantom offers to take care of Swiss, but truthfully, he's so focused on the other ghoul's secret, he's not even hard. Maybe half-hard, not even. He mutters something about being tired and cuddles Phantom into his arms, spooning him the opposite way of his prize.

It takes far too long for Phantom to fall asleep. Perhaps it's just Swiss being excited to find out about Phantom's dirty little pleasure, maybe it's Phantom worried Swiss will find it. But he does, eventually, doze off, and Swiss waits at least another 10 minutes before he even thinks of moving.

He carefully unhooks himself from behind the smaller ghoul and slowly pulls open his laptop, hissing at the bright light. He knows the password, it's just the ghoul's summoning day. He's damn lucky Phantom muted the sound when he heard Swiss open the door, because the sight he's greeted with is fucking naughty.

He doesn't even wanna imagine the kinda noises he'd be hearing, but he knows just the sight is getting his dick a little chubby.

It's some guy, with a pretty small dick, if that's relevant. Probably not. Swiss finds it relevant though. There's a reason he likes blowing Dew so much. Anyway, some guy, kneeling on the floor, with two guys... peeing on him. Swiss can't help the grin on his face as he watches it. He wonders which one Phantom imagines himself as.

He shuts the laptop and cuddles back into Phantom, big grin still present on his face. He'll have to wake the poor ghoul up in the morning to get him off, he's sure of it. No way he's not having a killer wet dream after that.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, Swiss doesn't wake up with a raging boner in the morning. He does, however, wake up with a wet patch in the front of his boxers. Yet Phantom's still fast asleep next to him, drooling a little. He kisses Phantom's shoulder, lightly grazing it with his teeth. Loud, quick kisses to wake him up.

He groans and giggles, waving his hand aimlessly toward him, trying to swat him away. Swiss grins and leans over him to give him a slow kiss. He sighs into it, threading his fingers into Swiss' hair.

"Morning Bug." He chuckles against his lips.

"Mm, morning." He breaks away and yawns, stretching out.

He must feel a slight cold wetness against his leg, because he hums a little confused. Swiss huffs and gives him a little grind.

"Had a good dream. Gonna shower, join me?" He pushes the blankets off, scooting off to the end of the bed.

Phantom hums and trails after him, rubbing his eyes as Swiss turns on the bathroom light. He turns on the water and immediately starts to undo Phantom's pants. His plans already in action. Everyone's gotta pee in the morning, him no less. That's why he woke up in the first place, but he guarantees Phantom will need to as well. He always pees before their morning showers.

Swiss won't let him this time. He undresses the both of them, only clad in pants or in Swiss' case, boxers. He drags Phantom into the shower immediately, kissing him rough and pushing him against the tile wall. The quint gasps and grips his arm, kissing back. Swiss rushes it, nibbles his bottom lip, licks into his mouth. He needs to get him all bothered.

When he can feel Phantom poke his thigh, he breaks off, the both of them panting heavily. He chuckles and brushes the smaller ghoul's slightly damp hair out of his face, kissing his forehead.

"Shit, I gotta pee." He complains, biting his lip a little for show.

Phantom furrows his brows.

"Forgot to go before I got in. You mind?" Swiss tilts his head, all too casual about it.

Phantom doesn't really understand if Swiss is asking if he can get out real quick, or if he can use the drain. He knows it's not abnormal to pee in the shower, he's just never had someone do it while he's in it with them. But he shakes his head, that same wide eyed look he had last night. At least now he can blame his rock hard cock on the earlier teasing.

Swiss hums and leans back in to kiss him, catching Phantom by surprise, but he kisses back. He figures Swiss just wants one more kiss.

But the water beginning to hit his leg feels too warm. And the sigh Swiss just breathed into his mouth...

He pushes the bigger ghoul off with an "mmph!", looking down at the added stream of water- or, piss, from Swiss' cock.

He can't tear his eyes away, his dick visibly twitches, and Swiss can't help but feel like he's gone too far. He does his best to stop, not really able to fully cut it off after starting, but at least it's not noticable. That makes Phantom look up at him. His eyes are wide, his jaw slack, but Swiss looks worried.

"Sorry. Sorry, I should've asked-" Swiss begins, getting cut off.

"You saw it." Phantom mutters, mostly to himself.

"Yeah." Swiss breathes, like a dirty confession, like it wasn't Phantom's piss porn he's talking about.

He glances back down, back up to Swiss' face, and falls to his knees. He winces at the hard tile against his knees, but he can't think of anything but the feel of Swiss using him, claiming him, like that.

"Keep going. Swiss, you gotta- Oh." His pleads break off into a moan when the stream hits him square in the chest, overly warm.

Swiss moans too, just at the reaction, the sight of Phantom's eyes shutting tight, he almost looks like he does during an orgasm. He takes hold of himself, spraying across his chest, aiming down to hit his cock dead-on. That's what seems to do it, because Phantom practically shouts and grips his cock like it hurt him.

Swiss has never seen him this... sensitive? Maybe the first time he ate him out, that was a memorable experience. But this, he's barely been touched and he thinks the little quint ghoul might cream any minute now.

It's intoxicating. Swiss gives himself a few strokes as he does his best to spread it around, keeping it all below the neck. He bites his lip as Phantom fists his cock like he's gonna die if he doesn't touch it. There's no way he's this into it.

"Mm, I gotta go, Swiss. I'm gonna go, can I go?" He whispers, glancing up into Swiss' eyes.

Swiss thinks he might cum right there.

"Fuck, yeah, go on baby." He pants out, his stream beginning to die off.

Phantom shudders, moaning all too lewdly as he sprays over the tile, pissing hard. Swiss thinks he must be purposely pushing to get a harder flow, he wonders how it feels. The smaller ghoul's face gives him a pretty good idea.

Embarrassingly enough, Swiss thinks he might cum faster than Phantom, just at the sight of how affected he is. He slows his hand down on himself and thumbs at his tip instead, panting and groaning softly. Phantom's eyes are cast down, at himself, at his hand moving swiftly over his pissing cock. His jaws slack, but he licks his lips every so often. Swiss wonders if he's thinking about tasting it.

"C'mere. Come lick me clean." He steps closer, pushing his cock into Phantom's nose.

Phantom quickly complies, digging his tongue into the slit and groaning, lapping around the head like a man starved. Swiss' hand flies to his hair, gripping tightly.

"Fuck, shit, gonna cum. Cumming, fuck." He warns, shooting onto the ghoul's tongue and around his mouth, dripping down his chin onto his belly.

He pulls away and kneels down in front of him, catching his breath. He notices Phantom's stopped peeing. He also notices cum, surely not his own, on the tile. But Phantom's still rock hard, and he's still stroking himself. He must've cum earlier and kept going. It makes Swiss groan.

Phantom only takes a few more harsh strokes before he's cumming again, throwing his head back and whimpering. His sight goes a little fuzzy and his ears are ringing, but when he comes to, Swiss is soothingly rubbing his thigh.

"There you are baby, did so good. Such a good boy for me." Swiss coos, reaching forward to wipe a spurt of cum from his cheek.

Phantom lazily smiles at him, wobbly standing up. Swiss helps support him, getting him under the warm water to rinse everything off of him. Phantom breaks into a fit of laughter, causing Swiss to laugh too.

"What the hell." Phantom wipes his eyes, grinning at Swiss.

"You really like that, don't you?" Swiss smiles back, stepping behind him to begin to wash his hair.

Phantom nods, leaning into his touch, and the rest of the shower is quiet. Swiss cleans him up, peppering kisses around the place he'd just cleaned, and quickly cleans himself off. He wraps a towel around the smaller ghoul when they get out, helping dry him off.

When they come out for breakfast, Phantom's wearing all of Swiss' clothes and a big happy smile on his face. Maybe he can open up a little next time, if that's the sex he gets in return.

