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#re: finale synopsis
aajjks · 3 months
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eyes on me (m)
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synopsis. look at him, only him, especially when he’s fucking you dumb.
warnings. êxplïcït sěx, döm!töjï, fèm!réàdèr, däddy kïnk, MÄTŪRE THÊMÊS, cússïng, prâïsê kïnk, röügh s-x, möänïng, gröǎnïng, ünprötêctêd s-x, bïtïng, yändêrê töjï, [wräp ït bêförě yöu täp ït], b-lly bǔlgè.
header art by @jj59u on twt. It’s not mine.
note. happy new year 🫶🏻💌✨ please re-blog as much as you can and please share feedback ENJOY!
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Oh you look so erotic like this.
You’re both so sweaty, you’re crying, he’s smirking, going so fast, hammering into your heat, Toji can’t stop looking at you at all.
You’re so shy despite literally drooling in his cock but you’re just so adorable- hiding your face away in his neck, whimpering like a kitten in the cold while he’s buried deep inside you.
Your nails are digging so deep into his naked back, your breathy moans are like music to him, and he’s already about to cum as he feels your walls clench tighter around him.
“Gonna cum, my pretty slut?” He asks you so tenderly, pressing butterfly kisses into your messed up hair, Toji hisses a little when you dig your nails deeper but the pain only makes his dick harder.
So he doesn’t waste a second to pick up his already fast pace, he knows you’re about to cum because you always get so quite, too lost in the pleasure to respond or comprehend anything around you.
He is fucking you dumb on his cock.
And he’s doing exactly that right now too. “Come on pretty baby speak up.” Toji whispers in a sultry voice in your ear and he doesn’t miss the way goosebumps appear on your skin, and the sight makes him smile.
Because your shoulder and neck are filled with his bite marks, “yn..” he calls out your name once again, panting alot, he’s made sure to make you cum at least two times.
Because you are his princess, you may be a little bratty but he loves you so much, Tojis hips are grinding into the air and he’s got you safe in his arms, your cunt is so hot around him, he feels like he’ll burst, just then you finally lift your head up and that makes him so happy because he can see your pretty eyes.
Toji is kissing you up from the valley of your breasts, his lips all over them, you’re so soft and so pretty.
“w-wanna cum, daddy.” You whimper, and he coos, pulling you for a rough sloppy kiss, his teeth nibble on the meat of your lower lip.
He’s about to cum too.
“S-So fuckin pretty.” He groans, It’s his turn to bury his face into your shoulder, he’s enjoying the lewd sounds that’s echoing through out your large bedroom, he’s missed you so much.
His biceps flex as he’s fucking you like his life depends on it, maybe because he wants you to get so addicted to him.
“O-Oh daddy… feels so good- ah.” Youre hugging him tightly. Toji feels so calm when his body is into yours, it’s so intimate yet calming.
“You fuck me ‘so good.” Your praise actually has his head spinning so now he’s literally bullying his dick into your pussy, crying out curses and what not.
He loves you so much.
He knows he’s got a very filthy mouth but he knows you love it so much, because it’s not long before you’re literally creaming in his cock, crying with literal tears, moaning in pleasure.
Your shy self is long gone and you’re a loud moaning mess.
You sound like a slut- his favorite slut.
“Noooo baby come on- look into daddy’s eyes.” He is forcing your head up again before you can hide again and his large fingers hold your face up so you’re looking straight into his eyes.
Your eyes are the best thing about you.
He smirks when he spots your belly bulge, you take him so well every time.
Your body is made for him.
“Eyes on me so daddy c-can cum, baby.”
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halcyone-of-the-sea · 9 months
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Hello! I've read your soap and price fics and you are amazing!!!
I had an idea for a fic for Ghost. The reader would be Soaps slightly older sister who isnt like Johnny at all. Im thinking she either picks up soap from base after an op or from the bar. I'll leave alot of this up to you but i just wanna see Soaps Sister meeting Ghost!!
Brother's Coworker
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PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Soap's Sister!Reader
SYNOPSIS: In the dim illumination of the streetlights, Ghost lays eyes on a woman leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp.
WORDCOUNT: 4.2k
WARNINGS: Little bit of angst, but mostly fluff and pre-relationship pining, loads of sibling banter, conflicting emotions, etc.
A/N: Finally able to use my sibling experiences for a fic lmfao, enjoy!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
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The woman was leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp, the custom color a deep forest green along the sides and a cream white coating the upper third. Ghost stared at her as the rest of the men filed out of the bar one after the other—Johnny and Gaz being especially loud. He blinks slowly, hands inside his blackened pockets.
Across the way, your ears perk slowly at the sound of rapturous shouts, but you only continue to look down the sidewalk at the long illuminations of street lamps and the glints of broken bottles on the ground. Over your chest, your hands shift in their hold on your biceps, your thin jacket crinkling. Light dances in your irises.
“Oi, is that who I think it is?!” Familiar Scottish drawl brings a smirk to your face, and you turn slowly to huff, snapping out of your silent thoughts. 
“Who else would it be, ya bloody git,” your voice carries, but it lacks the sheer volume of your brother’s; the great boom that reminds you of the bombs he’d used to make out of your mother’s hair spray bottles. 
Never a dull day in your childhood home, really.
“‘Bout gave me a heart attack, not answerin’ my calls like that!” Johnny laughs loudly, obviously drunk, and stumbles over merrily. You’re taken into a chest-breaking hug in mere moments, leaving you squirming with a deep grunt. “Should have your head, MacTavish.” You manage to squeak out, “Put me the fuck down, you horror. And what in the hell have you done to your hair?!”
“Oh, my dear sister.” Your brother lets you go as the three other men slink over, amused with the scene but some momentarily confused by the sudden introduction. Gaz laughs, and the Captain huffs a chuckle before fixing the position of his beanie on his head. 
Ghost, as always, chooses to watch like a looming shadow above the rest. 
Johnny puts a hand to his chest, the other remaining on your shoulder, “You wound me. Such cruelty stuck in your black soul; I say now, mother was always right—”
You smack the side of his head and Johnny grunts. 
“Ow!” He yells, glaring at you. “What the fuck?!” 
“Open your mouth again and I’ll wring you out, you arse. You know I will.” Grumbling, the Scot rubs the side of his head as you raise a brow at him. The stare-off lasts for a decent bit, and before the rest of the group knows what’s going on, the two of you are embracing each other once more; laughing loudly. 
Ghost’s eyebrows pull in slowly.
“Ah, it’s good to be back!” Johnny chuckles, holding you close as you pat his back.
“Of course, I’d find my kid brother at a damn pub on his first day home.” Taking a step away from the hulk of a boy, you brush down your shirt and jacket with a scoff. Looking up, you come to face the remaining men with an exasperated look. “He’s full of shite half the time, y’know, now. Can’t imagine what he puts you all through.”
“Bloody hell, Soap, you were holding out on us,” Gaz chuckles loudly, sticking out a hand for you to shake while he glances at the mohawked Scot who looks giddy despite being insulted by who’s very obviously his older sister. “Never knew you had siblings, Mate.” You take the man’s hand as he smiles brightly at you. 
“Kyle.” He says, and you beam back, “But Gaz’ll do just fine.”
“A pleasure,” your voice carries to John who you raise a brow at teasingly. “Well, look who the Reaper’s yet to drag down…Good to see you again, Captain.”
Price shakes his head, a smirk peeling his lips as Gaz steps back. 
“Still on that land of yours, then, Love?” The brunette asks gruffly, leaning back on his heels for a moment while you sag your side into Johnny’s arm. Your brother scoffs and loops his limb over the bridge of your shoulders as you nod. 
“You know it. Proper quiet when the neighbors aren’t up to a ruckus racin’ down the streets. Christ, those kids are devils—worse than Johnny and I when we were young.”
“Now that’s hard to believe, eh?” The man beside you laughs through his slurred words and you roll your eyes. 
Chuckling in return, you blink, spying on the intent black figure behind everyone else. Piercing brown eyes dig past flesh like a scalpel while you tilt your head to the side, interest alighting behind your skull. He doesn’t move or even greet you, just looks over you and then turns his attention to the street like a roaming bear would; hell, he certainly could be a bear with how big he was. Bigger than Johnny, even. 
This stranger wears a large brown leather jacket, the hood of his underclothes pulled up to cover most of the pale skin that would otherwise be visible. The long swish of light lashes captures you as you study the way he blinks slowly across the road. On his chin and on the top of his forehead, the fabric of a skeletal-painted balaclava shrouds him. Cargo pants and large black combat boots sit on his feet. 
