#plume responds | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bonewreath · 4 months

Text

𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 | 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

description: you’ve been getting closer to ellie lately and, unbeknownst to you, your blossoming crush is entirely reciprocated. cue your first smoke sesh together… and a little something more, too. [modern au, ellie and reader are both over 18]

warnings: weed use, oral sex, fingering. this fic is 18+, minors do not interact.

author’s note: my first ellie fic and my first fic on this blog! pls be nice :) let me know what you think <3

The first few times you hung out with Ellie, she’d offered you a joint. It’s no secret that Ellie’s the town’s top dealer, a welcome sight at rowdy house parties, her backpack stuffed with ziplock bags of the best bud around. You’d tried weed before, had taken a puff or two from poorly-rolled blunts here and there, but you’d never particularly enjoyed it. Mostly, you’d just coughed up a lung and felt nothing but a vague lightheadedness. So when Ellie rolled up a joint the first time you’d come over to her place, offering you a drag after she’d sparked up, you’d politely declined.

Ellie had arched a brow. “You mind if I smoke? Shit - I can put it out.”

Before you’d had the chance to respond, she was already reaching for the ashtray on her nightstand, ceramic and painted to resemble an eight-ball.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you interjected, reaching out and touching her wrist almost involuntarily. You pushed down the flurry of butterflies that erupted in your stomach at the contact. God, you had to be touch-starved or something. Since when did touching someone’s arm make your heart skip a beat?

Ellie looked at you with a guarded kind of suspicion, like she didn’t believe that you were fine with her smoking. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” you said, lips curling into an encouraging smile. “I don’t mind weed, it just doesn’t do anything for me.”

“Huh.” Ellie nodded. She lifted the joint to her lips again and you glanced away, chest tightening from the sight of her lips pursing.

“If you ever wanna try again,” she paused to exhale a plume of smoke, intentionally avoiding your direction, “let me know. Not to, like, toot my own horn or anything, but I’ve never had someone try my weed and not like it.”

You let out an easy laugh. “Okay, we’ll have to see about that.”

Ellie was smiling at you, those green eyes twinkling like so many stars. “No pressure.”

That was months ago, when the summer heat still blazed from sunrise to sunset. It’s mid-winter now, the chill nipping at your cheeks and the end of your nose. To your agony, it hasn’t gotten any easier to breathe when you touch Ellie - when she greets you with a hug and a smile at her front door, you feel like you’re paralyzed with want. And Ellie’s probably none the wiser, of course. You wonder if she’s ever noticed the way your breath hitches when she stretches out on the couch beside you, leaning her head on your shoulder while some tacky eighties film lights up the television screen. You figure she’s oblivious - she’s just being friendly. She probably doesn’t even know you like girls, anyway. Plus, she doesn’t shy away from talking about the girls she’s been with before. You’ve spent more than a few nights seething with jealousy as she recounted her latest hookup, schooling your expression into one of disinterest or even mild enthusiasm.

It’s been a while since she’s talked like that, luckily. You’re grateful you don’t have to feign excitement about Ellie’s latest conquests anymore.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Ellie interrupts your internal monologue, hands still working at the joint in her lap. She’s got a pile of ground-up weed on a rolling tray, sprinkling it into the perfectly-rolled cone like it’s muscle memory. It probably is.

“Nothing,” you blurt, cheeks warming. “Sorry, just zoned out for a second.”

“Oh, bullshit,” Ellie quips, rolling her eyes despite the smile playing at her lips. “What, you can’t tell me? I thought we were friends, cherry.”

You flush anew at the nickname. She’d picked it out for you after you’d scarfed down an entire jar of maraschino cherries one night, after Ellie had bought them for ice cream sundaes. You’d never live that down… But you’re not sure you want to, because every time the nickname leaves Ellie’s lips, you feel like you’re glowing bright red with admiration.

“We are friends!” You nudge Ellie’s shoulder with yours, rolling your eyes with that same playfulness she’d expressed. “Sorry, it’s just - it’s embarrassing.”

Ellie narrows her eyes. It’s like you can see the cogs turning in her head. “Embarrassing? What, you got a crush on some guy or something?”

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, she’s prattling on again. “Y’know, just ‘cause I’m gay doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me about your crushes. Swear I won’t be weird about it.”

Oh god.

“It’s not - I’m not…” You sigh, gaze lowering to your lap, where you’re fiddling with your hands. Should you tell her? You should probably tell her.

“I like girls, you know.”

It’s quiet for so long that you need to look up at Ellie to make sure she’s still there, still listening. And she is; her eyes are glued to you, wide in disbelief.

“What?” You feel like a bug under a microscope with her looking at you like that. “Is it that hard to believe?”

Ellie shakes her head emphatically. “No, no - it’s not. I just didn’t expect that.”

She turns away to finish rolling the joint, twisting the very end of the paper until it forms a little point. “Guess you’re just full of surprises, huh, cherry?”

You bite your lip to stifle a smile, but Ellie sees it anyway.

“So who’s the lucky girl?” She asks, rummaging through her pocket until she finds her lighter. You watch Ellie spark the joint, the twisted end catching fire until the cherry starts to glow. Ellie takes a few puffs and the scent of smoke tickles your nose.

“I’d prefer not to say,” you tell her, chewing on the inside of your lip. Your nerves are off the wall; you’re so anxious that the joint in Ellie’s slender fingers is suddenly tempting.

Ellie scoffs. “Boring.”

She looks up at you as she flicks ash off the end of the joint, and when she notices you eyeing it, her brows lift.

“Want some? Will that make you spill?”

You huff a nervous laugh, toying with the ends of your hair. “No… I don’t know. Maybe?”

Ellie whoops, her free hand curling into a fist of victory. “Fuck yeah. Here, take it.”

She offers you the joint and you take it, but not without a moment or two of hesitation. You will the anxiety away with the thought that you probably won’t feel anything. Ellie watches as you bring the joint to your lips and inhale, praying you won’t cough and make a fool of yourself. Especially not with Ellie watching so intently.

By the grace of some kind of divine being, you don’t cough. Your throat tickles, and you feel emboldened to take one more hit, letting the smoke fill your lungs. You imagine your body relaxing, the knot in your stomach unwinding. You hand the joint back to Ellie and she takes a puff of her own, her lips curled into the faintest little smirk.

“So…” Ellie trails off expectantly.

“God, you’re persistent,” you groan. She just peers at you knowingly from behind a veil of smoke.

“There’s not much to tell,” you say. “I’ve had a crush on this girl for a while now, but I don’t think she feels the same.”

“Have you asked her?” Ellie prompts, flicking ash off the joint.

You shake your head. “No way.”

“Then,” Ellie pauses to take another hit, “how do you know she doesn’t feel the same?”

You should be feeling anxious with her drilling you like this - you know you should. Usually, you’d be retreating into yourself with every prodding question Ellie asks. But all you feel now is yearning; there’s an ache in your chest that only she can remedy. And, clearly, Ellie’s clueless about it.

You don’t want her to be clueless, you realize.

The words leave your lips before you can think better of them. “Do you, Ellie?”

Her brows knit together, forming a crease that you’ve memorized by now - like every other freckle and wrinkle on her face. “Huh? Do I what?”

You reach for the joint and she yields it without question.

“Do you feel the same about me?”

The weed has certainly helped with your nerves, you think, watching Ellie’s expression shift from confusion to realization. Her plush lips part, but all that comes out is a series of stammers and false sentence starts: “I—you—what?”

Fuck it, you think. You stretch out to reach the nightstand beside Ellie’s bed, leaving the joint in one of the ashtray’s notches. A steady stream of smoke ribbons upward from the fading cherry.

“Ellie,” you start, settling back into your place on the rug. You look at her to find her already staring at you, blinking. “It’s you. I have a crush on you. It’s been—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ellie interjects, voice softer than you’d expected.

You blink. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, I guess. And you always talked about other girls, so I thought you just… Weren’t interested.”

“Cherry.” Ellie sits up on her knees so she can get closer to you, the sleeves of her oversized flannel slipping down to her forearms as she reaches out and grabs your face. Her touch is gentle but firm, insistent. You can feel the callouses on her fingers against your skin, her thumbs brushing up against your cheekbones, and the air is suddenly so thin you can hardly inhale.

“I have… I’ve had feelings for you for so long. So fucking long, cherry.” Ellie’s gaze is intense, eyes boring into you. You feel exposed, raw, alive with something electric.

You stare right back at her, frozen in her grasp.

“But you were always talking about other girls,” you say. Doubt lingers in the back of your head; this is too good to be true. Right?

“I know, fuck, I’m sorry,” Ellie sighs. “I thought you weren’t interested in me. Thought it was hopeless, y’know? My perfect best friend having feelings for me? Unreal.”

One of Ellie’s hands smooths over your hair; it’s something she’s done plenty of times before, but it feels different now. More intimate, with your shared confessions between you.

“Wanna know something?” Ellie asks then plows on, not really waiting for an answer, “I stopped hooking up with other girls a while ago. I just… Couldn’t.”

You nod in understanding. Your eyelids feel heavy all of the sudden, each blink heavier than the last.

“They weren’t you,” Ellie adds.

They weren’t you, her words echo in your mind.

“Ellie,” you breathe. Her face is impossibly close; you can pick out every detail of her face. Each pore, each freckle, each fleck of brown in her green eyes. You can smell the weed smoke on her breath.

“Cherry,” she responds, voice hushed just as low as yours. “Cherry. Can I kiss you?”

“God, yes,” you practically whine.

When Ellie kisses you for the first time, she tastes like relief.

Her lips are soft and insistent against yours, the pad of her thumb warm against your cheek as you lean in closer to kiss her back. It’s like time has gone still; the hum of the speaker on Ellie’s dresser fades away, as does the sound of the winter winds hissing and whooshing against the window. All you know is Ellie: her hand slipping down the length of your back to grab your hip, her mouth hot and needy against yours. It’s a desperate sort of kiss, one that you’d both been yearning for, and months of pining drain from your mouth to hers, then back again.

You’re not sure if you’d been kissing for seconds or hours when Ellie finally breaks away, gasping.

“Fuck,” she whispers. The tip of her nose brushes against your cheek, then your nose. “We should stop, before I…”

She trails off but you know exactly what she’d left unsaid. And your stomach flips in response; the mere thought of what else Ellie might do with her mouth has your cunt throbbing.

Ellie’s hand leaves your hip and it’s like she’s left a burn there - one shaped like her touch, a scathing outline on your skin.

“I don’t want to stop,” you find the courage to admit.

You’re not sure who makes the first move this time - only that you’re kissing again, swallowing Ellie’s pleased moans as your tongue prods between her lips. You gasp and pant into each other’s mouths, hands roaming on newly discovered skin; Ellie’s hands slip beneath your tee, her palms hot against your abdomen, your hips, your lower back. When her fingers find the clasp of your bra and unfasten it, you practically shiver with anticipation, back arching into her touch.

“Whoa there,” Ellie laughs, nudging her nose against yours. You go in for another kiss, annoyed that she’d stopped, but she pulls back. “You’re sure you want this, cherry?”

“Please,” you say, taking advantage of the moment to pull your shirt over your head and set it aside. You toss your bra into the growing pile, turning back to Ellie to find her gaping at you.

“Christ,” she says, licking her lips, “you’re fucking perfect.”

She gives you one last heated kiss before her mouth moves to your jawline, then the column of your neck, where she leaves a trail of wet kisses. She sucks on a spot right on the crook of your neck, just shy of leaving a hickey, and your toes fucking curl.

Ellie only gives a low hum of approval at your reaction before she’s moving lower, lower. Her kisses cover your breasts, every inch of skin worshipped by her lips until she finally takes a peaked nipple into her mouth. You feel her tongue swirl against the sensitive bud and you nearly cry from the pleasure, one hand flying up to knot into her hair and tug.

Her gaze moves up to meet yours, and your cunt tightens again at the look of unbridled desire in her eyes - her lids are heavy, too, but you can’t tell if it’s from the weed or sheer lust. Maybe both, you’re not sure, but you don’t have much time to consider it before Ellie’s moving to your other nipple, tongue laving against the taut flesh before she closes her mouth around it and sucks. A ragged moan tears from your throat and you tense, tugging again at the locks of Ellie’s hair in your fist.

She leaves your nipples flushed and sensitive, shining with saliva, and you’re suddenly very aware of the layers of clothes separating you from her. Separating the wetness of your cunt from hers, the bony curve of her hips from your needy mouth. You need those layers gone.

“Ellie,” you whine, pulling at the collar of her flannel.

“Shh, I know,” she coos, voice dripping with syrupy sweet lust. “Why don’t you get on the bed for me, hm?”

You nod and oblige, but not without stopping to slip out of your jeans. You leave your panties on because, well, they’re cute. A white lace thong with a tiny, silky pink bow just below your navel - Ellie’s eyes linger there as she stands at the edge of the bed, unbuckling her belt and stepping out of her cargos. You can feel the wet patch on your panties as you press your thighs together and watch her undress. She’s always been on the thinner side, but as she slides off her flannel and pulls her sports bra over her head, you realize that she’s much more toned than you’d imagined. Her arms flex with each movement and her abdomen is clearly taut with muscle; every inch of new skin she reveals only adds to the agonizing desire churning in your stomach.

Luckily, she seems just as eager as you are. She’s still in a pair of oversized plaid boxers when she grabs hold of your hips and yanks you toward the edge of the bed, pulling your knees apart so she can see what’s between them.

“Look at you,” she says, eyes wide at the sight of your soaked panties. “I didn’t realize you were so needy, cherry. Should’ve let me take care of you sooner.”

