#it’s that she and they give me a lot of tenderness | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

screampied · 25 days

Text

໒꒱ ₊˚ ‘ TALKIN’ BODYYYY ! ’﹒⺡

gojo, toji, geto, nanami, sukuna.

જ warnings. fem! reader, praise, lots of dirty talk + degradation, face-riding, unprotected, spit, dumbification, breath play, spanking, squìrting, size kink, brat taming, edging, mdni.

𖬺 — SUGURU GETŌ.

“…girl, you can’t hear or something?” he’d drag out in a coarse voice. you were heaving, puffs of air leaving your mouth as you panted—ass hovering over his mouth. you were so sensitive, the string that resided between your thighs was lazily pulled to the side. geto brings a kiss toward the very crevices of your clit before sighing. “take a seat on me ‘n gimme another. not done eating.”

you briefly grind against his face, perking up your ass against his mouth. you moan, feeling him bring a wet kiss against your cunt. a good sum of sheeny spit departs and he sloppily laps it up with his tongue. “s-suguruuu,” and he was forevermore such a sloppy eater. your legs felt so hot. it was a sweet feeling of pure heat roaming all throughout your skin. all from his touch too. he liked eating you from behind, a perfect position to have the tip of his tongue brush up against your folds, even bringing a thumb to prod against your neglected and needy hole. “you said to give you one more the l-last time.”

“i know what i said, princess,” he’d reply in a rasp, and you whimper once you feel his teeth tug against the fabric of your underwear. you were covered in your own slick. the same exact slick that ran all down his chin. happily so, he casually laps up his bottom lip that had a remainder of your sweet before giving your pussy a sweet and tender kiss. “wait be quiet,”

and you do, pursing your lips together before feeling him ease a finger inside. your folds make a loud squelching pop, and geto hums before slowly sliding his tongue between your entrance. with his mouth full, he mumbles out a low, “so nasty. listen at how she’s tryna talk back to me, baby.”

“park that pussy for me, theeeere we go,” he’d continue in a whisper against your cunt — you moan, feeling him lick a single stripe between your labia. you felt the near coldness of geto’s tongue piercing titillate against your sopping entrance. he’s been eating you out for hours, tracing the alphabet all over with his tongue to make you drag out orgasm after orgasm. “just one more. f-fuck, ‘m so starved.”

his voice was a gritty low, you bit your bottom lip, finally sitting down on his face and geto continues to suck on your clit again. a long suck, it was so lewd that he’s basically slurping everything out of you. the bottom of his chin was wholly covered with your glistening slick. he playfully laps his tongue in such a slow way to make your knees buckle, thighs aching, teeth damn near shattering…

“s-suguuu,” you’d whinge, feeling the flatness of his tongue slither all over your most sensitive areas. his tongue had such length to it too—you felt him locate every spot with such deepness, the tip of his tongue slurps against your inner folds and you whine loudly. he makes sure to not focus directly on the clit. instead, he fixated his tongue everywhere. all throughout your hood and your wall, he’s nose deep. the point of his nose brushes against your pussy before his tongue lathers at the mere taste of you. he feels you pulsate in his mouth and a smile slants against his lips. “right there, keep going. gonna c-cum.”

“but you said you couldn’t give me another,” he snickers, his tongue starting to go in multiple swift directions. the speed had your legs just trembling beneath him. geto breaks his lips away before spitting right on your folds, running his middle finger down the entrance before giving it a kiss. “such a sloppy girl. dripping like this. messy fuckin’ wet girl,” and he blows right against your pussy to watch you jerkily squirm. “you’re my messy wet girl though, right? all for me?”

you don’t reply and he brings mean spank to your cunt, the palm of his hand now shrouded and covered with nothing but your sweet wetness all over it. he slides his tongue against your entrance, his thumb still gingerly prodding against your hole before grunting. his moans and groans, so pretty to listen to. it got you wet in more ways than you could imagine, it almost sounded like a low purr. “when i talk, i expect a answer back, princess.”

“y-yes,” you’d moan, feeling yourself gradually reach an incoming euphoric high. “yes, sugu.”

“yes what?” he grumbles. “i didn’t tell you to say just yes, dummy.”

him dumbing you down with just a few sentences made you throb. he felt it all in his mouth, on the various nerves of his tongue. you arched your back a bit before speaking in a sweet shaken tone. “i— i’m your messy wet girl. sloppy just for you, suguru.”

“yeah you are,” he huffs out, bringing both rough hands to grip your ass. he gives it a spank, the recoil turning him on. a tent pokes through his pants and he’s hard. geto watches strands of his own spit drip down his pointed chin before giving your cunt a final spank. right before you could finish though, he lightly moves you off of him. you’re panting—a jagged breath being caught in your throat. you’re laid back with your legs now sprawled, staring at him with hooded eyes and he gets right between your legs. “i bet you’re kinda hungry too,” and he leans up close—dark pretty tresses of his hair tickle against your skin before he grips your chin firmly. “loll out that tongue ‘n stick it out for me. say ah like a good girl.”

you whimper, feeling his thumb softly strum against your plump glossed lips. “a-ah,” you’d hum out with your pink tongue rolling out your mouth. geto stared at you with a pussydrunken stare, leaning up close before spitting right into your mouth. your tongue gets gifted with a long string of his saliva and he squeezes your lips together just a little more.

“mm. what do pretty messy girls say afterwards?”

“thank y-you.”

𖬺 NANAMI KENTO.

“sweetheart, if you’re gonna sit on my…lap, you gotta behave yourself,” nanami murmurs—you’d be straddling him while he’s hard at work trying to jot a few things down. a plethora of scattered papers pile his desk. he’s probably been working for hours on end. you could tell from the droopiness of his eyes. he had a hand gently gripping your waist before smiling once you kiss near his neck. “i gotta finish this by midnight or ‘m not gonna hear the end of it tomorrow.”

“kento, i want you,” you’d whisper, softly nibbling against his skin, past his collar, he lets off a groan. as you start to grind against his slacks, you feel his bulge arise. nanami tried to focus his attention towards the dozens of paperwork he had to skim through, yet you teasingly wrap your arms around him. “wouldn’t bending me over this desk be more fun? you work too hard.”

kento grunts, and his groans were a pleasure to listen to. so raspy and strained. feeling himself grow more and more aroused by the sweet sound of your voice—you play with the strap of his belt before planting a wet kiss near the corner of his lip. “hmph. maybe,” and you giggle, grabbing the ballpoint pen away from his hand before tugging on his tie. he leans back, manspread and all before rolling his eyes playfully. “alright. ten minutes. ‘s all you’re gonna get from me.”

so you give him ten minutes, ten precious minutes that ended up turning into two straight hours. you’d be riding nanami so good that the tips of ears start to grow hot. his breath hitched and he can’t help but moan from your hypnotic hips. such filthy hips, it was as if it was on cruise control from the pure rocking movement alone.

“goddamnnn,” he rasps out before his right thigh starts to bounce. he was balls deep, buried all inside of you that you felt him reach every corner and crevice of your walls. nanami had a girth to him, a girth that never failed to make you salivate in your mouth a little. so fat and thick, always the perfect fit for you. he throws his head back before starting to pant. “with you around, ‘m not gonna get anything done.”

“good,” you tease, peppering his chin with multiple sugared kisses. nanami grabs your right ass cheek before giving it a soft spank, caressing it shortly afterward. you allow your hands to slide up his button up shirt before whispering in a needy tone. “talk dirty to me, kento. i like listening to your voice.”

he pants, feeling you jerk and jerk against him. your hands feel all over his body including near his muscles that poke through his shirt. “do you now?” he smiles, beads of sweat starting to race down his eyebrow. he was suddenly amused. he was never really one to talk dirty. nanami was always one to shower you with praises, besides just that alone was enough to make you soaked. “well what do you want me to say, pretty girl?”

nanami wasn’t being a tease, he was genuinely curious—yet he’s taken by surprise once you grab one of his hands, swiftly wrapping it around your neck. “stare into my eyes and um,” you pause, thinking of what to say. he chuckles lowly, feeling your tempo leisurely speed up. you rode him so good that his thighs started to ache and jitter. “call me a d-dirty whore that’s just obsessed with your cock.”

“oh? but that’s too mean,” nanami sneers. “besides, you’re not a whore. you’re my good girl.”

“kento.” you grumble, and now he was teasing.

he chortles at the cute pout on your lips, bringing his left hand to squeeze your right hip—another gingerly wrapping around your throat. light fawn eyes stare right back into you before he hums. “fine, i’ll speak to my girl how she wants,” and his tone was so smooth and rich. you gasp, feeling the abrupt sensation of his plump tip thwack against your g-spot, making your vision see straight stars for a moment. “look at my whore who’s just a obsessed with heh, my cock,” and he’s about to laugh again before feeling you grind against him. “all you think about is dick, i bet? thought you was a smart girl.”

you moan, feeling nanami gently caress the middle part of your neck before tightening his grip on your hip just a bit, making you rock against his lap even further. “you just wanna be my precious cum dump, ‘s that it? overflow your pussy ‘n then i can pull out only to stuff it back in for you?” and then he kisses your cheek. “you’re messy like that, aren’t you, my love?”

“y-yes please,” you’d whimper, rotating your hips in a circular motion. it drove him crazy, you drove him crazy. nanami feels so full, preparing to dump such a thick load right into you. burying your face into his neck, you sneak a hand up his shirt. “fuck your work, just fuck me.”

“oh don’t worry, darlin’ i will,” he grumbles, and that’s when right before you were already to finish, nanami lifts you up before spinning you around. he takes both of your wrists and pins them behind your back. you had the most lewd arch over his desk, your chest pressing up against his scattered papers before he leans right up close to roughly yank your hair back. “now bend over ‘n let your husband kento carry the rest from here.”

𖬺 SUKUNA RYŌMEN.

“hmph,” sukuna scoffs. “you must forgot who you were fuckin’ speaking to,” he’d snarl, and if looks could kill you’d most likely be six feet under. his mere presence made you throb, sukuna makes you lie down on your back before spreading your legs open.

“fuck you,” you mutter, and of course you didn’t mean it, you just liked getting on his nerves, under his skin. “you never fuck me right anyway. i fake my orgasms and everything.”

sukuna smirks. “with me? oh please,” and you nearly chew your words once you watch him rub his fat length right between your folds.

“lotttt of disrespect from a woman with a pussy this wet.” and his tone was dangerously low, you stared right into his eyes and he returns the same gaze. you loathed how currently soaked you were though, irking his nerves was always one way to make him yank climax after climax out of you.

he doesn’t like wasting time, within seconds of straight glaring at you, sukuna starts to sink his fat length into you. slowly but surely, he’s so thick, you felt the texture of him and it instantly made you so full. he watched your eyes flicker and then a hand wraps around your throat. “stare at me the entire time. don’t look away or else.”

“or else wh—”

“listen bitch,” sukuna grumbles.

you were just about to giggle, yet that’s when he makes you shut up by pressing a palm against your stomach. he was in so deep, you felt it all. it felt as if your walls were closing in, soaking in such hefty inches of his cock.

it was almost enough to make you drool. his lukewarm body that felt so tepid against you starts to grind and grind. just a single movement of your hips as a cute attempt of fucking him back and you only end up moaning right in his face. he had such salacious strokes, making sure you felt every inch buried inside of you. “you’re gonna listen to me. you know what—i don’t care if you don’t listen because this pussy’s just gonna do it for you regardless.”

sukuna releases his hand from your tummy and instead wraps it around your throat. with a light squeeze, he adds a little more pressure on your neck and you stare at him. he had you in a mating press potion—it was so lewd, and after a while he was pretty much jackhammering into your cunt. your legs were just idly dangled in the air before locking around his slim waist. “s-sukuna, fuckkk.”

“nasty girls like you don’t deserve to moan my name,” he huffs out, and he’s straight pounding into you. he pulls his hand away from your neck before squeezing your pretty sheeny lips together. “do you even deserve this right now? tell me.”

“y—yes,” you’d squeak out, feeling his weight just pounce and spring against you. his cock plugged so deep inside that you started to feel dizzy. your mind was clouded with nothing but straight blankess. sukuna glares at you and that stupid impish grin that slowly went against your lips. “i deserve to be f-fucked by you.”

he rolls his eyes, and you whimper once his hips strike further and grow more vigorous. “let’s not lie, little girl. you don’t deserve shit.”

he sounds annoyed, yet despite that he still leaned in to give you a wet kiss on your lips. you whine, kissing back and he was thrashing his hips into you so good that you cutely had to cling onto his biceps for support.

“s-sukuna, ‘m gonna cum.” and you knew you were. that feeling was forever imaginable, the intense build up had you nearly breathless. he watches as you’re reaching your peak and you’re starting to whimper and whinge from how deep and slow his strokes suddenly get. the bed — the loud creaks could be made into a mixtape from how vocal it was. “fuckkk, ‘kuna. i’m c-cumming.”

and once it hits you, it was at full impact. it came in waves, you felt a sudden rush come to you and your orgasm was so cute.

he felt you pulsing continuously even afterwards. you needed a moment, a moment or two. each and every muscle throughout your body felt ridged. vibrations coarse all throughout your veins before you slump back with the most dumbest post expression. you were so dumb, you knew you probably looked like a mess, all cock-drunk.

“was that real, baby?” he hums, squeezing your lips even more before pulling out. you attempt to glare at him but you only moan once he leans in to lick near your neck.

“shut u-up.”

“make me, whore.”

𖬺 SATORU GOJO.

“really?” gojo says in a sweet tone, he’s more amused if anything—especially after hearing how his pretty best friend’s never had a man make her squirt before. “never ever? as in like, never in your life?”

you shake your head, being propped up against his bare chest. he’s so warm against you. with a single hand, gojo’s got your legs sprawled all open. he reaches down to toy between what’s between those sweet plush thighs of yours. “they’ve all tried but it never w-works.”

“oh you poor thing,” he says with a faux tone, you moan once he starts to swiftly maneuver tender circles against your panties that were still attached to you.

laced panties, a thumb of his brushes against the fabric before he sighs. his breath was minty, that low sigh was right up against your ear and it made you soak profusely. speaking of scent though, his cologne was madly loud.

so redolent, it was a scent you’d always get used to whenever you were so close to him like this. “tell ya what. i’ll make you squirt within five minutes. put all those stupid guys to shame. you want that?”

you nod, desperately craving it. that was all he needed to hear.

once you gave him to go ahead, gojo was determined to make you create such a filthy mess on his fingers. he knew all the right directions to go, his fingers alone knew just where to occupy against your pussy. not even a minute passed before you’re already coating his thickly slender digits with such amounts of your slick. he then slides your panties to the side before continuing.

“oooooh,” he purrs, hearing the squelches your own cunt makes. “she’s so talkative today. poor pussy’s been so neglected though, fuck,” you whimper, parting your legs apart just a bit more as he’s just mindlessly mending your walls. the stretch he created, your eyes were hooded and you dug your hands into his wrist. “i’m gonna make a little mess out of you, angel.”

your head leans back against his chest and you let off a loud squeal once gojo’s fingers position a certain way. he inserts another—yet this time, it’s his middle finger. as of now he’s immitating a bowling ball grip. two thick fingers shoved deep inside of you to where you can barely hold your legs open. “s-satoruuu,” you’d whinge out, feeling your left leg start to sporadically bounce. his tempo was just right, you swallow thickly before gasping once he spanks your pussy twice. “i think ‘m gonna s-squirt.”

“no, you are gonna squirt,” he slyly says, bringing a soft kiss towards the left part of your collarbone. whilst your leg bounces, you fell in love with the way he massaged your inner walls. it was so hypnotizing—the grip he had with his fingers. he tickles near your nub, all inside of your clit before you choke out a needy sob. you were preparing to say something but he shushes you. “shhh. i don’t wanna hear you right now, let this pussy talk for you instead.”

it was such silkiness in his tone, you lean into his touch before he starts to repeat the direction of his fingers. they curve all inside of you, flicking against your pussy before thrusting in and out, in and out. “yeah. lie back ‘n let me show you why they call me the honored one.”

if you weren’t so dumb from his fingers, you’d roll your eyes. after a few concise moments, he pulls his fingers out and your eyes roll anyway—this time out of pure pleasure and ecstasy though. you don’t even realize you’re squirting before gojo grins and points it out.

“thereee she goes,” and you felt so drenched, soaking his fingers — cool air wafts against your skin as you sat still before he softly trails his free hand down your waist. gojo glances at his watch before a dumb smile spreads against glossed lips. “three minutes. heh, new record for me baby. now let’s try to make it under thirty seconds.”

𖬺 FUSHIGURO TOJI.

“the fuck you touching my pussy for, woman?”

toji snarls, and you moan once he smacks your hand away. he had you on all fours—dumbly getting a glimpse of your pathetic reflection through the mirror directly in front of you. you just came and your legs were insanely wobbly. his voice was so deep and stern, it made you throb as you were cutely arched over for him. “thought i taught you well. keep your hands to yourself, only my hands get to feel.”

“but—”

“but nothing slut,” he mutters, and you gasp once you feel his angry mushroom tip start to open you up again. it eases its way into you and you don’t even realize the drool that’s seeping down into your pillow. “touch yourself again ‘n i’m gonna leave you on this bed to make yourself get off. you got me?”

you moan, your ass all up in the air with your left cheek practically smushed against the mattress.

“yeah but can i please touch myself toji.”

all he replies with is a subtle “nah,” and you whimper once he deftly drills his way inside of you. such thick inches that eased its way into your walls, your mouth opened and you let off the sweetest whimper. “saying please isn’t gonna change the fact that this pussy’s only for my hands to touch. not you, girl.”

but toji doesn’t even straight up fuck you.

he’s fully inside before he’s suddenly pulling straight out — then he slaps his fat tip against your folds, smearing the remnants of his cum against your entrance and watching you pulsate. he hums to himself, nudging his cockhead in and out of your slit just to watch you wriggle. “go ‘head, doll. ask me to touch y’erself again, do it. try me.”

it’s a trick, you knew that. it was apparent, yet your lips pursed and you were preparing to ask anyway, toji knew you all too well because he chuckles, shoving your face into the pillow.

“yeah, exactly,” he mutters after about twenty seconds of pure silence passes. a mere awkward silence. “no fuckin’ back talk,” and then you whimper once he continues to slap his tip against your slick entrance—you just wanted him back inside. he was a constant tease, going in only to pull out. the pout that stretched against your face was so adorable, he saw right through the mirror and grins. “aw. want me to start up again?”