He stands like a statue. 
“Who’s this then?” You call easily, and those eyes travel back to you even as the head doesn’t. It’s strange the way you seem to brush aside the blatant intimidation he exudes simply by standing.
“Ah,” John grunts, chuckling, before stepping to the side. “Simon, introduce yourself.” 
A low voice lowly wafts after a moment to silence, Manchester accent spearing you in the ears with its rough make-up, “Ghost.” 
You blink over at the Captain, but he just shakes his head and you move on. Johnny chuckles and whispers to you, “Don’t mind ‘em, Lt’s a bit rough around the edges.”
Plastering on a polite smile, your chin moves in a nod, “Pleasure to meet you, Ghost. Good to know the other two who look after Johnny out there.” The man beside you feels his face burn, free hand going to itch at his neck.
Ghost grunts and shrugs off the veiled praise, large muscles stiff.
“You’re actin’ like I’m not the one savin’ their skins half the time,” Gaz interjects on the Scot’s point.
“Is that what you call it?” You share an amused glance at John. 
Though, your eyes always sway back to Ghost, or Simon, depending on who you ask. He listens to the chatter, obviously, but he seems much more content to only stay with his hands inside of his pockets and study the street for...what exactly? The beast wasn’t shy, no, just…silent. If you didn’t know better you’d call him aggressively casual with the way his shoulders sit.
Stance relaxed but the underlying threat was palpable on the wind. Like a wolf rubbing his cheeks on the ancient trees of his territory. ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ - it seems his very DNA states that.
Brown eyes suddenly lock with your own as if snapping into place and before you can release a squeak of alarm, you swiftly dart your gaze away back to the arguing Sergeants; face burning.
Christ, how long had you been staring at him?
“Alright, you two, ease off it!” Trying to distract yourself, you wave a hand. “You’re both too drunk to be gettin’ into street fights at this hour. Johnny, into the car ya fool.” 
Your brother slashes you with a grin.
“Fuckin’ finally, a decent bed!” It was tradition to give Johnny the spare room when he was back home—proper meals. 
“You’re callin’ mother, y’know.” You unlock your car and motion to the passenger seat with a frown. “I dinnae care if you’re trapped for hours—give the woman a rest of all her worrying.” 
“You heard the woman, Sergeant,” John forces the gravel out of his throat, rubbing at his beard. Something hits your chest as your brother opens his door as you stand in the cold. You glance at each man in turn; eyebrows pulling in with thought.
“Ah, what the hell,” your voice huffs out. Ghost watches you closely, blinking as he lifts a hand to itch at his neck from under his hood. The leather jacket crumples with tiny shifts of worn-out material. 
“Don’t suppose you boys need any good beds to rest your heads on for the night?” Wiggling your keys, you pat the top of your Hillman as you slide to the driver's side. Johnny slinks inside his own and chuckles as he closes the barrier with a careful thunk. 
“Hospitality finally leakin’ in?”
“Next time I hit ya,” you send him a bland look, “I’ll aim for the neck.” Fake flinching towards him, the man squeaks and snaps quickly back into the car door as you snicker lively. 
“Beast!” Johnny exclaims. You roll your eyes and shimmy down the window behind him, calling out as the rest share glances.
“Get in if you’re comin’ over! If not all the food I made yesterday’ll go to waste!” That seemed to get Gaz into the back, with only Price and Simon left behind. 
Brown meets blue and John’s beard pulls back with a smirk. He clears his throat, “Well, I’m not one to spit in her face.” The Captain walks over and grunts as he bends down. 
Ghost sighs under his breath and follows, impartial as to where this night is going. He wouldn’t sleep tonight, no doubt. The hard and unforgiving beds on base were the only things he could rest on now save the ground. And food? He could go without food for days.
Though, being Johnny’s sister bought you some favor, trust wasn’t something that Simon gave around freely. But the car you drove was nice, and the company of his Task Force was easy to basque in until they shipped out again. 
Simon sits down on the refurbished seat and softly closes the door behind him. Dead-eyed, he stares at Johnny’s headrest as you glance at him from the rearview mirror—seeing his shoulder dig into the glass of the window. 
You shove down a joke and hum. “Good, then, it’ll free my fridge at the very least.” 
“Thank you, Ma’am,” Gaz offers as you start up the engine, “it’s awfully nice of you to do this for us.”
“Ah,” Simon hears you dismiss as he turns to stare out of the window; so often feeling his gaze drawn back to you as a leaf attached to a tree might act. “Don’t worry your head about it. I like the company.” 
“Aye, just how she is,” Johnny says earnestly. “Was always the one to let me over with my pals when the football games were over—’cept we were usually covered in mud.”
“I’m still finding grass in my rugs, Johnny Boy,” you mumble, focusing on the road as a slight squeaking emanates from the front of the car. Simon picks up on it easily, not preoccupied with speaking. He glances at you but mentions nothing beyond a shuffling of his thighs. 
Outside the land slides past in shades of verdant green and gray as the town falls away. 
He was confused, rightly. You’d seen his standoffish nature but had chosen to extend hospitality as the old Greeks did just off a growl of his name. But maybe it was just because he was your brother’s coworker. 
Simon grunts to himself and rubs at his wrist. Throughout the ride, the two of you would glance at each other and try to forget that you had; when the long driveway of a large secluded home expands out above the car, Gaz whistles lowly.
“Bloody hell, Ma’am,” he states and John chuckles. You easily smile and roll your eyes. 
“Trust me, it was more work than it was worth.” Ghost’s attention is slightly peaked.
“You worked on it?” His tone implies he doesn’t care, but his eyes gore into the mirror to lock with your own. Blinking in surprise, even the others seem to be taken aback by the man's lack of venom in his speech. 
Ghost wasn’t afraid to speak his mind when he needed to, but he didn’t do mindless chatter. Your eyes cycle between the driveway and the masked Brit before you clear your throat. Johnny glances at you with a raised brow, slight confusion in his brows. 
“Mostly—left the nasty bits to people more knowledgeable than I am, but I did most of the grunt work, eh?” Simon hums as the car pulls to a stop inside the garage, eyes not leaving the back of your head. 
Your neck bristles at the sensation of unrelenting contact, but the burning that joins it is telltale. Licking your lips you twist the keys out and quickly shuffle out of the door to dispel the electricity in the air. 
“Alright,” you say, “out. All of ya…Johnny, you’ll be helping me with the bedding.” 
A groan is cut by an unimpressed glare. “...Yes, Ma’am.”
You huff and smirk. 
“Trainin’ him well I see,” teasing John as they all file out of the car, he shakes his head at the two of you as Simon scoffs. Gaz openly laughs as Soap’s offended look grows. 
You all enter the house as you direct them to the kitchen after they’ve taken off their boots and hung their jackets. “It’s all in the fridge, heat what you want, and don’t bother fightin’ Johnny if he takes too much. Tell me and I’ll make him sleep in the back near the chickens.” Your voice tells them as you pat your brother on the shoulder. 
Johnny grumbles and kisses the top of your head. “You’re horrible to me,” He jokes but his eyes shimmer with affection. As you leave to get a head start on the rooms, you smile and call out to him.
“That’s my job!” 
Backing out into the hallway, you leave with a deep well of happiness in you. You don’t even realize that the party had only contained three men instead of four until you’re in the linen closet and a shadow suddenly blacks out the light from the bulbs. Jumping slightly, your head swivels as you carry very many sheets and pillowcases in your grip. 
“Oh,” you mumble through cotton, smile growing as the flip in your stomach does, “Ghost! Done eating already?” 
The man is still and silent as he glances from your face to the sheets. Without a word, he halves the load and steals them as your jaw loosens in shock.
“Johnny’s outside callin’ your mum.” Ghost turns and walks out, but waits for you in the hallway to be directed. 
You push down the tightness to your throat and see the man’s feet shift on the hardwood. He looks funny, such a big man carrying bed sheets. His actions make your heart speed up. Brown eyes blink at you like a cat. 
“Well,” you chuckle, “always was one to get out of housework.” Trying a smidge more, you shift past him and turn off the light. “His barracks room dirty?”
“Pigsty.” Simon blandly states, walking slightly behind you. Your pace slows so you can stay beside him. He side-eyes you but says nothing. 
Leaning in slightly, you quip as Ghost tenses, “Can’t say I’m surprised. The man’s used to me bailin’ him out.” Chuckling, you go into the first bedroom and put everything on the bed. 