Her words send another gush of arousal flooding from your cunt, your stomach twisting. “‘M sorry, Ellie.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she says, lowering herself onto her knees before you. Her fingers hook beneath the lace of your panties to pull them down, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the rug.

Her face sinks between your legs, and the first stroke of her tongue against your folds makes you shiver with relief.

“Oh my god,” you gasp. Ellie moans against your pussy, tongue splitting through your folds, spreading your wetness with every swipe and lick. Your back arches involuntarily, your toes curling in sheer pleasure.

She laps at your cunt like a woman starving, hot tongue drawing circles around your puffy clit. It’s maddening, the way she knows exactly what you need, speeding up and slowing down in accordance with your moans and sighs and whimpers. You’ve never felt so close so quickly, but you don’t want it to stop - her mouth is magic between your legs, and as you hurtle towards your orgasm, she slips a finger into your clenching hole. You nearly scream.

“Ellie,” you moan shakily, your thighs tightening on both sides of her head. “Ellie, I’m gonna…”

She just moans again, mouth working at your clit while her finger sinks in and out of your cunt. She adds another not long after and it’s hardly a stretch with how wet you are. You’re trembling with every stroke of her tongue against your clit, and soon enough, you feel yourself slipping off the edge into oblivion. Your orgasm tears through you like never before, hot and electric, every muscle tensing as Ellie finger-fucks you through every wave of pleasure. Eventually, you push the heel of your hand against her forehead, too overstimulated for her to keep sucking at your too-sensitive clit. She pulls back and sits on her heels, fingers leaving the tight grip of your cunt as she wipes her mouth with her other hand. Your slick covers her from the nose down, the shining evidence of how good she’d made you feel.

“So fucking pretty when you come,” Ellie tells you, standing up and lifting a knee onto the bed beside you. Her hair is a mess, you’d made sure of it, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“Think you’ve got a few more for me?” She smiles at you, wolfish and wicked, and her hand moves to grope at one of your tits.

“Mm,” you hum, reaching out for her. “Only if you have a few for me.”

When she’s close enough, you slip your hand between Ellie’s legs, your fingers brushing through sparse curls to find the heat of her folds. She’s soaked, you realize with self-satisfaction, your tongue swiping over your lower lip.

This will be fun.

2K notes · View notes

charliemwrites · 4 months

Text

Post-nap warm up

(Edit: still not canon; sorry guys! This is more of an au to the au)

You wake up, as you do most days now, to two warm bodies sandwiching yours. Johnny on your left, practically curled around you with his big head on your chest, lightly snoring. On your right, with his body stretched along yours and chin on your head, is Ghost.

You had originally settled on Phantom, but in the course of calling him silly nicknames, you realized he responds to “Ghost” better.

You yawn, stretch as carefully as you can. Both dogs groan and huff. Johnny tries to snuggle in harder, while Ghost sits up with a drawn out sigh.

“Cmon, big baby,” you coo at Johnny’s sad eyes, smoothing your thumb in the silky fur between them, “it’s time to get up.”

He relents only when Ghost shoves his nose under Johnny’s chin and starts nudging him up. You chuckle as Johnny goes out of his way to sneeze on him, earning him a grumble. They two of them shake off while you sit up and stretch, adjusting your skewed tank top to hide your breasts.

The boys follow you into the bathroom for your morning pee, then into the kitchen while Johnny starts chugging from the water bowl while Ghost stations himself next to one of the cabinets, watching you futz with the coffeemaker.

You drop scratches on his head every time you pass, smiling a bit when he licks your palm in return. As your coffee in brewing, you pause to kneel in front of him, dropping kisses all over his face.

“You’ve been doing so well, honey bun,” you murmur, laying your cheek on his head. “I’m so proud. Such a good boy.”

He licks your neck - the only part of you he can reach without dislodging you. For as big and rough as he can be (especially with Johnny) Ghost has been oddly gentle with you since the beginning.

Oh, sure. He can be loud and grumbly - even showed you his teeth once. But he’s never snapped at you, knocked you over, or even really stepped on you while snuggling in. It’s incredibly endearing and you’re sure to encourage him every chance you get.

“I love you, ghost,” you croon as you pull away.

His ears go forward, then back, then forward again. You grin, drop one last kiss on his nose.

“I do,” you continue laughing, “you’re my big shy baby and I love you.”

He huffs. Johnny comes in then, barrels right into you with tail wagging, whining as he nuzzles up under your chin.

“I love you too, John Bon,” you chuckle, wrapping your arms around his thick neck. “My precious snuggle bug.”

He makes a little “ruff” noise that you like to imagine is agreement. You give him one last kiss as well before standing to make your coffee.

They pile onto the couch with you for morning shows, then follow you around the house as you do chores. Around midday you make yourself a little lunch and then say the magic words.

“Wanna go for a walk?”

Johnny is instantly bouncing and barking, causing a fuss. Ghost wags, plumed tail sweeping conservatively side to side. You have to wrestle Johnny into his harness, muttering at him under your breath the entire way.

Ghost isn’t much better. Getting him accustomed to the harness has been a work in progress. Apparently he’s not food or play motivated, so training him to even tolerate it has been a challenge. The first two or three times you nearly had to chase him down (thought you were going to get bit one or twice) and even needed Johnny to help.

It’s been better lately, though - even if you have to negotiate him coming over to get strapped in. The black and silver gear is gorgeous on his cream colored fur and you’re sure to tell him that as you clip him in.

Once the boys are geared up, you finish dressing yourself and then open the back door. Ghost charges ahead as usual, ears forward and eyes sharp. Johnny splits off, weaving amongst the trees but returning to your side every couple minutes.

You hit the usual hiking trail with both boys, humming to yourself as they orbit around you. They never stray far, always checking your position and circling back to get a check-in scritch.

Maybe half an hour passes before both boys, currently flanking you, suddenly go alert. You pause, watching their bodies tense, ears forward, eyes focused somewhere ahead, mouths closed.

Ghost barks low and rough. And then they bolt.

You curse, knowing they wouldn’t leave your side for just anything, and hurry to follow.

When you finally catch up, your boys have cornered two men on separate sides of a clearing. They’re crouched low, tense, snarling and growling like thunder.

And there, cowering in the center of the clearing, is perhaps the biggest dog you’ve ever seen. You take in the big stick on the ground, the scattered rocks - nearly gag when you see a couple drops of blood.

Fury burns through you.

“What the hell did you do?!” you shout.

“Call your fuckin’ dogs off!” one of them shouts.

“Fuck off,” you snap in return, Ghost barking roughly with you.

You tug your phone from your pocket. When one of them sees, he starts towards you, only for Johnny to snap viciously at his hand, even drawing blood. He shouts and grabs at his hand, going pale. The other one starts yelling, but you ignore him, knowing your boys will keep them in line.

You dial the police, explain the situation and give your location. While you wait, you turn your attention to the lump of fur in the middle of the forest.

You creep slowly closer, positioning yourself where he can see you coming. The dog’s ears are pinned flat to their skull, mouth pulled tight in fear and pain, eyes squinted.

“Hi gorgeous,” you murmur. An answering whine breaks your heart. “Oh honey, I know. I’m sorry. It’s okay now. I’m here. We’ll keep you safe.”

You inch closer and closer. Stop whenever they twitch like they’re going to run. You dig into a pocket of your coat and extract a treat, gently toss it close to their nose. A twitch, a wet-eyed blink, and then they finally seem to come to life, carefully sniffing at your offering.

“Good baby,” you coo, “so brave.”

The police arrive quicker than you expect, and the dog curls up tight again while you explain the situation. Johnny and Ghost are reluctant to be called off, but a sharp word has them back at your side while the two men are arrested for suspected animal cruelty.

You assure them that you’ll take care of the injured dog - Johnny and Ghost sat like guards at your sides. Once it’s just you and the pups, you turn back to the poor injured dog.

“I know that was scary, sweetie. It’s okay now. No one’s going to hurt you.”

The dog’s ears flick, listening but not trusting. You sigh softly, inch a bit closer.

“Johnny?” you call. “Come here, come see if you can help.”

Johnny turns, follows your pointing. He sniffs at the other dog, licks their ears and forehead, coaxing them out of their tight, terrified curl. You guide Johnny down to his stomach, putting them at similar levels.

On your other side, Ghost leans into your side, watching with those too-sharp, too-intelligent eyes.

As the injured dog slowly starts to unwind, you offer your hand, let them sniff carefully at your palm and wrist.

“There we go,” you soothe as a nervous tongue flicks over your skin. “You’re doing so well, darling.”

Johnny starts wiggling with excitement, nudging at the other dog and whining quietly. Ghost joins, nosing gently at the other dog’s side until they finally shift and start crawling closer to you.

You stare at the size of their paws - nearly bigger than your own palm. They scoot closer and closer until nearly in your lap, snout inching beneath your shirt to press against your stomach.

You smooth your hand over their head, waiting until you see their tail wagging slow and cautious.

“Good baby,” you whisper. “You wanna come home with me, pretty baby?”

#thoughts™️#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #woof woof au #au of an au

1K notes · View notes

rinhaler · 5 months

Note

I’m begging and scratching at the walls for more plug!sukuna omg. I’ve been thinking about him at a party really clinging to a shy girl, trying to get her to “just take one hit you’ll like it” and something something he convinces her to sit on his lap and he lets her explore his body, slowly getting really worked up. Letting her have “control” until he loses it.

Once again this weeks dub has me by the NECK Ray chase ate and left no crumbs UNFFF I hope you like this! Scummy Sukuna my beloved 💖

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, dubcon, creampie, manipulation, vaginal sex, choking, degradation, smoking oui'd, coercion, slight oral fixation.

words: 2k

“Alone?” a voice asks, sitting beside you on the couch. You shuffle as much as you can to give him space, keeping your knees together as he decides to manspread and rest his arm around the back.

“No I’m with my—” you turn to look at Nobara before realising she’s attached her lips to someone else’s while you were disassociating. “Oh, well, kind of.” you shrug.

He smirks, leaning forward. “Good,” he tells you as he pulls some things out of his pocket and places them on the coffee table. It’s like a science, watching people roll blunts. You’ve never tried it and you’ve never wanted to, not when you’ve heard so many horror stories. But whenever you’ve been around to see someone roll, you’ve always been oddly captivated. “You look lost.”

“U-Um…” you huff, unsure of how to respond. “I don’t really like parties…” you sigh.

He nods, not saying anything else as he continues to finish rolling his joint. It’s quick and easy, like he does this all day everyday and has it perfected. You watch him light it, but look down at your lap when he leans back against the couch.

“Why not?” he wonders. “Too loud? Too many people?”

“Yeah…” you confess, feeling a little lame as you admit your true feelings.

You’re in the prime of your life and you’re complaining about being at a party. You wouldn’t mind as much if Nobara wasn’t occupied. But you don’t know anyone else here. Truthfully, you probably would have snuck home if he didn’t sit down to talk to you. You’d much rather be at home with some takeout food and a bingeable show.

Your heart sinks a little when he stands up. Have you really embarrassed yourself that much? So much so that you’ve bored him enough to leave. He walks away, turning to face you after taking a good amount of steps.

“Are you coming? Thought you didn’t like parties.” he speaks. He waits until you stand up, but carries on walking before you can catch up to him. You follow him through the house and up the stairs. It’s a lot quieter, though there are still muffles. Soft moans from one room and crying from another. “Sukuna. If you were wondering.” he introduces himself, not bothering to look at you as he does.

You tell him your name, and realise he’s brought you to a bedroom.

“Get comfy.” he instructs, he turns on a light, dimming it slowly when he sees your eyes screw shut from the brightness. The music still plays softly through the gaps of the door and into the room from the rest of the house. “Why’d you come here if you don’t like parties?”

“My friend… she wanted me to.”

“So you just do what people tell you to?” he asks, sitting beside you on the bed.

Your face fills with heat and your heart begins to race. You wiggle away from him slightly to keep some distance between you. He takes a drag of his blunt, looking up at the lights as he puffs a plume of smoke towards the ceiling.

“Not always.”

He doesn’t respond, instead, he holds the blunt out for you to try. You shake your head, though, declining immediately. Even with a few drinks in your system, you know better.

“Awe, no fun.” he chuckles, taking another drag. “C’mon. One hit, sweetheart.” he tells you, getting closer to you again and putting his arm around you. Your head drops, eyes finding where his hand rests on your hip before looking at the joint he’s holding right in front of you.

“I— I’ve never… I’ve never smoked before.” you admit.

“That’s cute. One puff won’t hurt, yeah?” he speaks, though you’re unsure if he’s trying to convince you or if he’s actually certain it won’t hurt. He smiles widely, it’s toothy and somewhat intimidating. He’s happy. He can see that you’re considering it. “Promise you’ll like it.”

You gulp, heartily, before wrapping your lips around the end of it. You’ve smoked cigarettes before, and you could only assume it would be similar.

Wrong.

You cough, sputter, gag from the invasion. He laughs at your expense, though he smooths a large palm up and down your back to soothe you. Your throat feels charred. It’s like the smoke has burnt holes throughout your oesophagus and the edges are scalding.

He gets up and walks towards a mini fridge you hadn’t noticed, tossing a bottle of water in your direction. And you drink it, quickly, the bottle crackling as you squeeze and drain it of every drop you can steal.

“S-Sorry,” you apologise, still coughing slightly. “That was embarrassing.”

“Yeah.” he agrees. “You really weren’t lying about it being your first time, hah?” he keeps going. Unfortunately for you, you don’t realise that he’s goading you. And it’s working.