“yes,” you immediately reply in a soft tone. “want you to make me c-cum again, toji.”

“tell me sorry first ‘n i’ll think about it.” he gripes.

you whine, this current position — this angle, it was so lewd.

being all hunched over with your ass in the air. you made a cute attempt at trying to wiggle your ass against his dick but he purposely spanks you to quit it. you’ve never felt more soaked purely from his words alone. “i’m sorry.”

“fuck your sorry. make me believe it.” he utters.

“i’m…..sorry for touching myself,” you corrected yourself, cutely growing frustrated—you speak in breathy pants.

the entire atmosphere felt so humidly hot. once toji runs a finger down your spine, you shudder. as he traces against your back muscles, his tip was just inches away from deepening further inside you but he pauses, awaiting for your sweet little attempt of an apology. “i shouldn’t have t-touched what belongs to you. i love you.”

toji smirks. “i agree,” and then he makes your chest collapse further down against the bed—you glance near the mirror and he’s staring dead at you before replying in a husky.

“i love you too, princess,” and then your heart flutters, yet your smile fades once he breaks away, snickering. “but i don’t think you’ve learned your lesson. we’ll try this again tomorrow, brat.”

7K notes · View notes

sunaluv · 5 months

Text

'IS SHE TAKEN?'

in which someone asks your man if you're single

feat: ran, gojo

RAN

the club setting was filled with more excitement tonight. don't get it twisted, any club or event hosted by the haitanis was guaranteed to be the event of the day, good vibes, hot people, and lots of money to be made. but when one of the brothers was actually present at the club? something about their aura seemed to bring out the vibes in people.

ran's hooded gaze watched adoringly at you across the club, the setting bringing nostalgia to the first time you met. ever the social butterfly you were, accepting another phone number from one of the girlfriends you made tonight. the other members of the roundtable looked at one another, wondering if the haitani brother was even present.

"no wonder you're so distracted, boss," the man next to him nudged him with his elbow, to which ran side-eyed him. "she's a looker, d'ya think she's single?"

your boyfriend appeared neutral as he let the guy ramble on about how hot you were, and what he would do to you given the chance. he missed the harsh roll of ran's eyes. if he didn't know you were spoken for, he would make sure this guy knew by the end of the night.

as if on queue, you waved bye to your new friends and started to make your way to the table. eyes followed your figure as you passed, but that was to be expected when the prettiest girl at the club walked past.

"hey, sweetheart," his soft lips pressed against the crown of your head. "you alright?"

"i'm good! a little tired though," you let out a deep sigh, melting into his arms. "these heels have been killing me..."

wordlessly, his large hands had your ankles in his lap, undoing the buckles on your heels and rubbing tender circles into the irritated skin.

he smirked at the relieved sigh that left your lips. "my buddy here has something to ask you, sweets."

the man next to you seemed to go silent since your arrival at the table, the consequences of his actions just hitting. a deep breath followed by a gulp as he wiped his damp hands against his slacks. he almost flinched when your hooded, yet dominating gaze met his own eyes, but after remembering who and where he was, he gained his composure almost as quickly as it left.

"nah 'ts nothin'," he waved his hand. "just a passing thought, is all..."

others both around the roundtable and those dancing near it tried not to make it obvious that they were watching the exchange going down. they found themselves pitying a character who would not deserve it, under different circumstances. but, as discussed, the haitani aura seems to throw things off of balance.

if he didn't want to talk, ran would do it for him. "he wants to know if your single, claims he could give you a lay better than your man could,"

your eyes left the man, instead looking over your boyfriends face in silent communication.

'you and i both know he can't'

'...i know, my love, just humor me every once in a while?'

'you're such a character sometimes, haitani'

'you love it though'

eyes darted between you, awaiting your response, thus his sentence in anticipation. he didn't know what telepathic language you were communicating in, but he was glad to not hear his fate get discussed right in front of him.

"i'm very flattered, but i have a boyfriend, sorry." your response was dry towards him, but the gaze you held with ran was anything but.

catching wind of what was about to happen, you excused yourself from the table, leaving a kiss on the corner of rans mouth, whispering a 'be good' in his ear before leaving.

whatever happened after your departure was not your business, after all.

GOJO

"hey man," a hand belonging to an unfamiliar man clasped on satorus shoulder. "do you know if the girl you came here with has a boyfriend?"

you had dragged your boyfriend to one of your friend's parties, much to his dismay. he's sworn off drinking after geto's blackmail folder started getting a bit thick, meaning there was nothing fun to do other than socialise, but he didn't want to after people flocked to him for the wrong reasons.

so now he was maybe the only sober one in this lively scene, which leads to the current events.

he spoke your name for clarity. "uhh, I'm not sure. you can go ask her if you want. ill even put in a good word for you."

has this man been a fraction more sober, he would've questioned why the blindfolded man's smile was so wide, or why he was so willing to help, but alas, this was a party and alcohol was supplied.

"thanks, dude! you're such a lifesaver."

satoru almost felt bad for the guy. he was practically buzzing whilst traversing through the sweaty bodies in search of you. he felt bad until he remembered how bored he was before this happened, he has to put himself first sometimes.

after a couple stumbles, reroutes and a rest break, they had finally found you in your angelic beauty, laughing with a group of girls he didn't know.

he thought it was quite cute how the guy seemed to become more shy at the sight of you, and satoru couldn't blame him. had he been someone more normal, he would act the same in your presence.

one of the girls caught sight of the pair by the entry and gestured you towards them. your face softened slightly at the sight of your six-foot-something boyfriend and his... friend?

"hey toru," you smiled, before looking at the other man. "who’s this?"

satoru said nothing, slapping the guy a little too harshly on the back before stepping back. the floor was his.

"hey," he breathed out, before introducing himself. "i saw you come in with your friend earlier, and just wanted to know if you were seeing anyone?"

your heart rate picked up, but not for the reason the guy was hoping. why was gojo like this? did he enjoy seeing you suffer?

he obviously did as when you looked over your shoulder to the said man, he gave you a big, encouraging grin with both thumbs up. the audacity.

he had thrown you to the wolves and left you to fend for yourself.

"uhm..." you breathed, trying not to shatter the poor guy's heart. "i have a boyfriend, unfortunately. sorry."

"what do you mean, unfortunately!" satoru mocked you from behind the guy. "I'm a total catch, right?" he turned to the guy. "right??"

though delayed, the guy had finally come to the realisation he had been punked by the man who egged him on the whole time. his face burst into a deep shade of red, apologising profusely before rushing back into the crowd.

"you're such an ass, gojo."

"the last name huh?" he scratched the back of his neck. "I'm in for it arent i?"

#tokyo revengers x reader #jjk x reader #tokyo rev x reader #tr x reader #haitani ran imagines #ran x reader #ran haitani x reader #haitani ran x reader #tokyo revengers headcannons #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujustu kaisen x reader #jjk drabbles #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen #tokyo rev drabbles #tokyo revengers imagine

3K notes · View notes

phenphoenix · 2 months

Text

Husk and nifty up next! They are a bit harder since their personalities aren't explored as much. However I still had fun thinking about what to do with them!

In this AU I’d say that husk never was an overlord. Since we don’t know much about nifty and Al’s relationship, which I’m going off of for the sake of this AU, I’m just gonna say that Charolette helped husk in a time he needed it and thus made a deal with him. His personality is also a bit of a shot in the dark as well because that too doesn’t have lots to go off of. But if I had to guess I’d say that husk at his core is a caring person, and can see through any facade. So in this AU *Husker* has those same traits, but with that more silly and slightly sadistic tone that Nifty has.

Nifty or rather Niff. Is basically just Nifty with that grumpy old drunk vibe husk has. And as for backstory I’d say that she was an overlord. And made a deal with charlotte to save her power. But instead of a gambling issue, maybe it was more of an obsessive behavior. Which is something shown in the show. Anyways this obviously backfired and she now works as the bar tender of the hotel. I’ll draw it eventually but the actual bar doesn’t change in size. Instead she just has this goofy stool she uses.

Now since this isn’t a like total swap and Al was still the radio demon at one point that made me wonder if I wanted it to still be his deals the two are under. But I’m on then fence about that because he would likely free their souls. Not wanting to force them to help like how he does in the show. So I figured why not have it be Charolette? It would make sense for the AU being a swap and all, and also give more depth to her overall. I have some more ideas regarding her and Al but I’ll do it in a separate post.

Full image

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

#my art #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel au #hazbin hotel swap au #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel nifty #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin #art #the hart hotel

2K notes · View notes

helluvapoison · 3 months

Text

Lend A Helping Hand

Lucifer, Adam, Lute, Vaggie and Husk need help preening

warnings: possible innacurate bird knowledge, heaven headcanons (also probably innacurate) illusions to sexual behavior but it’s not

[ii]

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Lucifer ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Lilith used help… when she was around. The thought of asking someone else, much less the act itself, scorched him with guilt

• Oh well. Lucifer did it before, Heaven had rules about it, so he can do it again! And of course he did! It doesn’t mean it’s not an excruciatingly long process he puts off as long as he can tolerate

• You walk in on him attempting to strain his arms in ways they certainly shouldn’t bend. “Need some help?”

• “Pfft, who me? No, no, no I—“ He pauses. It’s like the predicament he’s been caught in settles in slowly, his smile dropping and crimson irises widening to rival a puppy’s cuteness. “Yes.” He admits meekly

• Your fingers barely touch his feathers and Lucifer jolts. Like him, his wings are so sensative

• Don’t take it personally when he tries to back out after that, cheeks bright red from embarrassment. He has six wings and can barely tolerate your touch as is. This could take a while, he already feels bad

• After a teaspoon more of convincing and a gallon of reassurance later, Lucifer sits as still as he can (which isn’t very) while you gently break open the pin feathers

• You could tease if you wanted, make a joke to try and settle his nerves but something tells you his wings aren’t the only thing that’s sensitive

• Lucifer appreciates your assistance and tenderness more than words can describe, nothing seems like a big enough gift to reward your hard work

˚✧₊⁎ Adam ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Usually it’s Lute that would help him (and vice versa if he feels like it) but she’s nowhere to be found. He can’t casually ask anyone else. Heaven and its inhabitants can be weird about certain shit, preening is no exception— even though everyone has wings here!

• Walking past Adam’s office, you heard a crash and a lot of swearing. “Sir, are you—?”

“Unless you’re gonna help, fuck right off!” He growls from the ground, still reaching at an awkward angle for his wings

• He’s shocked when you sit on your knees beside him and swat his hand away. “If you make this weird, I will leave.” You warn. He doesn’t dare make even a single comment

• Adam shivers when your fingers glide into his feathers. You wave it off the first time but can’t stop a laugh when it happens again

Face first into the carpet, his loud voice is muffled, “Shut! Up!”

• You take pity on him and don’t drag the process longer than necessary. Awarding yourself a final pet of his oddly soft wings, you stand up, “There. All better?”

• Rising to his feet and giving his wings an experimental stretch, he shrugs nonchalantly, “Thanks. I guess.”

• The next day, you receive a basket from Goody-2-Shoes with various snacks. The card reads, ‘Let me know when I can return the favor. Wings don’t have to be included. ~ A’

˚✧₊⁎ Lute ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• You know she needs help when she’s more irritable than usual. Snapping at everyone, even Adam, and flinching when her wings move in the slightest

• Approaching the subject with her is harder than anyone. As aforementioned it’s unspokenly taboo but that isn’t what stops her. Lute’s deep rooted issues with intimacy and needing help will make her walls thicker than ever

• “This is inappropriate,” Lute whispers.

In the dead of night she’s finally allowed you to assist but keeps fidgeting and surveying the area like someone will catch you two.

“It is not,” You roll your eyes, “Get your mind out of the gutter and be still! I’ll have you’ll feeling better in no time.”

• She seriously, seriously doubts that. Anything she can’t do herself, amongst certain divine exceptions, no one could do for her

• …But she’s letting you help (and your adept fingers are doing a better job) So either she doesn’t fully believe that, or you miraculously raised her expectations

• Lute decides the latter is acceptable– and a compliment, especially since you prove her wrong. Triple checking her wings, she can’t find a flaw or deny how wonderful they feel now.

• “This is adequate.”

You snort, “You could just say thanks?”

“How can I repay you?”

“I just told you.”

• She narrows her eyes, shocked and suspicious that you wouldn’t want anything. Lute, again, decides that your endeavor deserves an equal act of goodwill. Don’t take it for granted when she says, “No. I owe you one. One.”

˚✧₊⁎ Vaggie ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• She genuinely forgets what’s wrong with her when she needs to preen. Even with her wings folded away, the irritable pricking can be felt. She’s itching the back of her neck, hand clawing under the crew of her shirt and dipping between her shoulder blades when you ask when’s the last time she checked for pin feathers

• Vaggie’s always been independent. Up in Heaven she was a bit cocky with the fact she never needed help to reach them. Now, she felt helpless and stupid. Her arms cramped up, her hair kept getting in the way and the itching only progressed

• “Can I–?”

“No.” Her ivory eyes go wide, surprised at the fury of her own voice. Sighing and avoiding your (what she assumed was a) pitiful gaze, she apologizes. “Sorry. I don’t know why I… I used to be able to do this alone.”

Pausing at how defeated Vaggie sounds, you do your best to keep a positive, neutral tone.

“Cut yourself some slack, you haven’t done this in years. And, y’know, you don’t have to do it alone now. Not if you don’t want.”

• Smiling at the offer hanging in the air but not quite accepting, she goes about her managerial duties only to knock on your door afterwards

• Vaggie’s so grateful you can’t see how dark her face becomes as you sort through her wings. They’re not sensitive, they never were– it’s something about your fingers delicately touching her that cracks her resolve. Now she starts to understand why this was seen as an intimate act upstairs

• “Thanks for…” Still blushing, she gestures to her wings before hiding them, “Thanks.”

You try to keep up with her indifference but can’t help the smile spreading across your face.

“No problem.”

• If you think she’s not replaying the moment over and over in her head for days afterwards, you’re wrong. Vaggie’s desperately waiting for the moment to be just as useful to you

˚✧₊⁎ Husk ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• He’s hardly a fan of Angel touching him the way he does so a solid relationship is required to unlock the level of trust needed for this activity

• The first time it happens when you’re in his life, he won’t ask but also doesn’t reject the offer. Just looks extremely hesitant and uncomfortable

• Carefully, you pinch the rough layer and eye Husk from over his shoulder

• He breathes out a laugh, “Gonna take more than that to hurt me, sugar. Go on, I’ll be fine.”

• His wings might be the least sensitive… but that could also be all that alcohol in his system

• Husk hums as you work. After he gives a big, cat-like stretch and thanks you with a tip of his hat

• The simple gesture means more than you know, he’ll never forget it

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ accidentally on purpose put them from most to least sensitive wings hehehe

big big big BIG thank you to @kottenox for the inspiration and letting me take this idea and run!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel headcanon #platonic or romantic #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar headcanon #hazbin hotel adam headcanon #hazbin hotel adam x reader #lute headcanon #lute x reader #vaggie x reader #vaggie headcanon #husker x reader #husk headcanon

2K notes · View notes

that-student-that-has-homework · 2 months

Text

Portgas D. Ace Headcanons 01

Excuse me Oda-sensei, but that 40 year old Ace is simply criminal. Thank you so much for blessing us with him

Anyway! Have some Husband!Ace headcanons For more Ace content please head to my Tumblr MasterList

Ace is, respectfully, a huge simp for his wife

To the extent that the Whitebeard crew straight up jokingly awarded him with a “Biggest Wife Simp” Award

They made it look official and had Whitebeard sign it and everything. There's even a stamp.

Ace has it framed and hung proudly on the wall next to your bachelor’s degree / college diploma / degree in general.

I feel like despite his own personal insecurities, Ace still manages to be an amazing father

I imagine Ace originally setting out for like one or two kiddos at most (because y'know...what if he's not good enough) and ending up with 3 or 4 kids

Thing is, that’s both your faults.

Ace is tender and goofy with his kids, and he’s so friggin caring: to the extent that…well wouldn’t it be neat to see him with maybe another 2 or 3 kiddos of his own?

(Your husband is hot okay?)

In his case, he swears you have a unique glow about you when you’re pregnant. But more than that when he sees you with your first born, he suddenly wants a big family with you.

I imagine his kids are an eldest son, then his princess, then the youngest boy who takes after his uncle Luffy.

His kids aren’t parentified. He keeps his issues far, far, away from them. Besides, he’s got you by his side.

He was dedicated to making sure they got as much playtime as possible.

He heard about learning through play, and he is DEDICATED to doing that as much as possible

Ace’s kids are spoiled with affection, but not spoiled brats.

While it’s true he’d give them the world, he’d rather let them go get it themselves.

For example: when they asked for a tree house, he gave them the greenlight immediately.

But they had to build it themselves.

It was a super fun project lasting a little over two months with the whole family involved.

Oh and the Whitebeard crew helped too.

It took a while to get the design down initially, then the shopping logistics and whatnot (they used a lot of math here - see education via play)

Building the thing took maybe a weekend or two because the Whitebeard Crew and even the Strawhats came over to help

(It was mostly Franky and Usopp doing work, Sanji was cooking with Thatch)

Uncle Luffy was not allowed near the construction zone after an accident.

They almost destroyed the tree house with their partying once

Ace’s kids were not happy and no one was allowed in the backyard for the rest of the night

He makes sure they have proper manners and self-defense skills

You had to help out here, no lie.

He admitted he needed your help, especially after a dinner with Garp where Makino tagged along to see Ace again

He puts all of his kids into martial arts classes

especially his princess - he’s so proud of her when she beats up bullies

He’s not great at discipline though to be honest. He probably goes about it similarly to Garp.

Ace will not tolerate any of his kids being nasty to their mother. No matter the phase.

You will have to hold him back if you want to let them get their frustration off their chest.

He’ll let them talk, but you’ll have to keep a hand on him somewhere, his arm, his hand, his knee, his shoulder, his back and rub soothing circles

Let’s just say, “talk shit, get hit,” is Ace’s attitude towards anyone being demeaning towards you (more so with adults, not his kids, but that's why they get a scolding)

"Ace my love" (he melts every time you call him that) "the kids’ll start thinking you love me more than them if you do that"

"My kids won’t disrespect their mother though!"