Simon grabs the pillows and starts to dress them quickly and efficiently. 
“But thank you,” you say, and the Brit pauses to look up at you, something swirling in his murky gaze. Earnestly, you tilt your head with a smile. “Ya can go back and eat more if you want. No need to help—you’re a guest.”
“Not hungry,” is all he answers, and gets back to work. You watch for a moment, perplexed, but not at all about to deny the assistance. A genuine grin twitches your lips. 
“Johnny writes about you, y’know,” your fingers pull at the fabric and you chuckle as Ghost’s incredulous look turns to you—face hidden but confusion is obviously seen. “Says he looks up to you quite a bit; something about Mexico.” 
Your face dips slightly, and Simon’s body stills. Along the pillow, his grip carefully tightens. He can’t find it in himself to walk out of the door and stand outside even if he knows he should. 
“I really can’t imagine what it’s like,” you mutter, shaking your head. Gazing at him, you study his wound muscles and secret flesh like a tapestry—wondering if he hides himself because of the safe anonymity or a sense of numb fear. 
He wouldn’t admit to either, you know. But something about Simon had captured your attention and now you had a face, or just a body really, to put to the written name like a puzzle piece. 
You take a long breath, “But you’ll never know how grateful I am.” 
By the way his chest stops moving and his body goes frozen, you think you hit something inside of him; the minute widening of his eyelids like pedals opening in the light. Simon peers at your expression, his eyes sliding from one point to another. 
Like he can’t really pinpoint what you want. 
Ironic really, because you didn’t want anything. 
“Don’t thank me,” is what he settles on, moving back to the pillow as if your words hadn’t stabbed him. “Johnny knows what he’s doing.”
Your small snort enters the air above the sliding sheets. “There’s no argument there.” A sigh echoes as you finish up, putting your hands on your hips. Across the bed, you two stare as Simon tosses down the pillows. The remainder of the sheets sit on the end of the bed. 
The man’s eyes narrow on you, and he clenches his jaw under his balaclava. 
“The only thing that I do know is that every time my brother comes back he smiles less than he did before.” You side-eye him seriously as you move. “I can only guess what all of it does to the others who don’t have anyone else to go back to.”
Simon’s breath halts in his chest before he finds the means to take down a slow inhale. Brown eyes glare intently, jaw tight, but it’s not the fire that gets to you…it’s the lack thereof.
Ghost doesn’t like this feeling, and your candidness was something he hadn’t expected.
“So,” you drawl, “I’m thanking you for giving him someone to joke around with—a distraction,” a teasing smirk, “no matter how blunt.” 
“I just told you—”
“Well, I don’t bloody care, do I?” Huffing, you smirk and tip your head back before snatching the rest of the sheets. “C’mon, we have three more rooms.” 
Simon watches you leave and tries to fight the rampage in his chest; the merciless slam of his heart to his ribcage. What had you done to him? A hand comes up and rubs into the bridge of his nose, fingers heavy and tight. 
What in the hell was going on? 
Growling under his breath, Ghost stalks out of the room only to see your back disappear into the next. In the hallway, he takes a long inhale and closes his eyes to steady himself. 
“Fuckin’ hell,” the man grunts. The tension in his shoulders was plainly visible. 
For the remainder of the room, Ghost would send you tight glances as he worked but didn’t utter another peep. You had taken his voice, or what little left of it there was. 
In many ways, you were like your loudmouth brother—your snark and your stubbornness. But you were different too. 
He feels his eyes trail down your form slowly from time to time. Capable; hardy. Simon blinked away and grunted under his breath aggressively. 
When everyone was done with their food and Johnny had come back in from his call to his mother, with a soft smile on his face, you knew it was time for bed. 
“Alright,” you strut into the kitchen with Ghost on your heels—his large arms crossed over his chest as he caught Soap's intense stare. The Lieutenant's brow raises, but Johnny only frowns in conspiracy before he looks over to you and itches at his chin. “Beds are made. You can all thank Simon for that, seein’ as Johnny used our mother as an excuse yet again.”
“And she was very pleased to hear from me!” Your brother points to you.
“She’s our mother,” you deadpan, “It’s her job to be, ya arse-face.” 
The boys all follow you down the halls as you point to the rooms. Gaz shakes your hand again and gives you a tiny hug in thanks while John pats your shoulder and calls a soft, “Goodnight, Sweetheart.” 
Both close their doors and you hear the large sighs through the wood. You have to wonder when they’d had a good bed to sleep on and a good meal. Last was your brother and Ghost, the latter of which kisses your head and hugs you tightly. 
“It’s good to see you, truly. Been missing you, little Hen. Thanks for lettin’ me over all the time when I’m home.” You melt and grip his shirt. 
“You’ll always have a place here, you know that. One call away…Now go to sleep. You smell like a pub.” He lightly chuckles against you. With a bond this tight, the two of you never had to say that you loved each other—it was just known.
Johnny squeezes you one last time before pulling away and slinking into his room, giving an unrecognizable glance to Ghost on his way in before the barrier slips into place with a quiet thunk of wood. The two of you look at and stare for a moment. 
“Lucky you,” your voice is quiet but easy to hear, “you get the room with a view of the field.” 
“Color me surprised,” he mutters, not looking enthusiastic. Against the tone, the look makes your mouth jerk in a laugh, and you cover your lips after a moment. 
Simon’s eyes unconsciously soften. 
You wave a hand, chest light, “Let’s go then, you brute.”
“Brute?” Simon grumbles, “Gettin’ familiar?” 
“Please,” you shake your head and walk to the last door in this section of the house. “You all became familiar the second we met.” 
The man rolls his eyes but has his smirk hidden as you open the door for him. He tilts his head in thanks and strolls inside.
You hum, crossing your arms ahead of you and leaning on the doorframe as he looks around, “Don’t think too much over it… The baseline is, you’ll always have a bed here if you need it.” 
Ghost slips out, “What are you? Bloody boarding house?” The swelling in his chest made his words harsher than intended, but you just smile cheekily at him as eyes lock.
“Hell’s bells, if you want ta’ get me a business card just go ahead and print ‘em off already. I’ve no problem with it.” He stares and you laugh, shrugging. “Makes me feel good.”
Splaying your hands, you back out. 
“I know you probably won’t sleep,” Simon pauses, feeling caught but not showing it. “Libraries down the hall—if you smoke, use the back door. Kitchen is free game.”  
“Why?” He asks and you blink, confused.
“Well, why not?” Simon glares.
“You shouldn’t trust people like that.” A loud laugh echoes and makes the man annoyed with you.
“Simon,” you say, and he finds himself hanging on every word that falls from your lips in the moonlight. “Not everyone is out to get you. If you’re friends of Johnny’s, then you’re friends of mine. That boy can sniff a cheat faster than a hound can find a hare.” Perhaps it was the way his shoulders went back at that, or how his brows loosened, but you finish off with a soft explanation. “You’re safe under this roof.”
You wondered, not for that last time that night, if he’d ever been told that. From how his balaclava moved with a sharp jerk of his jaw, you assumed never. It made your lungs hurt. 
With a few more seconds of quiet gazing you nod and move back. 
“Goodnight, Simon.” You leave him staring at the door as you close it—eyes boring into the grain so harshly they might catch fire. 
Ghost doesn’t know how long he stays like that, but his ears twitch at the echo of running water and soundless footsteps. He should leave, he tells himself; this is dangerous, a voice hisses. It’s not safe here, how could it be? There were no guards—no weapons. If someone were to sneak in there wouldn’t be an alarm. 
A secluded home. Nothing around. 
Then why had your words seeped into him?
“You’re safe under this roof.” Simon closes his eyes harshly.
In the morning once everyone’s gone back to the base, you admit you don’t know if you’ll see Simon again; you probably won’t. But you find that you can live with that. The memory of his loosening tension is all you need to feel special in your own right. Those brown eyes that, if but for a moment, had bled so effortlessly feelings of something other than blood and death. 
As you sigh a dreamy chuckle to yourself, you get ready for the day before heading to your Hillman. The silent drive to work joins with the strange mix of weight and levitation to your chest. But halfway into town, it hits you. 
Silent.
There is an obvious lack of squeaking from under the hood of your car as you slide along the countryside. 
The smile doesn’t leave your face for weeks.