#phantom ghoul #swiss ghoul #the band ghost #fanfic #ao3

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clubdionysus · 24 days

Text

[BAD DECISION #9] White

warnings: birdie time he he. honestly just very wholesome all round, but the embers are burningggg, they’re very wet! fantastic! (1) mention of Hang Sơn Đoòng (worlds biggest cave).

soundtrack: lemon - loco, hwasa; safety zone - j-hope

wc: 6k

bd total wc: 540k (on-going)

minors dni | AO3 | series masterlist

It's mid-morning the following Monday when Jeongguk's message lands in your inbox. The sky is free of clouds, sun beating down on the windows of the subway carriage you're in. It's above ground, crossing the river.

Summer is reaching the end of its peak, but monsoons are still a looming threat. There have been weather warnings all month, but today seems okay. You've an umbrella tucked into your tote just in case, legs crossed as you flick through your notifications on the subway.

Three unread messages sit pretty at the top of your inbox.

Jeongguk: Still on for today?

Danbi: u, me, ryan reynolds in lycra, tonight. game?

Seokjin: such a tease, you know i love those shorts on you - if memory serves me correctly they were off far more than they were on whenever you wore them ;) you around tonight?

Jeongguk is probably the only one who needs a reply, and yet you can't help but stare at Seokjin's message for a little longer than you should.

If Danbi knew you were texting him, she'd probably confiscate your phone, like your parents used to do during your teen years. Jeongguk would probably throw all your stupid little origami birds at you. Would hope you'd get a paper cut.

It'd be deserved, you think.

Jeongguk had wasted his entire Sunday on you as a result of Seokjin's carelessness. You didn't leave until Jimin had taken a nap on the couch at just gone six, your day full of mindless chatter and harmless distractions from Seokjin. It had been nice. Comforting.

And yet when you'd arrived home, a text had been waiting from Seokjin:

heyyy, sorry I had to rush off. didn't wanna wake you. you looked toooo cute. was so nice to see you again.

It's kind of embarrassing, the way your heart seemed to settle at the sight of it; like things were as they should be once more.

You told yourself that Seokjin hadn't meant to upset you. That it was all a big misunderstanding.

He said everything you wanted him to in that message. Said sorry. Maybe he didn't give you an excuse nor an explanation, but he did give you a compliment, and that had you giggling.

Had you thinking that maybe you'd been reactive, and were too highly strung. Perhaps he was never the issue. What if it was you?

Still, it's Jeongguk's message thread you tap through to instead - yeah, just on the subway now! we're still meeting there?

You contemplate whether or not you want to tell him that you've spoken to Seokjin later. He'll no doubt ask about him, with a sneer on his lips, nose upturned at the mere thought of him.

And so naturally, you know you'll lie. "No. Not heard from him."

It's not that you want to be dishonest. Not in the slightest.

You're no stranger to a white lie or two, but Jeongguk had scooped up all of your broken pieces in the early hours of yesterday morning, and tried to washi tape them back together - only for you to run straight back to the person holding a sledgehammer.

You don't want to be reckless with the care Jeongguk's afforded to you; it's just that while Jin's got a sledgehammer in one hand, it also looks like he's got super glue in the other. It's a little bit stronger than washi tape.

Especially Jeongguk's rolls of washi tape; which are the entire reason why you're spending your day off on the subway, and not tucked up in bed, instead.

Jeongguk had devised a plan following the fall of your origami bird, but had neglected to tell you exactly what that plan was.

Had said "look, I won't lie - I can't help you with this. Gimmie the evening to think of a plan, though? I'll text you later."

He'd texted you an address by the time you'd arrived home. Told you not to search it up; said he'd meet you there at midday. Kind of felt like a challenge, and you don't like losing - so you'd done as he'd said. Other than putting the address into Naver maps to find the route, you were none the wiser as to where you were headed.

The subway leads you to the outskirts of town. Down by the river, just a little further up from the arboretum you always tell yourself you should visit more often. You're local to the city, but it's so vast that there are still areas you aren't too familiar with. This is one of them. You know what's in the general area - the arboretum, an old water park, and some museums, but you've no idea what the exact address could be.

As you climb the stairs, you're regretful of the fact you actually listened to Jeongguk. Should have looked up the address beforehand. Seen what was about; what dress code would have been appropriate.

Denim shorts hug your curves, and a little white blouse sits prettily on your shoulders. You're making the most of the summer while it lasts; skin exposed, despite the judgement thrown your way by the ajummas you pass on the street.

A mirror selfie had been sent to Seokjin before you'd left the house, in reply to his collarbone-wielding, broad shoulder-baring bed selfie. His hair had been messy, and there was a little pink mark on his neck. You're pretty sure you left it there. Didn't wanna focus on it for too long just in case you realised that you... didn't.

There had been a little tactful positioning of your phone in front of your face when you took your photo. Had been covering your eyes. Hiding the glitter.

And it's funny, 'cause it's the first thing that Jeongguk notices when he spots you.

You're looking around, realising exactly where you are, a frown slowly forming. He'd expected nothing less. You always arrive with a small frown whenever he's around - but he also always manages to get you beaming, too. It's part of the charm that comes with being around Jeongguk. Bad moods dissolve into nothingness.

He smiles, just like he always does. Waves. Throws you not one, but two peace signs. His thin lips plumpen into a pout as he wiggles his shoulders, the ease of acting childishly coming naturally when he's around you.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" He glows as if he hadn't seen you less than twenty-four hours ago.

Strolling towards you, he ignores the slight scowl that's resting on your neat brows. Just continues smiling. All doe-eyed and dainty. Hopes you won't be able to resist breaking into a smile, too.

He likes your glitter today. It's just in the corners of your eyes. Thinks you look like a fairy.

"I'm wearing white!" is all you can say, a little exasperation clouding your words, before laughter begins to tumble from your lips whether you want it to or not. "You asshole! You should have warned me!"

Jeongguk's wearing all black. A pair of shorts, a long sleeve swimming shirt and one of his many oversized black t-shirts over the top. See, he's dressed according to his plans - the plans that he neglected to share with you.

But he's a man. How much can you really expect from him? You doubt he's ever had to run home in the middle of a thunderstorm with his arms crossed over his chest to protect his modesty. Doubt his eyes have ever felt the unwelcome intrusion of sodden mascara running into them.

"Oh, chill out, Disco Ball," he banters, rolling his eyes as he twiddles his lip ring with his tongue. He comes to a stop in front of you. Pouts. Pushes his lips to the side, and his cheek slowly rises like a freshly baked loaf of bread. "It's only a little water. Worst comes to the worst, we'll just buy you another shirt."

When Jeongguk says it's only a 'little water,' he's telling a big fat lie.

You're both well aware that 'little' is hardly the appropriate word to use.

Not when you're standing next to the entrance of the largest outdoor waterpark in the city.

You don't want to say definitively, but you think it might be the largest waterpark in the entire district. Biggest you've ever been to, that's for sure, not that you really make a habit of it.

"Look," he says. "You're the one who wrote the bird, not me. Blame yourself."

"And you're the one who didn't give me a dress code," you reply with a small scoff. He's unbelievable.

It's not like he was ever supposed to see your birds. Your intention had only ever been for the pair of you to vent out your frustration; to see them in black and white and maybe colour them in.

"You could have just looked at Naver. Seen where you were going."

"You told me not to!"

Jeongguk smirks to himself, a little pleased with how much you seem to have blindly trusted him. He also thinks it's incredibly foolish, and adds it to his list of things he needs to worry about in the future. While it's him that you're mindlessly following the orders of, it's okay, he supposes. Knows you're safe. Nothing to worry about right now.

"You'll be fine, Byeol," he says, hooking an arm around your neck, rubbing his knuckles against the crown of your head. You don't even bother to scramble away, sensing his grip tighten when your back edges out from his grasp. With arms like his, you're ensnared whether you like it or not. "You bring your bird?"

He keeps his arm locked around your neck, resting on your shoulders, but stands a little straighter as you head in direction of the waterpark. His relaxed posture allows you to rummage around in your tote bag for the small piece of folded paper. It's in the bottom, a little crumpled, but still quite clearly in bird form.