"They’re just venting darling, and when they say or do something that violates my boundaries, I'll be sure to reinforce it. Lead by example right?"

If they ever feel like pissing Ace off for fun they can just say something kinda not nice about you and he'll get mad and they'll flee from him giggling like the little gremlins they are

Ace is veeeeeeeeerry physically affectionate and he isn’t shy about it at all.

At gatherings with the Whitebeard family, he will gladly seat you in his lap, he will happily hug you as you are seated.

His arm is on your waist most of the time.

They tease him to make him tone it down, he does not.

He, in fact, dials it up. Turns up the heat lol.

You have kids? Not in front of them? What do you mean, not in front of the kids? It’s important they know just how much he loves their mama!

So he will continue to be playful with his hugs and kisses and other displays of affection.

It’s nothing too over the top. Just hugs and quick pecks wherever.

Your entire head is fair game for his smooches, your arms (he loves kissing your pulse and then making eye contact, sneaky guy that he is), your shoulders.

Maybe lifting you and spinning you around. Cuddles. Little bites.

He will play-wrestle his kids to “fight” them over getting to cuddle you, and then he’ll just put all his weight on all of you in a group cuddle

Just to let you know, your kids also receive all the warmth and love of his affections.

When his sons are still tiny and adorable, he smooches them all over. The kisses grow less frequent as they grow older, but the hugs do not stop.

Oh no, hugs galore.

Ace still pecks his little princess on her forehead though

When they’re all under ten he’ll wrap them in a hug (after he chased them down and caught them so they’re laughing and screaming) and start smooching their cheeks while they laugh and try to get out of his grasp

Also yes she’s his princess, but that girl has no problem throwing a fully grown man twice her size around, he made sure of it.

I reiterate: Ace is not remotely shy about displays of affection

Like his eldest could have a friend over, and Ace would still launch a full scale hug attack using the rest of his troops (daughter/youngest)

It's complete with screeching, screaming, and a lot of laughter

His kids used to get teased for it, but it didn’t take more than a few conversations for them to instead jeer at the kids that teased them.

"You’re all jealous your parents don’t love you like ours do"

"How sad, your parents don't hug and kiss you"

Their dad, grandpa, uncle - uncles really, are all gremlins - it's in their DNA

The kids are really physically affectionate with each other as a result

Deadass they’ll be kicking the shit out of each other one second and the next they’ll be all cuddled and huddled up playing Mario Kart or something

Ace is his kids’ hero.

His sons aspire to have his level of fitness.

His daughter, when she’s older, uses him as a standard for dating

You're relieved

Ace is touched and a touch nervous, because he is aware of his shortcomings, though he works hard to keep improving

Of course when you look at him, a twinkle in your eyes, and tell him, “I’m so proud of her, I’m so proud of you!” He feels better

When you continue: “if she can find a guy like you, who cherishes her as much as you cherish me, I’d be so happy.”

Ace loves you so much he swears

#portgas d ace x reader #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace x you #one piece x reader #one piece x you #portgas d ace x you #portgas d ace fluff #portgas d ace #portgas d ace fanfic #one piece fanfiction #one piece #ace one piece

1K notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 2 months

Text

Simple Math / Part Eleven

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Graphic depiction of domestic violence. This fic contains mature themes. Mention of pregnancy. Nurse!reader, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies. Bun is in pain, goes to a doctor. Dissociation. Lots of despair, fear, anxiety. The 141 reunites. Nightmares. Comfort. Tenderness. Angst. Welcome home.

“Knock knock.”

“Bunny.” Johnny murmurs, lifting an arm, urging you close, a moon to a tide.

“Hi.” You bend, moving into the hug, pressing your face to his neck for a quick second before straightening.

“I miss ye.” You survey him, glancing at the monitor, the brace on his leg and hip, the disconnected fluid line. He’s doing well. You’re so relieved to see it with your own eyes, ribs rattling with a long exhale. Satisfied, you smile, tension bleeding from your spine.

“Simon says you’re terrorizing your night nurse.”

“Am not. She’s jus’ not gentle, or quiet. Wakes me up.”

“That’s her job.” He scoffs, waving you off. You settle in the chair at his side, and he takes your hand in his, lifting it to his lips, dotting kisses across your knuckles. His affection is freeing, sweet and easy, a warm breeze on a spring day. It overflows your heart with warmth until you think it might spill over, and you go with it, following his lead, even though your better judgement, the girl in the mirror, wails.

“Ye look good. Better. Swellin’ gone down?” He cradles your chin, turning your face from left to right, inspecting with a crystal-clear sapphire gleam.

“Yeah, my shoulder is still sore but… yeah. I feel better.”

“’m glad. Simon keepin’ ye off yer feet all day then?”

“Oh my god.” You laugh. “He keeps telling me to lay down. Or asking if I want to take a nap.” Johnny chuckles.

“Sounds right. He’s a bit o’ a mother hen, that one. He cares though, we both do.”

“I know.” You squeeze his hand. “And I missed you too.”

“He said ye an’ him had a nice chat the other night?” Your cheeks burn. Oh god. Did he… “I’m a wee bit jealous.” He complains, turning his nose up and away in a mock pout, and you roll your eyes.

You laid in bed all night and thought about these moments. Thought about Simon’s mouth on yours, his hand on your ass, squeezing and stroking. You thought about how he tasted, how he smelled, the way he looked at you, like you were a part of their world, a piece of them.

And you thought about Johnny. Johnny alone here, Johnny trapped in the hospital, healing, unable to leave or even get out of bed. How anxious he must be, being separated from his family, how frustrating it is to spend so long trying to get better.

You wanted to give him something. Wanted to make him feel better, see him smile.

Here goes nothing.

Leaning, standing, you dip into his orbit, lightly bumping your noses together. It takes no time until his good hand is around the back of your neck, crashing your mouth into his, and he breathes you in, holding you steady, tongue and teeth and lips swirling together in a ubiquitous, overwhelming haze. He tastes like summer rain, the feeling in the air before a giant storm, electric and blazing, brilliant glow transferring between the two of you, lightning striking a mountaintop. He nips your bottom lip, heat flooding your stomach, and you pull away slowly, his eyes jeweled and shimmering, brilliantly blue.

“Bunny,” You try to swallow a quiet giggle and fail. “I’ll have to tell ye I’m jealous more often.”

“Don’t take advantage.” You playfully scold.

“Me? Take advantage?” He pretends to be outraged, voice piquing higher, and you laugh again. “How can I take advantage when ‘m the one stuck here in this bed while ye two are at home, playin’ house, takin’ couch naps and gettin’ butt rubs. No one cares about Johnny, no-“

“Shhh.” You press your lips to his, silencing him, remaining in the kiss that’s long and soft and saccharine. He sneaks his tongue back between your teeth, mischievous and wild, every bit the man you’re drawn to, an attraction you can’t fight.

“Well.” Simon clears his throat from the doorway, brows raised, mask snug. “Hope I’m not interrupting.” You don’t know why, but you fly backwards, nearly stumbling, cheeks on fire. You feel like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t, and that feeling, the pit in the bottom of your stomach, is all too reminiscent.

It frightens you.

“Whoa, hey.” Johnny tries to snag a finger around your wrist, but you step out of the way.

“It’s alright.” Simon moves inside fully, clicking the door shut behind him. “You’re not in trouble. Nothing is wrong, I was just kidding. That’s my fault.” You shake your head.

He’s not mad. Johnny is fine. Everything is fine.

You’re overreacting. You’re making a mess of this.

You shouldn’t even be doing this in the first place. What’re you doing? Who are you kidding?

“I’m s-sorry.” You stammer, hands wringing together anxiously.

“Ye dinnae have anything to be sorry about.” Johnny protests, still trying to reach for you.

Get it together. You have to get it together.

You close your eyes.

Deep breath. In and out. You can do it. Just breathe.

It works. You’re steadier, and you meet their watchful gazes as your eyes open.

“You okay?” Simon murmurs, moving very slowly to the other side of the bed where you’re standing, like he’s approaching a spooked, scared, wild animal.

“Yeah. Sorry. Just… had a moment. I’m fine.” Not entirely true, but that’s alright. You feel a little unsteady, a little unnerved, and Johnny frowns.

“Ye should sit.”

“I’m fine.”

“Bunny, please. For me?” He bats his eyelashes, and you want to groan.

But you lower yourself in the chair all the same.

Quiet falls over the room. It’s awkward and stiff, and you curse yourself for ruining the moment.

“Hey.” Simon soothes, reading your mind. “Hey, you’re alright. Everything is fine.” You nod, unsettled. He squeezes your good shoulder and dips past you, leaning to press a gentle kiss to Johnny’s brow, before dotting his nose and pushing their lips together. Their kiss is long, languid touch melting away to expose their connection, trust and love on full display. Delicate and rare, their affection makes your heart flutter, pulchritudinous whispers given to one another as Simon holds Johnny’s hand, stroking a familiar pattern into his skin, something similar to the way he touches you. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Wish they’d let me out of this bloody bed.” Johnny grumbles. You clear your throat.

“They’re waiting on your wrist. Once your wrist can support your weight on crutches, then you’ll be able to start PT and be released.”

“Ach. I know.” He’s frustrated, it’s clear. You know it’s not easy, being here, being separated, stuck in a hospital.

“It won’t be too long.” You try to reassure him, and he nods, still a little forlorn. “Here,” you stand with a burst of confidence, knocking his arm with the back of your hand as a direction, “scooch over.”

His eyes light. Simon laughs.

You fold yourself onto the edge of the bed, turned on your side, curled along where he’s the least banged up, careful of the sensitive graft lurking beneath his hospital gown.

“There. That better?” His good arm wraps around you carefully, settling on your ribs, a thumb tracing the wrinkle of your shirt.

“Aye, much better.” Your knees are bent, and cool air ghosts over your lower back, where your shirt has ridden up and exposed your skin. You shiver.

“Cold?” Simon murmurs, and you nod. He’s close, hovering, pulling a blanket up from the end of the bed to cover both you and Johnny. He tucks it around the two of you carefully and leans forward, pulling his mask down again to brush his lips across Johnny’s brow.

You watch in a daze. They don’t speak, but there’s something happening between them, something being said in their eyes as Simon holds his face briefly, and Johnny nods.

They both look to you, your bottom lip caught between teeth.

“Want one too?” Simon hums, cupping the back of your head. “Here.” He kisses you, lingering in it, heat of his naked mouth still a shock to your system.

Johnny is beaming, and cuddles you as close as possible, cheek resting atop your forehead.

They make you dizzy. All of it feels like some kind of dream, a world impossible, a fantasy suddenly turned real life. You’re on the verge of spinning out of control inside it, losing yourself.

It doesn’t help that everything you’ve done over these last few years, this identity, this life, the work that went into hiding and planning and saving and scraping, trying to stay unseen and unnoticed-

Was all for nothing.

“Bunny?” Johnny whispers, bringing you back to them. Simon is settled in the recliner, the same one from the ICU room, but his arm is stretched past your head, fingers playing idly in Johnny’s very long mohawk.

“Sorry. I’m here.”

“Where did ye go?” He tightens his hold, and you snuggle in closer, hiding away from everything bearing down on you, the pain and the panic and the doubt. You hide your face from it, refuse to acknowledge it, desperately trying to stay in this moment, hoping to just be… be here with them. In the sun.

“Nowhere.”

A day passes. Then another, and another, and another. Your face nearly looks normal, puffiness and swelling practically gone, and your neck aches less and less with each passing day.

Your shoulder, on the other hand, is a problem.

It never stops hurting. You struggle to get your arm through your shirts, can barely lift it, can't pick anything up, and it’s so sore, tender, and stiff, like it’s been dislocated or worse, broken. You’re worried, worried about going back to work without a full range of motion, worried about being in pain.

Worried about being even more permanently damaged than you already are.

Just another tally mark. Just another thing you must live with now, a permanent remnant of him, a forever reminder of just how foolish you really are.

You’re weak. You’re stupid. You’re damaged.

The pain breaks you down. It prevents you from sleeping, keeps you twisting and turning through a roil of dark dreams. It depresses you, sinks its teeth into your flesh and gnaws on the pieces touched by the sun, the parts of your heart still beating, somehow.

It reminds you of everything you’re desperate to forget.

It all comes crashing down one morning. The despair. The helpless feeling brewing in your stomach. The loneliness. It keeps you there, in bed, in agony, past breakfast.

It keeps you there, until you hear the creak of the stairs, a firm knock.

“I’m coming in.” Simon advises, trying the door, cracking it enough to stick his head through.

You’re crumpled in the middle of the mattress, pillows strewn about from trying to find a comfortable position, tears already dried. Your shoulder hurts so bad, and you don’t know why, don’t know why it’s not getting better, not healing.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” He sits at your side, hand resting on your hip, inspecting the worry lines, the frown tugging at your lips. “What’s going on?” Guilt swamps you.

“It’s nothing, my shoulder just kept me up, so I’m a little tired. That’s all.” You paste on your work smile, forced and believable, but he only shakes his head.

“Don’t do that.” He thumbs your brow. “I think you should see a doctor.”

“N-no.” You can’t. He doesn’t understand. They’ll want to take x-rays. X-rays lead to questions.

He never takes you at face value. Always pushing. Always digging, looking you over. “Why not?”

“It’s… it’s not necessary. I’m fine, it’s probably just a deep bruise.”

“You’d be experiencing less pain if that was the case.” You raise an eyebrow. He shrugs. “I know a little bit. We all have basic medic training, and I’ve been reading up, for when Johnny gets home.” He pats your hip. “Let’s make you an appointment.” You shake your head.

“No!” It’s too sharp, too insistent, and he freezes. You wince. “I’m sorry. It’s just-“

“You can’t go to a doctor.” He finishes, like he knows. “Tell me why, sweetheart.” You take a shaky breath.

You can’t. You shouldn’t.

Sunlight taps against the iron that’s encrusted around your heart. It knocks, wanting to be let in. It searches for weakness, places of opportunity, slivers of space where it can find its way.

Your mouth starts moving before you give it permission, like it knows this is where you’re headed, no matter how hard you fight, no matter how deeply the survivor’s logic is ingrained in your brain.

“It… it’s not safe.”

“It creates a trail.” He surmises, and you nod. For a wild moment, you wonder if he’s a plant. If they’re a trap, designed to get you to lower your guard, fabricated to encourage you to trust, to love, just so the jaws of Philip’s cruelty can close around you at the most opportune moment.

They wouldn’t. They’re not. You’re being ridiculous. You’re paranoid.

“We’ll make it under my name. Our primary is service member focused, and very discreet. You’ll be safe.” He makes it hard to argue, even though you want to. You should.

“I- I don’t know.”

“I can’t stand to see you in pain like this.” He rebukes, and then smiles softly, eyes lighting up. “Besides, I’m going to need your help. Johnny’s coming home on Friday.”

“He is?” You push upward. “Really?”

“Really.” He’s beaming, radiant sunshine spilling from his lips, and it makes you emotional, seeing him so happy, so weightless. “He passed a strength test on his wrist this morning. He needs a few days of PT in hospital, and then he can do it outpatient. His care team has signed off, and he’s ready.”

“Oh my god, that’s great!”

“It is. But I want both of you on the mend, not just one. Please.” It doesn’t take much more for you to concede, unable to find an excuse or a good enough reason, one he’s not able to combat.

“Alright, I guess.”

“Simon. Good to see you.” The doctor extends his hand and Simon shakes it readily, keeping his body positioned between you and the physician, one hand still on your knee.

He’s had a hand on you for the last half hour. You’ve been rattling on the exam table, shifting and fretful, disquieted energy spilling forth since he coaxed you into the car this morning.

“Dr. Fitch.”

“This is my patient?” He motions to you, and Simon stands to the side, concentrating, eyes focused above the mask. You give your name, and the provider repeats it with a warm smile.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Fitch.” You raise your good arm to shake his hand, and he pulls the rolling stool underneath him, taking a seat opposite Simon at your knee.

A warm palm flexes at your lower back. It’s soothing, comforting.

I’m here, it says. You’re safe.

“Simon says you’ve been having some shoulder pain?”

“Yeah, I had… I had an injury. Thought there was some soft tissue damage, maybe some minor bruising, but the pain is too persistent.”

“Mind if I take a look?” He points to the side you’re clearly favoring.

“Sure.” It’s not comfortable, to have another man’s hands on you outside of your job. There’s no trust there, no familiarity like there is with Simon and Johnny, and your body knows it, practically vibrating as he walks his fingers up your scapula. Simon stays close, still with a hand at your back, watching intently.

Dr Fitch holds your elbow, and slowly lifts your arm until you’re telling him to stop, pins and needles radiating through your shoulder and up your neck.

“I think we need an x-ray so we can really see what’s going on.” Your fingers curl, nails digging into your palm.

Fuck.

“I… I think I just need a sling, or an immobilizer for a few weeks. Give it some time to heal.” You try to protest, but he shakes his head.

“I can’t be sure of any of that, without an x-ray.” Oh god. You think you might throw up.

He’s right, though. You know he’s right. You know no good provider in their right mind would sign off on a treatment plan without knowing the extent of an injury. He’s not going to let you dictate what you need.

“Bun.” Simon murmurs, and you blow out a rough breath.

“Okay, fine.”

Dr. Fitch is grim when he reappears almost an hour later, throwing the films up for both you and Simon to see.

You spot what’s soured him immediately, and there’s a sharp intake of breath behind you, the tell-tale sign of Simon noticing it too.

“This side of your body has seen a lot of trauma.” The doctor says gently. He’s not unkind, but still clinical. The kind of provider you’d like you work with, you think. “These old injuries, your clavicle, acromion, even this break in your ulna, make your scapula a very delicate part of your body. I think an MRI would show a fair amount of cartilage damage in these areas.” He motions around your joint, and you close your eyes.

You can’t do this.

If Dr. Fitch sees your unease or panic, he pushes past it. “You have a rotator cuff tear. The good news is, it’s not surgical. I recommend physical therapy for injuries like these, along with activity modification and lots of rest. I want to do a corticosteroid injection for your pain as well. Today, if you’d like. You’ll need to rest your arm for twenty-four hours afterwards, make sure you’re not lifting anything or moving it…” He continues, but you lose track, lose focus, staring at the vinyl tile, weird grey and pink and green patterns all worked together to make some of the ugliest floor you’ve ever seen.