You ask for another hit, out of principle. And of course, he smiles and hands it to you.

It gets easier, for sure. Soon enough, you’ve smoked the whole thing. He applauds you, impressed. But why does it make your ego swell? Your confidence soars, you don’t feel so shy anymore.

Not around him.

“C’mere,” he instructs, patting his thighs as an invitation. You look between his ruby red eyes and thick thighs as you decide whether you want to or not. You hesitate, a few times, before eventually standing up. He guides you down by your hips, your thighs straddling his while his hands dip beneath your skirt and thumbs stroke your skin soothingly.

Your eyes feel heavy, and he can’t help but smile when he sees how bloodshot they are. He can see how your eyes want to widen in shock. So utterly confused about how you got here.

He doesn’t give you a chance to think, though, not when his large hand cradles the crown of your head and pulls you towards himself. Your lips are caught together. It’s tame, to him. But to you it’s scandalous. A random hook up isn’t something you’ve ever done. You’re a long term relationship kind of girl.

But you can’t help yourself, now. His personality is magnetic, and his charm is captivating. You don’t want to disappoint him, for some reason. The thought of letting him down scares you. The idea of disobeying him makes your heart race.

That could just be the drugs, though.

You pull back, tracing your fingers over his body. A breathy gasp leaves you as he pulls off his vest, tossing it aside to reveal his chiselled body. Your cunt throbs as you feel how ripped he is. He’s the biggest man you’ve ever been with, like this, and he knows it too. He can tell by the look on your face.

The way you unashamedly squeeze his biceps. Two of your little hands aren’t even enough to wrap around the entire muscle.

He watches you, calmly, admiring how cute you look as you inspect every inch of his body.

“Having fun?” he asks, you give nothing but a dumb nod in response. His skin is smooth and you find yourself tracing a single finger over all of his tattoos. He guides you by your chin to look at him again, leaning forward to kiss you.

You reciprocate, allowing him to kiss you his way. He slips his tongue between the seam of your lips and two rough hands reach under your skirt and grab the fat of your ass. You wrap your legs around his back as he lifts you up, helping you back down so that your back is flat against the mattress.

He ruts his body against yours. And you can feel just how hard he is beneath his sweats. It’s huge, it feels huge. But you can barely focus as each dry humping of his hips stimulates your core.

“Fuck, need to fuck you,” he whispers against your ear and nibbling on the lobe. Your eyes roll back as he chokes you softly, and your own hips begin to buck as you search for more pleasure.

You’ve never felt so aroused before.

It’s like all of the blood is rushing to your core and pleading with you to stimulate yourself further. You need more. More. You wonder if anything will ever be enough, though.

“S’fucking cute, wan’ my cock bad, hah? Am I right?”

“F-Fuck me, please.” you whimper, screwing your eyes shut so that he can’t see how embarrassed you are.

He loosens his grip on your neck, moving it to cup your cheek instead. You instinctively open your mouth for him, and he lets out a soft laugh before pushing his thumb between your lips. He pulls down his sweatpants just enough to free his cock, eyes not leaving you for a second as you swirl your tongue around his thumb, bobbing and sucking all the while.

“I fucking knew it,” he speaks, “Always the quiet ones, always the dirtiest.”

You giggle a little, still suckling on his thumb like it was your sole purpose on this earth. He flips up your skirt to reveal a cute little g-string beneath.

“You don’t like parties? S’that why you came here dressed like a little whore?” he asks, pushing the material into the crease of your thigh. He lines his cock up with your entrance, slowly pushing in. “Sorry I didn’t prep ya, but you’re drenched anyway. Besides, a slut like you prob’ly doesn’t mind getting fucked like this.” he continues. He forces himself into you, ignoring the resistance until he’s snuggled inside.

He is huge.

The way your pussy splits open just to take the sheer girth of him makes you wonder if he’s even human. His cockhead nudges at your cervix, and every thrust he delivers hammers against it ruthlessly.

“H-Hurh…” you try to tell him that you’re hurting, but his thumb presses down on your thumb and it makes you gag. Though he slows down, knowing you were warning him. He isn’t a complete monster, after all. He’s a bit of a dick, sure, but he wants you to enjoy this, too.

His thrusts aren’t as deep anymore, sparing your poor cervix for the time being. The pain subsides and turns into something a lot more pleasant. So much so, that you can’t stop yourself from raking your nails across his back as he hits just the right spot inside of you with his enormous cock.

He pulls his thumb from your mouth, opting to squeeze the sides of your neck again instead. Your moans become lodged in your throat, and you can’t voice just how fucking perfect he feels inside of you. You’re close, so fucking close.

Though surprisingly, he cums first, loudly. Unable to withstand the blinding pleasure he feels as your tiny little cunt tightens around him. His body breaks out in a cold sweat as he moans, fucking his cum deeper and deeper into you. His restraint is lost, and he’s soon nudging against your cervix again, forcing every drop he can deep into your womb.

The warm feeling has your eyes crossing as you begin to spasm around him. He hisses, desperately, too overstimulated to keep quiet as your walls begin to hug his cock.

“You can stay the night, if you want.” Sukuna tells you, pulling himself out of your spent hole. He wipes his dick off on your inner thigh, though you barely register it as you think about what he said.

“Is this… Is this your house? Your party?”

“Little brother’s party. I live here, too.”

He doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea. You’re certainly a sweet girl, and you seem like the type to get attached. He has an ulterior motive in mind, though. Sure, maybe he’ll fuck you a few more times throughout the night. But he hopes you won’t be a fool and fall for him.

He has a goal for the following morning.

He wants to know how Yuuji’s girlfriend will react to seeing a girl leave his bedroom.

2K notes · View notes

another-lost-mc · 7 months

Note

having a brainrot about how it would be if the characters turned into their animal type (is that what that's called?)

like imagine a shady sorcerer happen to accidentally cast a spell that changes them into their animal type how fucking cute and funny that would be

-🪶

a/n: that's so cuuuute. I went with the symbolic animals from their banners.

the wild side | the demon brothers + karasu

0.5k words | sfw | fluff + humor

related: the dateables' version

The Peacock (Lucifer)

How he responds to you vs. how he responds to everyone else:

He can't keep his feathers fanned out on full display as much as he wants to because he keeps getting stuck in doorways.

He walks around the house in a slow strut. Sometimes he spins around to show off all 360 degrees of his exquisitely-feathered beauty.

He doesn't notice that sometimes he smacks you in the face with his plumes if you're nearby.

The Crows (Mammon and Karasu)

They both bring you gifts and intimidate the others that try to get too close.

They're even more clingy than normal too.

It's surprisingly easy to tell them apart: Mammon's feathers are tipped with white, and Karasu's eyes have a deep scarlet glow.

The Snake (Leviathan)

He desperately wants to curl himself around your arm or leg. He'll try to keep his space if you're visibly creeped out by snakes though, he doesn't want to scare you.

An alternative you could try is wearing one of his oversized hoodies: he'll curl up inside the pocket and every once in a while he'll poke his head out and flick his serpentine tongue at you.

If you don't like that either, he'll curl up in the bottom of your closet or under your bed, somewhere dark and warm where he can still be close enough to keep an eye on you.

The Unicorn (Satan)

The House of Lamentation wasn't designed for horses or horse-like creatures.

He's the only one Lucifer won't try to chase away, his hooves look deadly.

Satan doesn't fit in your bedroom easily but he'll follow you in the hallways or inside the larger rooms with more space.

You are definitely going to recreate this movie moment at some point before the magic wears off:

The Scorpion (Asmodeus)

He's a bit bigger than most scorpions which means he's even more cute or gross depending on how you feel about them.

He's careful not to hurt you with his pincers if you pick him up.

He must be powerful even in this form because he releases sweet-smelling pheromones when he senses you're nearby.

He curls in the makeshift bed on you place on your desk for him. He's surprisingly calm even though scorpions are usually nocturnal.

His eyes have an eerie pink glow. You didn't notice it until you turned off the lights at bedtime.

(He stares at you until you fall asleep.)

The Fly (Beelzebub)

He's a bit larger than a normal fly.

He's restless and his wings are so noisy when he buzzes around you.

Most of the time you can hear the faint sound of his wings coming from the kitchen.

When he's not eating, he's usually hovering on or near Belphie.

The Cow (Belphegor)

He barely fits in your room and he snorts irritably when you raise your arms up and remind him that he is definitely not allowed to sleep on your bed like this.

He's even more annoyed because he can't go up to the attic like this either.

He just happens to plop down in front of your doorway to sleep instead. The others can't climb or go around him easily. He flicks them away with his tail when they try. He doesn't mind if you climb over him though.

read more: obey me masterlist

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me karasu #obey me fluff #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me x reader #x reader #gn!reader #my oc: karasu #obey me oc

1K notes · View notes

comatosebunny09 · 8 months

Text

personal headcanons | leon k.

genre(s): humor, romance, erotica, modern au warning(s): female reader in mind, language, age gap, self indulgent, fingering, oral, p in v, voice kink, mentions of choking, bodily fluids, dirty talk, pet names, mostly me being a horny spazz for this man, not proofread now playing: funny how time flies - janet jackson

‣ most of your jokes consist of poking fun at your age difference.

‣ seriously. gen x vs. gen y is strong with this one.

‣ prime example: you give him shit about his car still having a cassette player.

‣ “get with the times, grandpa.”

‣ “fuck off. it’s retro.”

‣ “you’re retro, old man.”

‣ thinks the fact you still watch cartoons is endearing.

‣ but, “what the fuck is adventure time?”

‣ will “back in my day” you until you roll your eyes and scoff, shutting him up with a kiss.

‣ has your back despite how often you call him old.

‣ like you’re not getting up there yourself—your aching back and knees!

‣ goes out of his way to bring you little trinkets and snacks when he goes on missions in other countries.

‣ it eats him up that he can’t divulge the secrets of his profession.

‣ never wants to hide anything from you; you make him want to give you the world.

‣ but he knows he has to keep some secrets to protect you.

‣ you love him nonetheless.

‣ tug on his little heartstrings when you fall asleep on the phone with him.

‣ or when he catches you between sleep and consciousness on the couch when he’s had another late night around the office.

‣ secretly loves whisking you off to bed like some knight in shining armor.

‣ ridiculously gentle despite his imposing figure and calloused hands.

‣ sometimes riddled with those intrusive thoughts of choking you because he knows he could crush you with how small you are compared to him.

‣ not like you’d complain—sometimes, you ask him to lose a little control.

‣ and that scares him shitless because, who made you like this?

‣ despite how badly he wants to show you how much he’s missed you, he lets you sleep.

‣ holds you tight while you sink below the depths of unconsciousness.

‣ because sometimes, letting you go feels like you’ll disappear in a plume of smoke.

‣ but when you awaken before the sun…

‣ oh, it’s on.

‣ because you think you’re so slick, rutting your little ass against him in the wee hours of the morning.

‣ challenge: accepted.

‣ knows what his voice does to you. how the low rumble of it makes you clench and stutter.

‣ and when you rub your thighs together to ward off that fuzzy rush of endorphins between them…

‣ fuck.

‣ “did somebody miss me?” he croons, his stubble coarse in the junction of your shoulder as he litters your neck with kisses and holds your chin in his massive hand.

‣ loves to tease you into submission.

‣ will touch and suckle everywhere except where you want him the most.

‣ and he will do this for hours until you growl for him to “stop being a little shit.”

‣ “thought you were sleepin’, baby.”

‣ plays with your pretty nipples until they’re pebbled and straining against your clothes.

‣ flitters his tongue over them, groaning because you taste and feel so goddamn good.

‣ spreads you open like a flower with long, languid strokes of his fingers.

‣ and the sticky glide of your cunt against his fingertips makes his dick jump.

‣ “makin’ a mess for me already, love? so fuckin’ cute, aren’t you?”

‣ alternates between circling your clit and testing the barrier of your sticky, slutty little pussy hole depending on how your body responds to him.

‣ because when you undulate your hips against him in response, he soaks his joggers with pre-spend.

‣ will make you cum at least thrice on his hand.

‣ and will keep fucking you through your orgasms because, who told you to feel this good?

‣ until you beg him for something more filling.

‣ can give you a solid two rounds in pound-town.

‣ he’s not as young as he used to be, god dammit. cut ‘em some slack.

‣ apologetic if he cums before you, though he makes it his mission to ensure you get yours first.

‣ but will finish you off with his mouth if you so please.

‣ eating you out is his favorite pastime. he gets hard all over again just from being between your legs.

‣ will twine your fingers together and maintain some semblance of eye contact while he unravels you with his mouth.

‣ and will groan into your cunt to let you know how appreciative he is for the meal.

‣ vocal af.

‣ will continue until your thighs clamp down on his face, signaling him to “s-stop. to-too much.”

‣ god forbid he’s in a teasing mood because you’ll have to punch him to get him to stop.

‣ but, you’re irresistible when you beg, and—

‣ fuck. he’s suddenly up for round 3.

‣ aftercare is immaculate.✨

‣ has a hard time keeping up with your energy sometimes.

‣ but will definitely heft you up with one hand as he walks you into the house to kiss you stupid against the wall of your entryway.

‣ will definitely dance on the table with you in his underwear.

‣ and indulges you in your childish requests—pillow fort? he’s down.

‣ content with just existing in your presence.

‣ you’re his vice; his kryptonite.

‣ and he’s hopelessly romantic for you.

‣ because you have him doing all the cliche shit. kissing in the rain. swinging hands on the beach, walking into the sunset. sporadically showing up at your job with flowers and takeout.