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shooting-love-arrows · 5 months
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𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎'𝐬! 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃
SYNOPSIS: It was a beginning of a new day for 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 and he'd make damn sure it was just as perfect as every other one. PAIRING: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 x reader (gender not specified) tw. possessive/obessive behaviour, control problems, decieving, yandere tendencies. A/N: It is an Alternative Univerese and based on a scene from a TV series "Amazing Mrs Maisel"
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He had to be quick and sleek. 
It was early in the morning, just some time before your alarm clock would ring. It was the sunrays that woke 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 up, bringing him back into the heaven on Earth he has come to know by your side. It’s a little trick he does the night before by leaving the curtains slightly open, since he couldn’t set an alarm clock himself.
You can’t know his little secret. 
So with one look filled with tenderness and love thrown at you, under the cloak of the early hours and shielded by you sleeping like a rock, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 sneaked out of your warm, shared bed.
He shivered, feeling cold only wearing his nylon*, frilly nightwear. Goosebumps appeared on his skin which he currently had no time to take care of.
"The winter is coming alright." 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 thought, noticing how the windows in their bedroom frosted. He made a mental note to turn on the central heating as soon as go downstairs. But that’s for later, for now he carefully maneuvered his way to the bathroom right by your bedroom. 
The magic happened after he quietly closed the door, for now separating you from him. Left alone, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 began to make himself presentable for you. 
Starting with a cap of strong mouthwash, he then moved on to brushing his teeth so that his breath won’t stink and his teeth will continue to be clean and white. Then, he deeply cleaned his face of any leftover night creams he applied shortly after you fell asleep the previous night and applied a finish lotion. A dash of makeup on his eyelids, cheeks and lips so it’ll look natural. Then he proceeded to free his hair of curlers and brush through them until they laid into a certain hairstyle he always wore. And lastly, a few pumps of the perfume you gave him for his birthday. (He simply adores your choice of scent and never fails to wear it with pride)
Before walking out, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 took a moment to take a look at himself one last time. Anyone would say that his reflection showed a perfect image of the househusband you could often see in the magazines. Yet, the only opinion that mattered to him was yours. 
Everything he did – created and keeps creating – is for you. Only you. And he will gladly continue to do so for as long as you live.
With that, just like he left, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 re-entered your bedroom. Now after his morning routine, looking fresh and all pretty, his appearance was anything but a person who just woke up. He looked beautiful but at the same time, unreal. Unnaturally beautiful...
Swiftly, yet gracefully so that you wouldn't wake up before the alarm clock, he climbed back on your bed. Quickly, he adjusted the sheets around him, laid down on his side so that his back was turned towards you and took a deep breath, before finally closing his eyes.
Riiing! Riiing! Riiing!
The sound of your alarm clock rang precisely at 6:00 A.M. Blaring sound ripped away the peaceful silence and slowly aroused you from your deep sleep. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 had to refrain from smirking, as he felt the bed shift behind him. You were awake! 
And that meant one thing…
Seconds later, just like everyday, he felt your lips plant a sweet kiss on his cheek. A soft smile appeared on his face instead and a soft plush appeared under the blush he had applied. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 ‘woke up’ to your kiss, fluttering his eyes open. Much to his heart's joy, his gaze connected with yours. 
Your face was something he always wanted to wake up to. Your eyes were still sleepy, your face so lovely to look at and your hair all messy. In those mornings, you could just be you. His to admire, to touch, to experience. 
His, his, his…
"Good morning, sweetheart." Your raspy voice broke him out of the daze he fell into. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 eyes burned with love for you, gazing up at you like you were the only person existing in this world. He lifted his perfectly manicured and soft hand, placing it on your cheek and rubbing it affectionately.
"Good morning, darling." 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟎’𝐬! 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 sent you his signature million dollar worth smile.
"Is it me or are you getting even more devine day after day?"
Yes, it was the beginning of another perfect day.
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All of the published posts on this account/blog belongs to @shooting-love-arrows. I do not consent to my works being: translated, stolen, published or reposted on this and other sites. Likes, reblogs, comments are highly appreaciated. Thank you.
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anantaru · 11 days
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ayato + a soul sucking blowjob
synopsis. ayato was tired, fatigued and frustrated. arriving home from work shortly after to get finally spoiled by you <3
cw. oral (male! receiving), flustered ayato, fem! reader
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you can easily discern certain noises in your place, or specific emotions you feel when you hear them. serving as an illustration— look at when the quick chime of the door being unlocked sparks over your eardrums. what's more, you remember that it's like an unwinding lullaby to you, when ayato lastly arrives home after a long day at work.
the high-priced material of his shoes made a rhythmic click as he walked, which then echoed through the living room when the yashiro commissioner crossed the dinner table to walk towards the couch— nothing else in his mind other than the cloying anticipation to feel you in his arms.
each footfall was unevenly separated from the last and clearly indicating fatigue, no rhythm in them at all. you note that your boyfriend must be utterly tired from his long day, quite spent as he ultimately reaches over to greet you before adjusting his pants to sit down.
"how was your day?" you kindly ask, your smile rumbling with a welcoming affection as you place one hand on top of his muscular thigh, "everything ran smoothly... not to worry," the man assures you after a moment of hesitation.
if there was something entirely true about kamisato ayato— it's that his honesty towards his beloved would only include the details he deemed for you to be okay to know. you were aware of that and really didn't mind, although sometimes you wished you could smooth over the secrets he's forced to carry with himself and make it a little easier.
chewing briefly on his lower lip, ayato searches for your trace, his hands slowly slipping between your legs to rub over the inside of your thigh as he gently exhales through his parted mouth, the clouded sight on his face accentuating his immense attractiveness.
"you look tired, baby," you note, squeezing his thigh, a sensual chime melting on the tip of your tongue when you move as slowly as the petals of a flower opening, silently kissing his cheek before pointing towards the obvious tent in his trousers.
"or… do you want me to take care of this?"
"you— you mustn't trouble yourself with it, i—," ayato ponders out loud, glancing awkwardly to everywhere but your face.
he didn't even realize that he's gotten a little too excited to see you tonight. this hasn't happened in ages and only served as an additional indicator that there was more to the frustration inside of him than he originally let on.
swiftly, and with a touch of silk, you unravel every sharp edge of his strong bravado— and the tension rises beneath the layers of garments he wore, a slight hue of embarrassment catching onto his pale skin.
"i'm just so happy to finally see you, 'cannot control it, i apologize."
his pure admittance coupled with his flustered expressions burns into your heart like liquid gold as he laps over his lips softly when you smile back at him, ready to worship him as if you're born to savor this hallowed moment.
"don't apologize," you remind him, and in the split second that your hand feels over his bulge, every nerve in his body and brain was electrified— as the motion of your palm spoke of a movement coupled perfectly to itself, confident, focused and reverent, "i missed you too."
unhurriedly, you get yourself off the couch before settling in between his thighs, your hands coaxing out a shaky groan from him as you slid them over his legs before hooking your fingers into the waistband of his pants, freeing him shortly after. at the feeling of his bulging erection being met with the cold air of the room, ayato whimpers, yet what actually made him lose his mind was when you took him in your hand, his glossed pre glazing over your knuckles and sending him into a heady trance. 
he feels how his balls were tightening when you slant your lips forward to spit on his cock, his body starting to ready itself for your warm, wet mouth before you're slowly dragging your tongue over the slit, the feeling of ecstasy coming through him in a controlled wave of pleasure.
in this moment, ayato feels like all the relief in his life settled in his stomach and his worries died down, all the times he had dreamt of you the entire day when he was supposed to be actually focusing on work— not the memories of last night where he had you draped over the mattress, stuffed entirely with his cum. the memories of the night still left him in a tremble, and how utterly beautiful you looked claimed in such lewd manner.
your hand wraps around the base tight enough to heighten the feeling of pressure and bliss on him, a choked rumble coming from above you as ayato covers his face with one arm while the other settles on your head. your hand firmly palms around the base of his erection as you began to gave his tip a tentative lick, never focusing less on how he was reacting to you.
the more inches you decided to swallow, the more you cam into contact with a rich, masculine musk permeating on your tongue at the first taste of him— ugh, ayato tasted so good, and he always took such good care of himself that you cannot help yourself but rub your thighs together, hoping it's enough to pleasure yourself on your own.
to make him further lose his mind, you know what you had to do and proceeded to sweep your tongue across the head several more times until his eyes would turn bloodshot from the little droplets of tears hovering on his pretty lashes.
oh well, he must be so tired, fatigued and frustrated. at the same time, suffusing into the loss of his mind and the hotness of your lips softly pressing into his shaft.
he cannot wait until you take him in your mouth.
which then, naturally you did, yet slow, encouraged by the addictive taste of him filling your senses as you take more of his length into your mouth. you bob your head up and down, the heavy tip of his erection nudging in the back of your throat as you let him guide you up and down with his hand, working the first couple inches of his dripping dick against your tongue until you hit your limit.
for what you couldn't gather inside your wetness, you let your hand make up for the rest, finding a comforting pace as ayato grew so absorbed in watching you please him, it's almost as tasteful as feeling it in the first place.
just how obediently you let him feel around your mouth as his fingers slide through your hair— he hopes he manages to turn you soaked by the end of it, so he mustn't prepare you any further and can sink himself inside of you much quicker.
you lift your eyes to meet his delirious half-gaze before you hollow your cheeks, pulling back with a soft popping sound and a faint rush of adrenaline.