You zone out. Lose yourself. The films mock you, their ugly, horrific images hanging you out to dry, showcasing the truth, the reminders you’ll never be able to escape.

The pieces of you, changed permanently.

It’s hard to look at. Hard to think of.

You’d rather be considering survival. Counting your cash and researching new places to live. New communities to disappear inside, a new life to assume.

It’s easier to run.

You can’t look at Simon. Can't bear the shame. Can't believe he's seeing this, your nightmares on display.

You keep your eyes fixed on the wall.

The girl in the mirror is falling apart. She despises being confronted with your failings, your weakness, the results of your stupidity.

It’s far less common now, these mistakes. These slip ups.

But before… before… they indulged Philip in a beautiful game of cat and mouse. You made it fun, made it exciting. A wolf with his prey. Playing with his food before he eats. Before he strings it up and breaks its collarbone because he likes to hear it scream.

Simon is talking to the provider, asking questions, receiving answers. You can barely hear him. You’re underwater.

The only thing that tethers you to the earth is the hand on your back, the warm, gentle, broad, grounding pressure.

There’s more conversation, and then Dr. Fitch is vacating the room.

Is it time to go?

You try to stand on autopilot, but Simon holds you steady.

“We’re going to do the steroid, for your pain.” He drifts into your line of sight, pulling the mask down. “Bunny, look at me.”

When you can’t, he follows your gaze.

The films come off the wall within the next second, ripped down by the long reach of his arm.

Gone.

“I have to go.” You whisper.

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to get this injection, and then I’m going to take you home and put you to bed.”

He doesn’t understand your meaning.

Or maybe he does.

Home. The word rings in your ears like a punch. It’s like you’ve been hit with it, burned with it.

Home.

He’s not forceful, but you still feel the pressure, the insistence. You expect to rail against him. To cower.

Instead, you slip inside it. Allow him to tell you what to do, to make the decision. You fall easily into him, and he holds your hand through it all, while the injection site is swabbed, when the needle goes in. He holds your hand out to the car, holds your hand as he buckles you in. He holds your hand as he tucks you into a bed larger and softer than the one you've been sleeping in. It smells like him and Johnny, soft sheets and pillows piled around you like a wall, false sense of security building every time you twitch, testing where is he is, if he’s left yet.

The last thing you feel before you drift off to sleep is your hand, still in his.

You don't know how long you sleep. You sail in the darkness, navigating turbulent seas, waking every now and then, sometimes alone... sometimes not.

The baby monitor blinks pale green, little circle fuzzy on the edge of your vision, appearing and disappearing throughout the day.

Sometimes the bed is warm. Sometimes it's not.

When it is, you seek him out on instinct, trying to crawl inside his ribs, frantic with your effort to hide, to run. He holds you through it, rocks you gently, tells you you're safe, says you don't have to be afraid anymore, he's here now. He'll take care of you.

There's a rope around your ankle, tied too tight, tethered to the ocean floor. It drags you down, rips you away from him, fills your lungs and silences you.

You didn't make it.

All you can see behind closed lids is those films. All you can feel is the phantom ache in your limbs, the remnants of a shadow, still living and breathing inside of you.

The girl in the mirror is silent. Nothing to say for once in her life, she weeps like her chest is being carved open, sobs and screams pouring out in a flood.

I know you'll be here when I get back, won't you?

The house is vibrant today.

Lou has been here, stocking the fridge, precooking some meals, and her husband is helping Simon rearrange the living room, moving pieces of the couch to be more accessible, laughing back and forth quietly. Occasionally, he stops into the kitchen where you’re seated next to Pen in her highchair, checking in, but never encroaching.

He doesn’t get too close, right now. You’re still underwater somewhere, lost in a current. You’re here, but not really, silently drifting like a ghost, watching and waiting for something or someone to shake you out of it.

Simon hasn’t yet, but he’s watching. Always.

He’s intentionally careful, loud. Announcing himself everywhere he goes in the house, telling you everything he’s doing.

You didn’t understand why at first. Didn’t realize you hadn’t spoken in eight hours, and then ten, then twelve.

Trapped in a tomb of yourself, locked away with the girl in the mirror.

Guilt burns like a wildfire.

This should be a happy time. A wonderful time.

But all you’re doing is making a mess of their life.

Lou, thankfully, doesn’t push you either. She’s content to let you sit there, next to Pen. She keeps an eye out, glancing over at you occasionally, but your placating smiles seem to satisfy her.

Simon steps in front of the counter, ducking his head down to catch your eyes. “I’m going to pick Johnny up.” Somewhere, in the pits of hell, excitement blooms. Happiness tries to sprout. “Do you want to come?” Definitely not. They’ll certainly clap him out, and there’s no way you can be there for that.

“No, I’m… okay.”

“Okay. Penny is coming with me, but John and Lou are staying here. Kyle is coming by. If Johnny’s feeling up to it, I’m hoping to do dinner all together.” Acid is tossed around, tempestuous in your stomach. Lou smiles around his side.

“Want to watch something while we wait?”

“Sure.” She disappears down the hall, saying something to John, and Simon slowly pulls Pen from her chair, kissing her cheek and nose before cradling her to his chest. She’s not a small baby, but in his hold, she’s tiny, soft and delicate, content in her dad’s arms, still a little sleepy from her afternoon nap.

“We’ll be back soon.” He whispers, turning to go.

Your hand whips forward instinctively, out of control.

It latches onto his.

“Simon. I’m… I’m sorry.” You’re sorry you’re ruining everything. You’re sorry you’re fucked up beyond belief, you’re sorry he had to see all that in the doctor’s office, you’re sorry, you’re sorry, you’re sorry.

He squeezes. “Shhh, hey. There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He shifts, still holding Penny, but stooping down to crouch at your knees, his own popping with effort. “It’s okay, if you have to go somewhere else for a little while up there, as long as you're not lost in it.” He motions to your head. “Nothing has changed. We’re still right here, everything is alright. Huh, Penny girl?” He bounces her, and she shrieks out a giggle, reaching for his face. He kisses her hands like he’s trying to eat them, rumble in his voice making her squeal, and he catches your faint smile. “There she is.” He kisses your forehead. “We’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

You hear Johnny before you see him.

There’s a scrape of crutches, his voice animated, talking to his baby, Penny giggling wildly outside on the walk. Lou and John exchange a comfortable smile, and she manages to get the door open before Simon can get his key in the lock.

“Welcome home!” She exclaims, and Penny squeaks, clapping excitedly. She’s wriggly, wanting to get down immediately upon crossing the threshold, but Simon holds her firm, turned around so Lou can snap their picture.

“Ach, Price, can ye do somethin’-“ Johnny laments, but the captain only laughs and looks on.

“Hey! Come on, you’ll want this, later. I promise. Look over here.” They’re picture perfect, Penny cradled between them, Johnny’s hair moved out of his face, his posture a little slouched because of his hip and leg. His head rests on Simon’s shoulder, an arm stretched across his middle, right under Penny, who glows from her perch, the center of attention.

An ache unfurls in the middle of your chest, a sore spot, growing, spreading through your body.

They’re so lovely, it hurts. This moment is beautiful, a homecoming, a story of survival and perseverance. Johnny’s strength and determination. Doing something you know a lot of people initially doubted.

The dark spot of pain passes, fleeting.

Johnny’s eyes find yours. “Ye goin’ make me hobble all the way over there?” He teases, and you shake your head.

The two of you can only give half hugs, but you make it work, holding onto him, fingers fisted in the back of his shirt.

“Welcome home.” You whisper in his ear, and he pulls away, notching his forehead against yours. His eyes glitter, heavy, trembling breath filtering through his nose, and he kisses you slowly, so painfully slowly it’s like you’re the only one in the entire house, in the whole world.

“You too, bunny.”

Dinner is lively. Kyle arrives shortly before it’s time to sit down, greetings and warm wishes passed around as everyone gets settled, Penny positioned in highchair between the guys with mashed potatoes and peas already scooped onto her tray. Johnny’s on your left, with Lou on your right, and Simon sits at the head of the table, across from who you realize now, is his old, or kind of still, boss.

He looks perfect there, half turned towards Pen and Johnny, radiantly smiling at his partner and daughter, trying again and again to catch your eye. Johnny's knee stays steady against yours, fingertips occasionally brushing your thigh, and the two of them try to draw you in, pull you towards them, over and over.

Conversation flows easily. They’re all talking, laughing, swapping stories, poking at one another. Kyle tells you about a time he fell out of a helicopter, and they all tease Johnny about nearly dying this time, or a different time, you can’t be too sure.

“Ye jus’ wish ye had the natural ability I do.” He sniffs, and Kyle chortles, struggling to swallow his food.

“I’d probably be dead, mate.”

“’Cause ye cannae handle it!” He retorts, and Simon laughs, causing Penny to giggle too, and then the entire table erupts in it, attention redirected, cooing at the adorable girl with mashed potatoes smeared on her face. Johnny and Simon fuss over her, a perfect family in unison.

There’s a whining, buzzing noise in the back of your head. It’s an off-key tenor, annoying and coarse, like the snag of rough skin texture against a soft sweater.

What are you doing here?

The world, this room, these people, spin and spiral around you. Talking, laughing, loving. Making connections with each other, feeling the warmth of love and friendship, of happiness.

The buzzing gets louder.

You’re vaguely in it now, still seated but not here, not anywhere. You’re drifting, falling away, slipping behind walls and layers, hiding.

The girl in the mirror approves.

What makes you think you have any right to be here? What makes you think you could ever possibly belong here? With them? With their friends? Their family?

You’re an intruder.

You’re risking their safety. You’re making a mistake.

Lou boasts a sharp laugh, and you nearly flinch.

You don’t belong here. You’re supposed to be alone. It was supposed to be okay, to be alone.

You’re selfish.

Simon reaches for Johnny’s hand, stretching across Penny’s spot, eyes heavy with love. There’s so much in his expression alone, dedication, devotion, borderline obsession bleeding through, and he holds Johnny like he’s holding his lifeline.

You’ll never be loved like that, known like that, cherished and protected… like that.

And why should you be?

You’re standing before you announce it, trying to hold yourself together. Both guys look to you, Simon’s expression changing from amusement and love to worry and concern, while Johnny mirrors it, and tries to grab your hand.

“Ye alright?”

“Bun?”

“I’m fine, just… uh. My stomach.” You lie, motioning away from the table, like it makes any sense. You excuse yourself quickly, apologizing, and practically run up the stairs.

The guest bathroom door locks, and you slide down against the tub, slumping over to rest your cheek on cold tile. “Fuck.” You whisper, rubbing at your cheeks. What is wrong with you?

You lay there long enough that your shoulder starts to hurt. Everything aches, your heart too, and wipe your cheeks over and over, trying to regain control of a sinking ship.

God, you really, really hope they aren’t mad you bailed.

The bed is your only option, your only salvation, and you sink into without fuss, burying yourself beneath a pile of blankets, hiding yourself away from the world.

At least when you sleep, you can’t think.

At least when you sleep, you can’t feel.

“Philip, please.”

“You made a fucking fool of me tonight.” He grips your upper arm so tight it feels like he’s cutting into your flesh, branding you, burning you down to the bone.

“No, I- I wasn’t trying to, I swear.”

“I think you were, spitfire. I think you wanted to see me sweat, didn’t you? Wanted to play a little game, huh?”

“No!” you’re crying, chest heaving with giant sobs, and his fist tightens in your hair, dragging you down to the ground. “No, Philip, stop. Stop!”

“Shut up.” You’re crawling on your knees, trying to keep pace, trying to stay in stride with him as he tugs, practically pulling you down the hallway to the bedroom.

Once he gets there, he jerks you upwards.

The hardwood floor is the next thing you see as your face crashes into it.

“S-stop.” You’re barely audible, buried in sobs. He mocks you.

“Stoooop, babe. Stop please.” Your arms cover your head, trying to protect your delicate bones there, your skull, your nose, your cheeks.

His foot rears back.

The world goes cold.

“NO!” you jerk your knees up to your chest, rolling away. “No! I’m pregnant!”

You think he’ll be happy. You think he’ll be pleased.

Instead, it’s raw, concentrated fury you see lining his face, lightning and thunder gathering in his eyes.

“You’re what?”

You come to trembling, coated in a cold sweat.

It’s okay. He’s not here. He’s not. You’re safe.

You clasp a hand over your mouth to ward off the volume of the sob, nausea rising until you’re almost gagging.

It’s okay.

You can do this. Get it together.

Time ticks away, but the agony of your memory, your nightmare, doesn’t fade. It settles in your bones like a sickness, infecting your mind and heart, keeping you from closing your eyes.

You can’t go back there. Not in real life. Not in your dreams. Not ever.

You would die before that happened.

Johnny and Simon sleep down the hall. You wonder if they’re wrapped up together, if Johnny is comfortable, if their room is cozy and homey, bed heavenly and full of love.

You could…

No.

The clock on your phone reads three in the morning. You feel like you haven’t slept at all, but every time you try to close your eyes, dread spreads, tenebrous and sticky, clinging to every synapse in your logical brain.

You eye the door.

You could…

Should you? Would they be mad? Would they welcome you? Would they even answer?

You don’t know how you convince yourself to do it, to drag your weak will down the hall and knock on their door, but you do. You’re a child the whole way, padding up to a parent’s room in the middle of the night, looking for salvation and sanctuary, desperate for comfort.

It takes almost no time after your timid little rap for the door to swing wide, Simon standing behind it, little lamp flicked on where Johnny is half sitting up, mostly still asleep, rubbing his eyes.

“Hi.” You whisper, distracted by Simon’s naked chest. He’s wearing sweatpants, but they’re slung low on his hips, soft tummy with wispy light brown hair peeking out above the drawstring. You think you’re staring, and you force a blink, trying to appear normal.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing, I just… I had a nightmare and…I… I can’t…” the rest doesn’t come out, laying heavy on your tongue, trying to organize itself so it doesn’t seem so intrusive, or weak.

He doesn’t make you feel bad. Or guilty. He doesn’t even ask, he just steps aside, motioning to bed, clicking the door shut behind him.

“Take the middle.” He whispers, and you crawl across the expanse, timidly smiling at Johnny, who’s still yawning. He’s got his bad leg and hip set up on a bunch of pillows, and the spot next to him is still warm.

“Hey pretty girl.”

“Hi.” He pats the empty space, shoving the blankets down to the best of his ability to let you get underneath them.

“Bad dream?” He drawls, slow and sleepy.

“Yeah.”

“C’mere.” He tries to tug you closer, but Simon scolds him softly.

“Johnny, easy. Your graft.” He turns, sliding, encouraging you to settle on your side, with him at your back. “There we go. That’s better, hm?” It is better. So much better. Warm and safe. Blocked in on either side by them, your hand resting on Johnny’s sternum, grounding yourself with the rise and fall of his breathing, Simon nestling you into his chest, heavy arm slung across your ribs to hold Johnny’s hand.

It's so nice, tucked between them like you belong there, things start to spiral a little bit, doubt and worry fueling a cycle of second guessing. You shift restlessly, and Simon rubs your hip, soothing whatever he senses amiss back to neutral, lips humming just above your ear. “Close your eyes, little bunny. We’re here. You’re safe.”

#peaches writes #simple math #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #ghost x soap x reader #simon riley #john mactavish #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghost x reader

1K notes · View notes

sttoru · 2 months

Note

I was listening to 7 rings earlier and saw that post and my head immediately went to older bf suguru or satoru 😋

why not both hehe

tags; older bf!satoru/suguru x female reader (seperately). age gap (reader early 20’s, them early 30’s). suggestive. cult leader suguru yum. reader is depicted as innocent. nicknames ‘princess, sweetheart’.

GOJO SATORU

“satoru, are you. . sure? i mean it’s a lot of money and stuff,” you pout at your lover as he sits down on the comfortable chair in front of the fitting rooms. you’ve tried out a couple things by now—all which satoru has approved of. he recommends you to buy them all, but you’d feel guilty for agreeing. it’ll cost him a fortune.

satoru chuckles and leans back, manspreading with his hands limply resting on his thighs. he looks you up and down without an ounce of shame, “mhm. i’m completely serious when i’m telling ya to get ‘em all, princess.”

your shopping bags are piling up more and more. satoru bought you all the things you said you liked. or if he thinks a piece of clothing suits you nicely, he takes the initiative to buy it. the older man doesn’t look twice when handing the employee his black card.

“c’mere,” satoru gestures for you to come closer once the employee leaves to pack your purchases. he pulls you onto his lap the moment you’re close enough.

his hands run up and down your curves—feeling up the material of the dress you’re currently wearing. the sorcerer cannot wait until you’re home with him. he’ll have you give him a special fashion show with all the pretty lingerie he bought you.

satoru grins at the thought. your little squirms and whines of being ‘too sensitive’ makes him want to tease you even more. he doesn’t care if he’s in public or if anyone sees you; you’re all he focuses on.

“i jus’ wanna spoil my sweet girl—take care of her like she deserves,” the white-haired sorcerer whispers. a lingering kiss on your shoulder makes your breath hitch. he chuckles at your adorable reaction.

satoru holds you down on his thighs, hands firmly placed on your waist whilst he leaves kisses on your exposed skin. he’s got all the money and time in the world—all which he’s spending on his lovely girl.

“everything is yours. tell me what you want and i’ll buy it for you, baby. there’s no limit, ‘kay?”

GETO SUGURU

gentle fingers play with the strands of your hair. you lean into the touch, not really caring that people are staring right at you and your lover.

“your hair looks gorgeous like this, sweetheart,” suguru smiles sweetly. his legs are trapping you against him. your back and his chest touch—your head leaning on his shoulder. he’s completely got you under his spell with the way he’s holding you.

suguru had given you his card earlier and told you to spend it however you see fit. he would have gone shopping with you, though he unfortunately has to help a couple people who swear that they’re cursed.

he was still busy when you returned from your little trip. you didn’t want to bother him when he was working, but suguru excitedly invited you into the room once he spotted you. he wasted no time settling you on his lap and asking you all about your recent purchases.

“s-sir, could you please respond?” the shaky voice of a man snaps you out of your bubble. your gaze moves towards the poor citizen who’s groveling before suguru, the clear presence of a curse gnawing at his back.

suguru’s sweet attitude drops the moment that lowlife interrupted his time with you. his eyes darken and his grip on your hand tightens, showing just how much he’s holding back from murdering that man in cold blood.

he doesn’t want to scare you—no, he’d never kill someone in front of your eyes. he doesn’t want to taint your innocence like that.