‣ grabbing your ass in public to let everyone know that yes, this old man’s hittin’ that.

‣ he’s head over heels for you.

‣ and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

‣ because you make him feel something he thought himself dead to for years.

#leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon x fem reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you #resident evil fic #self indulgent #tw: smut #tw: language #cw: bodily fluids #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy smut #leon smut #leon s kennedy headcanons #leon kennedy headcanons #leon headcanons

1K notes · View notes

r3starttt · 28 days

Text

STREET RACER!ABS

nsfw | read this before or DNI

Legs wide open, resting on top of Abby’s shoulders. Cold breeze hitting your bare thighs and a soft shinning illuminating the beautiful scene in between your legs, hitting right behind Abby’s back who kept her pretty half leaded eyes completely focused on your cunt. Her hands kept caressing your legs, running her cold palm up and down the sides of your upper thighs. Calloused fingers making small circles around your knees causing your skin to flourish.

You, on the other side, were trying your best to hold your weight. Head resting on your shoulders and elbows resting on wherever you had space. Muffled whines coming out of your lips and chest pumping up and down rapidly. You caught her slicing a cautionary glare at you, she needed to hear you so desperately, and you needed to please her with it, you loved it. Yet, the idea of someone hearing wasn’t quite the best scenario, not since she’d just won another race and people would do anything to ruin that luck of hers.

“Can’t baby, y’ know we - fuck - can’t” your words came out almost as a reflex, so fast however audible enough. Abby groaned, abruptly moving away from your cunt. You frowned as a response, amusedly watching her hands run from your legs to her face, cleaning your juices off. Her sudden change of demeanor elicited a quick sigh out of you, confused at what to do. Her eyes kept locked on yours, until she wasted no more time, grabbing you by the waist to drag you closer.

Abby tilted her head to the side, humorlessly clicking her tongue “come here”. You obeyed, noticing her pushing her sleeves up to her elbows “m’ just thanking you for making me win, lemme making up to you” her hand found its way to your cheek, passing her index and middle finger over it until they got to the sides of your lips. “please, angel”

You opened your mouth enough to let her put her fingers inside, nodding quietly. “wanna hear you too” her weight got suddenly noticed by your pretty much fucked brain, you could feel her knee in between your legs. It was torture to not close them, the friction was right there and you needed it.

Right as she pleased, you let out a moan, feeling her fingers pressing down your tongue slowly moving them away. She chuckled at you, bit mockingly but just enamored by the sight, by the reward of her hard work. You looked so desperate, and the only thing containing her to look the same was exactly how bad you needed her. It was the least she could do, put you first.

Abby opened her mouth, leaning closer to the side of your neck while her fingers kept running down your body, taking her time to spread your saliva down your body. Wet kisses were left down your neck, until your clavicle and then up your jawline. Your sight so far was her now loosen strands from the usual slicked braid she did for the races, gently brushing over your face.

Soft pleads kept brushing your lips, accompanied by her name desperately mumbled. Your eyes were either open and flickering or closed so tight it made all worse, you could feel your walls clenching around the emptiness she’d left on you every time her lips pressed on your skin “I know princess, I know”

Her fingers finally made contact with your slit, eliciting a cocky smile on her face at how socked you are. Her fingers ran up and down your cunt, slowing her movements whenever she got to your clit. Until nor you or her could wait anymore, it was equally torturous for both. Both her fingers slid until your arousal, pluming them in and out at enough speed to make you want to pull away from how overstimulated you were already.

Her kisses change to ones more sloppy, making a mess with her own saliva all over your body. Sucking and tasting every inch of your skin and then back to your mouth to not only hear but feel your pretty moans and whimpers. She responds equally, whining at your taste and feeling under her, at how you clench around her fingers, how you try to close your legs to do your best and make this last as long as possible for both. “so pretty f’ me ángel, so good”

Bucking your hips to ride her fingers, your hands grip the back of her hair, tucking at her braid. She tries to pick up her pace as much as she can but the pure image of pleasing you makes her wet to her knees. And the way you grip her hair, god you know how to treat her good.

She knows you won’t last any longer, otherwise you wouldn’t be so focused on her, on trying to make yourself be aware of something else that isn’t her fingers pumping in and out of you. She can sense your stomach tensing under her, your legs rubbing together the whenever you get the chance. “cum f’ me princess, yeah?”

A vulgar moan is head out your open lips, which she silences with her own lips, taking advantage of how fucked up you are to free herself from your grip on her braid. Abby can feel her fingers getting covered by your slick, nonetheless she keeps moving them even after you’ve finished, after your thighs and her expensive leather sit are all covered by it. She couldn’t care any less about all that when she has you underneath her like this.

The kiss is nasty, so sloppy and wet, but god it feels so good. Seeing her all pussydrunk, tasting her and now feeling all that adrenaline she’s been keeping for today, it’s the best reward for you. A satisfied sheepish smile appears on both your faces, finally feeling her fingers out of you.

She cleans herself on your thighs before crawling away from you, being stopped by your weak arms wrapping around her one last time “love you” you murmur, wandering your eyes all over her face “love you too, angel”

#need her so bad #abby Anderson #abby anderson smut #abby smut #abby anderson x black reader #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x chubby reader #abby x masc!reader #abby x y/n #abby x you #abby x fem!reader #abby x black reader

551 notes · View notes

honestsycrets · 11 months

Text

Amor y Respeto I: Mi Alma || [Miguel O’Hara x Latina!Reader]

Chapter II: Corazón

❛ pairing | Miguel O’Hara x FB!Reader, platonic Hobie x Reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | the moment you want a sign of love from Miguel is the moment that your relationship is fucked.

❛ tags | fuckbuddies, a very latinx piece, jealousy, jealous Miguel O’Hara, a sparse hobie appearance, spidey!reader, latina!reader, no translations of the spanish included, gif credit to the original owner, nsfw, female reader, some mention of blood and wounds, some creative liberties, slight spoilers.

❛ sy’s notes | not my usual fanfare and i’m a little rusty but miguel hit me straight in my heart. i consciously omitted spanish translations in this work. consistent pet names include mi alma (my soul) & muñeca (doll). this is not my usual fandom and i may have missed some fandom nuances, so i apologize in advance for creative liberties. lastly, emotions impact the reader’s healing capabilities, hope that's clear enough. thank you @lisinfleur and @ivarsrideordie for your help. i’ll be dropping an ivar fic soon, see you then!

In your cultura, disrespect was unacceptable.

You knew it. Your lover knew you knew it: but for you, there was something greater than respect. Amor. If he knew that you knew about her little escapade, oh, it would be unforgivable. It undercut the very foundation of what he did at HQ. But even between lovers, where the time you spent was fleeting and unstable, there were things you could not share. Besides... how would he know?

The day had been long. Your body ached with the dizzying speed of patrols past the vine-covered high-rise apartments of your beautiful city. Your room was stuffy with the tropical air struggling against humidity. With dried blood on your skin, the perfect remedy was a shower. Its warmth soothed your aching muscles after a long day. You found your mind wandering to problems that didn’t immediately demand a solution. How you’d avoid cotton mouth the next time you saw him. Sooner than you thought.

The shower door whizzed aside, plumes of steam fading into the cool air. “Shit!” you shouted, reaching to cover your body. Miguel bent his head as he stepped into your cramped shower and cupped the frame. He shut the shower door. Did he already know? You nipped your lower lip raw and the taste of blood turned your tastebuds. Somehow, you knew that he hadn’t slipped off from HQ just to have you. Not tonight. He had that glazed-over look in his sharp eyes, considering you the same way he might consider anyone else.

“Miguel?” you fluttered your lashes at him which winked off plump droplets of water. “Mi alma, que paso?”

“Did you know?”

You reached out to turn the knob of the water off. It creaked to a stop. Despite tracing the droplets that coasted down your curves, he watched you with otherwise uninterested eyes. When you failed to respond, he stomped closer, kicking up the water that swirled under your bare feet.

“Did you know?” His fist pounded the side of the shower wall. Your heart leapt into your chest where it fluttered painfully, encased in your chest. Miguel bared his angular teeth at you. Teeth that usually marred your neck with possessive bites, loving kisses, and teasing scrapes. He never bared them at you like this. It was always a possibility, never the reality.

You met his eyes. The certainty you had moments earlier that oh, he wouldn’t find out, was gone. Of course, he found out. Your Miguel always found out. With that dead, blank expression, you knew the gravity of your situation.

“Of course, I knew.” His chest swelled with forceful inhalation of air as you spoke. “But Gwen… I, they’re only kids. Kids who--”

“Kids? They are not just kids. Coño, I’d expect this of them,” he prompted your name and took a step forward. You took one back. Then another, knocking your back into the shower walls. You were like a small bird in an even smaller cage. Nowhere to run and still, he wasn’t about to give you the luxury of personal space. You were pinned between his firm chest and the two stony walls against your back. His voice lowered dangerously low, barely a murmur against the shell of your ear. “But you? You know what’s at risk.”

“They love--”

“Y que?” he snapped your name out again. “Tell me, when those kids destroy thousands of lives, what does that change? Have you ever stopped to think of that? Of the lives this will ruin?”

“I just... wanted them happy. If even for an instant.” You hung your head. He set his clawed hand to the side of your head, combing through the stringy strands of your hair down with a false care that you wanted to believe in. But it was entangled in the strings of his manipulation. “Of course, you have, muñequita.”

“Then can’t they--” His hand balled up into a fist and careened with the wall behind you. Your head snapped away as his claws unfurled and released crumbling bits of the wall by your naked toes. You’d have to clean that up-- later. You took a deep breath and exhaled the frustration that packed away in your belly. “Sabes qué? I am sorry that love isn’t enough for you, I am sorry that I have never been enough for you.”

“No. No puedo con esto,” he looked down at you. As he leaned in, his forearm above your head supported his body weight. “Muñeca, por favor. This isn’t about us.”

“Why can’t it be?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I just want to be with you, but you won’t let me in,” you reached out. The soft pads of your fingertips hovered by his sharp jawline eased past his ear and into his ruffled hair. For a second, brief as it were, his eyes softened. He leaned into the touch. You had your window. “Why won’t you let me in?”

Whether or not he was past the anger, the disrespect, his thick arms wound around the small of your waist. In some bid to bring you back to your senses-- to him, he set his forehead against your own, dwelling in the soft scent of your floral soap that filled his nose. You tilted your head, capturing his lips in a kiss. His body became as sturdy: unmoving and guarded.

“I can’t give you what you need.” He reached back to remove your hands from his hair and with care settled them back on your moist chest. As he made his way out of your bathroom, his warning echoed through your mind. “Stay out of my way.”

Miguel’s love was unstable. Affection, not love. If you were honest with yourself, you would admit that you always knew it was bound to fail. You were lucky for what time you had with him. It made subsequent missions all the harder, wrapped up in this innate desire to be loved by a man who allowed himself to be loved by none. Without his affection, HQ felt barren. Its many corridors held no life, no love, and no prospect of a better future. Yet, for Miguel, there you were. Your ballet flats tapped furiously alongside the ringing stomps of your partner’s steel-toed boots.

“Ay bendito, this isn’t healing,” you dabbed your fingers in the blood at your shoulder, storming past a sea of red and blue that parted for the pair of you. Your neck was oozing-- well, not oozing so much as soaking your outfit. The mission could have gone better. Sometimes your mind wandered at the worst of times. It didn’t matter, not now. It was done, he would be happy, and it would be enough for today. All that you did you did for him-- and he knew it.

“Your man won’t be happy about that,” Hobie cut through the crowd while walking backward. He made it look so easy. Conviction, you guessed, made life much easier.

“No,” you took the end of your silky rebozo and held it to your shoulder. “He only cares about results. We have good results. What does he have to be angry about? He has everything he wants.”

“Hm.” Hobie hummed, span around, and leaned over your shoulder. He was on your tail with his aggravatingly long legs no matter how quickly you walked.

“Hobie, por dios.”

“He broke up with you, didn’e?”

You didn’t have to answer him. You didn’t even need to talk to him. You could just keep walking and leave it to his imagination. Yet, your face faltered. The perceptive man he was, Hobie twisted in front of your path. He leaned his hips back and sank his face inches apart from yours. Hobie quirked a smile in his lazy eyes and an adorable lip pout. Your eye centered on his piercing to avert your focus from his words.

“Yeah,” he answered his own question. “Bet he did.”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” you swerved around him.

“Maybe.” Hobie shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and sped after you. “But I’m with you.”

“How sweet.”

You knew your Miguel would be there: on that stupid platform, staring at multiple screens, at a lost life, departed from his reality in any other capacity but maintaining the happiness of others. Well, others that weren’t like you. You found him in that very same position when you pressed into his lab.

“What is it now?”

“We’ve taken care of it-- Hobie and I.”

“Good,” came his dry response. “Is that all?”

“Not in the mood to talk to your girl, eh?” Hobie clicked, throwing his arm over your shoulder: not out of care, or friendship, but spite. No matter the institution, Hobie always seemed to harbor harsh feelings for those in charge. If it meant pissing him off a little, rattling up the flow of HQ, Hobie was always an eager volunteer. Hobie turned his lips to your ear and prompted your name, “C’mon, leave him. Let's go get a drinky drink.”

You bit out a cry at the pressure on your neck, the damn thing wasn’t healing nearly as fast as it needed to be. You blamed the bundles of anxiety that rattled up emotions low in your belly. It was still open, soaking Hobie too. He didn’t mind a little blood on his shorn uniform. Good for the image, and all that.

“That hurt, Hobie!”