Jeongguk pinches it from you as soon as you retrieve it, not seeming to care much for the fact that it's your bird. You're locked in by his arms as he strengthens some of the creases that have fallen lax thanks to the lack of attention you'd been paying when you tossed it into the bag.

"You're gonna give yourself bad bird luck," he tells you. "Gotta preserve them, Byeol, or otherwise you'll never overcome your fears."

"I'm not really sure we'll be overcoming any fears today," you mutter in response.

He takes great offence to this. Tells you to 'stop being a negative Nancy', and that 'you'll never overcome your fears with an attitude like that'. You pinch him through his shirt. He recoils away from you, finally giving you a little room to breathe.

And then he calls you a goblin.

"That's rich," you snort, peering into your bag once again to get your wallet, shooing his hands away as he brings out his own wallet from his shorts pocket. "Nah, this is on me. My fear. I'll pay."

There's an attempt from him to protest, but you just tell the cashier you're paying for two, and there's very little he can do about it. He feels bad. This is, after all, his idea. He gave you no wiggle room. You wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for him.

A bathroom? Maybe.

But not here.

"Absolutely not," you had exclaimed yesterday afternoon after reading the bird. Jeongguk couldn't stop laughing. "Stop! You'll give me a complex."

He hadn't meant to find it so funny - he was just taken by surprise. It's a reflex.

"No, no," he cooed. "It's cute. Really sweet, actually. Should have told me last night. Could have actually done something about it."

It was at that point that you flicked him on the forehead. Told him to go touch some grass. Get his head out of his ass.

And then, finally, you told him, "You're never showering with me."

In typical Jeongguk fashion, he'd just smirked. Found your defensiveness funny. "And nor is anyone else, apparently."

The bird resting on Jeongguk's stomach was laying flat, open on your words:

SHOWER WITH SOMEONE ELSE.

He thinks it's the all caps that cracked him up so much. So aggressive. So cute. A bit like you.

Showers had been one of your favourite forms of intimacy during past relationships. You'd even found it fun with casual hookups.

But now?

Feels forbidden. Tarnished. Dirty.

It's almost as if someone else running their hands over your skin beneath the water will rid you of the stain that Seokjin left - and if you're not his, whose are you?

It's stupid because you don't belong to anyone but yourself. You'd spent months resenting the removal of your identity, but now that you have the chance to reclaim it, you're still letting his mark remain.

You had told Jeongguk later that afternoon - with absolute certainty - that he'd never be facing that fear with you, only for him to say, "it doesn't have to be that big of a deal. I'll prove it to you."

And now he's trying to do exactly that.

He leads as you follow and make your way into the park. It's been a fair few years since your last visit, but it always looks the same; paint work a little tatty, white watermarks tarnishing pipes, and slightly dated equipment available for hire. In fact, you think the inflatables sitting pretty and ready for renting might be the same ones you used as a child on family trips.

"Still don't understand how on earth this is supposed to help me with my fear of intimacy," you speak softly once Jeongguk is done telling you about the tallest waterslide in the world. It's in Brazil, and he insists that he doesn't understand why on earth they called it Kilimanjaro when it's not even remotely close in height nor geographical location.

You tell him he's pedantic and he smiles as if you've just given him a gold star.

"It's helping because we're making it less scary," Jeongguk states all very plainly. Seems simple to him. His logical mind leaps from A to B, while yours is still spiralling round and round like a hula-hoop. "What do you do in the shower?"

"When I'm with someone else?" You raise a brow. "Not sure I want to say it out loud in a kid's waterpark."

"Oh, ew, no, not that part. I mean the basics," he sighs, before choosing just to answer for you. "You get wet. That's the first hurdle."

"Gguk, that's barely even the first meter," you counter. "And after that? There's still a billion hurdles left to jump."

"Well, you have to start somewhere, don't you?" He nudges his shoulder against yours, before spotting the concessions store up ahead. "See. Told you you'd be able to buy a shirt. Here."

He hands you his wallet, only for you to pass it right back.

"It's good, I'll get it."

"I dragged you here."

"And I'm the one who made that stupid bird," you laugh. "It's fine. Tell you what though, if they only have ugly shirts, you're gonna have to get one too. Can't be doing this alone."

"Watcha mean?"

"Well look at you," you shrug, as if it's plainly obvious. "You're in all black and - not that I agree with this, but - I'm sure some people will find you 'okay' looking. You know all the yummy mummies are gonna be swooning over you instead of looking after their kids."

"Swooning?" He grins with a small chortle. "Are you trying to insinuate something, Byeol?"

You gasp, and take a step away from him. "Are you saying I look like a mother?"

This, he decides rather quickly, is dangerous. You almost sound like you're flirting. It's not that he doesn't enjoy it, just that he knows he shouldn't indulge himself and yet-

"Maybe I'm into MILFs."

You've a remarkably good poker face. He can't tell if you're actually annoyed, until you look at him with a small smile. It's hidden by the sultry, tempestuous expression you're throwing his way, but definitely still there.

"So first I'm a mother, and now you wanna fuck me? Well, aren't you full of surprises?"

If there's one thing Jeongguk enjoys, it's a girl who knows how to twist words. Regretfully, it always gets him thinking about other ways they could twist their tongues. The thoughts are unsavoury. Sordid. Lewd.

But you're you.

You're off-limits, and he knows better than to play with fire. He needs to get you wet.

Just, like, not in that way.

"I'll put you under that fountain if you don't stop twisting my words," he asserts as you walk through the park. To your right is a pool, with bright slides twisting in all directions around it. Families play, and laughter prevails. It's nice.

To your left is a row of spouting fountains for kids to run through, water pitter-pattering against the warm concrete floor. They're tall enough that even Jeongguk could stand beneath them without issue. You always think they look like reverse umbrellas; water pouring where protection should be.

Puddles of water interrupt the walkway, but neither of you care all that much.

"Maybe if you got your head out your ass and stopped flirting-"

"Not flirting."

You scoff as sarcasm wraps itself around your words. "Yeah, and I'm a MILF."

He pauses. Stops walking. Laughs.

"Right," Jeongguk says. "That's it."

It's said in a tone so light and airy that you almost don't realise he's wrapping his arms around you with a grip tight enough to crack a rib. Your playful shrieks are ignored by other park visitors, chalked up to you being a pair of young lovers enjoying the frivolity of a waterpark together.

"I'm in white!" is your final cry before he pulls you under the cascade of a fountain with him.

The worst part of it, you think, is how goddamn happy he sounds, laughing at your misery.

"And I told you to stop twisting my words, Byeol," he says like the bastard he is, while you struggle against him again. Finally releasing you, he keeps a clasp on your wrists to prevent you from straying. "You made your choice."

"I made no such thing," you wail, but the stream of water has you spluttering - and then you're laughing.

Laughing just like he is; like how you imagine Galileo would have laughed when he first pointed his telescope skyward, and saw the rings of Saturn. It's unadulterated. Blissful. Pure.

Jeongguk loosens his grip on your wrists. He rests his elbows on your shoulders, using his hands to create a barrier between the stream of water and your eyes. There's glitter on your cheeks, now, forced to part way with your eyes thanks to the water pressure, and Jeongguk finds himself grinning at how you manage to look like a party even in the middle of the day.

Perhaps he's a lot more like Galileo than you first thought. Maybe he's laughing because he's looking at the stars, too.

Water barrels down on the pair of you, soaking your hair, your clothes, your skin. It's heavy, the pressure of the fountain far heavier than a shower, but you suppose the outcome is the same.

You don't want to look at Jeongguk with anything but moderate vexation, and yet there's a fond smile tugging at your lips.

Strands of wet hair stick to his face, droplets catching on his lashes and falling down his cheeks. He shakes like a dog caught out in the rain, only to continue getting drenched because he doesn't move from the fountains trajectory. It'd be so easy for him to just manoeuvre himself out of the fountain's direct line and hold you in place, but he chooses to be caught up in it, too. Chooses to be with you. Experience with you.

You'd done his bird together. Only fair for him to do yours with you.