“silence,” suguru’s sharp voice causes the man to shriek before he quiets down. a second passes before you feel your lover’s hand on your jaw, guiding your face back to his. the tender look in his eyes and the soft smile on his lips instantly returns.

suguru’s other hand slowly traces the diamond necklace around your neck, “where were we again. . . ah, yes—tell me what else you got, darling. i want to hear it all.”

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk x you #gojo x you #geto x you #jjk fluff

2K notes · View notes

pray4byron · 2 months

Text

What the Hazbin Hotel gang would call their s/o !!

Including: Charlie, Vaggie, Angel Dust, Alastor, Sir Pentious, Husk, Lucifer, Vox, Velvette, Adam

Warnings: I was going to have Niffty and Lute in this mix but ultimately had no ideas so I replaced them with Vox and Velvette instead, Not proofread

Charlie Morningstar

Sweetie, Sunshine, Baby:

Charlie is more often to address you by your name, or a nickname of your name, but in the more soft and meaningful moments she’ll whip out a petname or two

Sunshine is definitely used the most, as cheesy as it is, you’re HER sunshine, and she wants you to know that!

Then sweetie comes in second, as I don’t see her using baby a lot, it just feels too… I don’t know, I just don’t see her using it a lot, she may or may not throw in an occasional ‘love’ though

Vaggie

Hon, Babe, Sweetie:

I don’t think this list is very debatable, as it’s seen in the show

In my mind, Vaggie’s not a huge fan of most petnames, so her preference leans towards the more casual ones

She doesn’t really save a specific time to use them, she kinda just uses them whenever she feels like it

Also, definitely hon and babe are the ones she uses most, she doesn’t use sweetie as much as the others

Angel Dust

Sugar, Baby, Handsome:

Now THIS is a list I think may possibly be debated, cause it’s not directly based off of the show

REASON BEING, is because his more well known names (Snookums, Toots, etc) I feel, in my personal opinion are more used in platonic settings for his female friends

I can see him using petnames personal to his significant other, but ‘baby’ is his most used, just cause it’s a classic, with handsome following in second

Obviously, he uses ‘sugar’, I just think he uses the others more, simply because they roll off the tongue for him easier

Alastor

My dear, Lovely, Darling:

‘My dear’ and ‘Darling’ I think are quite obvious as to why haha

‘Lovely’ gives me very old fashioned vibes and I just see him using it, not too sure why

I could also see him using ‘small one’ if you’re shorter than him

Sir Pentious

Beloved, Sweetheart, Dear:

‘Dear’ I think is a bit obvious, cause he used it once or twice in the show, correct me if I’m wrong, I know he used it with Niffty in S1E6

And I can easily see him using ‘Beloved’ - he’s this dorky little man, and you ARE his beloved, so it’s just fitting haha

‘Sweetheart’, I don’t have a reason to be honest, I just don’t know

Husk

Doll, Sweetheart, Hon:

‘Doll’ gives me vibes from the time period he died for some reason, and it kinda just fits his theme, so, no exact explanation for this one haha

Like Vaggie, he’s casual with his petnames, doesn’t use ‘em a whole lot, but ‘Hon’ has a tendency to roll of the tongue

For ‘Sweetheart’ it’s kinda for the more tender moments you two share, like in the moments when he looks at you thinks ‘Damn, I got so lucky with them’ and pulls you in for a soft kiss as he tucks your hair behind your ear and mutters ‘I love you so much, sweetheart..’ into your lips … Yeah those moments !

Other than that, he just usually calls you by your name, again, petnames aren’t usually just something that pop outta him a lot haha

Lucifer

Sweetie, Angel, Lovey:

No offense to the people who headcanon this, but I’ve seen a few people think Lucifer would call his s/o ‘Duckling’ (like in x reader fics) and I’m so sorry but it’s not my thing, I just don’t think that😭😭

‘Sweetie’ is the one he uses the most but ‘Lovey’ tends to spill out of him the easiest

He tends to call you ‘Angel’ or ‘My Angel’ when you’re upset and he’s comforting you, no reason in specific, that’s just kinda how he does things haha

Vox

My dear, My love, Baby/Babycakes:

‘Babycakes’ is definitely used in a more joking manner, other than that, Vox is a classy pet names kinda guy haha

‘My dear’ is his default but ‘My love’ definitely slips out from time to time

I think an honorable mention is just straight-up ‘Love’ — I can also see him using that one a lot

Ultimately it depends on the day with him tbh

Velvette

Baby, Sugar, Darling:

‘Sugar’ is kinda just a whenever per name, while ‘Baby’ is most likely used during sex, they both just kinda fit her atttitude yk? haha

As for ‘Darling’, it’s more often that not used in a more soft setting, but not always

I can also see her using ‘Honey’ every once in awhile, but it’s mostly mood based

Adam

Babe, Sugartits (or Hunk for M!readers), Sexy:

‘Babe’ is his go to, no questions asked, it kinda just fits him and his ego personality, ya know?

But ‘Sugartits’ is more so used in a joking manner, although ‘Hunk’ isn’t as much

‘Sexy’ …? I don’t even have an explanation for LMAO

Sometimes, maybe just MAYBE Adam will slip out a ‘Honey’ when he’s feeling soft :)

976 notes · View notes

oddinarylani · 7 months

Text

'i wish you'd just care about me' arranged marriage skz.

pt 1: chan, lee know, changbin, and hyunjin.

w: blood, violence in changbin's

pt 2 is ⇀ here

𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷.↴

it wasn’t the best of circumstances. no. the day you were bathed in white, promised to a man, and walked down the aisle by your father to be given to the hands of your husband was one you spent in mourning, swallowed by grief. “i bet you’re so excited, yeah?” the makeup artist asked, brushing a pearly shade of pinkish red onto your lips. she had a soft genuine smile as she asked, surfacing you into reality from the fogginess in your head. you nod, once, “yes, i am.” you lie in an attempt to make conversation easy. most of the guests that day knew of the arrangement, but other’s hadn’t a clue - which made appearances dire to keep up with. part of you was pleased to move onto a new chapter in your life if it meant moving on from life with your parents. but the other part reminded you that you were going into a new marriage completely blind to the man you’d call your husband. you met him one singular time before changing your last name, the entirety of it was spent with your parents talking to his own - glances you cast in his direction, if only to study the face of the man you hoped to love one day.

his jaw was set coldly, eyes focused on the conversation shared between your parents. he was handsome but just stone. was anything there? you would wonder. is there a man beneath that face? the bone beneath his skin rippled in tender structure, ears pierced, nose rounded, and a heart-like shape to his mouth. while there was no longer hope to hold out for, you scrounged up a bit more in the depths of your chest in desire to love him one day. truly love him. and to be loved in return.

two months into your marriage and you still feel the brick wall dividing you from your husband. it wasn’t exhausting all the time, no. you saw him smile; a few times actually. sometimes you think of it when going to sleep. you hadn’t heard him truly laugh, but you still maintained that same hope from the first time you ever saw him that one day you’d be the reason for him to. your new routine as husband and wife took a minute to settle into; with chan slowly rising to ranks of his family’s company and your own growth in the business of your own. your days were spent at home in your office working from home, a lot of calls into business meetings that you kept your mic muted for, and phone calls to overseas clientele for holiday season.

chan would wake in the morning and rise from your shared bed quick to get ready for work, leaving you to fix coffee and shrug on a robe in the cold of your home (winters weren’t kind in the mornings) when he’d leave, you’d have a cup ready for him, cream and a sugar cube. “thank you, have a good day.” he’d wish, already halfway out the door with a small tired smile on his face. “you’re welcome, you too,” you’d say, scrolling through your phone as the door would shut.

he’d take little notice to your attempts at growing your relationship, and you hadn’t had the time to bring it up to him yet that you wanted to try to have a wonderful marriage. you’d step into the living room wearing a new dress for a banquet for the company, smile a bit wider and brighter than usual - he’d look up from the couch, phone still in hand and would give you a thin lipped smile. “you look nice.” you’d rent a movie, one he’d said he’d wanted to watch soon, and welcome him home with drinks by the couch and he’d brush it off, “ah, sorry. i have a company thing tonight. tomorrow maybe?” of course, he’d forget the next day anyway so it would all be for nothing. when he’d come home extra late and you’d be in bed, buddled in pjs in the comforter with a book and the lamp on next to you, you’d muster your best smile and set your book down. “hey, how was work?” he’d sigh, pulling the tie from his neck. “nothing new really.”

and then you’d beg yourself, beg yourself, to just answer the question of why were you in love with him?

maybe it was for all the times you’d get to see him smile, the chuckles as you’d watch a movie, the thank you’s for cooking, and everything in between. maybe you loved him for the way he stumbled into the kitchen almost late for work, his hair a bit messy and his tie disoriented and you stopped him - “wait,” you put a hand up, walking up to him to fix his tie. it was the closest you’d ever been to him besides the day you’d gotten married, you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “sorry, my hands are cold.” your voice still laced with sleep as you straightened his tie and flattened his hair. “i-it’s okay.” he assured, clearing his throat. “eat some on your way to work, coffee’s on the counter. have a good day, okay?” you push a few pieces of toast wrapped in a napkin into his hands, pointing to his coffee before turning back to the stove. “r-right. thank you, have a good day.”

that was pretty cute. you even for a moment thought there’d be hope for you, as his cheeks flushed pink when you started working on his tie. sitting at your desk in your office you’d smile at the thought before catching yourself and smacking your own cheeks.

but time was catching up with you, and the unbearable ache of loving him was almost too much for your heart to handle. you at least needed to know if he felt the same or if he ever could - but in the following days after your realization, you proved yourself right. there was no way. no way this could work out. a steady stream of emotion was constantly running through you; you couldn’t focus on work, you couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat - and you wondered if he even noticed. you were growing increasingly frustrated with chan, and every passing day of limited conversation, barely any eye contact, and virtually no response from chan was wearing you down. one second you were smitten, and the other you were pissed.

and it eventually all came to a halt.

the front door of your house shut loudly, louder than usual. and you had a sneaking suspicion chan hadn’t the best day at work. well. that was a shame - you were still pissed, and to think he had the audacity to come home angry from work when he could barely prove to be a communicative partner was enough to leave your blood boiling. you’d let him have it if given the chance.

“how was work.” it wasn’t so much a question as much as a routine statement. you sat on the couch, shuffling through your movies to find the one he’d been wanting to watch, which upon realization, you didn’t know why you did that when you were pissed at him.

“fine.” he stomps into your shared bedroom, yanking the tie from his throat as he did so. you roll your eyes and keep shuffling with a much heavier hand this time. when he re-emerges from the bedroom, he’s shed his tie but still has on his button-down and suit jacket on, you furrow your brows and sit up from the couch.

“what’s wrong? what happened?” you ask out of the goodness of your heart. he tosses open the fridge, sighing. “nothing. nothing happened.”

“you wanna watch that movie you said you wanted to see?” he runs his hands over his face, closing the fridge door. he looks for a moment as if he’s thinking, his hands on his hips as he swallows. “no. not tonight.” he finishes, beginning to walk out of the kitchen before you stand.

“i really really wish you just cared for me.”

it was quiet, quiet, when you said it. the words left your lips before you could realize that your vision was getting a bit glossy. he freezes in his tracks, whipping his vision towards you at the sound of your voice. there wasn’t venom to your words like you expected there would be, no. just defeat. chan hears it, he hears it in you and all of his frustration, his anger, his annoyance, just melts away. instead, his chest is swallowed with guilt.

“i try,, i try so hard to make this work, chris. i really do.” you wipe your face even though tears haven’t fallen yet, and he thinks it’s to stop them from ever doing so, at least in front of him, and his chest aches. he’s turned to face you now, just six feet away or so, and his brow softens at the sight of you.

“i cook for you and make you coffee every morning and try renting your favorite movie because you said you wanted to watch it and wear pretty things out to work events and when i go out with friends but,, you don’t,,,” you look at him when you speak, he sees that water building in your eyes and takes a step closer to you, almost wanting to reach out but stopping himself before he’s to do so. your head shakes, you sniff one more time.

“because that’s what married people do.” this time he does walk closer, you don’t move, but you don’t look him in the eye either - it seems much to hard to do when you’re on the brink of crying.

“i promised myself,,” you lift a clenched fist to his chest, tapping him once with it, your lips screwing together in frustration though your voice is still soft and tearful. “that as your wife i’d love you one day.” your hand drops from his chest, you wipe your eyes when a single tear spills over your waterline, ducking your head to do so out of his line of sight. “is it too much to ask the same from my husband.”

it’s quiet for a minute, in one way he knows everything to say. every sweet word to soothe over your aching heart, because that’s what he’s suppose to do as your husband, and there’s another part of him that has no clue what to say.

because what kind of husband is he to leave you feeling as empty as this.

“i told myself on our wedding day that,, i never wanted to be the one to make you cry.” his palms come to cup your cheeks, though his large hands end up swallowing some of your jawline and neck as well. your eyes widen a bit at the feeling, “look at me?” he asks, voice quiet. you do so with guidance from his own hands. “i’m sorry. i’m really sorry.” even he has some water building on his waterline, you notice. you frown, feeling his thumbs dry your under eyes.

“i never wanted to make you feel uncared for or unheard. i appreciate everything you do for me. and i’m sorry i’ve made you question if i care for you.” he wipes his thumbs under your eyes once more before his hands lower a bit. “you’re my wife. i care about you so much. and i’ll show you that, i promise.”

you talk for a little longer, but disregard the movie for the night, instead, you settle on curling up beside chris who wraps an arm around you, his cheeks a bit pink as you adjust yourself in his hold. he feels the burn of your own cheeks against his arm. “is this okay?” he asks, his opposite hand settling on your hip. you smile, “of course. i’m your wife, you can touch me. can i touch you?” he hums, scooting closer, giving you the okay to lay your arm across his midsection. you close your eyes for a moment, if only to enjoy the feeling of holding your husband for the first time. the warmth that always seems to naturally radiate off of him, the closeness of his breath, the feeling of being the only woman who gets to see him like this.

“i didn’t know you were so cuddly, mr. bang.” you smile to yourself, his hand stroking soft over your hip. “only when given the chance, mrs. bang.” he replies. “ooh,, too smooth.” you admire.

when silence encircles the both of you, and you feel sleepiness begin to creep up on you, he speaks again, “did you mean it when you said you’d learn to love me one day?” his voice is quiet, so tender - it licks at the wounds of your heart and seals them shut. your heart pounds behind your ribcage and you breathe deep to settle the rage of affection steadily brewing in you. “of course.” you reply, your face beginning to bury in his neck.

“well, that’s a shame.” you furrow your brows, opening your eyes to look up at him. before you can reply he speaks again. “because i love you now.”

𝓵𝓮𝓮 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀.↴

“the summer berries on the bushels in the forest are getting ripe now, i brought you some.” you lift your basket, both hands wrapped around it’s weak woven handle, showcasing your proud supply of freshly picked goods. you set the basket down a moment later, your husband batting a quick eye to the basket before he looks back to his spread of books a second later. “mm.” is his only reply.

lee minho was the protector and guide of the largest castle in the northern part of your land. he was a renowned alchemist and practitioner of magic, known for being aid to a handful of people in the village you were raised in, and most notably - a fierce god of night. a vampire.

it was true the stories of bloodlust and killings that tainted centuries of vampire lore; but lee minho set out to do something different. he hadn’t a care of the human experience, which he shared with that of his ancestors, but he had no need to kill them either. animal blood tasted just as delicious as a human’s. and when befriending a human, their loyalty was like no other. so he didn’t kill them, no, he made pacts and promises, and if anything used them more like pawns but they’d die soon before he did.

and then there was you. his wife. promised to his hand by your family - a pact of sorts, one of which you both hadn’t necessarily agreed to if it wasn’t for both of your families stepping in to further push along the marriage. in a quiet candlelight scenery you were married to your now husband, and your seal of a kiss was shared. which, honestly, you didn’t regret. he was very handsome - and kissing handsome men was always a joyous occasion (well, mostly anyway)

he was rageful. not at you, maybe more to existence itself. he was never angry towards you, he never showed it, but you could see deep within the brown wash of his eyes that he was indeed an angry man. he had a hate you’d only seen a few times, and every time you looked a little too hard you felt yourself look away - to anywhere else in the room. afraid of what it meant, afraid of his own distaste.

“you’re wearing the dress.” he notes. his vision still wondering over the pages in his book. your slightly fallen expression gleams a little at his comment. “yes, of course. you bought it for me.” your hands smooth over your torso, he still doesn’t look up. your lips twist at the sight of your husband’s disinterest, but you turn to wash the berries and leave the room.

most of your marriage to minho felt like a huge disinterest on his side. he’d lived many years, this much was true. but in your short time to live, you longed for a husband who loved you; and part of you thought minho was largely incapable of this. he never showed it. he never showed anything for that matter; he was always so far away. life not only was nonexistent to him as a man, but in his very eyes. he showed not a shred of emotion, and even in your good memories with him, he showed very little. part of you blamed it on his years of living, but yet the other part of you reminded you it was all the more reason to care. every day felt like a slow drag, you weren’t really living, not really. survival maybe. but being bound to this castle with a man who rarely payed you mind left an ache worse than death. were you not to his standards? maybe that was it.

you’d shed too many tears over the situation, now every time you cry you try to pull yourself together in the face of your grief. upon talking to your family, a few members reminded you that your voice was powerful, and you should very much share your opinions to him on the matter if your marriage was to work - but that was the thing. a few months in with the man you were to learn to love, and you felt even now it was helpless. it was a sting that brought you to your knees, god how you wanted to just tell him. tell him you loved him - and hear it from his own mouth.

upon your ravage of feelings and your family’s request, you resorted to writing a letter to your husband. you surely wouldn’t have the guts to face this powerful man in person, not like this. so you took to beginning your note in scribbles in the isolated space of your bedroom.

your lips twitch in thought as you think over the contents of your letter, your hand stilling still quipped with a quill. you’re swallowed with silence in the stillness of your bedroom, word after word is brought to the front of your brain. there’s a number of things you could say, but not enough words in the world to describe how you felt.

“lee minho, i’m unhappy.” you speak aloud as you write, taking a moment to look back at your writing, quickly scribbling the line out before starting again.

“dear husband, i have a few things to bring to your attention.” you nod along as you write, happier with this line.