Miguel threw a glance over his shoulder. Just a moment, but enough to spot something else that agitated him. Your normally white outfit, fluttery and light, splattered with the blood that painted your red rebozo a little redder. Or maybe it was Hobie’s lips on your ear, making remarks about beer-- or whiskey-- or-- Molotov--

“Get off,” Miguel pounced down from his kingly stoop and flicked Hobie’s wrist. He snaked his wrist away, shoving his palms back into his pants. You threw him a look knowing that it was not because Miguel told him to but because he felt like it. The devil’s advocate that he was. Miguel unraveled the rebozo from your neck. His hand grasped your chin and angled it one way, then the other, rumbling in clear agitation “You’re wounded.”

“Déjame quieta. Don’t touch me.”

“And you?” Miguel rocked back on his heels, setting his well-corded arms on his hips. Then, he angled his body toward Hobie. “Where were you?”

Hobie lifted his pierced eyebrow. “He serious?”

“I can handle myself.”

“Can you? And you-- why are you still here?” Though Miguel asked the question, it was a statement. Hobie held his palms up, fluttering his fingers in mockery. You watched Miguel run his fingers down the bloody rebozo, counting its bloodied inches.

“Vente conmigo.” He leaned into your ear. The trill of his voice danced down your spine, low and husky. Your mind wandered to the many nights he whispered just the same in your ear. You suppressed the shiver, your heartbeat trembling so violently you were sure you could hear its pathetic thumping, nearly a cry. It hadn’t been long but... you missed this.

“You told me to stay out of your way. I am staying out of your way. Give me--”

“I won’t ask again. Either you come or I’ll make you.” That was it then. A flash of disbelief snapped across your face. The gall of this man. Even though he told you to stay out of the way, he demanded that you leave the lab with him? You caught Hobie perking up to look your way with shiny curious eyes. He pointed to his chest and then yours, suggesting… something you’d ignore. Hobie slipped out a smug hum.

“I’ll catch up with you later, Hobie.”

There were no good alternatives. You knew he would make good on his threat. Not that you particularly would want to fight him anyway. Whether it was respect or obligation, you ran after your Miguel, who already walked away. You snatched the rebozo from his waiting hand, suspended in the air.

Yes, your life was a delicate balance between love and respect. You weren’t sure which of those guided you back to Miguel’s dimly lit room. Only that as you sat on his bed, your once-was lover was behind you. His fingers worked swiftly on your neck, furiously tugging at your sore neck with what felt like a needle. No point complaining. It would eventually end. You could go find the boys. They could rail you about your dating choices as they always did.

“Lyla will find you another backup partner,” he broke the silence. You rathered he didn’t operate in this limbo of false intimacy. Your lips parted into a sigh rife with agitation. The drawback of fucking your boss was this, you supposed. He controlled your life.

“No, she won’t. I like working with Hobie. I want him.”

Miguel paused short of dipping the needle back into your skin. “What do you mean-- you want him?”

“What does it sound like? I like working with Hobie. I trust Hobie. So I want Hobie by my side.” You slapped your lacey thighs and turned to gaze into those familiar eyes. “Así que, no, I do not need another backup. I don’t need you controlling every inch of my work life. I need you to hurry up.”

“Muñeca. If you’re emotional, you’ll heal slower.”

“Do not call me that,” you jumped from his lush bed. Your neck squealed for you to stop and let him fix what was clearly broken with the slack thread that connected your body to his. Oh, and what a metaphor it felt like. Your life was sewn together by a man who held all the strings in his hands. “You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore. You made it clear how little you feel about me-- and my feelings.”

He lifted his eyes to yours. A long, slow look. The sort of look that made you question it all. As if the things you said weren’t really from your lips, no matter how sure you were of them. You broke the exchange first and grasped the long strand embedded deep in your neck.

“Your feelings,” he held out his hand and tugged the line, “tend to get in the way of what needs to be done.”

Startled, you looked down at his open palm. You slipped your smaller fingers into the middle of his palm and sat back on the bed. He slid behind you, pressing his core against your backside-- because that was completely necessary. With soft care, he shifted your hair over the opposing shoulder and continued his work.

“Apart from that, you shouldn’t have gone on that mission. You were distracted. If you weren’t so emotional,” Miguel murmured. “We wouldn’t be here.”

If you weren’t emotional? You screwed your eyebrows together in a pathetic attempt to ignore what he just said. To ignore the way that he demeaned the fuel of your abilities, what guided you through this traumatic thing called life. Meanwhile, Miguel functioned on minimal emotion-- the suppression of what he’d lost by protecting what he was.

“It’s your fault I was distracted in the first place.”

“You should be able to control your own feelings.”

“Fine. Apúrate. I’ll get out of your way.”

Miguel snapped the healing aid thread and ran his clawed fingertips across the long streaks on your neck and shoulder. It was mere moments that he lingered there circling your neck. As your breathing evened out, you felt your body pull together fibrous strands of tissue and heal. Yet, you couldn’t care.

“Done.” Miguel refused to address your gaze but opted to draw your top back into place to over your breasts. You stood and secured the buttons of your halter top behind your neck. That was it. You’d return to your duties, healed half by your emotions and half by Miguel. You would need to learn to ignore the love you had for him. One day, all this would be well. Miguel rolled up the excess thread around his reel.

Fine. If he was going to ignore you--

“Do you think,” you paused long enough to debate your words. Enough for Miguel to glance up with his stoic red eyes and lift an eyebrow at you. It irritated you how unemotional and consistently unbothered he could be when you stood there just the opposite. Always desperate for a sign of his feelings. “Hobie wants to fuck?”

There were some lines you should never cross. While you would never actually fuck your partner, the mere mention of the thought ever crossing your mind was one step too far. It was terribly disrespectful. Miguel’s reel plopped onto the floor and rolled short of your feet.

You slid your palms over your hips before hooking at the bend in your waist. His gaze focused on the glide of your hands trailing slowly down your sides. Sides that he often snatched in the dead of night after a warm shower. Or that he’d cling to during lovemaking. Your following words caused him to lurch off the bed. “Qué piensas? He might still be in HQ, no?”

“What,” His hand fit along your neck like a tight collar. The next moment, pain radiated from your skull and blurred your vision. The pain licked flames of excitement to life in your belly. A gasp slipped from your lips. Instead of shock, your cry was tinged with delight. With his wild brown hair slumping forward over his scarlet eyes, he was more beautiful than ever. His claws squeezed your neck, jerking and slamming your head once more. His breath tickled your cheek. “What did you say?”

Of course, he couldn’t help himself: the control freak. He was a genius. You knew he knew it was bait. He had to. But your looming threat was enough for him to take the risk. Your lips curled, laughing your words rather flippantly. “I said-- do you think Hobie wants to fuck?”

You eviscerated his already thin patience. The searing pain of his fangs piercing your battered neck seared all thoughts of Hobie from your mind. Your hands choked out a pitiful cry. “Miguel, Miguel, Miguel-- calma.”

The familiar burn of his frantic biting, his violent ownership of your body, made your body slick. He lifted your hips onto his, legs dangling over his slim thighs. Crunched up against his massive body, you felt small but as if you were the focus of his world. Just how you loved to feel when you were encased in his arms.

“You think he could fuck you like I can?” His gravelly voice rumbled. His face pinched tight, daring your response. “That you can replace me— so easily?”

No, the answer was a resounding no. But he didn’t need to know that. If Miguel thought he could play games with you, you’d play games with him. The last forty-eight hours had been a blur of his rejection. It was only fair that Miguel felt the same.

Blood seeped down from your neck, a feeling you were accustomed to today. On the other hand, you weren’t accustomed to how he tore into your uniform as if it were as offensive as your harsh words. You calmly noted that you were glad to have multiple: a consequence of doing this work too long.

That was it. You slid your hands up his forearms, around his firm biceps, to his broad shoulders. There you rested your arms, knocking your foreheads gently together. Past the rage, you recognized the slightest hint of fear in his eyes. The promise that you were lying. For security under another name. You refused to give it to him: he never gave it to you.

“He is Spiderman, isn’t he?”

He shifted the pad of his finger between your lips. Your tongue slid over his thumb, crooked in your mouth to suppress any more words that he may regret hearing or that you may regret saying.

“He may be,” Miguel rasped. His lips quirked into a wicked grin. With Miguel’s sudden sharpness, you weren’t expecting to see his smile. You welcomed it, a rare delight that you found yourself loathing the more he spoke. “But you’re mine.”

His. The inklings of fear you previously spotted in the depth of Miguel’s eyes seemed to weaken, sliding his thumb from your lips, rolling past your nipple, and the muscles of your stomach. He slid past your vulva, trailing with expert care along your slit. It was barely a touch if even a graze. Words failed to form. They were a thick bolus in your throat, congealed and thick.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I thought so.”

Your eyes trailed Miguel’s strong jawline and ambled up toward his lips. Your gaze lingered there as his fingers slipped between your lips, finding your cunt soft and wet. His eyes flickered toward your shy gaze and danced his lips against yours by virtue of his words. “It doesn’t seem like you’re that interested in finding him.”

“How would you know?” you cried out when one of his clawed fingers dipped inside your body. Your hips jerked onto his hand to seek out more of him. Your traitorous, awful body. It wasn’t comfortable when he scratched you while stroking your velvety inner walls. But you always needed more of his touch.

“Oh,” Miguel hummed. He bent close-- your eyes now focused on his high cheekbones. You couldn’t look him in the eyes and know that he knew how weak you were for him. “I know. It’s the way you look at me.”

“As if--” You dropped your eyes, reveling in the pressure of his prodding fingers, the delight in having him here, with you, once again. It shouldn’t have felt as intimate, as comforting as it did, but it did. His fingers withdrew, pleased with his work. “You know I can give you what you need.”

“You said you couldn’t,” Miguel slipped his fingers into your mouth: sweet and sour with your own excitement and the scratches of blood. His hands worked at the waist as you secured yourself on the wall with your hands, knowing what was next-- and expecting it.

“I lied.” he drawled out, a long hum. He spat on his hand and rubbed himself as you watched, anticipating the soft prod of his cock’s head at your entrance. It hadn’t been long. Yet, as he buried himself in the warmth of your body, you inhaled a wealth of air into your chest, exhaling it in soft shudders. Perhaps it was the fear of never having this again.

His large hands shifted underneath your ass and pinned you square against the wall. His claws drew blood to the surface of superficial cuts. Your hands snapped to his shoulders and clung onto him for some security. You found no rest between the wall chafing your back and Miguel’s long, pointed strokes into your body. Your body burned with the pull of his dick dragging in and out of your cunt, fighting to keep him inside with every squeeze and pull. He wasn’t lying, you knew. But it didn’t matter. Not when you were his complete and utter focus.

Miguel let a word of praise slip free as he ground into you. With a wall of muscle before you and the sturdy wall behind, breathing was slight and hard to come by. It had to be what he wanted-- to make you focus on him and him alone. It’s what you deserved after antagonizing the man. Your hands found his hair, knotting your fingers in it, and accepting the ferocity of his deep, then shallow strokes into your core. Your eyes flitted shut as he bottomed out, grinding his hips in tight circles. As you came, your body furiously clenched onto his cock, slowing his sweeping thrusts.

You craved it: the moment of Miguel’s weakness. Your body urged out his orgasm with a noise tempered by pleasure and annoyance. Your cunt milking earned you a particularly firm slam of his hips. Miguel would drag you down to take it all. He spilled into you with a deliciously unique warmth, grinding his hips until spent. His forehead rested on the crook of your neck. In place of another hard bite, he gently kissed your collarbone and throat. After he finished, he settled you down onto the floor. But your legs were sloppy, weak shaky things. Miguel snatched your hand as you swayed to keep yourself upright.

“I have to go,” you held his hand begrudgingly for support. Then bent down to pick up strips of your clothes. Yet another victim of your relationship with him. You would have to... mend this. Somehow. Probably not. “They’re expecting me--”

“Muñeca,”

“Cálmate, Miguel. You know I’m not going to fuck him,” you swiped the coursing fluids down your thigh. You dragged your hand down Miguel’s firm chest and danced your finger up his chest to flip up his chin. He glanced down, puffing air from his nostrils in protest. His eyes rolled, oh so slightly. “He’s not my type. I like them big, mm?”

“You would if he was?” he bristled.

“I never said that.” You said. Despite this fact, certain needs needed to be met. Ones that if he didn’t fill, someone else would. You both knew this. Your work was long and stressful and done in the name of the man who was before you. If for nothing but that love, you knew you would keep going. You believed in Miguel: his choices and his heart.

“You didn’t need to.”

“Mi alma--” you stopped, waving your hand at his pet name. “All this is fleeting. I need someone that will meet my needs. To tell me they love me. Can you?”

He pressed his lips together and stewed on your request. You knew without a question in your mind what that answer was. In the aftermath of sex with Miguel, he was closer to you than ever. And yet, it was impossible to convince him of an actual connection. For him, it was easier to leave you than love you.

He didn’t need to say it.

“I know you, Miguel. You didn’t lie. It was the truth,” you slipped your hand from his. Instead, you opted to set a fleeting kiss on the side of his lip. For better or worse, he didn’t reciprocate. Your steps carried you backward. Then, you afforded him a small deprecating smile. “Other than sex, you can’t give me what I need.”