"you enjoying yourself?" you coo devilishly, then cock an eyebrow that destroyed all its softness within your triumphant gaze, "very much so," he smirks back.
boldly, he hides between the beautiful implications of a clouded expression hovering all over his facial features, when in reality, ayato has already planned out the entire night for you two.
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©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own
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dreamofjoys · 7 months
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— 𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙀𝙂𝙂𝙎
Synopsis: Neuvillette has finally decided to lay his eggs in your womb
C/W: Oviposition, egg laying(5), afab, established relationship, a little bit of domestic moments, double d's cause why not, double penetration, mention of pain, belly bulging, cockwarming
A/N: Dragon people are into oviposition... i just know...
DO NOT READ / DO NOT PROCEED IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH SUCH CONTENT! I WILL BLOCK YOU IF YOU MAKE ANY NEGATIVE COMMENTS (esp when I already stated the warnings) minors go away please.
NEUVILLETTE was gentle when he spread your sticky thighs apart, allowing his shaft to easily re-enter your sex again due to the lubrication of your fluids. He had spent hours stretching your hole out with his fingers and cocks, resulting to you constantly cumming and making a mess all over him.
The hydro dragon doesn't seem to mind. Instead, he pushes your back to the bed, positioning you in a missionary position while he fucks you with both of his dicks. "Sh-shit agh Neuvi, fe-feels so good!" Your eyes rolled to the back when his dicks hits onto your cervix with dead accuracy, his balls slapping onto your folds providing extra stimulation, making you cum once again.
Your husband eyes on your fluttering pussy hole before slowly pulling out, to test if there is any friction. His face turns into a deep shade of red when the erotic sound of sqwueesh happens. Your walls suddenly clamp down on him, seemingly not wanting him to leave your sex. "Love, I think you are ready." Neuvillette comments, looking back at you who seems to be babbling incoherant nonsense, too fucked out and disorientated to register what was going on.
Neuvillette re-positions you again. Your back was pressed onto his front, your legs spread wide with his own as he slots both of himself back in ease, sighing when your walls start fluttering around him again. You moaned in delight when your pussy feels full again, throwing your head back onto your husband's shoulders, hazy eyes looking up at him.
"Will it hurt when you push the eggs in?" So you still remember the agenda of today's sex. " A little, but I will make it fast. Just 5 eggs, tell me if it's too much."
"Hehe, if my husband wants me to take in more than that, I will gladly do so!"
"Don't be ridiculous," Neuvillete leans down to give you a peck on the cheek, his silver hair falls down at his action, tickling your naked body. "There is a limit to your mortal body. I won't hurt you just for my own primal desires." "But you just said that it will hurt a little when the eggs enter me though?"
"I want to start a family with you." He rest his forehead on yours, ocean blue eyes staring down at you. "If you want to back out now, I am also okay with it. I would never want to do something that you are not comfortable with." Your heart skip a beat at his words. This was the very man that you have married to. A kind and gentle soul that was willing to deny his own happiness just for yours.
"Is okay, I told you before that I wanted this. So please, do as you wish, make both of us parents." Upon hearing your words, all the blood in Neuvillette's body seems to have rushed to both of his cocks. His pale lips came crashing down on yours, hungrily devouring you. You gasped when he pinches on your harden nipple, his tongue taking this golden opportunity to slip inside your mouth, exploring every inch of it.
Your eyes widened in surprise when you felt the tip of his cock enlarging, your walls expanding to accommodate the size as something big and round slips into your womb. It seems like one of his cock was responsible for pushing the egg in while the other was just there to keep you nicely stretched. You pulled away from Neuvillette, a string of saliva attached to both of your lips, whimpering when you felt another egg entering your womb.
This whole process was testing the limits of your vagina. You start tearing up at the constant stretching of your walls, instinctively wanting to close your legs but a hand was immediately placed at the back of your thighs, stopping you from doing it.
"It will hurt more if you close your legs." Neuvillette whispers into your ear, his other hand snacking down to toy with your clit, trying to divert attention away from the pain. Your tear stained face breaks Neuvillette's heart, but he could only whisper sweet little nothings to you, telling you that he is so lucky so marry someone as beautiful as you, praising you for being able to take both of his cocks so well. You gripped onto his hand that was toying on your clit, body shaking when you felt the last egg being pushed into your womb, settling itself in it like it was meant to be there.
You look down to see a big bulge on your belly. The eggs were finally nestled inside your womb, safe from the outside. "Mhmmm... is it over?" You rub your eyes sleepily, suddenly feeling exhausted.
"Yes it is, love." Neuvillette's hand had switched to rubbing your folds up and down. He hums an old lullaby, the vibration of his chest lulls your tired state into sleep. Your husband position himself to lean onto the headboard while you sleep in his arms. His dicks were still inside you, not wanting to pull out as he did not want the eggs to slip out - or it could be just an excuse to do cockwarming.
His hand rubs your belly, feeling satisfied at his eggs being laid inside your womb.
Neuvillette thinks hard about what he can do to relieve you of your pain when you have to lay the eggs next time, especially since it's going to grow in size inside your belly.
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pandorxxx · 9 months
Text
Another man’s treasure
Neteyam x omatikayan fem reader (all aged up)
Warnings: cursing, oral (reader receiving), p in v, multiple orgasms, neteyam having a size kink, neteyam being “Mr. Steal yo girl” kinda, creampie, marking, scenting.
Listen to Mr. Steal yo girl by Trey Songz for the best experience 😊
Synopsis: You wanted lo’ak, and it was no secret. However, you were scared to talk to him. When you went to Neteyam for help, he made it known that lo’ak wouldn’t be interested in you because of your abnormal (among navi) size. But you soon realized, that what one brother didn’t like, the other one loved…
🔞mdni🔞
“Cant you find something else to do? I don’t have time for this today.” Neteyam chuckled, pushing leaves out of his path as he went to fulfill his duties. This was becoming an everyday thing almost. You’d follow Neteyam into the forest as he did his daily chores just to bug him about the same old shit.
You had a huge crush on lo’ak, and since you and Neteyam were…somewhat friends, you decided that the only way to get in good with lo’ak was with the help of Neteyam. Although he wasn’t much help.
“Neteyam come onnnn. I’ll leave you alone if you talk to lo’ak for me.” You whined, running behind him to keep up with his long strides. You were alittle younger than both of them, but that didn’t stop you from trying. Also, you were alittle smaller than the average female Navi, so you got made fun of sometimes. But you had a “Fuck you” mentality when it came to bullies, you couldn’t care less.
“Why don’t you talk to him, huh? Why are you bugging me about it? I’ve got shit to do y/n.” He spoke calmly, making sure to hold the leaves down for you to walk through. He was such a gentlemen without even trying.
“You know him better than I do. I just figured you could help me out…TEYAM!” You shouted his name, making him halt in his tracks with an irritated sigh. He turn to you, walking alittle closer.
“Y/n please. I don’t have time to get in the middle of this shit. And plus, I personally don’t think that lo’ak would go for this.” Neteyam confessed.
“And why do you think that? I’m pretty, no?” You asked with a hint of aggression, eyebrow cocked as you awaited an answer. He chuckled, crossing his arms.
“You’re very pretty. But you know that’s not what I meant.” He shook his head. Your eyes narrowed, picking up on what he was insinuating.
“Well what DID you mean, Neteyam?” You asked, anger radiating off of your skin. He eyed your small frame up and down in curiosity.
“Fuck, don’t make me say it. It’s very obvious.” He ran his hand through his braids with a loud chuckle. You were now visibly angry, tail swaying high in defense as you clutched your bow. Although you were smaller, you were one of the best warriors here. Some would even say better than the mighty warrior himself, so he knew you meant business.