“i believe if we’re to work as husband and wife, we should talk more.”

“i try time and time again to gain your attention, to bring you happiness in a way i know how.”

“but,, it seems to never be enough.”

“if you don’t want me,” you pause, your fingers fumble with the quill in your hand as your palms begin to warm against the hardwood. your lips twitch again.

against all things in your brain reminding you a married couple should speak of their issues and this was a must in your relationship if either of you wish to continue - an overwhelming feeling of pure grief washes over you and your hand as you still to keep from writing.

every bright moment in your relationship flashes before your eyes like matches starting a fire. it’s so overwhelming that your voice dies, and a tight tug at the back of your throat halts you to a shred of reality you hadn’t dwelled on. you sit further back in your chair, eyes glossing over into thought - lost entirely to the contents of your brain. realization has hit you like a truck in the face of your confrontation.

because what about all of the wonderful times you’ve spent together.

what about the dancing of your wedding day, the golden burn of his watchful gaze, the presents, the meals shared, the wishes of good morning or good night? what about all of the times that kept you so closely tethered to him? what about the times that kept you in love with the man who barely spoke to you.

you take a breath - and as quiet as it would be, it’s blaringly loud in the silence of your bedroom.

“i want to love you. i do. and,, i think i do.” clarity has left your quill, and instead, you write from your heart. what you truly feel.

“i hate that you don’t notice when i try to do kind things for you.”

“i want to work in matrimony of us.”

“i know our marriage is against our wishes, but i want to make it work.”

“i just.. i just wish you cared about me.”

a hand sharply grabs your chin, pulling your gaze to meet that of your husband's golden gaze.

“not care?” he asks, his face screwed into a sort of confused expression. “not care?” he asks again as his expression contorts again, further - until his hand is tender.

you’re so sharply pulled from your own head that you’re left with whiplash. he’s heard you? where was he? did you leave the door open? your eyes are blown wide as you face him in the realization he’s heard everything.

your mouth dries as you look at him, his gaze cuts into your very being and you feel utterly frozen. “no-! i didn’t mean it-” “you do though. i’ve made you feel this way.” his gentle grip on your chin leaves you, and he shuffles away, sitting firmly on your bed. his gaze seems lost, as if he couldn’t keep up with the words you’d admitted.

“minho..” “i do care.” he cuts in. you swallow, your brows melding together as you do so. “i don’t… want you to feel this way. and i’m sorry for doing so.”

in the face of confrontation he seems genuinely distressed, not that any part of you doubted it - but it was comforting to hear the words leaving his mouth.

“if we’re to be married, i want you happy. comfortable. i don’t want you to feel bad because of me.” he explains.

“i just,, i want to work this out. i want us to talk more; tell me what makes you happy and what hurts you.” you reassure, holding onto the back of your chair as minho’s head hangs low. “i’m your wife, i want to hear all of that.” a small smile stretches across your mouth; it’s lopsided and a bit sad, but it’s there nonetheless, and the sound of your voice lets minho’s head rise as he meets your gaze once more.

he sees in you the beauty he sees across the room even as you just sit a few feet away from him. it’s overwhelming, suffocating; and part of him hates it a little bit for suffocating his heart in one swift swallow. you’re all encompassing and human - he’s learned self-control few could achieve, and yet even a few months into a marriage he didn’t agree to and he’s smitten. he wants to reach deep inside his chest and pull his heart out by it’s tethers, and apart of him wants to feel your love to the highest degree he could if just to be surrounded in heaven once more.

“were you lying then?” he pauses, hands wrung together. “when you said you loved me?” a small quirk in the corner of his mouth leaves your face and chest hot.

“i wasn’t lying.”

minho’s made home on your bed, lulled to his side as his pretty eyes wash over your face. you aren’t connected, in fact, you’re a little afraid to touch him - regardless of this fact, your wrist lifts to reach nimble fingers to his face, but you pause, your soft fingers retracting into your palm.

“touch me.” he needs. his hand cupping your own to bring to his face tenderly.

your face is flushed with a dusty pink, the feeling of his face beneath your touch lights the nerve endings in your palm alight. your brow quirks in thought, but not for a moment do you part with his sun-washed eyes.

“how did you become a vampire?” you ask quietly, your thumb strokes the soft skin beneath his eye, his hand stroking the back of your own.

“i was born into it. my family comes from a long blood-line of vampires.” you hum in response, taking a moment to study the wash of sun-like gold that overtakes your husband’s eyes. fractals of evening sun beam through the curtains in your bedroom, creating a soft sleepy haze in your room. dust is seen floating in the room in the portions of sun that reach into the room.

“you’re beautiful.” he beats you to it, realizing he too has been looking at you the entire time. you retract your hand nervously, a smile stretching across your face in sweet embarrassment. “thank you.”

“do you want to be one one day? or do you value your life?” he’s half joking, a floppy smirk on his lips as he sighs a laugh. you hum once more, looking to his mouth to see the slight glimpse of fangs visible to you.

“maybe. if it meant i got to spend more time with you, than yes.”

minho’s smirk widens, his eyes washing from your face to the curve of your jaw, to the drop of your neck. his mouth parts, his hand coming to the curve of your ribcage over your waist, his warm hand freezes you in place. he lowers his lips to the column of your neck, a lowly drunken gaze filtering over his face. “that could be arranged.” his breath meets the tender flesh of your neck before he presses your waist closer to your body, his soft lips meeting your neck in a single kiss.

𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓫𝓲𝓷.↴

“be careful on the job today.” you crane your neck out of the doorway of the kitchen to look at your husband as he tightens a holster around his thigh. he looks up for a moment, face momentarily stricken with something similar to surprise at your well wishes. he looks down a moment later, checks the clip of his pistol, and then shoves it into the holster. “i will. i’ll be back tonight.” the door closes sharply behind him and you’re left in the silence of your home yet again.

there’s a pool of melted ice on top of your coffee, you take a sip anyway, the palm of your hand now wet from the sweat off the glass. in truth, you were trying. very sternly trying to make your marriage work. but with circumstances of said marriage coupled with the dangerous reality of your lifestyles, it felt like your assumed fate was dwindling before your eyes - a thin bow ready to snap under pressure.

being born into crime wasn’t all good fellas or the godfather all the time - no. it was nasty business, some of which you came to regret but again this was the only life either of you knew, leaving the business would be impossible without a gun to your head. you persevered in the face of guilt anyway, not knowing fully how your husband felt about the situation. the sound of your phone ringing brings you out of your head for a moment, leaving you rolling your eyes at the sight of your mother’s name across the vibrating screen.

“yes?’’ your coffee tastes bitter now, too much water - you pour the contents into the sink as she begins talking.

“hey hun, there’s a job tomorrow that’s opened up. one of the boys got canned, we’ll pay his bail through an anonymous source but we have to wait a few days so the cops don’t catch on. you in?” your fingers tug a coffee filter out of it’s wooden box, stuffing it into the machine as you press a button on your grinder.

“mom,” your hand comes to your eyes, rubbing them tiredly. “i told you i was out of the dirty work. i’m doing that shit anymore. and i’m severely out of practice of doing anything hefty.” you explain, the grinder stops, you pour the grounds into the coffee machine. she sighs on the other end, her voice coming through more heated now - pressure started weighing on your shoulders. she says your name with a deadly tone, it leaves you feeling as though there’s a cold metal rod stiff in your back.

“why don’t you ever look out for this family? you think you can just leave and do the bare minimum when your father and i have slaved over making a good childhood for you?” and then you’d argue back and forth until you felt like ripping your hair out and you’d finally cave and you mom would end the call sharply and once again leave you in the silence of your home that was beginning to feel more like a prison.

when you heard the beep that ended the call, you tossed your phone to the couch and let your mind wander yet again - what else was there to do in your seemingly failing marriage and rocky relationship with your parents? you hadn’t many friends unless they were in the business, and that only counted for a few really close ones. you track around your kitchen with your fingers pushed into your hairline, and your mind wanders back to something she’d said on the phone a few weeks ago.

“we found you your husband, is that not good enough for you?”

you hadn’t even the energy to put up with audacity of that claim. so you ended the call and showered, but it still ate at you greatly - because no. no it wasn’t enough. changbin, as dedicated to the lifestyle as he was, and you respected him for his commitment, was terrible at showing you what he truly felt. most conversations were barely that, mostly exchanges if anything - and the few good times you’ve had together were truly the only thing keeping you around if it wasn’t for the godforsaken hope you managed to hold onto.

you saw the good in him - the good he was capable of, and every time you’d suffocate yourself in thought about being three months in and still not working together as a married couple should, you reminded yourself of this fact. it’s what kept you in, what drew you closer to him. because what could you both be? it’s already bad enough you have feelings for the guy and he clearly didn’t feel the same way.

“fuck,, what am i gonna do.” to clear your head you showered again, tying back your wet hair and slumming around the house until changbin arrived back home when you’d be drifting off to sleep. at least you had an opportunity to clean; and when the house was clean, you felt a bit better. you were correct about changbin returning late - you heard a long sigh as he entered your bedroom, the plop of a duffel bag could be heard. when you look at the time on your phone you see it’s just past three in the morning.

“how’d it go?” you ask tiredly from the bed, the bathroom light flickers on and he raises his head a bit. “oh i’m sorry i didn’t mean to wake you.”

“it’s okay. you okay?”

“yeah. yeah, everything went fine. what’d you do today?” you see the rings of exhaustion circling his eyes as he strips off his shirt and hides the smallest of winces.

you sigh heavily, rubbing your eyes as the sink begins to run. “i talked to my mom on the phone. doing a job tomorrow night. cleaned the house though.”

“what kind of job?” he asks as he starts the shower. you talk a bit louder so he can hear you over the sound of the spray. oh he wasn’t going to like the sound of this - these kinds of jobs were everyone’s least favorite in the business.

“there’s a warehouse on fifth, when you’re leaving the downtown area. apparently some guys are trafficking there. gotta take them out.”

“shit.. be careful. small time guys have been trying to make names of themselves.”

“i know, i will be.”

careful you were, but careful was not enough. those guys holed up in that warehouse with every corner covered, not only that, but with automatic weapons with full mags, dressed in black to blend with the shadows. the job was done, the victims released into promised care and with you aid in the following days, be returned to their families or brought to homes, but not without some wounds of your own. the guys dropped you off at the back of your house, granted it was past midnight but you couldn’t be too careful. your home was secluded - but what the law knew was unbeknownst to the organization in regards to this mission in particular.

you left your weapons in the van with the promise of getting them back the next day. “c-clean the blood off it for me, would you?” you grinned, shuffling from the van with your arm slung over your partner. you lean nearly fully into his weight as he aids you in finding your back door. you bang on the big sliding window before unlocking it, letting changbin know you were home.

“we gotta get the fuck outta here. you be careful yeah? call me tomorrow morning.” the driver calls before peeling away from your home. you nod, using the wall to stumble inside your house as the living room is suddenly flooded with light, and your husband walks out of your bedroom with his phone in hand and his brows furrowed.

“changbin,,” you push the door closed, leaving bloody handprints everywhere you touched.

“fuck- okay, okay, okay- it’s alright. come here.” his outstretched hands come to wrap your arm around his shoulders and stabilize on your waist as he helps you walk to your bathroom.

hot spots of pain blossom on your waist, ribs, and leg. it’s throbbing, all encompassing, and leaves your eyes watering when changbin’s palm presses a little harshly into your side. throughout the house your gasps and groans of pain are heard, changbin is working as diligently and carefully as he can to help you to the bathroom, only imagining how much you must be hurting.

“okay, okay- i’m gonna lay you on the floor okay?” he helps you rest along the floor after he’s put some towels down, and kneels by your side before grabbing the extensive first aid kit you kept in your bathroom. you nod, closing your eyes to focus on breathing, but every breath in hurts, and every exhale throbs your wounds.

“where are you hit?” he asks, you now notice his hands are tainted with your blood in just a few splotches. he rummages through the kit, reaching for the hem of your shirt as he cuts through your gear and clothing. “m-my sides, and,, one in my left leg.”

“alright. it’s gonna be okay - let’s get you sewn up. what happened?” he asks as a way of distracting you from how bad this was about to hurt. he pours some alcohol in his hands before barring your torso to his eyes, now seeing the festering wounds.

“t-they-” you laugh because it’s hurting so bad and your eyes are getting glossy as adrenaline leaves your body. “they had automatics… every one of them was geared the fuck up. and not only that but there must’ve been twenty,, twenty five of them and five of us.”

changbin’s head slowly shakes in disappointment that you were set up that badly for failure, his haw is tight - but he remains focused on the task at hand, cleaning you up. he lifts you up with one arm and helps you shred your arms of your sleeves completely, focusing now on the wound near your ribs. “why’d they send you in with only five people? did they want you to die? fuck.”

“seems like it.” you chuckle, his hand stabilizes before he reaches into your wound with medical pliers to grab the bullet still embedded in you. your grip tightens on the towels beneath you, eyes now swimming with tears as you groan at the feeling of the tug of the pliers.

“i know, i know. you’re doing good though, talk about something. tell me about the job or- your favorite music or something.” his hands dip into a bowl of water, returning to your wound to clean you from blood and put some pressure on the wound.

“the job was shit, but,, the guys are gone. all the victims are safe and i’ll work on paper work to get them home tomorrow.” he hums, nodding. he puts a bit of topical numbing around the wound before grabbing sutures to close the open wound. “as far as music,” you laugh to yourself again, your gaze focused on the ceiling. “you trying to get to know me? didn’t think you cared so much for that.”

his hands pause. then lower. he looks at you with a kind of genuinity you didn’t expect from the man you called your husband. “of course i care. you’re my wife.”

“you’re always so focused on the work, on your job. you’re gone a lot. i can tell you care about the organization i just,, i don’t know. i always hoped you’d care for us too.”

he frowns a bit, his gaze is focused back to his hands as he threads the string more diligently through the needle. he’s paused, he has a focused expression and you can tell when you look at him he’s thinking - part of you hopes you haven’t stumped him, or made him uncomfortable - maybe you did hold out too much hope.

“i do care about us. about you. i always figured since we were arranged to be married that you wouldn’t want much to do with me.” when he returns to working on your wound you wince, eyes closing tight. he apologizes quietly, but it’s over quicker than you expected.

“i want everything to do with you, silly. you’re my husband. i want this to work between us if we’re going to be married.” your eyes are still watery and the throbbing hasn’t subsided - you wonder if part of this is delusion since your filter has seemingly disappeared in the face of pain.

he smiles, softly. “i’m sorry that i’ve made you feel that way, and hey-” his hand reaches for yours, the one that bears the ring he gifted you on the day you were married. your eyes meet his as your head lulls to the side, you grasp onto his hand as if he’d stabilize you - and he does. “i do care about you. genuinely.”

you squeeze his hand, the wash of tears that drowned your eyes from pain spill finally. “i care about you too.”

“don’t cry, silly. i’m almost done, let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

after changbin coaches you through treating your wounds, he runs you a quick bath and helps you wash the dirt and sweat from your hair. it felt strange to say you felt an overwhelming trust to him - but maybe that was just the energy he exuded. he helps you to bed, and quickly showers off himself before laying next to you.

his arm wraps around you, and the pain in your side has dulled from the medicine he made you take after closing up your wounds and cleaning them. your head rests on his chest comfortably. “you never answered my question about music.” he says suddenly.

“i’ll play you all my faves tomorrow morning when you cook me breakfast because i got shot.” you grin cheekily against him.

“deal.”

𝓱𝔂𝓾𝓷𝓳𝓲𝓷.↴

“i am to be his wife.” there was no expression in the gaze you cast your parents, hands folded neatly in front of you, ever obedient in the face of nobility. before your eyes, in the face of your youth your life of freedom ever awaiting your embrace is taken from you and shackled. your life is to be given to a man you didn’t know, and when shoved his own in your hands you feel the pulse of forgotten life in your palms. there was more to say other than you didn’t want this, there was more words you could sputter in anger at your parents, other screams and cries for this to not happen, yet you swallow, let your eyes gloss over, and prepare a wedding in the following year to a man you’d meet only once before promising forever to him.

across from you at the altar he stood jaw tight, eyes glassy yet lifeless. when the wedding guests settled and your father handed you off to the prince’s hands, you breathed deep in an attempt to conceal the building tears that sparkled in your eyes. officiant you didn’t know, in the sea of people commending your marriage you knew few faces, and he spoke vows because of remembrance not because of promise. when he lifted the veil from your eyes to look at you, he for a moment faltered and his lips flattened.

you kissed him because you had to. and you slept beside him that night because you had to.

in marriage, you always imagined that life would blossom with a spark of light. as a seal to two people’s testament of their love it would grow into something truly beautiful - it would drink in the sun, bathe in the rain, paint its colors on pages and tell its story on lips through decades. as a young girl, the idea of one day marrying someone that loved you was thrilling to say the least. it was pure; and good. and every notion, every dream, every promise to your life you’d made, was stripped from you in a single evening.

you’d rise from bed when the maids would wake you to dress. you’d be dressed beside your husband, wearing the rings that testified your union, and would watch over the kingdom that would be given to your hands one day.

there was no use in trying, not even from the start.

but you wanted to love him. oh you terribly wanted to love him.

beside him you’d sleep - watching the curvature of his heart shaped lips, the breathing his body exuded - existence. how you were his without him even knowing. only in this state could you see him, really see him. the sprawl of his hair on the pillow before it was to be tied back that morning upon your wake. beautiful he was. when his eyes fluttered open, he wet his lips and you heard him speak - for the first time it felt as though it was to you.

“i’m sorry.”

for the entire rest of the day you spent in a haze in your own head.

two months have gone by, and you were achingly in love with him. but you couldn’t say the same for him; his headspace was unknown. you shared a great castle together, a smaller one just outside the village as your parents lived inside the city walls in the palace, but home felt like a restraint on you. nothing was sacred.

when you spoke, it was matters of business and a shred of the time was talk of personal matters. the only truth you spoke to hyunjin was in the hours before he’d wake when sleep would leave you too early. you tuck your folded hands together under your pillow, your eyes washing over his face as he slept. upon your movement, he turned to his side, his broad shoulders creating lines of his body beneath his sleep shirt. part of you wanted to reach out, to wrap your arms around him and tell him you believed in the both of you, but your thoughts still to silence.

“i wish you cared for me, in the way i care for you.” you mumble quietly.