#Miguel O'Hara x Reader #miguel ohara x reader #spiderman imagines #spiderman imagine #spider 2099 x reader #sy writes #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara oneshot #miguel ohara oneshot #across the spiderverse imagine #marvel imagines

2K notes · View notes

seethesin · 7 months

Text

vampires everywhere!

pairing: Vampire!Hazel Callahan x F!Monster Hunter!Reader

tags/warnings: sexual content, hazel & reader are 18+, supernatural/vampire au, blood kink, heavy petting, biting, cunnilingus, teasing (18+, mdni)

a/n: based on the request by anonymous found here. i know i said i'd wait until we got closer to halloween, but this idea had a chokehold on me. gif pack/gif credit.

click here for part two!

"You came."

There's genuine relief in your target's disembodied voice as you enter the mausoleum. You look around frantically, squinting to try and adjust to the darkness. It's impossible though and suddenly, your hostess drops from the ceiling. She lands neatly on her feet, looming over you as she rocks gleefully on her heels. Startled, you back into the door.

She stands at average height with unkempt brown hair. Her skin is translucent; even in the dark, the blue plume of her veins crawls up her neck. A broad, boyish smile plays on her lips, revealing a pristine pair of fangs.

"I'm Hazel."

On instinct, you draw your silver stake. The tip presses precisely into her chest and she smirks.

"Feels like someone's happy to see me tonight."

You dig the stake deeper, watching as it tears a hole through her shirt and pierces her skin. Moments later, the scent of rotting, burning flesh fills your lungs and you cough. Droplets of blood drip from the wound and carefully, Hazel uses her middle finger to clean up the excess. She slips the digit in her mouth, sucking it clean as her skin sizzles against the silver. Her cheeks hollow sinfully and you gulp, your mouth watering.

You were disgusted with yourself. You were supposed to kill her, not fuck her.

"I'm thrilled," you respond blankly, gripping the hilt of your weapon steady. "Thrilled to dispose of another leech."

Hazel sneers, leaning back so that the tip of your stake unsheathes itself from her flesh. Moments later, the wound begins to heal itself.

"We both know that's not the reason," she singsongs, glacier-blue eyes gleaming with mischief.

Okay, maybe it's not the entire reason.

Through the monster hunter grapevine, you heard of a nightclub that hosted some high-profile fiends—The Last Drop. Many of the frequent flyers had bounties on their heads and you were eager to cash in.

As you spent your nights staking the place out, there was one person that you always noticed. It was the girl currently hovering over you, wearing her smile like a gold star on her chest. Like clockwork, Hazel left every time by four in the morning. Where she went after that you didn't know. But you would be lying if you said she didn't distract you from your main mission.

Hence why you were currently in this predicament. Curiosity got the best of you tonight and you followed Hazel back to whatever this was. Her lair? Her home? Her timeshare?

A snarky comment is readied on your tongue, but it dissolves as soon as you feel her mouth on yours. Your eyes go wide as saucers and your grip on your weapon falters. The stake hits the floor with a clatter that echoes throughout the high ceiling. Hazel's tongue slips between your parted lips and you taste the iron of her blood. Her fangs graze against your lower lip, drawing blood that she laps up eagerly.

Regaining control, you rip your face away from hers. Your breathing is shallow as you stare at her, bewildered. Hazel cackles in delight, drinking the sight of your swollen and bloody lips.

"I can read your thoughts, sweetheart. Don't they teach you that in Van Helsing school?"

Blush crawls up your neck and you lean into the door, defeated. This was beyond humiliating. To be completely bested by your enemy like this was difficult to recover from. You refuse to look at her willingly, but she closes the distance between you again. Her fingers pinch your chin, tugging it up so that you're forced to look at her.

Suddenly, you're dragged up the door, caged in between Hazel's arms. Her palms are planted at each side of your head and her thigh slips in between your legs.

"Guess not," she mutters, clearly amused.

The pressure of her thigh against your cunt makes you gasp. The rough denim of her jeans brushes against pussy, making you cant your hips. You refuse to admit it out loud, but you want more.

Thankfully, Hazel doesn't need to hear you say it.

Her hands grip your hips, holding you steady as she drags you down the length of her thigh.

"Oh god," you whisper, eyes screwed shut as you dig half moons into your palms. The sensation felt too good.

"Like that?"

You go mute. Hazel huffs, pushing you back up the length of her thigh.

"Gotta use your words," she urges and your eyes shoot open into a glare. Hazel's stupid grin does not falter as she leers predatorily at you. "If you don't, you're not cumming."

You whine.

It comes out before you can filter your thoughts. Your hands fly to your mouth, glancing up at Hazel as her intimidating stare melts into something mirthful.

She begins to laugh, adding to your embarrassment.

"There she is."

Her knee remains pressed into the wall, watching you expectantly. Defeated, you roll your hips, stealing friction between the fabric of your clothing. Eagerly, Hazel leans in. Her mouth is on your skin, kissing across your jawline and down the slope of your neck. You feel her teeth graze your flesh before quickly, her fangs pierce into your skin.

You moan, reflexively jerking away before leaning back into Hazel's unnaturally cool touch. Her tongue pokes out from her mouth, lapping the blood that drools from your fresh wound. Her hands slide into yours, pinning them against the door. She removes her thigh from between your legs and you whimper at the loss of contact.

"If your blood tastes this good," she begins, removing one hand from your wrist, only for the other hand to gather them both between her fingers. She presses your wrists back into the wall as her free hand sinks down your abdomen. Her hand slides to your pants, fingers sliding up the length of your clothed cunt. Your blood roars in your ears.

"I can't imagine what your pussy tastes like."

"Then do it."

Your statement is so immediate it makes Hazel flinch. She blinks in shock, looking up at you with the same surprise you experienced minutes ago.

"Yeah?" she asks and you nod curtly.

"Don't make me change my mind, leech."

Hazel beams.

Quickly, she brings you back onto the floor. Your fingers are at your pants, unzipping and unbuttoning the fly before shoving them down your thighs. You shimmy out of them, discarding them onto the floor. Your underwear follows soon after.

Hazel stares unabashedly, pupils dilated wide as her hands are on your waist. She hoists you back up against the door, positioning you so that she's between your legs, knees hanging over her shoulders as she stands eye level with your weeping pussy.

You feel Hazel's lips on your skin, her warm breath sharply contrasting the cold grip her fingers have on your body. A string of moans pushes from your throat as you feel her kiss across your inner thighs. Her fangs pierce the soft skin, drawing blood as her tongue cleans up the mess they leave. Your fingers thread into her dark hair, tugging firmly to guide her closer to where you need her most.

She chuckles and the vibrations go straight to your throbbing clit.

"So impatient," she tuts, but concedes and follows your somatic demand.

Her tongue darts out from her lips, kitten licking the length of your slit to your clit. You sigh out, rutting your hips toward Hazel's face as she envelops her lips around your clit. She sucks sharply and your eyes nearly roll into the back of your skull. You're not going to last long and Hazel doesn't need to read your mind to know that too.

It's when she fucks you with her tongue that you that you finally cum. The dam in your gut shatters and a wave of pleasure washes over you. Your nails claw at Hazel's scalp, shoving her in place as you grind your cunt into her eager tongue. Her hold does not falter, keeping you steady until your labored breathing evens out. After a few moments, her head darts out from between your legs. Even in the darkness, the shine of spittle and slick glows on her chin.

"How was that?" It was your turn to be cocky and you relished every moment of it.

Hazel lowers you back onto the floor, allowing you to locate your discarded clothing. She wipes her chin, the flat of her tongue licking off the remnants on her palm.

"You tell me." She tosses the question back to you as you pull your underwear over your hips.

"Well," you start, stepping in and pulling up your pants. You meet Hazel's inquisitive gaze as you fasten the button and pull the zipper up. A shit-eating grin cracks across your face.

"You're still alive, right?"

#bottoms 2023 #bottoms movie #hazel callahan #hazel callahan x reader #lesbian #lgbtq #wlw #smut #fanfiction #fanfic

711 notes · View notes

gtsdreamer2 · 6 months

Text

You were deep in the Amazon rainforest. A recent graduate with your mycology doctorate, you were researching a special species of mushroom that only was said to grow deep in the jungle and only during the twenty four hours of the full moon during the autumn months. According to ancient texts found in the indigenous people's temples, the mushroom was used in fertility rituals and to signify a bountiful harvest during these months before the cold winter. You were curious about the cultural significance as well as the medicinal properties of this rare shroom. You didn't know what it looked like, only that it wasn't foraged for by the locals anymore and that it should look like a mushroom that you don't know.

Hours of searching later, you begin to grow tired and wonder if you should give up and wait until the next full moon. The sun is starting to set when you finally spot something different. It's a mushroom you've never seen before, which is remarkable seeing as how you've seen them all. The cap is a pinky flesh color with an even pinker button on top. You giggle to yourself as you remark that it looks like a tit with a firm nipple poking out of it.

Kneeling down, you take out your notebook and a pencil and begin to sketch it. 'I'm just drawing a boob.' You think to yourself. You stare in awe at this shroom as the sun continues to set. Taking your pencil, you poke the nipple-esque protrusion. Immediately this mushroom expells a giant cloud of spores right in your face. You gasp in surprise, sucking into your lungs an ample amount of the potent plume.

You hack and cough, but its way too late for that, they're already lodged deep within you and entering your blood stream. Your eyes dialate and your body grows hot. You stand and lean against a tree, trying to catch your breath. You can feel your heatbeat in every nerve. Your cells are responding in a way they never have to the new foreign agent that has begun to take over you. Your heatbeat concentrates in your breasts as you feel your nipples grow almost painfully erect. Then you feel your breasts start to press against your soft white cotton top. You can feel the belts on your corset tighten to try and contain whatever is happening to you. Suddenly you shoot up four inches in height.

Your sudden growth spurt elicits an a forced maon from your mouth. "Mmmph!" You cry out as a second wave hits you. The belts on your corset snap and suddenly you're six foot five with the seams of your jeans splitting. You feel your feet break free from your hiking boots as your toes sink into the damp rainforest earth.

'This is starting to feel really good.' You think to yourself as you start to regain a semblance of your normal senses. Doing a body check, you can tell that you've grown. Your breasts have at least doubled in size and are now very hot and sensitive to the touch. You can feel a hunger deep in your womb as if ovulating on steroids.

You attempt to sit down on the cool jungle floor, your now massive ass shredding the back of your jeans as you squat down. You pick up your pad and pen and continue to make notes about the shroom.

'It is clear that this is how the Amazon women in the lore of this land gained their stature, and I can clearly feel why this particular fungus was revered for its fertility-inducing properties. I feel so full of life, yet I also feel the need to be bred full of babies.' Looking back at your notes, you are in shock that you actually wrote that down.

You wonder to yourself how potent the flesh of the shroom might be, considering what just inhaling some of the spores had done to you. As the sun began to set, you walk back over to the shroom and delicately pluck it out of the ground before greedily shoving the whole thing into your mouth, quickly swallowing it without so much as trying to find out what it tastes like. Again the euphoria strikes your body. You feel its effects ten fold as you quickly gain four feet in height and explode out of your inadequate top. Sitting back down on the remainder of your ruined clothes, you bask in the feeling of your massive body and heightened strength and senses. You close your eyes and listen to the jungle around you, lamenting that you ate the only specimen that you had found on your journey, and now the only evidence was what it had done to you. When you open your eyes, the realize that the moon has peaked through the canopy. Your dialated eyes can see the jungle floor quite clearly now, and shimmering all across the damp dense expanse before you, you can see dozens more of the mushroom glowing against the moon, as if drinking in its power. 'It would have been so much easier to find at night.' You chastise yourself as you stand up again. You leave your ruined clothes behind as you pick up your foraging Satchel and start to delicately pick as many of the shrooms as you can carry, trying your best to put them in containers without them expelling more spores. 'This will be so great for my research.' You think to yourself. 'And it'll make a great snack for the walk back'. You giggle to yourself as you pop another three into your mouth.

#gts #giantess #size kink #sizetumblr #growth #gts story

685 notes · View notes

unoislazy · 6 months

Text

Question, What Question? (Part 2)

Hiccup Haddock x Reader

Summary: You and Hiccup go out to figure out where that smokes coming from. You decide to return back to Berk to tell Stoick what you saw. However, Stoick had other plans in mind.

No warnings

Just fairly short.

————————————————————

You and Hiccup neared the large plume of smoke, both having no idea what it could be, and your concern growing. Once you had neared the fire, you saw what looked to be a broken up fort with large pieces of ice staggered throughout it.

You stared at the massive amounts of damage and immediately went to turn around,

“Not my circus, not my monkeys.” You said only for Hiccup to pop back up in front of you.

“Come on, let’s just check it out, what’s the worst that could-“

“Do not finish that sentence.” You warned, sending a glare his way. The last thing you needed right now was for him to jinx anything. Hiccup continued to stare at you pleadingly, not giving up on the topic before you sighed, finally agreeing to tag along as he went over to explore.

“What do you think could have done all this?” Hiccup asked, not taking his eyes off the teal ice structure before him.

“How would I know, you're the dragon guy.” You answered sarcastically to which Hiccup rolled his eyes and responded,

“Well… no Fishlegs would be the dragon guy. I’m more of a… dragon tamer.”

“Dragon guy, dragon tamer, dragon master, does any of that truly matter right now?”

“Yeah, Well the distinction is very important the dragon g-“ Before Hiccup could say anything else you had noticed trappers on deck of the dismantled fort below, aiming right at him.

“Hiccup, look out!” You shouted, trying to help block the netting that was sent his way, and instead you had gotten your own dragon caught. Your dragon was heading straight for the ground, and you could barely hang on as it was falling a lot faster than you were. You very quickly lost a hold of the leather pieces you used to steer it and you were sent flying into the air.