"You still scared, Byeol?" Jeongguk asks, voice quiet beneath the water pummeling down on you both, and yet it has your attention loud and clear.

You want to banter back, say something that will get tripping on his words just like you seem to be - but the rope tied around your ankles seems to be around your tongue, too. Instead, you just shake your head.

"See," he smiles, now. Pulls a hand away from your forehead to wipe at his. Puts it back. "Are showers really that scary?"

And then you do laugh. "It's not a shower. You know it isn't even close."

His face scrunches, water catching in all of his little ridges.

He'll admit the water is annoying. Keeps having to close his eyes. It's bothersome, and it's not like he even cares for boundaries anymore at this point, so-

Fuck it.

His pinkies are against your forehead, index fingers outward. He lowers his head, mirroring you. Rests his forehead against his index fingers. Swears. Can finally fucking see.

And now that he can?

He's looking at you.

With his head angled to such a degree that your chins couldn't be further apart, you still manage to fool yourself to believe that your lashes could brush.

"It's as close as we'll get to one," he counters. "You are showering with another person."

"I'm under a stream of water with another person."

"And how is that any different to showering with someone?"

He isn't stupid. He knows the answer. Knows that you're pedantic enough to go into all the clauses and stipulations that would ever stop this from being classed as a shower - and so he doesn't let you.

Instead, he pulls away, grabbing your wrist as he does so. Leads you further into the park with a smile so big you're surprised he doesn't dislocate his jaw.

"That's the hard part done," he assures you. "You've had a shower with someone. Say thank you."

There's an acute awareness between you both that he's not helped you to overcome your fear in the slightest - but he does have you laughing as you walk through the park, absolutely sodden, without a single care in the world. You're not even bothered by the fact your black bra is visible through the soaked fabric of your shirt.

See, Jeongguk's gotten you relaxed in a situation when you know you'd typically be frantic. He's taking the pressure off. Got you giggling. Got you facing a fear, even if it's not exactly how he set out to do so, nor the fear in question.

In his defence, he really had thought his contrived little plan would count. He'd have never insisted on actually taking a shower with you. He understands why you consider them so intimate. He does, too. Something about the vulnerability really gets him. It's not even the sex that inevitably comes with one that makes him weak at the knees.

He thinks of the girl who folded paper butterflies for him, and how he'd shampoo her hair, chest pressed to her back, and the fact it was in the confines of his bathroom that he realised he was in love with her.

So, Jeongguk gets it. It's why he wouldn't even consider anything but his dumb little waterpark shower as a remedy of your insecurities. He hopes a lesson is learned even if a fear isn't overcome: you can let down your guard without giving up all of you.

What it comes down to, you think, is that Jeongguk isn't a taker. He's not a giver, either, really - but when your walls start to crack and crumble, he doesn't intrude. Stands at a safe distance. Offer you back your bricks. Most men you knew would see a weakness in your defences and claim what's yours as their own.

He's not always been this way. Used to have a 'what's yours is mine' understanding of his relationships, too.

His butterfly girl had taught him that no, just because he was given temporary access to something didn't mean it was his. He'd learnt the hard way after he'd always swapped his heart with hers, not realising she'd ever want it back.

And so while Jeongguk will never fully understand whatever you went through - not unless you choose to share it with him - he can empathise. Treat you how he wished someone would have treated him while he was still healing.

As the clouds migrate across the sky, fluffy white shapes occasionally hiding the careful watch of the sun, the day rolls into stupid competitions and races down the tallest slides in the park. The reason you'd ended up here doesn't seem to matter.

Jeongguk races you to the top of the slides again, and again, and again, just to try and beat you down them. He never wins.

Not until you hold back by just a millisecond.

It's just enough to give him a slight edge, and have him roaring in victory - "ha! suck it! loser!" - as he slaps at the water, a smile larger than Hang Sơn Đoòng eclipsing any desire you had to win. You'll let him have this one. Let him have one victory.

The haze of late-afternoon sun grazes down on the pair of you, while you lounge by the 'adults-only' pool area. A lot of families have gone home already, but sometimes it's nice to be away from the shrieks of kids messing about in the water.

You're not exactly the maternal type. In fact, Jeongguk's the one who's been pointing out how cute the kids are in their little armbands and sprout hairstyles. He's not wrong. They're incredibly adorable - you're just not that naturally inclined to go 'awww'.

It's all swings and roundabouts, though. Getting away from kids meant being surrounded by, well, some less wholesome auras.

Jeongguk thinks he notices it first; the unwelcome gaze of a middle-aged man. He's felt it for a little while. Upwards of ten minutes. Thinks you're none the wiser. Tries to figure out what's so fucking interesting. Stares him out a little bit - but is ignored.

See, the man - who is probably old enough to be your father - isn't looking at Jeongguk at all. Too busy staring at you, and that shirt of yours which is still yet to dry out. You're on your back, sunning yourself, clothes sodden and sticking to your skin.

Jeongguk thinks you look no different to anyone else in the park. It's typical to wear regular clothes in places like these. Would be more shocking if you were in a bikini. And so while yes, he has noticed the fact your bra is dark, he couldn't tell you the colour because he's been trying not to look. Actively avoiding it, actually.

Annoyance isn't something that Jeongguk's ever been able to hide well.

As he sucks in a little bit of air between his teeth and mutters a small curse to himself, you glance over.

"Hmm?" you ask.

It's not like you don't know the man's staring. You had warned Jeongguk about your attire earlier. Was always gonna happen. He just hadn't realised that this was the reason why you'd been so insistent about the fact he was an asshole for not giving you a dress code.

Realistically, you could have bought a second shirt - but the pair of you got distracted. Didn't care so much when you were laughing and joking about how you both look like rats with your hair all wet.

"Here," he says, tugging on his shirt at the nape of his neck. There's resistance, the weight of the water dragging against his skin, but he pays it no mind as he pulls the shirt over his head. You're still laying down on your back, and turn onto your front with a small grin.

"Y'know if I really was all that bothered, I'd just do this," you say, talking about your change in position. It's not that you want the man to stare - you just know he will regardless. Know that your shorts have ridden up a little, and so he's getting a whole new type of show.

Jeongguk doesn't laugh. Smiles, but doesn't let it reach his eyes. Leans over and drapes the fabric of his shirt over the top of your legs. Over your ass. "You'll burn."

"I'm wearing suncream," you purr, knowing that this has nothing to do with keeping your skin safe.

And so Jeongguk just shrugs. Considers staying silent. Chooses not to.

"He might wanna stare, Byeol," he almost growls beneath his breath, feigning indifference through his body language. "But I don't."

"You saying you can't help yourself?" You tease, to which he just rolls his eyes and lays back down.

"I can help myself perfectly well," he says, tongue flicking against the inside of his cheek. "Just didn't finish my sentence."

"Oh?" you chirp with great curiosity.

There's a boldness to the way you're engaging in conversation with him. Makes you realise that Jeongguk is just the same as any other boy. He can see you as a sexual object, apparently. Just chooses not to. It's all very interesting.

"He might wanna stare, Byeol," he repeats, crossing his arms over his torso, a defensiveness to his posture, even when he's flat on his back. "But I don't want him to."

Though his eyes remain closed, Jeongguk can hear you move to sit on your knees.

Your back is to the sleazebag, Jeongguk shirt bunching by your heels. You pull it around and bundle it in your lap, mouth resting open in a slight stare of shock.

Unspoken words beg for him to look at you.

But he doesn't. Keeps his eyes firmly shut. Grins. Just says, "Lie back down, Byeol."

The worst part is that you want to. You really do. When his voice is that low, the look on his face that cocky, you want to fold like a sheet of fucking origami paper. Have him bending you about like one of those damn birds.

But then you take a second to think, and realise you're no better than that guy who is still staring at you so intensely you're surprised he doesn't burst a blood vessel. Makes you feel bad. Guilty.

So instead you toss Jeongguk his shirt back and, as you stand, say, "I've a fear of intimacy, Jeongguk. No fear in telling men to fuck off."