“but i cannot say it yet. you’re a shadow; yet you’re sorry. i’m so confused in my love for you.”

that’s when he turned over, his eyes open. the maids walk in a second later and your wide eyes glance to them. they pause in their steps, looking between the both of you. had he heard you? surely not. you push yourself onto your elbows as he speaks to the maids, his own hands planted firmly in the mattress.

“i can dress her.”

they quickly excuse themselves after, mumbling as they leave the room hurriedly. the room stills, you’re left in the wake of his words with confusion bubbling through your head and your face suddenly flushed. he stands without another word as they’ve left the room, moving to the closet to fetch your under clothes, corset, and gown for the day.

“hyunjin,” you speak softly.

“i care greatly for you. i do, but-”

you swallow, still sitting on the bed with your legs curled beneath the covers. “you cannot dress me.” you hold a hand to pause him in his movements as he approaches with your day clothes in hand. he swallows, “you’re my wife. i can dress you. if you’d let me.”

hwang hyunjin was one of the most beautiful men you’d ever seen, and this he knew as well - yet the cool confidence he usually carried on his shoulders, in his handshakes, and in his voice, had dissipated. he looked at you with darting eyes that searched your own for the answers he needed, his hands gripped your dress tight.

his hand stretches out to you, offerance of aid. you look to his palm, the gentle length of his fingers, and find his exuding energy welcoming - so you take his hand. it’s warm as your skin washes over his own, his hands were smooth and embracing, and you stand before him with a sharp intake of breath.

“i’ve made you feel this way,” he begins, beginning to untie the laces that hang from the neck of your night dress. there’s a great deal of nerve vibrating through your body at the prospect of him dressing you, but regardless you let him in the wake of his tenderness. and if it meant a moment you could share closer to him - you’d take it.

“you only speak your feelings to me when you think i’m asleep.” at that your breath stills, panic settles in quietly to your bones.

“i-i’m sorry i-” “you have no need to apologize, it’s me. i’ve made you feel this way. and i’m sorry.” when your dress is removed, he kneels at your feet to gather it before letting you step into your under dress. you rest your hand on his shoulder for balance to do so.

“in truth, i can’t tell you why i love you.” he says, his hands working to tie your second layer skirt around your waist, once it’s firm and not uncomfortable, you turn your head to look at him with glossy eyes. “you cannot say such things to me and not mean it. you can’t.”

“i know i haven’t shown it, but it’s true, that i promise you.” with that, he gently guides your arms through the holes of your corset, and begins lacing it, leaving your eyes drowning in tears as your lips tremble.

“you-you haven’t shown it. how am i to know you love me or that i love you when we hardly have a relationship. you’re my husband, i want to love you as one.” you gasp as he pulls the strings to tighten it, his palm laying flat on your back as he tugs once more.

“it’s a promise i make now, to show you i do indeed love you. i want you to tell me when you’re hurting, i want to help, i want to grow with you.” his hands lay along your waist as your corset is tightened. when he rounds you, seeing your eyes fogged over, his heart pangs with guilt.

“i’m sorry, truly. that i have made you feel this way. but please, know my promise is true.” his hands come to gather yours in his grip.

you nod, wiping your face for a moment as you lift your gaze to look at him. “then i’ll tell you. i’ll tell you whatever you want to hear. i want to work to make this kingdom a happy place for our people, we must work together in that regard.”

hyunjin listens, strokes his thumbs across the backs of your hands and you speak for a while longer on your marriage, how you’re both willing to work to make your love make sense, how you wish to be a unit in making the kingdom a place of happiness for your people. he prepares for the day, wearing an outfit the same shade of off-white as your own with his long dark hair tied back into a bun.

he offers his arm to you before you both leave your bedroom, smiling softly. “thank you for talking to me.” he says, opening the door for you. “thank you for listening and talking as well. it feels nice to have this weight lifted.”

“i agree.”

sorry if hyunjin's is written weird i was listening to cornfield chase by hans zimmer and got lost in the sauce.

3K notes · View notes

fadedin2u · 4 months

Text

big flirt!

MDNI 18+

summary: your friends force you to go out to a gay bar with them, and ellie buys you a drink.

content/tw: alcohol mention, subtop!ellie, slightly dom/switch!reader, reader and ellie are both drunk, face sitting(r!receiving), tribbing, strap-on(r!recieving), reader is called “girl” once or twice, afab!reader, reader is neither masc nor fem, college!ellie and reader, astrophysics major!ellie

notes: i left the ending written in away that i might add another part to this fic! lmk if u want that lol

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

“hey, 6 o’clock, there’s a certified hottie staring at you-“ one of your well-meaning friends tells you, motioning (not very) discreetly behind you.

you turn around and your jaw nearly drops. the girl staring at you is stunning, with her dark auburn hair and flannel worn over a wife-beater, sitting at the bar and sipping her drink. you make eye contact with her momentarily, and turn back to your friend, mary, with wide eyes.

mary laughs, “are you gonna go for it?”

your friends had forced you to go out to this gay bar with the intention of meeting new people after a break up that left you a complete wreck. it’d been about 3 months since your ex broke the news that they weren’t in love with you anymore, and it made any kind of romantic prospects leave a bitter taste in your mouth till this day. not to mention, you’re wayyy too drunk at this point to be on your A-game with flirting. you make a face and mary groans.

“come on, dude! she’s gorgeous, clearly interested, what else could you ask for?”

you make another face, “just because she’s staring doesn’t mean that she’s necessarily interested-“

“how about if she’s walking over to you right now? does that make her interested?”

you hear someone clear their throat behind you, and you give mary a murderous look before turning to the stranger with a smile.

she gives you a slightly awkward smile in return, “hey. i, um, i’m sorry if this is forward, but could i buy you a drink?”

your stomach is absolutely in knots, but you nod. “yeah, i’d love that.”

the stranger gives you a relieved smile in return, extending her hand to you, “i’m ellie. what’s your drink?”

you give her your name, “-and just a rum and coke, thank you so much.”

ellie’s clearly pretty drunk as well, which makes you feel a little better. she leads you back over to the spot at the bar she was sitting at, giving you her hand to help as you hop onto the excessively tall bar seats. she gives the bar tender your drink order and orders another whiskey on the rocks for herself.

“so, do you come to this bar a lot?” you ask, and inwardly cringe at yourself. ‘i basically just asked “so, you come here often?” great.’

ellie makes a so-so motion with her hand, “sometimes, not very often though. i study astrophysics so i don’t usually have the free time to deal with a hangover.”

your eyebrows raise and your drunk brain speaks before you think, “wow, smart girl.”

ellie’s cheeks flush a little, and she looks down, “i don’t know about that, but i’m really passionate about it, which is more than half the battle, i think.”

you scoff, “please, you’re literally studying rocket science. you can’t convince me that you’re not smart now.”

ellie laughs a little, “okay, then i’ll just shut up and take the compliment. thank you.”

the bar tender gives you two your drinks and ellie takes a sip of her own, “so, what do you do?”

you take a sip of your own drink, “i’m a student right now too, i’m actually studying-“

suddenly, you hear a familiar beat in the background, and you stop talking, a (likely goofy) smile growing on your face, “oh my god, i fucking love this song. nicki minaj literally cannot miss.”

ellie laughs brightly at that, raising an eyebrow, “i absolutely fucking agree. do you wanna dance?”

“really?”

ellie nods, taking a large gulp of her whiskey, “for sure. i couldn’t live with myself knowing i cheated a pretty girl like you out of a dance break.”

you giggle and nod, chugging the rest of your drink faster than you probably should. ellie takes your hand and leads you out the the dance floor where there’s a large crowd of people dancing together. you pull ellie against you, your actions emboldened by the alcohol in your system. ellie immediately goes to hold on your hips, your bodies moving against each other.

you don’t really think to much about how you’re dancing, just letting your body move how it wants to. before you even realize what you’re doing, you’ve turned around in ellie’s hold, grinding your ass back against her hips. when you realize what’s happening, you nearly stop, but when you feel the tight grip of ellie’s hands on your hips and the way she’s grinding back into you, you relax. you stand back up straight, and wrap your arm up and behind you, holding onto the back of ellie’s head, which is now tucked against your neck. when you feel her lips against your jugular, you inhale sharply, pressing more into her.

you feel her kisses trail down to your shoulder, and you thank your good luck for deciding to wear a tank top. you feel her pelvis digging into your ass, and you can’t be sure because the music is so loud, but you swear you hear her moan.

you turn back around in her arms, and before either of you realize what’s happening, you’re locked into a heated kiss. your arms wrap around her neck, and one of her hands sneaks down from your hips to squeeze your ass. you moan into her mouth, and she takes the opportunity for her tongue to explore your mouth. when you separate, you’re both panting.

“wanna get an uber back to mine?” she asks loudly over the blasting music, and you nod right away.

——

the uber driver for the ride back will likely leave ellie with a low rating, thanks to the two of you not being able to detach your mouths from each other for longer than 5 seconds, but you two eventually make it back to ellie’s apartment.

once you’re in her bathroom, you push her back onto her bed between kisses and straddle her. she kisses your neck and chest, pushing your tank top up. you take it off for her and you’re left in your bra. ellie grins and starts kissing the exposed parts of your breasts.

“god, you’re so fucking pretty-“ ellie says as she takes off your bra, immediately latching onto one of your nipples. you moan softly and hold onto her head, your fingers threading through her hair.

you feel her warm tongue smooth over the hardened bud before switching to the other to give it the same attention. as she does, her hands come up to squeeze your tits. she’s still sucking and nipping gently as she looks up at you, her doe eyes stirring the heat in your belly. when she unlatches; her lips are a little swollen and wet with saliva.

“what am i allowed to do? what do you need?” ellie asks, smoothing her hands down your waist and hips.

you shiver slightly, “anything.”

ellie starts kissing your neck again, sucking a hickey into the crook of your neck, “you’re gonna need to be more detailed then that, doll.”

you bite your lip, your tipsy brain racing, “i need you to fuck me.”

ellie pulls back, a wide grin growing on her face, and she kisses your collarbone. “jesus christ, i’d fucking love too… can you sit on my face first?”

your exhale sharply and nod. ellie lies back on the bed and you slide off ellie, kicking off your jeans, leaving your underwear on, before crawling back up ellie’s body.

ellie grips your thighs as you position yourself over her face. “fuck, you smell good… you this wet for me, babe?”

you nod again, your cheeks hot.

her smile is a little cocky as she looks up at your face, and licks over the wet fabric of your underwear. your legs jolt a little and you let out a shaky breath.

ellie shoves her face further between your legs, and you swear you hear her whimper. she pulls your underwear to the side, and licks a broad stripe up your cunt.

you moan, your eyes falling shut as you hold onto her headboard.

she pulls back, “i said sit on my face, babe, not hover-“

ellie’s hands pull on your thighs so you rest your weight on her face fully. ellie becomes borderline ravenous, her tongue lapping at your pussy, slurping you up as her fingers dig into the fat of your ass and thighs.

you bite on your fist to muffle your loud moans, but ellie will have none of that, her arm reaching up to pull yours away from your face.

after a moment, ellie sticks her tongue fully out, letting you rub your clit against it as you please. your breaths become more and more unsteady.

ellie’s hands on your ass help guide your hips, and when she moves to suck on your clit, the suction makes your orgasm hit you like a freight train, bucking your hips against ellie’s face.

when you’ve come down, ellie helps you off of your face, and rummages through her drawer to grab her strap.

you stop her, your hand against her chest, “i wanna feel you against me first.”

ellie doesn’t need to hear anymore, and quickly starts taking off her clothes as you take off your underwear. she moves so she’s on top of you, hiking one of your legs over her shoulder. the moment her wet cunt grinds into yours, you both moan, your eyes rolling back into your head.

“you feel so fucking perfect, so fuckin good for me-“ she rambles

ellie starts thrusting her hips against yours, and you watch her small, perky tits bounce with each movement. your hand trails up to squeeze one of them and she whimpers softly. when you pinch her nipple between your fingers, she moans gutturally and moves against you faster. you’re not at all in control of how loud you’re moaning at this point.

“look at you, sweet girl, so fucking gorgeous-“

it isn’t long before your oversensitive clit is being brought closer to another orgasm. you make obscene noises as you cum again, ellie’s eyes trained on your face the whole time.

“there you go- let me cum all over that pretty- ah, fucking- mmmh, pussy-“ ellie grunts before cumming a few moments after you.

you both take about 5 seconds to recover before she’s scrambling to grab the strap. once ellie has it on, you lick your lips, staring at it.

“can i ride it?”

ellie’s eyes go big, and she basically throws herself onto the bed, lying back and patting her thigh.

you giggle and climb on top of her, kissing her lips again. she kisses you back eagerly, grabbing your hips and thrusting her hips up, but you pull back.

“nope. hands off and stay still.” you order, and her already very dilated eyes look like pools of black at this point. she nods, biting her lip.

you take the strap and run the tip of it through your folds. ellie whines as she watches this, her hips bucking a little with her fists clenching the sheets below her.

“hey, what did i just say?” you ask, a mischievous smile on your face.

she takes a shaky breath, “sorry.”

you laugh a little, “so needy, ellie.”

you make eye contact with her as your hand travels down your own body, taking the time to squeeze and play with your own breasts. meanwhile, ellie looks like she’s practically salivating.

your hand travels down your stomach to your cunt, rubbing your own clit for a second as ellie watches, her mouth agape.

your fingers spread your folds and dip inside you for a moment, curling up and making you moan.

ellie is desperate at this point, “please, jesus fucking christ, i need you so bad, you don’t under-“

you withdraw your fingers, giving ellie a look. “hmmm… sounds like you need something to keep that mouth of yours busy, huh?”

you bring your slick-covered fingers up to her mouth. “open.”

ellie immediately opens her mouth and starts sucking off your fingers, whimpers muffled.

you giggle, “awww, you’re too fucking cute… now keep sucking on those, yeah?”

without warning, you sink down onto ellie’s strap and start bouncing. ellie whines, her eyes fixated on your tits as they bounce with you, still eagerly sucking on your fingers. ellie’s eyes fall shut for a moment as the base of the harness gives her clit the friction she’s craving.

you keep bouncing on her strap, watching the fucked out glaze in ellie’s eyes, half-lidded and fully dilated.

“awww… you just needed to get fucked, that’s all… look how pretty you are…” you tease and ellie starts whimpering like she’s gonna come from your words alone.

after a few minutes, you start to tire and you take out the fingers in her mouth, slowing down, “now, fuck me like you mean it, ellie.”

those words are all the permission ellie need before flipping you over and drilling her hips into yours.

“-pussy’s so fuckin- fuck, so fuckin’ tight for me, babe-“ ellie whimpers, tucking her face into your neck.

you would find it more amusing that ellie is acting like this strap is physically attached to her if she wasn’t making you feel so fucking good. you cling onto her as she fucks you, slamming into you just right, over and over.

“i need to cum, please let me cum- i can’t fucking-“ ellie rambles, and you cut her off

“i’m close too, baby, it’s okay-“ you pant, your eyes clenching shut as she fucks you into your third orgasm.

ellie’s hips bottom out and she grinds herself deep into you as she cums against the base of the harness, her moans needy and breathy.

when you both start coming down, she pulls out and tosses the strap away wordlessly, going back to cuddle against you.

you’re completely exhausted (and both of you still slightly drunk) as you let her spoon you, barely saying anything before slipping into a deep sleep.

———

“so you just… left? without even saying goodbye?” mary asks over the phone as you walk into the music building on your college campus, lugging your beat up guitar with you.

“what was i supposed to do? make her breakfast and thank her for the 3 orgasms?” you ask, holding the door open for a girl running in behind you.

the girl gives you a look and your face gets hot, realizing she overheard what you said.

“i mean… maybe? she was super hot,” mary responds, slightly agitated

you groan, “yeah, she was hot, but i barely learned anything about her and we were both drunk. not necessarily promising grounds for a budding relationship.”

you walk up the steps to the room you’re headed to, checking your phone again for the right room number.

“yeah, but still. she seemed like she would be cool,” mary justifies and you sigh.

“well, if i ever see her again while we’re not drunk and horny, maybe i’ll ask her out. but right now, that’s really not a priority.” you say, finding the right practice room.

mary starts to talk again but you interrupt her, “i’m sorry, mary, but i have to go.”

“wait, why? i know you don’t have class right now.”

“i’m taking those private guitar lessons to satisfy that extracurricular credit, remember? it’s my first lesson, so i really don’t wanna be late,“ you say, and mary sighs.

“okay, whatever. have fun, and i’ll talk to you after?”

you agree and end the phone call, looking to check the room number again before you walk in.

your forced, ‘make a good impression’ smile is immediately wiped off your face when you see the familiar auburnette playing the guitar in front of you.

she looks up at you and her cheeks go red almost instantaneously.

you say, “sorry, i must be in the wrong room- i have a lesson-“

ellie’s eyebrows raise and she lets out a slow sigh, “you, uh, you have a lesson?”

you nod, gripping your guitar case.

ellie laughs a little, like this is some sort of prank that was pulled on her:

“then you’re in the right room, because i’m pretty sure i’m supposed to teach you guitar this semester.”

you sharply exhale the breath you were holding in as the realization of what’s going on sets in, “but… you’re an astrophysics major?”

ellie chuckles again, “and a music minor, babe.”

you restrain the groan that you desperately want to make, your stomach sinking.

ellie pats the empty seat next to her, “well… let’s get started then. you know any bar chords yet?”

#rose writes #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #tlou2 #tlou #ellie williams fanfic #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie williams smut #ellie tlou #ellie x fem reader #ellie x masc reader

2K notes · View notes

luveline · 26 days

Note

You mentioned in one post that bombshell!reader was furious with the team for not helping Reid with his addiction (as she should be)…. Would you maybe write about her helping him thru withdrawal or thru the cravings that follow? Maybe subtly at first, then just making sure he knew he wasn’t alone? Just some tender moments where Spencer starts to realize she actually cares about him, even if he doesn’t believe her flirting yet.

-🌕

I love every single thing you write, even for fandoms I’m not even in. You’re amazing!!

thank you for requesting my sweetheart!!! I really hope this is what you wanted, love you <3 fem!reader

cw past drug abuse

“Hi, Spencer Reid.”