You screamed as you continued to plummet towards the ground but thankfully Toothless was able to catch you safely. You all quickly made your way down to the deck with the dragon trappers, attempting to run over to free your dragon, only to be stopped by the men who now surrounded you.

“Give me back my dragon!” You shouted, as a very muscular man walked over, gazing at your dragon with interest and a gloating smile. You weren’t gonna lie, he would’ve been a bit more attractive had he not just placed his entire foot on your dragon's face.

“Now what good would that do me?” He asked rhetorically, smirking as he finally looked towards you and Hiccup, realizing you were accompanied by a Night Fury.

“Well soil my britches, that there’s a Night Fury.” He stated, pointing his knife towards Toothless.

“Good job, you can see, now can I get my dragon back?” You asked, clearly not wanting to take no for an answer.

“Sorry love, no can do. Not after your friend from last night blew this place to bits. This dragon now belongs to Drago Bludvist.” The man claimed. You sneered at the mocking pet name he had given you, not even noticing the name he had mentioned.

“Drago who now? Does anything you say make sense?” Hiccup asked jokingly, gesturing dramatically with his arms and shoulders as he looked back at you.

“You think we did this? What kind of creature is even capable of this?” You asked, astonished that someone could even think to blame you for such a massive feat.

“Who even are you?” Hiccup asked, trying to figure out what was going on because at the moment you both were just an entire bundle of confusion and questions and this conversation was not helping.

“Where are my manners? I'm Eret, son of Eret.” He introduced, but you stopped paying attention to everything else he was saying as you watched his movements. You noticed as his eyes darted to somewhere just behind you, his hand pointing directly at you.

“Uh Hiccup… we might want to-“ you began to whisper to him,

“Way ahead of you.” He whispered back, backing up.

“You’re Eret, this is Toothless, and we’re leaving!” Hiccup said in a joking manner, hopping on Toothless, “Now!” He shouted, signaling Toothless to shoot a blast at the ice ledge just above the trappers, safely freeing your dragon whom you hopped on right away and rode off.

“What was that all about?” You asked, not really expecting an answer from Hiccup who seemed pretty lost in thought. You decided to just drop the conversation and let him think through whatever he was thinking about at that point.

You both made your way back to Berk, landing in front of the Forge with a multitude of people cheering that Hiccup had returned.

“Ah, the Pride of Berk!” Stoick cheered as he saw Hiccup, then he looked over and noticed that you were with him. His mind was clearly on a different topic than you two as he quickly asked,

“So… how did it go?”

You looked towards the man confused.

“How did what go?” You asked, there was no way he could’ve known about your encounter yet, and even if he did he would’ve known it didn’t go all that well.

“You know… the question? What did you say?” He asked jovially. One could almost compare him to a very intimidating red headed Santa Claus.

“What… question?” You asked, turning to Hiccup who seemed to just realize what Stoick was talking about.

“I- Dad, I haven’t asked it yet.” Hiccup butted in through a very clenched smile, he was clearly keeping something from you and it would be wrong to not want to know what it was at this point. You could make assumptions but most of the options you had in mind you didn’t want to jump to on the high chance you would just be getting your hopes up.

“Hiccup, if you’re going to be Chief you need to-“ Stoick began only to be cut off by Hiccup yet again.

“Dad, that’s not the focus here. I'm trying to tell you about something that happened. It’s really important.” He said, trying to deter his father from continuing the conversation.

“Well this is important too, son. If you’re to lead, you should lead with someone by your side.” Stoick laughed, pushing Hiccup into you in a very well meaning way. Hiccup was clearly very flustered by this conversation, but you were still a few steps behind.

“Dad I don’t think-“ Hiccup began only to be cut off by you,

“Is that… is your question what I think it is? Is that the question you were going to ask? You want me to-“ You began, only for Hiccup to cut you off instead.

“Listen, we can talk this out later… preferably with less people around. This is not how I wanted you to find out.” Hiccup sighed, dragging his hands down his face as he groaned, clearly stressed about the current situation. You stood still as Hiccup followed his dad into the forge, explaining what you both had encountered but you simply watched, unmoving, as if you were in a trance.

Was he going to ask…

To marry you???

#hiccup haddock x reader #httyd #hiccuphorrendoushaddockiii #hiccup how to train your dragon #hiccup and toothless #hiccup #hiccup x reader #hiccup haddock #httyd hiccup #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #httyd fanfiction #httyd fandom #httyd 2 #unoislazy

437 notes · View notes

jungkookschin · 7 months

Text

older: sneak peek one

think i need someone older, just a little bit colder, take the weight off your shoulders

READ IT HERE

synopsis: you are obsessed with jungkook, your parents' friends' son, and he adores you. but does jungkook adore you because you've been acquainted since childhood? or because he sees you as a woman? he remembers you obnoxiously doing cartwheels in his room as a kid, but he doesn't remember you becoming so alluring.

word count: 300 (?), actual fic is 17k

pairing: older!jk x afab reader

genre: age gap au (seven years), childhood acquaintance au, fluff, comedy, angsty, outta pocket, alludes to sexual innuendoes

author's note: this is a scene from like the middle of the fic!! if u want to be tagged in the actual fic, lmk! also yn is a snorlax girl and i love that for her

Your arms linked with Yunjin, you skip around from one club to the next, dancing and partying your little hearts out. When the night comes to a close you prance to the local ramen shop by campus.

From a distance, you can already make out Jungkook's figure. He’s always so animated when he’s with his friends, dramatically gesturing and hip thrusting in the air while his friends laugh at his immature jokes. He’s got a cigarette between his pointer and middle finger, taking slow puffs, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs before he tilts his head to exhale a long plume of smoke into the atmosphere.

That’s right. Jungkook smokes occasionally but never lets you do it. What a hypocrite.

His eyes drift off for a second until they land on you, and his lips curl up in your presence.

“Well look, if it isn’t my favorite girl,” he teases, letting out low laughter at the way you crimson when all his friends’ heads whip in your direction.

You narrow your eyes at him, giving him a dirty look that Jungkook coos at. Even when you were trying to intimidate him you were akin to a cute Snorlax, so adorable, eyebrows pinched and lips pouted- how could he feel anything but adoration at that?

“Aw angel,” he jests, throwing your words right back at you, “Don’t ignore me, ‘m sorry for teasing you,” he catches you as you walk past him, pulling you towards his chest before resting his chin on top of your head.

He casually smiles at Yunjin. “How’s my angel been doing? Has she been behaving?”

Yunjin’s jaw drops at the bold statement and you attempt to wrestle out of his firm embrace to berate him.

“Just kidding. It’s getting late, though. Do you girls need a ride home?” he asks, finally letting you go just for you to stumble out of his grip and almost land on your face, but luckily Jungkook pulls your shoulders back without even looking in your direction.

“Jungkook, it’s literally 10,” you deadpan.

“Oh c’mon, I don’t want you girls to get kidnapped or something,” he snarkily responds.

“How about you give us some money instead?” Yunjin jests, clearly joking, but Jungkook takes it so, so seriously. He raises a brow at both of you. “How much do you need?”

“Wait no- I was kidding,” Yunjin quickly clarifies, her ears becoming slightly red, “you don’t have to..”

Jungkook looks from you to her, then back at you before whipping out his phone, taking another puff of his cigarette before blowing the smoke upwards, careful so you don’t inhale any smoke.

Ping!

Your eyebrows pinch in confusion when you get a notification, and you unzip your mini purse to grab your phone, allowing the screenlight to illuminate your pretty features.

JEON JUNGKOOK HAS TRANSFERRED YOU 500 DOLLARS VIA HYBETRANSFER.

“250 each, alright?” Jungkook laughs, taking another puff of his cigarette before he saunters off, his friends pushing him around and teasing him.

“Ayo, when did Jeon turn into a sugar daddy?”

You and Yunjin are left dumbfounded, even more so when Jungkook turns around and makes kissy lips at you.

You fall to your knees.

#jungkook imagines #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #bts jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook series #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic

806 notes · View notes

charliemwrites · 1 month

Text

The long-awaited part 2 for ragdoll!reader.

I’ll be honest, I never intended for there to be another part, so I hope this is alright! I might add more in the future if the worms demand it, but for now let’s consider this the last part. Sorry!

If Price had any optimism that Ragdoll’s reaction to Konig was just a fluke - or perhaps some sort of initial, fleeting interest - he’s quickly proven wrong.

She’s utterly infatuated with him.

Constantly pressing herself close, rubbing her cheek against him and his clothes, bumping her head against his. She chirps and chitters and purrs at him, pupils blown out. Never seems bothered that he has trouble verbally responding; or seems to, though Johnny mentions they might be communicating at a frequency only cat-hybrids can hear.

Price has the briefest notion of keeping them separated. After all, Konig is a big combat placement that doesn’t seem much indulgent of his non-violent instincts. More human than cat - a complete opposite to their sweet companion kitty. It seems inevitable that something goes wrong and someone - likely the 141’s precious girl - gets injured. So naturally they try to keep the hybrids apart.

Try to coordinate schedules to keep her and Konig from passing each other, ending up in the same rooms or at the mess hall together.

It’s futile.

For one, she may be the sweetest little thing around, but she’s still a cat (or cat-hybrid anyway). There’s really no stopping her from going somewhere, especially on a base she’s had free run of for over a year already. Closed doors are blasphemy, and locks are a personal attack against her.

For two, her only job is to be a companion. She is not beholden to most military protocols like rank, SOPs, schedules, or duty. Meaning that, while she usually keeps to the 141’s routines out of desire to be with them, there’s nothing forcing her to follow along. Even as an emotional support placement, she isn’t required to be around them at any time; she always just wants to be. It’s why she’s so good at it.

And finally, mostly importantly here, there’s really just no telling her “no.”

Not with those big eyes that get so watery so fast. That sad curve to her mouth. The fucking mournful cries when she’s been denied and she doesn’t understand why - nor does anyone really have a good reason.

(“He’s twice your size” is apparently not a good reason. Neither is “he could crush your skull in one hand.”)

Worse still, it’s not even that she’s misbehaving as a reason to keep them separated.

While she does present more cat than human in a lot of ways, she understands English perfectly. She can read and even write if needed. Vocalizing human speech is beyond rare, but she has once or twice.

So she knows the hard and fast rules. Understands that she can’t interrupt drills or exercises. That there are regulations for the range should she ever venture out there. That she has to be quiet during briefings. And she does all of this - just while also being as close to Konig as possible.

She sits in the grass or on a perch watching the boys run and call to each other. And as soon as they’re done, she’s up and flitting to his side, head tilting this way and that. She shifts into her full-cat form during briefing to sit on his lap. Even follows him out to the range, lying in the grass next to him with tail swishing and headphones on, while he fires the rifle.

Never mind any free time.

Members of both their teams keep finding them cuddled up together all over the place. In the rec room on a couch, in patches of sun beneath windows, in the grass by the running tracks, even in Konig’s room on base. Most often with Ragdoll lying on him, plumed tail curled around his arm or leg while he rubs her back or ears.

Sometimes they hear him talking to her, low and quiet. She meows back on occasion, but he doesn’t seem to mind the lack of verbal response while he rambles.

And the first time anyone sees them wrestle is nerve-wracking. They hardly make a sound the entire time, rolling around on the floor in a tangle of limbs and fluffy tails. Konig always lets her win - even laughs when she gets her sharp little teeth in his arm. (It’s the first anyone on his team has heard him laugh like that and they’re a bit startled.) The entire 141 pretends not to be on high alert - except Johnny, who watches with ears perked, eyes darting between the two cats.

Price doesn’t know what to make of it. Of course he’s not upset that she’s connected with another hybrid. Johnny is usually the only one on base, and while they’re close, Price knows it probably isn’t the same as her own species.

That she’s so… preoccupied with Konig is, well.

“Is she… ya know…?” Gaz asks at one point.

When Price arches an eyebrow, he makes a vague, nonsensical gesture.

“In heat,” Gaz mumbles awkwardly.

“Shouldn’t be,” Price answers. “She has an implant.”

A hormone implant keeps a hybrid from going into mating cycles or getting pregnant - but it doesn’t stop them from bonding.

Kate is the one to bring up the possibility after speaking to her sister in law. Ragdoll spent time around other cat-hybrids before she was placed with the 141, but never reacted to them like she does to Konig.

It’s confirmed when TF-141 and the KorTac squad deploy for their mission. Ragdoll is near inconsolable. Not actively crying (most of the time) but lethargic and sad, with low appetite and lots of big, long sighs. Her ears never perk more than half-mast for the month they’re gone. Even taking her off-base back to Kate’s sister-in-law for a little while doesn’t seem to help.

The day they come back, she’s the most lively anyone’s seen in a month. Bounces between her four team members incessantly, checking that they’re okay, making little noises in the back of her throat. They happily drop kisses on her head, let her nuzzle up beneath their chins, hug her close. Rub at her ears and squish up her cheeks. Price even picks her up, rubbing his bristly cheek against her temple.

Then Konig steps out.

She wiggles, making a nervous, upset noise. Price sets her down and she bolts into Konig’s arms, crying loudly and pawing at his hood. And to everyone’s shock, he lifts it enough for her to wriggle under with him.

If there was any question that he felt the same way - it’s answered.

#cod #thoughts™️#my writing #fanfiction #ragdoll!reader #siberian mix!konig

1K notes · View notes

sanjifucker42069 · 7 months

Text

Peaches

Sanji keeps finding you sneaking food. Just what are you hiding?

Note; girl, rats are cute, and Sanji’s association with rats melts my heart 🥺🥺🥺

Word count: 1416

The third time Sanji caught you sneaking food out of the larder is when he grew suspicious.