He's not surprised by your response. Quite amused by it. Sits up on his elbows. Watches with curiosity as you walk away from him - and then is stunned to see you beeline for the man.

It's the kind of thing he'd see in a movie, background characters slowing to a stop, time ceasing to move except for the leading lady.

And then you're pointing. Accusing. Jeongguk's not sure of what - he can't hear you from this far away - but he knows it isn't nice. Watches the blood drain from the man's face. He's ghostly. And then it all returns, red and raw, with such a vengeance he's surprised blood doesn't start leaking from his nose.

When you turn on your heel, Jeongguk observes with morbid novelty at the scene unfolding; the intense shame on the man's face and the pure brilliance on yours.

"Men," you sigh, as you sit back down next to him. Mirroring his position, you're up on your elbows until you casually let yourself fall back into your original position. "Sorry, where were we? You told me to lie down? Done."

Jeongguk doesn't say anything. Just grins. Collapses back down, too. Doesn't tell you to cover up. Knows better.

Doesn't shut up about it for the rest of the day, though.

Relays the story to you as if you weren't there - weren't central to it - with so much animation that you think he might turn into a cartoon on the subway home.

He's still talking about it between the part where he invites you back for dinner - "Jimin's gonna be in but it's cool. We haven't eaten all day, you must be starving." - and the part where he stands by your door, taking a whole twenty minutes to say goodbye.

You've declined the offer. Told him it'd be a bit weird seeing Jimin. Wouldn't know how to explain it. Jeongguk just says "of course, yeah, you're right. Didn't even think of that. My bad."

There's a little silence afterwards. You know why. It's rejection. Not romantic, nor for anything serious, but it's still the same difference. He'd spent the day trying to help you break down walls only for you to put your bricks on top of his.

It's as he's heading down your stairs (after his fifteenth and final 'bye') that you realise how rude you've been. Just 'cause you wouldn't feel entirely welcome at his doesn't mean he's not welcome at yours.

"Hey, wait a sec! Danbi's home, but do you wanna eat here?" You chance. "We don't have much in, but I can order or we can-"

"My God, I thought you'd never ask," he grins immediately turning on his heel and back towards you. "So hungry I might die."

"You won't."

"I could."

The pair of you bicker as you enter your apartment, Danbi glancing up from the sofa. She looks at you, then looks at Jeongguk, and takes a second to place his face. Definitely knows it - and then it clicks.

She considers asking why the fuck your favourite barman is following you in. He's known within the confines of your apartment as the Barman That Smiles (more commonly referred to as BTS boy), Jeongguk's name a secret just for you to know. Danbi doesn't realise all of those nights you waste are the bar are wasted on him, nor does she realise he's the reason you snuck off the other night.

What she does wonder, however, is if this is all part of your master-get-revenge-on-Seokjin-plan.

Instead of voicing any of these queries, she settles on "what are we having for dinner?"

You shrug. "Ask Jeongguk. He's paying."

He raises a brow as if to question your assertion - only for him to cough up the bill for the pizza delivery that feeds the three of you through a Deadpool rewatch.

When he leaves, Danbi tells him he has to come back next week for Deadpool 2. You grin as you walk him out.

"She just wants you to pay for more food," you tell and he nods. Says he knows.

But then he calls back over to Danbi, "See you next week."

She does a little cheer, and it's all very sweet. They get on well. His humour is welcome in your apartment, and so is his presence. Danbi also hopes it means she'll get more free drinks next time she's at the club.

"She'll play you like a damn fiddle if you let her," you warn just out of her earshot.

"Good," he grins. "We can double date with you and Jimin."

You tell him to fuck off - but also insist that he lets you know when he gets home. The way you care about him is so casual that it feels as if it's been this way for years.

As he heads on home, Jeongguk kind of hopes it will be. Hopes it's the kind of friendship that stands the test of time. Worries that he shouldn't take the flirting too far - but then he's distracted by the little fleck of glitter on the top of his hand. His thoughts are lost, a smile unwinding on his lips as he strolls back to his place.

The skies are void of stars tonight, and yet, for the first time in months, Jeongguk's eyes are full of them.

AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT

#by holly #jk #jeongguk fanfic #jungkook fanfic #Jungkook Fanfiction #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook ff #jeongguk fic #bartender!jungkook #BD #bad decisions #bangtan #bts fanfic #dappleddaisies

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pilesofpillows · 7 months

Text

Snooze

Attoye Kinktober | Free Choice: Somnophilia

Read it here on AO3

Warnings: Smut (18+), Highly NSFW, Dirty Talk, Power Dynamics (if you squint), Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex, Consenual Somnophilia

A/N: This fic was originally supposed be for Day 8, which is monsterfucking, but ya girl wants to fuck monsters on Halloween so I switched the two. Considering Day 31 was a free choice, I chose somnophilia 😜

It should be known, I am working on my omegaverse & bondage fics as well as a few other spicy shorts for this month. Let’s hope I get them out before Kinktober ends 💀😂

All my thanks and love to @theemfingmenace & @umber-cinders for beta reading this for me… my love for y’all cannot be properly articulated but I will always try my best & @theattoyearchive for actively encouraging my filthy writing habits 💕💕

Attuma had never met anyone who slept as deeply as his wife.

From the moment her head hit the pillow and her breathing evened out, Okoye was dead to the world. She could sleep through anything: thunderstorms, emergency sirens, even the chirping of birdsong in the mornings. At the start of their relationship, he'd made a game of trying to rouse her, attempting various things. He'd run his thumb along the divot of her spine, or press soft, shudder-inducing kisses to the back of her ear, or rain softer kisses over her cheeks and lips. There was even a time he'd mouthed his way up her neck and sucked a mark against her throat, only for her to hum soft and low, then rock her hips against him in her unconsciousness.

It was all to no avail. Anything less than the tinny chime of her kimoyo beads, and his wife remained unmoved.

"You would sleep through a tidal wave, in yakunaj," he'd rasped into her ear one slow morning. It was a rare occasion; neither of their presences were required elsewhere that day, and Okoye hadn't woken until the sun was high in the sky. He'd lain with her strewn across him, listening to her soft snores in perfect peace, nearly falling back asleep himself when she finally stirred.

Okoye sat up, thighs astride his waist, and stretched. Her voice was still thick with sleep as she chuckled, "You wouldn't let me drown, would you, sithandwa?"

Attuma smiled and sat up, adjusting them so she was seated in his lap, and kissed her forehead. "Never."

"Well then," she murmured into his neck, "I don't see the problem."

"The problem is: there are more enjoyable, exciting things we could be doing in the mornings," he replied, grasping her hips and rocking up into her suggestively.

Okoye chuckled again and leaned back, arching a bemused brow at him. "Is that what mornings are for now?"

"They could be," Attuma smirked. "Certainly sounds better than swimming or running before the sun rises." He ducked his head and began mouthing kisses against her throat and jaw. "You'd probably burn more calories on my cock anyway."

"Attuma!" she shrieked, rocking back and swatting his chest in scandal.

"Yes, in yakunaj?" he replied coyly. He grabbed two handfuls of her ass and pulled her into him, making her gasp as his mouth found the sensitive skin of her neck again.

Okoye smiled and shook her head, threading her fingers through his hair. She rocked against his hardening length and sighed prettily in his ear. The air between them grew heavy and thick, electric passion stoking the flames of their desire.

Attuma breathed her in, smelling the sweet spice of her arousal, and nearly purred. His hands encircled her waist, sliding under the tunic she'd worn to bed. His tunic. The oversized garment slid off her shoulder as she threw her head back, and he sucked a mark onto newly exposed skin.

"You know," she gasped, arching into his hold, "you don't have to wake me for that." Her hips ground against him, and Attuma could feel her wetness through the thin barrier of her thong. "You can have me anytime you'd like," she breathed, words blurring into a moan.

A quiet laugh rumbled through his chest as he drew back to pull the tunic over her head. "I doubt it would wake you regardless, ch'ujuk ba'al," he husked, sucking a dark peak into his mouth and nibbling on her pebbled nipple until she whined softly.