You perch on the edge of his desk with no further introduction. You’ve changed perfumes, to his immediate recognition, the rich smell of your usual parfum swapped for a less consuming scent. He detects apple blossom, and rose, the smallest hint of jasmine, a contrast to your usual vanilla and peony. The human brain can remember 50,000 scents, and Spencer can remember all of yours. Or, he could.

“You’re not saying hi anymore?”

“Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi. It’s nice to see you.” You put your hand on his. Spencer isn’t sure you’ve ever touched his hand before, he’s never really let you, but he doesn’t move away. A huge winding of tension between his shoulders begins to unspool. “It’s really nice to see you, babe. I’ve missed you tons and tons.”

He looks up tentatively. “You have?”

“I have. I haven’t really been invited, today. I’m just here to see you.”

“Why?” Spencer asks.

You tighten your fingers on his hand. “Missed you. Thought maybe we should, like…” And that’s unusual, for you to use filler words, Spencer doesn’t know what to think of it. “Well, I have something to say to you, and it’s going to either sound reassuring or ridiculous.”

“Okay.”

You give him a withering look. “Don’t make it any easier for me.”

He laughs. The sound alone fosters your smile. “Sorry,” he says softly, “I doubt it’ll be ridiculous.”

“Spencer Reid, we are friends. We are. But we never do anything outside of work, so I was thinking you could come over tonight and we’d make dinner and watch TV and stuff.”

“And stuff.”

“I’m a bit nervous,” you confess, looking down at your lap, then quickly back up into his face, “I’m worried you won’t want to.”

You’re kind to avoid saying what he’s sure you’re thinking; you’re worried he won’t want to spend the night with you, and instead will look down the long barrel of a small needle. Or, he thinks that’s what you’re thinking. He does it to everyone.

“What do you want to make for dinner?” he asks.

“What are you enjoying lately?”

“I… I don’t know. I’m not really eating.”

“Cereal?”

“Yes,” he laughs. “Lots of cereal.”

You tap the wheel of his chair with your heel. You’re dressed as though you aren’t working, wearing a sweet dark dress with a starched collar and baby sleeves, stockings, and a necklace at your neck that glows with a small white crystal. You look amazing. It never makes any sense to Spencer, why you’d taken an interest in him, and why you bother now. He knows he’s hard to care for. He knows he’s making it worse.

You look up and down his face. You must see the purple half circles beneath his eyes, the crack at the corner of his mouth, the cut he can’t stop picking on his cheek. Every time it scabs, he opens it again. One second he’s sitting there and the next he’s got blood under his fingernail.

“Hug?” you ask hopefully.

He goes to stand. You move in too fast and wrap your arms around him, leg slotting between his, leaning over his shoulders with a distinct sense of protectiveness. You squeeze him, a little sigh escaping you that sounds loud so close to his ear.

“How has it been this week?” you ask quietly.

“It’s fine.” He cups your back in his arm carefully. The other wraps tight around the small of it. He soaks you up, scared you’re gonna pull away any second.

“How are you feeling about it? Do you need any extra help?”

He cringes. “No,” he says. “It’s really fine.”

“When you texted me, about the cravings? What are they like today?”

He wishes he could breathe in the smell of your perfume and your skin and tell you they’re all better now. It would make sense; there isn’t much in his life that hasn’t been made better by your attention. He’d struggle to do this without you. You’re his only friend who actually cared enough to say the problem out loud, but you’re just a woman, you can’t work the sort of magic necessary to kick this for him.

“Spencer?” You pull away, nudging his cheek with the back of your finger.

“They’re okay. I’m not gonna do anything.”

“Good, honey. I’m proud of you. I know how hard this is.”

He bites the inside of his lip, surprised at your caring. He shouldn’t be.

“What are you two whispering about?”

You and Spencer have different reactions to Emily’s sudden question. He flinches like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and you, still vaguely pissed with everyone for not telling you Spencer was struggling and not afraid to show it, keep your eyes trained on his face.

“Nothing,” Spencer says.

You turn to her with a small smile. You still like her, Spencer knows. Secretly, he’s pleased you’re angry for him. It’s nice to have someone so obviously on his side. “We’re just deciding what to get for dinner.”

“Oh, nice. Date night?” she teases.

You press your cheek to his forehead. “Date night,” you agree, your hand unmissable where it bunches in his sweater near his heart.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

laurashapiro-noreally · 5 months

Text

Good Omens S2 fic recs

Need something good to read?

it's written all over by @et-in-arkadia, who never fails to grab me by the throat. Aziraphale comes back that very night and gives Crowley exactly what he wants...sort of. (E)

A Million Times by @chamyl. A breathless, tender reconciliation with excellent Muriel in. (E)

Not for All My Little Words by @mia-ugly and soft_october. For everyone who wants to see Aziraphale apologize. A lot. (E)

I'll Wait by @copperplatebeech. Could've chosen any of a dozen of Copper's sharp, shrewd pieces. Whether you like them funny, aching, hot, or tender, she's got your number -- often all at once. This one's (T)

A Bit of a Gray Area by @princip1914. Look, I for one was waiting for bad angry standing-up sex in a bathroom. The fact that it's one of my favorite authors providing it is the icing on my eccles cakes. (E)

(Do eccles cakes have icing? Is the E in eccles capitalized? I am not doing research for this Tumblr post.)

Five First Kisses And One [5+1 Things] by @werpiper. If you need to believe that there were many kisses before That One, this is a great story to enjoy, and if you need to believe they were banging through history, @werpiper is a great writer to get acquainted with. (E)

in the french fashion by @giddygeek. Were you wanting that 1941 "something I can do for you" hot, romantic, in-character, and intellectually intriguing? Step right up. (E)

the soft animal of your body by @focusfixated. A short but powerful take on the ox rib situation. (E)

An Invitation to Dance by @lavraiemonchichi. Another short take. What if the apology dance, but kinky? (E)

Covenant of Salt by @twwings. Make it long, make it deep, do it in the dark. Hard, complicated like fine wine. Yeah, that's the way I like it. Get acquainted with twings, she's dynamite in this or any other fandom (ask me about her MCU novel!).(E)

the two shepherds of uruk by @inkatesbush. WHAT a story, OMG. A slow burn in the context of the Tower of Babel. These two hardly know one another, but they'll learn, oh, they'll learn. Agile prose, storytelling like a blow to the solar plexus. (E)

White on White by @twilightcitysky. What could be a more appropriate erotic awakening for Aziraphale than a sad wank in Heaven? Well, I could tell you, but you'd have more fun if you read this story and its sequels. (E)

The Butterfly Effect by @plaidadder. A master storyteller at the top of their game, this Doctor Who crossover works even if you don't know Doctor Who and aren't excited about crossovers. Why? Because what could be more satisfying than putting Aziraphale and Crowley in a time loop until they work out their nonsense? I'll tell you what: humor, stunningly romantic prose, Revelations-inspired eldritch horrors, and happy endings for everyone. (T)

Have fun and don't forget to leave comments!

#good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #doctor who #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #fic recs #good omens fic recs #good omens fic #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfiction recs #fandom is my fandom

2K notes · View notes

sixosix · 6 months

Text

can i go where you go? | kaedehara kazuha

warnings 2.2k words, lots of kissing… like srsly, pure fluff, kazuha is a cutie, not a slick cutie though, friends to lovers!!

or, three times Kazuha keeps kissing you on ‘accident’.

The first time Kazuha kissed you, it was on Beidou’s ship.

You're only partially awake, your eyelids heavy, and you move with a slow, languid pace as Kazuha escorts you towards The Alcor. The wind hums as it caresses the sails, accompanied by the lively shouts and cheers of the crew on board.

“So early,” you mutter, sighing. “Too early. Sun isn’t even out yet.”

“It will be, soon,” Kazuha says, smiling at you in the same way that he always does. Tender, as comforting as the ocean pooling on your feet as you walk by the shore. “You mentioned you wanted to meet the Captain, didn’t you? Tilt your head a little.” Although he says it, his finger comes to your chin and gently directs your gaze himself.

He’s gesturing to the woman standing at the quarterdeck, her hands resting on her hips and her shoulders remarkably broad. She turns as if hearing Kazuha’s soft voice amidst the boisterous chatter. Your jaw goes slack in awe, excitement washing away the last traces of fatigue tugging your bones as everything you’ve heard about Captain Beidou from Kazuha comes rushing back.

Kazuha steadies you with a hand on the small of your back as your knees falter when climbing the ship.

“Captain Beidou!” You bow deeply, lowering your head to your waist, arms outstretched to offer her the sake and the sakura mochi you made the night before—which cost you sleep, but it is worth more than anything when you get to gift the woman who took care of your best friend when you couldn’t. “Thank you so much for letting me tag along. Please take this.”

Kazuha and Beidou glance at each other in surprise.

Kazuha starts, “You didn’t have—”

“No,” you say, firm. “This is the least I can do. Don’t try, Kazuha.”

Kazuha’s expression eases to a smile. “Alright.”

“I like this one, Kazuha,” Beidou says, ruffling your hair, and leaving stray strands on your head. She grins at you, all wide and wild. “Where’s he been hiding ya, huh, kid?”

“Somewhere in Inazuma.”

She laughs; it sounds like the roaring waves of the ocean. “Thank you. I’ll share it with my crew.” She turns, looking at you over her shoulder. You feel the hair on your arms rise to attention. “Let me know if you need anything, but Kazuha probably will see to it faster than any of us could.”

You’re not exactly sure what she means, though you can pick up on the knowing smirk she throws at your best friend.

“Men, to your posts!” she orders. Kazuha takes it as a cue to take your hand and lead you somewhere far more secluded.

No one’s watching; at least, not to your knowledge. The crew knows well enough they have their own business to attend to, and that no one should be interrupting Kaedehara Kazuha when catching up with his best friend since childhood, you.

Kazuha is a wanderer first and foremost. He does not like to be tied down to one place—he’d itch and wander off if you try to keep him at bay. However, there is one exception; one that has him visiting his homeland whenever he can, even when he is dangerously most sought after. When the wind subsides to a gentle whisper in his ears, the waves are gentle when splashing against the ship, and the crew is fast asleep, Kazuha finds himself stealing glances in the general direction of Inazuma. He knows you’re likely sleeping soundly there, expecting him.

This is what gets him to bring home whatever he may find along the way just to give them to you. If anyone asks, Kazuha would reply with a vague: “For someone special to me, in my land of birth.” Anyone would have guessed that, though, given the assortment of flowers Kazuha never fails to bring home.

You find yourself swaying back and forth along with the ship, your mouth running miles per minute as you talk to him on and on about how you’ve never been to Liyue before and your hands are shaking from excitement—or perhaps nerves, and how is Kazuha looking so calm and why is he smiling at you weirdly?

Kazuha has that fond look in the crinkle of his eyes. “Are you certain you’re not feeling sick? Lightheaded?”

Although the heavy rocking of the ship is unlike anything you’ve experienced before, you only feel the anticipation. Thrill. You’ve seen glimpses of Liyue from the letters Kazuha sends; you’re positive nothing can compare to the real deal, and that is what has you giddy, kicking your legs against the wood.

The early morning air crept beneath your clothes and left a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You shudder; Kazuha leans against you, the warmth of his body relaxing you immediately.

The world falls completely silent as you gaze at him.

“Kazuha,” you breathe out, eyes round with wonder, “thank you for taking me with you.” Kazuha goes still as you brush a stray of hair away from your face a little shyly. “It probably doesn’t mean much because you’re always traveling, and it’s probably such a hassle to be my tour guide, but I’m—mmph.”

The rest of your words are swallowed by Kazuha’s lips, and you, undoubtedly silenced by the press of his soft lips against yours. You have your eyes wide open, frozen as you watch the sunrise from the horizon over Kazuha’s shoulder, casting him an unreal golden glow.

Kazuha quickly pulls back and looks as startled as you feel. The kiss was about half a second, and it took nearly a minute for the both of you to process what had just happened.

He frowns, though it doesn’t feel directed at you. “Sorry,” he says slowly, as though he’s just been brought back up from underwater. “That was—”

“It’s fine,” you blurt, hoping the sunrise would disguise your stunned expression. “The ship—uh, it’s swaying pretty hard. You probably lost balance or something.” However, speaking it aloud sounds wrong. Kazuha just doesn’t lose balance: he’s the most seasoned samurai you’ve met in your life.

Then again, that would leave an empty room of explanation, one of which you’d rather not set foot in.

“Yes.” The sunrise has Kazuha looking a little pink. Or should it be orange? “Allow me to fetch us a bottle of water. You might get seasick.”

“Sure,” you murmur, though it’s lost to the howl of the wind as Kazuha swiftly jumps down, his Vision glowing on his back. The sensation in your stomach doesn’t seem like seasickness.

He doesn’t talk about it, so you don’t bring it up.

The second time happens in public.

The moment you set foot in Liyue Harbor, Kazuha realizes he must reach for your wrist to prevent you from straying and getting lost. You dart from one corner to the next, exploring every stall, even stray dogs and running children.

“Liyue feels so…warm.”

It could be the orange glow of their lights, painting over the region with an unbeatable shade and atmosphere, perfectly replicating what it would be like sitting across a fireplace. Or it could be Kazuha’s hand intertwined with yours.

“Hearing that relieves me,” Kazuha admits, pulling you to the side as two men pushing crates on wheels rush past. “You are often unpredictable in what you like and dislike.”

You laugh, “Were you worried that you overhyped it? You tend to be descriptive with what you write back to me—what was it? The flavorful aroma coming from street vendors, the squeals of youth whistling past, the seagulls, and the waves of the ocean audible even amidst the bustling crowds… I can see it.”

“You remember all of that?” Kazuha looks adorable when bashful.

The sun is already at its highest peak. Sweat has started to form around your hairline; Kazuha had to buy you popsicles, which you got from the Wanmin Restaurant. The popsicle is entirely blue, nearly translucent, and tastes like eating just ice, but it effectively cools you down. Kazuha doesn’t appear bothered by the heat in the slightest, going as far as to insist on carrying all the souvenirs you’ve been purchasing.

He has only one arm full, though. The other is free and linked with yours.

“You didn’t tell me one important thing, though,” you say.

Kazuha blinks once, then furrows his brows. “What is it?” He looks sincerely worried.

“You didn’t tell me you’re famous,” you tease, nudging a red-faced Kazuha with your elbow. “Oh, it’s Kaedehara, you’re back! And here I thought you were like a celebrity in Inazuma. You might just be well-loved everywhere.” Well, who could blame them? You’re no better than the people of Teyvat.

He shakes his head. “Far from it,” he insists, ever the modest guy. “I just happen to be caught up with The Crux.”

“Those ladies seem to disagree. They were trying to impress you, you know.”

Kazuha shifts uncomfortably, his face a funny shade of pink. “I did not pay close enough attention. I apologize.”

A laugh escapes you, in disbelief. “Why are you apologizing to me?”

“I did not realize you were the jealous type.”

You gawk at his words, spinning around to see that a hint of something smug playing on his lips. “That’s not—You… shut up. I’m not.”

Kazuha opens his mouth to say something stupid to fluster you probably, but you’re quicker. You retrieve a container wrapped in plastic, its surface moist from the steam within. Kazuha falls silent, his watchful gaze fixed on you as you unwrap it, his nose undoubtedly detecting a familiar and enticing aroma.

“This is…” Kazuha picks one stick up and observes it. “Mondstadt Grilled Fish.”

“Yes,” you say, grinning proudly. “One of your favorites. You sent me the recipe last year, remember? Kept practicing it for this moment.”

But Kazuha’s heavy gaze is not on the food, but on you, an unreadable emotion clouding his eyes. The tension disappears when he smiles and takes a bite. You watch him enjoy his food in peace, belatedly deciding to do the same. You know you did good but Kazuha didn’t have to look like he’s in bliss, eyes closed and everything.

“Thank you,” he says. “You keep surprising me. This was meant to be a day for you.”

“You here with me is enough to make all my days,” you say, mouth full of fish grilled to perfection. Embarrassingly enough, there are crumbs that spew out. You take another big bite, crumbs of it sticking to the sides of your mouth.

You must look a little stupid, tucked in some corner of Liyue, standing next to Kazuha and eating grilled fish silently.

Your field of vision is abruptly engulfed by Kazuha's face. You have barely time to react, your body falling still as your attention is swallowed by the red of his eyes, which are focused on your mouth. You feel warmth press against the side of your mouth, your heart leaping to your throat at the sensation.

“Sorry,” he says, not looking at all sorry. “You had crumbs on your face.” Which does not explain why he has to kiss it off, but it was at this moment that you understand. Kazuha doesn’t lose balance and doesn’t do anything by mistake.

The dam crumbles.

The third happens when the night is creeping in on your first day, in some inn you didn’t bother looking at, too caught up in the way Kazuha is grinning at you in his own Kazuha-way: all soft and sweet.

“I can’t… believe—how long?”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” he murmurs, closing the door behind you. “It wasn’t a grand revelation that happened one night. It just felt as if it was the only explanation.” His eyes flicker to you, keeping your faces close enough to where your noses are touching. He’s waiting for an answer.

“I had a crush on you the moment we met,” you confess, face hot. “And then it never went away, even when you had to leave. Distance makes the heart grow fonder or whatever.”

Kazuha’s smile tips on something a little more sly. “I apologize for keeping you waiting, then.”

Years and years of longing for Kazuha, rereading each and every one of his letters, and cherishing every second of when he comes to visit—all of it’s more than worth it if it led you here, in a secluded room, sharing hushed whispers with the boy you’ve wanted all your life.

“So… what are we—”

You’re rudely interrupted by Kazuha pecking your lips.

You frown. “Hey, wait, I’m—mmph—trying to—Kazuha!”

“I’m sorry,” he says, but he tugs you to his chest as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Sorry,” he murmurs again, but he’s leaving a trail of kisses along your jaw, smiling against your skin as you shiver.

“It’s okay,” you whisper in the quiet of the night, in the steady silence occasionally broken by the beating of your hearts. “It was an accident.”

“Mm,” he hums, nodding. “An accident.”

You stare at each other for a pregnant pause.

“This one isn’t, though,” Kazuha says and dives in for a kiss that leaves you breathless, years and years of buried feelings pouring over.

this was supposed to be for kazuha’s bday but i couldn't finish it in time :(!!! belated happy birthday to the greenest flag ever <3

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #kazuha x reader #kazuha x you #kazuha x y/n #kaedehara kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha x you #kaedehara kazuha fluff #kazuha fluff #genshin fluff

2K notes · View notes