"Do I not feed you enough love?" He interrogated, You jumped, hands holding onto your small bag. It had to be past midnight. You turned to him looking mildly terrified, eyes scanning for an exit plan. Sanji quirked a perfect brow when you didn't respond. "Well?"

Nothing. You drew close the bag in your hands, peeking in one last time. You seemed so skittish tonight. What were you hiding? Sanji didn't have time to consider what before you shot upright, speaking a mile a minute.

"HAHAHA! I'm sorry Sanji, you got me! I was feeling extra peckish tonight HAHAHA!" You slapped at your leg as if he told you the world's funniest joke, before robotically moving to the door. "Well I've had my fill so I'll just be going back to bed. It won't happen again. Good night Sanji."

"Hold it." He ordered. You froze, a visible sweat on your brow. You let out a little whimper. He softened, and with a sigh, motioned to the table. With palpable dejection, you made your way to the table, ready to be scolded. "Love, you know I keep a thorough inventory of our food. Normally I'd think you were giving it to Luffy, but there's hardly any food going missing. So what's going on?"

You twiddled with your thumbs. "I was just a little hungry." You were still avoiding his gaze. Sanji wasn't convinced.

"Love, I'm not going to be mad."

"Yeah you are..." Your voice was soft, trailing off. Sanji sighed, pulling out a smoke and hurriedly lighting it. He took a long drag to calm himself. Why would you ever think he'd be mad at you? He honestly felt a little heartbroken that you didn't trust him.

"Love-"

Squeak.

You flustered. Sanji narrowed his eyes, blowing out a plume of smoke.

"What was that?"

"My stomach?" You tried, clearly nervous.

"Try again."

You sighed, bringing the bag up to rest on the table. He saw you fiddle with the drawstring. Upon hearing you hum, he stared, seeing you looking at him through lidded eyes. "Promise not to be mad?"

Yeah yeah whatever to get you to stop breaking his heart with those puppy eyes, he thought. Instead he said, "I could never be, love."

You undid the drawstring. Opening the bag another squeak rang out, echoing in the silent kitchen. You cringed. For a few seconds nothing happened, and Sanji could feel himself growing antsy. Then, a small grey head popped up, whiskers twitching.

A rat!!?!?!

"Her name is Peaches." You muttered. Sanji was shocked, staring at the little creature before him. 'Peaches' seemed to stare back at him, holding her dainty paws in front of her as she rose to two feet. Sanji noted the small yellow ribbon adorning her. And, was that a tiny bandage around her ankle?

"Huh." He mused, taking a drag. As he blew another plume of smoke, the rat squeaked.

"I'm sorry Sanji. I knew you'd be mad if you found out we had rats, but I swear it's only Peaches, I found her on the ship last week. She had a bad ankle. I saw her crawl onto the ship from the docks. Normally I'd put her back but she was hurting and....I just couldn't leave her there to die."

Peaches moved closer to Sanji, staring at him. If Sanji fed into his delusions he could swear the rat was studying him.

"She's clean I promise!" You cringed at how loud you were. Moving to a quieter tone you looked at Peaches. "She had a bath. She's actually really chill."

"So she's why you're sneaking morsels?"

You nodded. He sighed. Sanji weirdly felt his heart swell. You'd save a little rat on death's door? You were a pirate. Your gentleness always stood out to him, but the way you pet the little rat, cooing at it had him feel his heart race. You reached out and grabbed his hands. He stared at the gesture, cigarette hanging from his mouth limply. He dragged his eyes up to meet yours, startled at how determined you look.

"I'm sorry. I'll stop sneaking food. But I won't get rid of Peaches." You shook his hands for emphasis. "I promise she won't come into the kitchen! Just...please don't tell anyone."

"You want her around? Even if I don't?" He asked. You met him with a fiery stare.

"I'm sorry you feel that way. But yeah... You're dear to me, but this little creature deserves empathy too, and she's not hurting anyone." Peaches squeaked as if to back up your claim.

Out of all the scenarios, you didn't expect Sanji to give you that soft smile and remove a hand. You watched with bated breath as he instead set his sights on Peaches, holding his hand out.

Peaches sniffed his hand experimentally. Clearly she judged him to be safe, as she crawled into his hand. Your heart stopped at how soft Sanji looked. He spoke around the cigarette, staring down at the little rat.

"You're too sweet." His eyes flicked up to yours. "It doesn't worry me. So long as she isn't a nuisance in the kitchen, it really doesn't matter to me. It's sweet that you are so dedicated to her." Peaches crawled up Sanji's arm, settling on his shoulder. He gave a lopsided smile. Sanji removed the cigarette from his mouth. "She's cute. Y'know some of the first meals I ever made were for rats."

You stared at him. "Really?"

He laughed, a faraway look in his eyes. "Yeah, they're cute, and they're not picky eaters...but let's not talk about that" He peeked towards Peaches. "So what's your favourite then, miss?"

When Sanji looked back at you he was stunned at how wide your smile was, tears in your eyes. "She likes cake, it's not good for her. She does like apples though."

"Apples?" He laughed, disbelief clear in his tone. "Not Peaches?"

You blushed. Sanji felt his heart skip a beat at your blush. "Oh. There was a book I read as a kid, it had a rat named Peaches."

"Hmm, an apple cake then? I'll make you one when you're better Peaches to celebrate, okay?" He reached back over and grabbed your hand. You stared into his eyes, their soft warmth drawing you in. "Love, you're too nice, y'know? I don't know any other pirate who'd cry over a rat." You started to bluster but he shushed you. "It's not a bad thing. You're a good person."

Sanji went to take a drag from his cigarette when he felt tiny hands snatch it from his grasp. He gasped, offended. The two of you watched as the little rat skittered down Sanji's arm, cigarette bitten sideways.

"Peaches!" You scolded. Peaches pointedly avoided you, taking the cigarette back into both hands and stubbing it out. You laughed. "Oh Sanji, I'm so sorry. I guess she doesn't like smoke!"

Sanji joined in, laughing freely. "Guess not. Lucky she's cute. You too." You felt your blush darken. Sanji rose to his feet, giving you a wink. "How 'bout some tea? Maybe something for the little one too, yeah?"

You nodded, heart missing a beat at ‘little one’. Sanji rounded the table, pulling you into a side hug. You felt him place a featherlight kiss on your hair. As quick as it started it stopped, and the man headed to the kitchen. The domesticity was killing you. Peaches gave you a pointed look. You stuck your tongue out at her.

"Sanji?" You asked quietly. The man hummed in response, placing the kettle on to boil. "Thank you. You're a good man."

Sanji smiled. "You're too kind, love."

You rose to join the man, quickly glueing yourself to his side. Sanji welcomed you in, arm wrapping around your shoulder. You snuggled into his side. The two of you basking in each other. You pulled his tie lightly coaxing him to your level. With a smile, you kissed his cheek gently. Sanii blushed lightly, stunned by your actions. Behind you the kettle whistled. The two of you sharing the same thought:

I could get used to this.

And so the three of you settled in for a late night, an odd storybook tea party: a gentle chef with a hidden past, a sensitive pirate with a heart of gold, and a little rat with a dislike of smoke.

#sanji x reader #black leg sanji x reader #i actually formatted this one properly lmao #vinsmoke sanji x reader #opla x reader #one piece x reader #i couldnt help myself i had to post this one too ;-; promise ill spread em out more from now #fluff #ill go back and format good boy properly in the morning its 5am rn lmaooooooo

550 notes · View notes

vidavalor · 3 months

Text

(Non-Frozen) Peas. A Good Omens Sex Meta Thing Side Dish

Shorter little vegetable-themed side dish to Crepes, which you do not have to have read first. All by way of Aziraphale's dirty French in S2 about how he has a craving for Crowley's Eden.

*slips into GO fandom quietly* *whispers*

Do you all realize that another translation of Aziraphale's "Ou est la plume de la jardiniere de ma tante?" is...

"Where is the feathered garden box of my queen?"

I probably don't need to tell you that both 'garden' and 'box' are sexual euphemisms for lady parts and, to make matters funnier, remind you of this scene earlier in the season, in which a literal box became related to... well, it's somewhat open to interpretation so let's just call it a gasp-worthy, part-related situation. :)

"Where is the feathered garden box of my queen?" is Aziraphale saying that it's been a minute since he worshipped Lady Crowley and he misses her.

This would account for Aziraphale's impish "but you understood me" and flirty little smile and wiggles. He's so cute about it that Nina comes out of her coffee shop to try to hear what they're talking about that's made the bookseller look so alive and has Snarky Sunglasses all flustered.

Crowley's "Only because, for two hundred and fifty years, you've been wittering on about the plume of your imaginary 'tante.'" = "Only because, ever since you took French lessons the human way, I've had to listen to you euphemistically referring to my occasional wild flower garden and calling me your queen in two different languages and I love to hate how much I absolutely love it."

We know that Crowley did understand Aziraphale and not just because he also speaks French but because his traditional choices in translating it back to Aziraphale in protest-- "you don't have an aunt, she doesn't have a gardener and he doesn't have a... pen"-- is intentionally a bit incorrect because Aziraphale used the feminine French word for 'gardener'-- la jardiniere-- in his sentence. As a result, Crowley is protesting that "the gardener" is a he right now, Aziraphale, and he doesn't have a-- pause of 'wait, this isn't going to work if I translate 'plume' as 'feathers'-- euphemistic or literal-- as I have both so I'll go with the other thing the word means instead'--... pen.

(Which winds up even funnier since a pen is phallic and euphemistic, in this sense, for currently having a penis, which is actually Crowley's current state of effort in that moment. Hold those thoughts until we get to turnips and inkwells down below lol.)

A 'plume' in French is a pen, a feather, a quill, and a cloud of rising smoke. In Good Omens, it's also used in the smoke-like definition by Michael to describe the pink plume of magical energy that came from the bookshop when Crowley and Aziraphale miracled together. Crowley responded with 'pen'-- which is a riff on the fact that Aziraphale is riffing on "la plume de ma tante", a cliched line said derogatorily to mean 'those sentences that you learn when you learn a new language that you'd never say in real life.' Crowley used 'aunt', 'gardener' and 'pen' as the translation in reference to the cliche Aziraphale was referencing. Aziraphale, though, adjusted the line, as we saw-- adding words to it to make it a stealth, flirty request-- and Crowley did hear the innuendo. Crowley correctly heard Aziraphale using 'plume' in the 'feather' sense (hilariously, considering that they have actual feathers in their angel/demon forms lol), with the 'feather'-context 'plume' being euphemistic for Crowley keeping it real down below.

(It could be worse, Crowley. He could be in a blasphemous mood and referring to it as "The Burning Bush"... which I feel like you'd actually find hilarious but anyway, moving on...)

In English, appropriated from the French, a 'jardiniere' is a flower box/garden planter. 'Tante' is French for 'aunt' but it's also a word meaning both 'queen'/'pansy' in the queer sense of the words (a 'pansy' also being a kind of flower, of course, adding to the Eden motif that "*the* Southern Pansy" Aziraphale has going on for his gardener partner here) but 'tante' is also one of the words that just means 'queen' as well, in the 'regal' sense of the word. It might not be the first word Aziraphale would use if he were, instead, speaking a sentence in French about, say, Queen Camilla-- but it's maybe a more appropriate one for flirting with his gender-everything partner by telling him in French that it's been too long since he spent some quality time with his queen's jardiniere.

'A la jardiniere' is also a French cooking term. It translates as "in the manner of the gardener's wife" (Gabriel: "Whatever that is."). It is obviously an archaic-sounding term when it comes to gender but, for the purposes of metaphor here, it's actually a little useful. The phrase is born out of the idea that the chef would be male, straight and married and that his wife would be keeping their kitchen garden-- which, even though she was probably running it, is credited to him, because the patriarchy-- from which fresh vegetables could easily be picked and used in a dish. As such, it's a lot more fun that Aziraphale is using the French here because the actual gardener doing the garden work in the definition of 'jardiniere' is specifically female by the term's description, so it's another way to reference Crowley's femininity.

There's also, of course, that "in the manner of the gardener's wife" is about as porny a definition for a phrase that can possibly be translated from one language to another lol and so adds to the idea of 'jardiniere' being sexually euphemistic. Atop that, there's the fact that the word itself relates food to romance and sex by referring to the chef and the gardener as married in its definition. The second half of this scene is the Nina & Crowley "partners" conversation. In a season that has Crowley and Aziraphale unable to deal with words like 'couple' and 'partners', if only Maggie and Nina understood that maybe they don't know how to use traditional words but damned if Aziraphale isn't already on covertly calling Crowley his spouse when flirting with him.

While 'a la jardiniere' is a cooking term, 'la jardiniere/jardiniere' is also a French food term. It is a side dish or a garnish of mixed vegetables, usually spring garden vegetables. So, carrots, green beans, potatoes (Crowley: "You say 'potato', I say 'excellent'" lol), turnips (Aziraphale can turn garden variety sex into inkwells!-- haha 'garden' pun, get it? please send help-- and inkwells are the things one dips a quill pen into.... and, now, we're back to the 'pen' translation of 'la plume...').

The most signature vegetables of jardiniere, though, are peas.

As Crowley would tell Shax and anyone who will listen, literal ducks-the-water-fowl need not get their actual jardiniere defrosted.

Aziraphale-- the more discerning duck-- likes his hot, though.

~~~

If you have not already and would like to read more meta like this:

#ineffable husbands #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens 2 #good omens meta #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #good omens s2 #genderfluid crowley

247 notes · View notes