With a loud sigh, he finally fessed up. “Y/n…you’re tiny as fuck.” He nodded with a sarcastic grin.
“Neteyam, what does that have to do with anything? Huh?” You asked with heavy aggression, shifting your body weight to one hip.
“If I were lo’ak. I wouldn’t even wanna touch you. Might break your little ass.” He joked, however you didn’t find it funny whatsoever.
“Fuck you. I can take any male in this clan, you and lo’ak INCLUDED. Size means NOTHING!” You snapped, poking his chest angrily as you peered up at him. He let out a loud laugh, placing his large hands on your shoulders.
“I promise you, and I mean this in the most humble way possible. You cannot take me, y/n.” He spoke passive aggressively, his tone becoming alittle serious.
“Neteyam, check my fucking stats. I’d have you crying when I’m done.” You growled, smacking his hands off of your shoulders. It was no secret that you’d been with other males before, what girl hadn’t? Though small, you knew exactly how to please a man. And men just like Neteyam would underestimate you all the time…until they got their feel.
“Oh y/n, please. I’ve heard about you, trust me. But I’m a REAL man. Those little boys you’ve been with have NOTHING on me. You hear me? NOTHING!” He growled, jaw clenching in restraint. You laughed in his face, taking a step back to scan his body from head to toe.
“Oh, ok there big boy. Calm down. Did lil ole’ me get under the mighty warriors skin?” You mocked. Neteyam was a man of great restraint, but you were really pressing his buttons today. He let out a deep sigh, before chuckling to himself.
“Don’t make me ruin you for lo’ak.” Was all he said, in that deep tone of his. The one that meant business. The one that created a pool of your own slick in your loincloth. The one that made you shift back and forth experimentally, trying to find some sort of friction.
“A lot of open ended sentences today. Tell me what that’s supposed to mean.” You commanded, arms crossed as you took a step forward.
“You know what it means, don’t act so innocent y/n. And DONT challenge me. I’ll snap you like a twig.” He trailed off, eyeing you up and down. You laughed in his face again, at his sudden sexual advances. It was always lo’ak for you, but Neteyam was just as hot, if not hotter. He was stronger, taller, sexier, and a lot more mature.
“So do it. You have nothing but space and opportunity to show me. If I’m being honest, this sounds like a bunch of bs. I can’t take you seriously in this light, Neteyam. You’re always so uptight.” You teased, hoping that it would make him angry enough to take you, right here…right now. But he quickly caught on to your antics. He stepped closer, until your plump breast met his stomach. Peering down at you with a crooked grin.
“Oh, I don’t know y/n. You’re too small to ride this ride. I don’t wanna hurt you. You’re better off finding lo’ak. He’s more your speed.” He nodded.
“But the things I’d do to you…it’s unspeakable.” He whispered, running his large hand down your torso, all the way to the band of your loincloth. You bit your lip, directing your attention to the scene.
“Tell me about it, I’m all ears.” You spoke sensually, eyes meeting his once again. “Well first…I’d rip this fucking loincloth off of your hips.” He spoke, simultaneously ripping your cloth off. You gasped, finding your balance again from the unexpected force.
“Then…I’d turn you around, and bend you over.” He spoke. His tone low and full of lust as he spun you around, bending you over into a 90 degree angle. Your hands immediately finding refuge on the bark of the tree infront of you. You let out a little giggle as you turned your head to look back at him, waiting for his next move.
“Mmmhm.” he groaned, smacking your ass as he watched your arousal leak out of you like a stream. You let out a small whimper at the impact, so desperate for more.
He kneeled down behind you, coming face to face with your dripping cunt. He licked his lips before diving in. His calloused hands holding your cheeks opened as he devoured you whole.
“G-God, Neteyam!” You whimpered, digging your nails into the bark. He didn’t say anything else to you, didn’t even bother coming up for air. All you could hear was nasally gulps, and squelching sounds followed by low hums of satisfaction from him.
You could feel his tongue flicking, sucking, and gnawing on your sensitive clit before licking all the way up to your ass, giving it a small peck. And then he would go back to work on you. Your legs were starting to shake as your whines increased in volume.
“I-Im sooo close.” You spoke in exhaustion from holding yourself up. He hummed in response, wiggling his head as you used the flat of his tongue to taste you completely. This in turn, sending you over the edge. Without much warning, you released into his mouth. You tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but his strong hands held you in place as he lapped up your juices. All of your essence dripping down his jaw and neck.
“This pussy tastes like heaven, baby.” He chuckled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before standing to his full height behind you.
“I want you to stay juuust like this for me. Think you can do that?” He asked as he untied his loincloth from around his his gently. You nodded in response, feeling his tip graze past your slit on the way up to slap his stomach.
He grabbed his cock, using the tip to play with your clit. “Mmm…” You hum, leaning your cheek against the bark as you watched him with desperate eyes.
With little to no warning, just a devilish smirk, he slide into you slowly. His cock was stretching you out more than you’d ever been, yet it felt like the perfect fit once he bottomed out. You let out a series of loud whimpers once you felt his tip probing at your cervix. That was a feeling you’d never had before.
“I know, baby. I know…” he moaned, thrusting into you slowly to get you used to his size. His large hands trailed all the way up your back, giving it a light rub before finding their way to the back of your neck.
“You’re s-sooo big!” You whined, knuckles turning white from the grip you had on the bark infront of you. He didn’t know what it was about your cries that turned him on so much. Maybe it was the fact that you were a tough girl, and seeing you so helpless at the hands of him made his head spin.
And as much as he loved to make fun of how small you were, he secretly loved it. The comparison of you to him had him aroused from the start. He was a relatively big guy, very strong, and muscular from his endless training. And although you were a warrior too, you simply didn’t look like one. You were very fragile…delicate to him. And he loved that he could have his way with you.
“Mhm, keep talking.” He growled, now picking up the pace. His warm sack smacking against your sensitive clit, creating the right amount of friction. On top of the constant pounding to your sweet-spot. You couldn’t even form a complete thought at this point. The pleasure was consuming you. And at that point, you realized that you’d never had sex like this. Neteyam had proven to you why he was the better choice.
“I-I can’t even….I-I d-don’t- FUUUCK!” You rambled. So flustered that you couldn’t even form a coherent sentence. He let out a breathily chuckle, rutting into you like he’d never see you again.
“Ok! ok! ok! I-I can’t take this shit. y-you’re killing me, Teyam!” You whined, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You were on the verge of such an intense orgasm, unlike anything you’d felt before. It was becoming too much for you to handle.
“But you’re so fucking close, baby. I can feel the way you’re squeezing me, sucking me in. I thought you could take me?” He spoke in a condescending tone, the same devilish grin plastered across his face as he watched your plump ass ripple with every thrust.
“I-I can’t take you! I CANT!” You whimpered, tears blurring your vision. He slowed down for you, just alittle, but not nearly as much as you needed. You began to gnaw at the bark in desperation, just trying to find some relief from your incoming orgasm.
“And why can’t you take me? I wanna hear this shit.” He spoke in a low tone, shifting his hands to your hips for more leverage. He began to thrust into you slow and deep, nearly knocking the wind out of you with every stroke.
Oh, how he loved this. He knew why you couldn’t, he just wanted to hear you say it. Hear you tell him how strong, and how big he was. It was an ego boost for him, and to have you completely drunk off of his cock was a huge turn on.
“Mmm t-oooo big. Way t-too big!” You spoke deliriously, legs beginning to shake as that knot in your stomach started to unravel. Your walls clenched around him before releasing your essence. You let out a series of loud moans, just like music to his ears.
“Thaaats right, baby. Cum on this big dick.” He moaned, smacking your ass with his bottom lip in between his teeth. His cock began to twitch Inside of you, signaling that he was about to cum. So instead, he pulled out of you quickly with a loud groan. He held your hips in place so that you wouldn’t fall as he caught his breath.
“Fuck.” He whispered under his breath. You managed to turn around in his embrace, leaning your back against the bark of the tree lazily.
“Y-You didn’t-“ you began, before he lifted his finger to silence you. “Don’t worry about me. I just wanted to give you alittle taste. I don’t wanna hurt you.” He confessed, planting a soft kiss on your forehead.
“What if I want you to hurt me?” You spat, bringing him flush to you by his hips. He cocked an eyebrow in confusion, but mostly curiosity.
“Give me your all, Neteyam. Give me everything, please. Even if we have to go at it all fucking night. I want more than a taste.” You spoke sensually, wrapping your arms around his waist before planting a kiss on his chest.