“Well, I'm awake now,” Okoye said, breaths coming faster as her fist tightened in his hair and her hips rocked against his stomach in search of the same sensation his mouth provided. "So I suppose you'll have to try a different morning."

~~~

It was weeks before he had the opportunity.

Attuma woke first, like he always did, slipping from their sheets to dunk his head under the sink in their bathroom and refresh his rebreathers. He grabbed Okoye a fresh glass of water and brought it back to their bedroom, stopping in the doorway to admire the slumbering silhouette of his wife.

His love for her was unfathomable, deeper than his home's most sunken trenches. It went beyond all logic and reason, defying any attempts at explanation, and stole the very breath from his lungs when he considered it. Even now, knowing he had it, Attuma coveted her love. There was nothing he wouldn't do for it, and even the gods were blind to the lengths he would go to keep it. To keep her.

Okoye loved him back with the same ferocity. Her love was sunlight in his soul, bright and invigorating, filling the darkest recesses of him with something so pure he had no choice but to revel in its glory.

He wanted her all the time.

Crossing the room on quiet feet, Attuma placed her water on the bedside table and traced light fingers over the tattoos covering her scalp. She shifted, reaching her arm from under the covers and pressing her face into the pillow he usually slept on, seeking him out even in her sleep. He grinned.

A few stray rays of sunlight streamed into their room, shining softly across their bed and illuminating the rich brown of her skin. He studied her shamelessly, eyes raking over her body's sensuous curves and lean muscles. The dark bruise on her right shoulder brought a sharp edge to his grin, the sight of his mark on her waking something almost feral and certainly dangerous in him.

He slid back into bed soundlessly, covering her body with his own, and kissed a line from her neck to the bite. Okoye didn't stir in the slightest. She was naked, neither bothering to get redressed after cleaning up the remnants of their passion from the prior evening. Attuma was glad for it; he could take his time this way.

He trailed his lips from her shoulder to her nape, then ghosted kisses down her spine, lowering himself as he went. His legs straddled hers as his tongue dipped into the symmetrical dimples on her lower back. Hands running along her sides, Attuma stroked up and down in a circular pattern, thumbs gently pressing on the edges of her shoulder blades each time they crested. Still, Okoye remained deep in her slumber.

He wondered when she would wake. Would it take his tongue fluttering around her clit, sucking the sweet nub until she woke with his name on her lips? Or perhaps he'd focus his attentions higher— would she stir if he licked his way into the tight passage of her ass? Would she gasp and shudder as her mind caught up with the havoc he'd wreaked on her body? Then again, she might wake with a pretty keen as he slid his thick cock into her, splitting her open until she scarcely had room for breath.

He damn near salivated at the thought and hardened painfully as the blood rushed to his groin.

Fingers encircling her waist and drifting over her ribcage, Attuma's hands swept downward to grasp her hips. He pulled his sleeping wife to her knees and settled behind her, continuing his kisses over the perfect swell of her ass. He traced his tongue along her outer lips, savoring her taste. Using his thumbs to spread her open, he watched her sweet pussy blossom for him, honeyed arousal glistening like morning dew. Attuma bit his lip to suppress his groan and pressed a light kiss to her clit, nuzzling his nose against her entrance. Okoye's hushed sigh was sweeter than birdsong.

Leaning forward again, he pressed his tongue flat against her clit and dragged it through her folds, sampling her fully. He circled her entrance, flicking the tip of his tongue inside, and couldn't stop his groan as her cunt throbbed for him. He repeated the motion, humming while he lapped and laved at her with abandon, losing himself in the intoxicating taste of her.

Circling, sucking, nibbling, fucking— Attuma devoured her with a single-minded focus and an almost vulgar need to possess. He spelled out his name over her pussy, glyph by glyph, tasting her, marking her. There was no part of her that didn't belong to him, and he'd make sure her body would remember it, even if her mind didn't. His little wife arched back, breath hitching as she pressed her pretty pussy into his mouth, but she slept on, ignorant to the claim he was staking.

The depth of her slumber was a heady, thrilling challenge that made his blood race and his mind war with itself. There was a deep need in him to see how far he could drive her— to see her body tremble and quake with pleasure while she was lost in the land of dreams. Yet, the other half of him wanted to wake her, if only so he could tell her all he'd done to her while she slept, what she'd let him do to her. What she was letting him do even now.

The muscles in her thighs began their telltale tremble, a signal fire of her impending climax, and Attuma was greedy for it. He lashed at her clit, listening to her panting carefully, then wrapped his mouth around the bundle of nerves and sucked.

Okoye came for him without a sound, flooding his mouth with her release. Attuma's mind buzzed with a euphoric static, drunk on the power he commanded over her body.

He drew back, watching her sopping cunt throb and clench around nothing but air. She was ripe and swollen from his attentions, but he had no intention of stopping.

He wanted to ruin her.

Okoye woke dazed and near delirium.

An aching, singing heat in her veins only added to her confusion. She tried to take stock of her body, but her muscles tensed and jumped of their own accord. A thrumming rumble of vibration rocked through her, and her hips jerked back against a firm hold. Her nerves were overshot, her mind struggling to make sense of up and down until fingers— fingers inside of her —pressed against that soft, secret place within. Her eyes snapped open as electric ecstasy coursed through her body, making everything blindingly white for endless seconds, and she keened.

Okoye buried her face in the pillows, fighting for her sanity with every breath when a throaty chuckle sounded behind her.

"Ah-Attuma?"

She felt the responding hum ripple through her body and choked out another keen as the same fingers— his fingers —moved in her again. White-hot sparks of mind-numbing pleasure raced up her spine with the sound, sending her hands scrambling, reaching, grasping, twisting for some form of purchase as she arched back against her husband's talented tongue. His tongue that was circling and sliding, flicking and darting… against her ass.

Okoye's eyes screwed shut as she realized and croaked curses spilled from her lips like wine into their pillowcases while Attuma fucked her ass with his tongue. The dizzying amount of pleasure rollicking through her body was indescribable, and the coiling tension in her muscles was indisputable. She was going to come again— hard.

"Fuck, Okoye... you're gonna come again, aren't you?" Attuma asked before she could stutter the words, feeling her walls spasming around his fingers. "Yeah, you are," he answered his own question with a grin and rocked up to kiss the small of her back. "Gonna come from having my tongue buried in your ass, huh? Filthy girl." The taunt in his voice was almost cruel, and the bite he delivered to her ass cheek certainly was. All the while, his fingers stroked her with deadly precision, moving faster, harder, dragging against her until she damn near screamed. "Ko'oten túun, in yakunaj. Ko'oten tin yaal in k'ab. [Come on then, my love. Come on my fingers]."

Okoye had no choice. She came with the force of a tidal wave. Her back arched further, spine curving almost painfully, and strangled wails were screamed into the pillows below her. Her mind blanked out, ears ringing, and she detailed the heavens as supernovas burst behind her eyes.

Her senses returned one by one as her pulse thundered in her ears. Distantly, she could feel Attuma murmuring praises into her sweat-slicked skin, his fingers slowing gradually. Okoye hissed weakly when he withdrew from her, blinking through the haze of bliss and sleep as his lips trailed up her back, tongue licking the sweat pooling along her spine. He folded himself over her, hand tracing over her arm and folding over her still-furled fist. Attuma kissed the mark he'd left on her shoulder last night.

"Good morning," he rasped into her ear, nudging her cheek with his nose.

Okoye didn't trust her voice yet, so she pressed her face into his instead, trying to catch her breath.

Attuma's hulking frame shrouded hers, and he unfurled her fist, twining their fingers. "Do you know how many times you peaked for me, ch'ujuk ba'al?" His voice was still thick with lust, and she could feel the remnants of her arousal on his chin as he kissed the shell of her ear. "How many times this pretty pussy of yours came on my tongue before you even began to stir?" She mewled, hips jerking at the feeling of his thick cockhead dragging along her swollen sex.