“Fuck, don’t talk like that. Please.” He chuckled, rubbing your arms lovingly as he stared down into your desperate eyes.
“And what about lo’ak, huh? I thought you had a thing for him an hour ago.” He asked playfully, already knowing that lo’ak was the farthest thing from your mind at this point.
“I want you now. Is that a crime?” You asked, not even letting him answer the question before you stood on your tippy toes, engaging in a passionate kiss with him. His hand found the back of your head, gripping your hair to deepen the kiss. The other hand snaking around to lift you up, pinning you to the tree behind you. You immediately wrapped your legs around his waist, and your arms around his neck.
“Mmm, take this off.” He spoke between kisses, referring to your top. You backed away from him slightly, leaning all the way back on the bark. He watched you intently, as you began to untie your revealing top. It popped open with the last knot, revealing your plump breasts. And just like a man, he licked his lips as his eyes locked to your chest.
“Fuuuck me.” He groaned before attacking your nipples. Gently gnawing at them to create love bites, and running his warm tongue around your areola. He nuzzled his head in your chest with low groans of satisfaction as he scented you. Everyone would know who you belonged to from here on out.
Without warning, he lifted you up by your ass, and slammed you down on his cock. You both moaning in unison. He immediately set a merciless rhythm, impaling you over and over again roughly.
“Oh great mother, yessss!” You praised, squeezing your eyes shut as your voice rippled through the forest due to his unbearable pace.
“Mmm, keep screaming like that.” He demanded, thrusting into you harder, knocking the air out of your lungs with every stroke. There wasn’t much else you could say, you were completely silenced.
“I-I..” you stuttered, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You let your head find refuge on the bark behind you, revealing your unscathed neck to Neteyam…big mistake for such a territorial male like himself.
He bent down to your neck, taking a deep breath before flashing his fangs. He grazed your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Without anymore hesitation, he bit down on your neck gently. Still hard enough to leave a mark.
“Oh my-“ you started, your head going completely limp on the bark behind you. You could feel another orgasm building deep in your stomach.
“B-Baby, Im so close. Sooo so close!” He moaned, watching your breast bounce from his hard thrusts. He was slowly loosing it, and he couldn’t contain himself much longer. He could feel his stomach muscles tense repeatedly, which is something that’s never happened to him. Beads of sweat began to roll off of his frowned forehead. His mouth was slightly agape, low whimpers falling from his lips. And at that moment, he realized he’d never had sex like this.
“FUCK!” He growled, his hand slapping against the bark behind you as he bounced you on his cock quickly.
“Give it to me, pleaseeee!” You screamed, wrapping your arms around his neck tightly, leaning your head on his shoulder. Your body began to tremble in his arms as your toes curled. You couldn’t hold it anymore. Your peak was nearing quickly.
“Ladies first. Cum on this dick again, baby.” He whispered in your ear, kissing the lobe gently. The act alone sending you over the edge. Your eyes rolled back, jaw slack as you released on him for the second time. Loud squelching sounds filling the forest as his cream coated cock slid in and out of you. He could feel your walls contracting around him, and he just couldn’t hold it any longer. “Ohhh, shit! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He chanted, releasing his seed deep into your empty womb with a loud groan.
“Don’t be sorry, I-I wanted it. Juuust like that!” You whined, rolling your hips into his to bury his seed deeper into your tight cunt. You both took a few minutes to catch your breaths before he pulled out slowly.
“Mmmhm…” He hummed, watching his excess cum drip to the ground beneath you. For a moment, you two stared at each other in awe, completely whipped by one another.
He had his mind made up, and it seemed as though you had changed yours. Neteyam was the only man you wanted from now on….
Taglist: @number1gal @loak-bae @tiredmamaissy @neytirishottie @terrorthewolf @lethargicluv @reyzzsostellar @m0nst3rfk3r @agelsully @jakescumdump @wekiamo @st-cass @cleardonutangelwagon @tsireqas @satanlovedays @afro-hispwriter @urfavgirlmakenna @fanboyluvr @iameatingmyhair @secretflowerobservation @violet-19999 @xreadersstuff @sweetllamaparadise @lia-nath @sullymenrhot @dotheyevenknowmars @xdbluesky @slay-nt @domino-x3-blog @ladylovegood-69 @itssomeonereading @sweetirilly @skxawngmia @j-jinxee @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @cumikering @pxndorasdream @itsaleidasworld @atxxokirina @yeletta @blueslxt-primary @eywascall @valeriearriana37484 @avatarsslut @bee782916 @atxxokirina @taylormarieee @sweethoneycn @dollyloomis @luvv4j4ybe11
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sinnaminsuga · 1 month
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𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖉𝖏𝖆𝖈𝖊𝖓𝖙 - sub!hyunjin x sub!reader x dom!chan
wc: 2,804
cw: hyunjin is a slut, so is the reader, chan likes it that way. SMUT MDNI.
synopsis: while shooting the red lights mv chan noticed something about hyunjin and now he's got a theory he wants to test, he just needs your help.
a/n: was literally plagued with visions of overstimulating hyunjin and making him cry soooo this is what i ended up with. oops. also if there are any spelling errors pls don't tell me bc ive read this trash so many times trying to work it all out and if i have to re-read it again i might go blind.
sw: dirty talk, daddy kink, unprotected sex (pls be smarter than that), bondage, threesome, some gay shit, breeding, blowjobs, lingerie, deepthroating, general toughness, waxing poetic about hyunjins beautiful face. idk probably more but im bad at this shit.
hwang hyunjin is beautiful. its a well documented fact, no ifs ands or buts about it. he has the kind of face ancient civilizations would have gone to war for. old world dynasties would have been reduced to rubble over a face like his. hwang hyunjin is the kind of beautiful where it almost hurts to look at him. it makes you question your belief in a higher power because, how could there possibly be any room for debate on if there is a God when there is simply no other reasonable explanation for how a devine creature like him came to exist on this earth? so with all that being said, there's no way he could get any more beautiful. or so you thought.
it had always been your assumption that there was no possible way he could look any more stunning than he naturally does; but your mind was changed the minute you saw the lithe expanses of his smooth milky skin held captive by blood red ropes. you felt an astounding amount of pride as your eyes bore witness to his soft flesh being pulled tight by the coarse material; the blood under his skin rushing to the surface where the ropes were knotted artfully over his collarbone, across his abdomen, splayed over his pelvis, looped around his upper thighs and finally circling the base of his dick. and you had worked hard to make sure the knots around his wrists and ankles were comfortable yet sturdy before attaching them to each bedpost.
you had taken your instructions very seriously, as the man giving them to you from edge of the bed, wouldn't allow any of this to continue if either of you were to disobey his direct orders, and dear god you would rather die than see this endeavor be cut short.
you admired your handiwork a bit more before the rumbling of a particular voice hit your ears.
“how do you feel baby? is this what you wanted? y/n did a good job huh? you look so pretty.” chan spoke softly to hyunjin, absentmindedly petting his head. hyunjin looked up at his leader and nodded, unsure if he could speak without whining as the ropes pulled across his body with every move.
“yeah i knew you'd like this. the whole time we were shooting “red lights” i saw you ya know? the way your breathing got shallow when the staff chained you up. the way your eyes glazed over when they gave you instructions to pull against your restraints. god, standing above you on that bed, watching you writhe below me was a sight to see. my good boy just wanted to be tied up and used huh?” chan said to him, his finger hooked under hyunjin's chin forcing his head up to look him in the eyes. a whimper forced its way out of him as his hips instinctually bucked and the the sensation of the ropes took over.
you couldn't drag your eyes away from his lower body. the sharp angle of his hipbones jutting up to the ceiling as his cock drooled uncontrollably, the fluid flowing from his tip dribbling down to darken the rope wrapped snugly around the base of him. without even thinking you reached out and wrapped your hand around his shaft, you were just so overwhelmed with the desire to touch him. the feeling was unexpected and the sound that punched its way out of hyunjin's chest was glorious. his body attempted to curl in on itself but the ropes kept him firmly in place. you watched the range of emotions flicker over his face in rapid succession; surprise at your initial touch, pleasure from finally being granted a little stimulation, sensitivity from being denied his pleasure for so long, shock when he remembered the restraints keeping him spread open, frustration at not being able to move, and finally acceptance as he gave in to the languid stroking you were doing. he continued to toss as the pleasure took over, thrashing wildly against the mattress and moaning into the pillow.