Bast help her; he wasn't nearly done.

"Three." Attuma answered his own question, sinking his entire length into her with one deft stroke.

Okoye choked on her own gasp, incredulous at the number and overwhelmed by the fullness of him. "Ixoki [Liar.]," she accused, tongue tripping over the word and mangling the pronunciation entirely as he began fucking her.

"Three times," he said, untwining their fingers to grasp her hips and pull her back onto his cock. "Three. Fucking. Times." Every word was punctuated with a harsh thrust from him and a strangled moan from her. "Drank you down every fucking time, too."

The desperate scrape in his voice curled deliciously at the base of her spine, sending a bolt of heat that rocked through her before spooling low in her abdomen.

"Attuma... Bast!"

"No, Okoye. Not Bast," he growled, spreading her further and plunging deeper, "Not Chaac. Not Sekhmet. Not Itzmana." His thrusts took on a possessive quality, and her eyes rolled back, fingers twisting so tightly in the sheets they almost tore. "No gods, ch'ujuk ba'al... Just me. You're just for me." His rhythm grew erratic, and his grip grew tighter, and she cried out with every slam of his hips into hers. Attuma folded himself over her body, chanting his claim like a prayer into her skin. "Mine. All mine."

His mouth was all teeth and tongue, and she shrieked his name in a sob as his teeth sank into the muscle of her left shoulder.

"Fuck! Attuma, fucking... fuck!"

"Beyech mina, Okoye."

"Yes! Fuck! Yesyesyesyesyes!"

"Tell me– Tell me you're mine."

A demand, a request, a plea.

She was keening again, so overstimulated and so, so close.

"Yours, Ah! Attuma, ‘m’yours."

A capitulance, an answer, a promise.

It was enough.

Attuma roared his release, guttural and deep, hips stuttering against hers, fucking his cum deeper into her, every pulse of his cock shoving her over the brink with him. He dropped his head onto her back, resting heavy between her shoulder blades as they shuddered and panted, chests rising and falling in tandem.

Her mind began to drift, eyes blearing with exhaustion despite having just woken up. He pulled himself from her body slowly, and she sagged in his hold, legs too weak to hold her up any longer.

"Not yet, ch'ujuk ba'al," Attuma husked, recouping his breath and planting a sweet kiss on her nape, then another to the mark adorning her right shoulder and the next to the newest on her left. The rest he ghosted down her back, massaging her bruised hips as he slid lower. He kissed the soft swells of her ass, then spread her open. Her husband held her there, murmuring low in his mother tongue, but Okoye couldn't hear him.

Her brows knit in confusion, face heating as she felt the wet rush of their combined releases dripping down her slit. She swallowed thickly, opening her mouth to voice a question that died in her throat the moment the flat of his tongue met her pussy. Her mouth stayed parted in a wide, silent gasp as Attuma lapped at her with broad strokes, too shocked to move, even from the overwhelming sensation of his mouth on her again. The breath rushed back into her lungs when he curled his tongue and speared it inside her fluttering walls.

"Attuma!" His name was half a question, half an exclamation. "What– oh!– what're you doing?"

"Shh," he hushed her protests and massaged the back of her thighs. "This is mine too, isn't it, ch'ujuk ba'al?"

Okoye whimpered weakly, jumping as he kissed her clit.

"I just want a taste."

~Finis~

A/N: I’m smoking an herbal as we speak… I’ll touch grass when the sun is up.

Like I said, omegaverse and bondage are still cooking. I’ve embraced my inner chaos thanks to some… wise advice and I’ll just be posting what’s ready when it’s ready. My personal life is Hot Mess Express at the moment, but I will do my best to keep writing and sharing with y’all because each and every single one of you makes my heart glow like fireflies in the bayou. 💕💕

#attoye #attuma x okoye #okoye x attuma #okoye x attuma fanfiction #okoye #attuma #bpwf #black panther wakanda forever #kinktober 2023 #pilesofpillows

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kpopnstarwars · 7 months

Text

Cyar'ika: Din Djarin x Reader

A/N: wrote this when i was younger but i still kinda like it so excuse the cheese (i know the text dividers are off centre ok dont come for me)

Warnings: blood, injuries, fever, angsty, i think there's swearing, massive cheesiness at the end and tooth rotting fluff

Word Count: <2500

You've known Mando - Din, since you two were children, playing at the ankles of the other, older, Mandalorians. You two grew up together, trained with each other, told each other your names at hardly a blink of an eye, swore yourselves to the Creed on the same day. After that, you two did go your separate ways, him joining the Guild as a bounty hunter, you deciding to do the same job, except you didn't work for the Guild. Because of this, you two didn't see each other often, but that's fine because you made time for each other. Din's probably the only person you trust. And him, well, he definitely trusts you. If he didn't, you two wouldn't be friends. You're the only person he goes out of his way to meet up with for company, and nothing else.

So hopefully he won't mind that you just managed to break into his ship so you could get somewhere where the beskar won't be ripped off your body by people taking advantage of your current state. Or that despite both your hands pressed into the wound, you're bleeding all over the floor from the wound that you recieved after being a little bit too lazy on a hunt. Or that smear of gore left behind you when you dragged yourself up the cargo ramp. Or the fact that you could very well steal the child from where he's sleeping peacefully in the cot to your right.

You know he'll see the scuff marks and prints in the dust around his ship, so you aren't surprised when he climbs up the ramp with his blaster raised and ready.

'Hands up,' he says in that cool, measured voice that you love, despite the crackle of static that masks it almost fully. Your heart aches, because it reminds you that you'll never see him with his helmet off, unless he... No, he'd never. To Din, you're a friend. Nothing else.

'I - I don't think I can put my hands up,' you gasp out. 'Unless you want my guts on your floor.' 'Stars, Y/N,' he mutters, and you grin weakly under your helmet, which turns to a grimace as he scoops you up, careful not to jar your gloved hands where they're pressed against your side. 'G - guess I should h - have listened to you when we were y - ounger and you t - told me I had to be more careful,' you grit out.

'Shut up,' he mutters, setting you down carefully on his cot and moving lightning fast from crate to crate, rummaging through them, cursing under his breath, the closest to panic you've ever seen. Eventually, he growls a long string of Outer Rim expletives since all he has is a needle and thread. Your eyes droop, and somehow he must know, because he practically slaps you across the helmet, the jolt making your eyes snap back open, a whimper falling from your lips, your hands weakening as they press into your wound, keeping the blood in.

'Stay awake,' he pleads. 'I'm sorry, I don't have any - any bacta. I've got to stitch you up before I leave to get any. I'm going to have to t - take this off, okay?'

'Don't - don't let me die, Din,' you pant, and you could swear you hear a choked sob as he yanks his gloves off; his warm, steady hands start ripping away your breastplate, then your undershirt, and you can't help but notice the way his calluses scrape against the scar marred skin of your stomach. You focus on the feel of it, jaw clenched, trying to blot out the pain.

'Oh Maker,' he gulps, surveying your wound, and you don't dare look, just fix your eyes on his visor, right where you know his eyes are. He threads the needle, cursing his clumsiness, and suddenly

Blinding pain. Throbbing through your stomach, bright shafts of agony, and you swallow your scream, hands fisting in Din's sheets. You hear yourself gasping his name, but he doesn't, won't stop, apologizing again and again as he sews you back up, and dimly, your voice begs him to distract you, and then there's that soft baritone, masked by the vocoder, yet still there, still human, and you fall silent, focusing on his voice, anything but the pain, and he's whispering things you hear but don't understand, his voice engulfing you - and then it stops. The pain reduces, and the muscles you unknowingly tensed relax.

'What?' You slur. 'I'm finished. Go to sleep, cyar'ika.'

Your brain registers the last word more than the others. Sweetheart, in Mando'a. He just - Din just called you... The rest of your brain deciphers the former part of his sentence, and your eyelids slam shut.

────── ⋆⋅✦⋅⋆ ──────

You wake up shivering. Din's crouched by the cot, one hand on the skin of your neck since he can't exactly touch your forehead. You giggle deliriously at the thought of taking off your helmet in front of him, and he cocks his head.

'Y/N?' He asks softly, and you become aware that the shirt on you is far too big and definitely smells like him. Underneath is some gauze over your stitches, and you can tell that he's already applied the bacta. 'This your shirt?' You slur, even though it's pretty obvious. Din turns his helmet away, and you feel his gaze move off you. 'I got the bacta too late,' he says, voice heavy with worry. 'You've got a fever.'

'Cold,' you mumble, and suddenly, he looks so warm, so inviting, and some weird part of your memory remembers Din's basically a furnace. You wrap your fingers around his wrist, yanking him towards you. No way he's caught by surprise, Din doesn't do surprised, so he must let you drag him closer so you can bury your face into the fabric of his cape, feeling the heat of his body radiating through the cloth. Happily, you sigh, one hand crawling over his shoulder to start undoing his breastplate.

'Y/N,' he chokes out as you chuck it over his shoulder and meld yourself into his chest, absorbing his warmth. 'Why are you calling me my name now? You called me cyar'ika before,' you whine, not really aware that you're speaking out loud. He freezes, then his hand cups the back of your neck and pulls you close, stroking your hair. 'Go to sleep,' he soothes, but his voice shakes a little. 'But - ' 'I'll - I'll explain to you later,' he mutters, and touches his forehead to yours. 'Keldabe kiss,' you mumble, and he nods. 'Yeah. Sleep now.' He pauses. 'Cyar'ika.'

────── ⋆⋅✦⋅⋆ ──────

You stand under the shower head in the 'fresher, wishing the hot water pummeling your skin could wash away all your worries.

You didn't actually believe it was possible to avoid Din on a ship as small as the Razor Crest until... well, until you proved yourself wrong by doing exactly that. And Din was probably doing the same, so whenever you two do pass by each other, there's a thick silence that is only punctuated by the child's coos - probably of confusion, since the two bucket headed humans which he's always seen together are now doing all they can to stay away from each other.

To be honest, you're running out of excuses to escape to a room where Din isn't. You're almost healed now, fever broken a day ago, wound near gone, thanks to the bacta Din left out for you since he's definitely not going to smear it on while you two are acting like the other doesn't exist. The wound still hurts a bit, and you know it's going to be hard to take out the stitches without help, but you'll risk pretty much anything to avoid having to talk out your whiny clinginess during the fever with Din.

You know it's going to happen eventually; one of you is going to break and blurt something out, and you're determined not to be the first, because you have no idea what the outcome will be. And because you're scared - scared that if you stop acting like nothing happened, Din will reveal that he doesn't like you like you like him and the friendship, the trust that you two had built, will all crumble to nothing but memories.

So you stay silent. And you linger in the rooms where Din is not as much as possible. Reaching to the side, you switch off the water, as usual, so Din gets some hot water too, but unlike normally, you sit down in the shower with your back to the tiles, letting the steam warm you until it gets too cold to procrastinate any longer and you're forced to dry yourself off and throw on some clothes. Just before you leave, you lift up your shirt and look at the stitches - the stitches Din made - and look at them. If they stay in any longer, they're likely to get infected. You know that you can't reach them at a good angle, and you risk injuring yourself if you take them out by yourself, but it's not like you can do anything else. Dropping the shirt hem, you slip on your helmet and unlock the 'fresher door and walk slap bang into Din.

'Sorry,' you both mutter at the same time. You move to edge around him, but he doesn't budge, or refuses to budge, so you have to stand there, in front of him, waiting for him. 'Your stitches need to be removed soon,' he says. 'Yeah,' you nod. It's torture, standing there, so close together yet so far apart. 'I should take them out.'

You press your lips together, needing to get past, to run from him. Suddenly, you burst out in a frustrated barrage of words. 'Stars, are you just going to stand there all day? What do you want me to say? What do you want me to do, Mando?' He takes a step back. You haven't called him Mando in private since you told each other your names, years ago. 'Y/N?' 'Why haven't you kicked me out of your ship yet?' You snap, knowing you've gone too far but not able to help it. 'It's obvious you don't want to look at me let alone get my stitches out so why don't you just chuck me out through the hatch and let me go be miserable somewhere else?' 'I wouldn't - I don't - ' 'Yeah, sure,' you say bitterly. 'Of course you'll get my stitches out, of course you wouldn't chuck me out the hatch, of course I'm someone you want here, of course you... of course you love me like I love you.' Your voice cracks, and if he was still before during your rant, now he's frozen. A sob threatens to break from your lips, because he's not moving, he doesn't care, of course he doesn't, and you don't want to cry in front of him, so you turn away, grab the 'fresher door handle -

A hand closes around your wrist. 'Stop.'

But you don't want to see it. You don't want to see the pitying black stare of his visor, don't want him to try and break it to you gently that he doesn't want you, so you snatch your hand back and slam the door behind you, lock it. Your helmet falls with a clang to the 'fresher floor, and you swipe at the tears blurring your vision, huddling into yourself. A lump forms in your throat, and you attempt to swallow it down, holding in your sobs because you know Din will hear them, and somehow, still, you don't want him to. You know it will hurt him. And none of this is his fault, you don't want to put this on him. Surely, this is your fault. Your fault for falling for a man who doesn't love you back.

────── ⋆⋅✦⋅⋆ ──────

You don't know how much later, but you're still on the 'fresher floor, helmet off, everything unchanged but for the door; unlocked. Unlocked, because you still cling onto a small hope that he'll want you, that he'll open the door and scoop you up and... Your heart pangs, and you swipe at another tear that falls. The silence seems to swallow your sniffles which feel so pitful, so weak, and you stare balefully at the shower head, wishing that it was still you and Din, friends, and nothing more.

There's a knock on the door, and that voice sounds, forcing you to hide your face in your hands to smother another choked sob as it speaks. 'Y/N... Y/N, put on your helmet.' You don't think, you just obey his voice because you've got no life left in you, no fight. The door eases open, and he stands there. 'I - I'm not good at talking,' he starts. 'But I want you to... I... it hurts me to see you like this.' You stare at him, silent, unresponsive, hopeless now. 'Just... get to the point.' 'Y/N...' His voice cracks. 'I love you too.' He falls to his knees in front of you as you don't move so much as an inch, your tears starting again. He grabs your hand in his, and with his other, he hooks his fingers under his helmet and lifts -

Your eyes slam shut. 'No.' You gasp. 'No, Din. The - the Creed.' 'I don't care,' he growls. 'Look at me. Look at me.' You shake your head. 'Stop. Please.' 'I love you, Y/N,' he says softly. 'I love you, cyar'ika.'

Your body goes rigid, and of their own accord, your eyes open for a split second before you squeeze them shut again, but his face is engraved in your memory. Soft looking, brown curls, gentle eyes which belong wholly to Din, lips which...

He gathers you in his arms. 'I know you saw,' he whispers. 'Marry me, cyar'ika.' Your tongue speaks for you before your brain can catch up. 'Yes, Din, anything.' He kisses the beskar cheek of your helmet, and you drink in his features, those beautiful eyes, as he speaks. 'I'm sorry I didn't...' You shake your head cutting him off. 'Seriously?' You say, voice still wobbling. 'You just black mailed me. If I didn't marry you, you'd have been forced to kill me.' His laugh without the vocoder makes you melt. 'I guess I was hoping you'd say yes.'

You yank your helmet off, and his eyes have barely settled on your face before you hook an arm around his neck and pull him towards you, locking your mouth onto his. He kisses you back with the desperation of a man who needs you like he needs air, his lips soft as he tangles his hands into your hair. You pull away, glancing back at your helmet which has rolled over to rest against his.

'My cyar'ika,' he murmurs, cupping your face in his callused hands, and you turn your gaze back to him.

'My riduur.'

#star wars #din djarin #din #the mandalorian #mando #din x reader #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #this is so unnecessarily cheesy and cliche #who is slow burn idk her

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