hyunjin's noises were reduced to whimpers as chan’s hand squeezed around his jaw, directing hyunjin to look him in the eyes. “shhh baby boy, y/n is gonna make you feel good okay? you'll let her do that, won’t you? you'll lay there and take what i let her give you, understood? words please, jinnie.” chan cooed. “yes daddy. i'll be good for you, for her too i promise. i'll be your perfect boy just like always, i promise, please! god just please keep touching me!” hyunjin choked out, making chan grin. he leapt up from where he was perched on the edge of the bed and rounded the corner until he was standing behind you. you repressed a shudder as chan’s hand slid up your back, tracing over your spine and occasionally tripping over the straps of the lingerie set you were wearing. his hand glided up into your hair with ease until his palm cradled the base of your skull, then suddenly he locked his fingers to grab your hair firmly by the roots and pulled you upright so your back was against his chest as he angled your head to the left exposing the expanse of your neck. the suddenness of his movements caused you to lose your grip on hyunjin’s dick and he cried out from the loss of contact, his hips frantically bucking into the air in a fruitless attempt to find friction.
chan hummed as his lips made contact with the skin of your neck and continued as he licked, nipped, and sucked at your flesh. he hooked his chin over your shoulder as his right hand charted a course down your abdomen to the apex of your thighs where the pads of his thick fingers rubbed over your damp slit. when you could finally manage to pry your lids open, you locked eyes with hyunjin. he was practically panting watching chan devour your throat and palm your pussy. “so pretty y/n, y’look so pretty. like a dream. want to paint you one day, just like that.” he whispered. hyunjin's words and gaze coupled with chan's wandering hands and skilled mouth were almost enough to send you over the edge.
“now here’s what's next my loves. y/n, you're going to get on your knees, lean down on your elbows and suck hyunjin's pretty dick right into the back of your throat okay? i want you to take him as far as you can, and quickly. do not stop until i tell you to. not if he begs, not if he cries, not if he screams. got it?” you nodded as well as you could with his left hand still in your hair. chan released you and you quickly got into the position he had described, gently grabbing hold of hyunjin's cock. “i’m sorry jinnie, but you know i have to.” you quipped right before you took him into your mouth and as far into your throat as you could manage. the garbled noise that ripped its way out of hyunjin's throat threw you into over drive as you bobbed your head and sucked him like your life depended on it. he was groaning deeply and his limbs were flailing the best they could in his current predicament. his back arched up off the mattress so beautifully you wished chan would take a photo.
“fuck, fuck, FUCK. jesus chri- oh my god! y/n, sweetheart slow down- PLEASE! oh fuck i can- i can feel- fucking fuck. i can feel your throat squeezing me so tight!” hyunjin wailed throwing his head back, the veins in his neck becoming more prominent as he grit his teeth.
suddenly chan’s hand made its way to your pussy again and you gasped around the thickness embedded in your throat causing hyunjin to hiss.
“crotchless panties angel? so proud of you. always so prepared for daddy huh? know just what i like.” chan muttered from behind you. you heard the telltale jingle of his belt being opened and the zipper being lowered on his jeans. he had already removed his shirt earlier so he was naked quickly, and he wasted no time before rubbing the head of his dick along your weeping folds.
“now i'm going to fuck you nice and deep the way you like and i want you to keep sucking my good boy okay?” chan said but before you could respond he shoved himself into you in one swift thrust. chan was not small in girth or length for that matter but the stretch you felt every time he fucked you open was delicious. you couldn't help but moan around the cock in your mouth which in turn caused hyunjin to scream at the unexpected vibration. chan’s laugh that followed was dark and proud, thrilled that he held so much power and that you both let him use it.
“fuuuuck sweet girl this cunt is always so fucking tight huh? doesn't matter how many times i fuck you or let someone else fuck you, you always snap right back. god i love being inside you.” chan growled as his hands gripped your hips and held you steady as he pummeled his way in and out of your slippery hole. the whole time he was fucking you, you were being forced onto hyunjin's cock as well, every moan muffled by the thickness battering your throat.
“hyunjin is y/n a good cocksucker? hmm? you think? you think she's better than you were?” chan taunted him as he drove himself inside you over and over again. “remember when we had our first one on one meeting? just me and you alone in the studio? i said 'hyunjin if you really are serious and want to stay in this group i need one thing from you’ do you remember that? i do.” you could hear the grin in his voice even if you couldn't see him. hyunjin groaned and mumbled what sounded like a yes. “i also remember how fast you sank to your knees and scrambled to try and open my belt. you thought i wanted you to suck me off to stay in the band. and you were so willing to give me whatever i wanted. all i was going to ask you for was your loyalty and your honesty in all things. but you offered up that pretty mouth quick as a bitch and who was i to say no?” chan laughed at the memory as he threw a foot up onto the bed to change the angle he was fucking into you from so he was now nailing your gspot on every thrust.
“y-yes i remember. ‘course i do. i knew w-what you were gonna ask me because felix told me beforehand what you were going to ask, what you asked a-all of them. i just- fuck yes keep sucking y/n im so close. i jus’ wanted you so bad i thought if i tried and y-you didn't want me back it would just be an easily brushed off m-misunderstanding.” hyunjin whined, his hands balled up into fists, knuckles white.
“y/n suck him dry. now.” chan ordered and you sucked harder pulling a squeal out of hyunjin. “go on sweet boy. go ahead and cum. you earned it.” chan encouraged as he delivered a heavy smack to your ass. your muffled yelp was the final straw and hyunjin came hard into your mouth, his body attempting to lurch off the bed. you swallowed everything down and pulled off of him, replacing your mouth with your hand. as chan continued to ram into you, you mirrored his thrusts with the fist wrapped tightly around hyunjin's still hard cock.
“stop stop stop please! god please i can- i can't take it! it's too sensitive please!” hyunjin cried. “yes you can baby. you can take it. trust me.” chan cooed. feeling bold you leaned forward once again and sucked hyunjin's tip harshly while lashing the tip of your tongue over his slit.
“FUCK! no no no no it's too m- too much. stop stop stop!” hyunjin continued to wail. he was begging you to relent but he also didn't use his safeword so you knew he didnt really want it to stop. the sound was like music to chan's ears and the rhythmic clenching of your cunt around him propelled him quickly toward his own orgasm.
“i'm gonna cum in you okay baby? gonna breed this pretty pussy, stuff it full of my cum. that what you want? yeah it is isn't it?” chan rambled and you moaned out a “yes please daddy” right before he exploded inside you. your hand around hyunjin never stopped moving and he was crying now. big fat tears rolling down his cheeks from the overstimulation.
chan pulled out of you and watched your hole flutter, pushing out his seed. he murmured a string of praises as he watched the glistening fluid drip out of you. you looked over your shoulder at him, jutting your lower lip out.
“daddy i didn't get to cum yet. can i?” you asked.
“go ahead baby. make yourself cum.” chan said with a wave of his hand and an evil grin etched on his face. you grinned right back before scrambling up hyunjin's body and straddling him.
“wh-what are you doing? oh...oh no. no no no. please it's so sensitive it's so so sensitive y/n i can't!” hyunjin hiccuped, tears still flowing. you leaned forward and ran your tongue up his cheek, lapping up the briny liquid seeping from his eyes. then you whispered “oh jinnie, don't you want me to feel good too? i worked so hard after all.” you reached behind you and positioned his tip at your entrance before effortlessly sliding down onto him. you moaned as he filled you and he once again thrashed against the ropes wrapped around him. you started to ride him in earnest, aching for your own release at this point. the man beneath you was mumbling incoherently about how good your pussy feels and how badly he wants to come again. chan sauntered over and perched next to hyunjin again, reaching out to pet his head and pepper his face with kisses.
“i’m gonna cum, fuck i'm gonna cum!” you cried as you worked yourself over hyunjin’s dick and used one hand to furiously rub your clit.
“daddy shes squeezing me so hard i don't think i ca- can get out. can i cum inside?” hyunjin pleaded with chan. “of course you can baby, right sweetheart? you want jinnie’s cum inside you don't you?” you just nodded in response. “my girl loves to be creampied you never have to ask. just go ahead baby boy.” chan explained. you drove yourself down onto hyunjin twice more and then you were cumming, mouth dropping open as your inner walls milked him for all he was worth. hyunjin spasmed beneath you as he came and came and came inside you. he wasn't speaking anymore, just making these stunted little sounds as his body shook with the aftershocks of his second orgasm.
chan had begun to untie the ropes as you slowly lifted yourself off of hyunjin. you whispered praise to him as he has hummed, completely fucked out and boneless beneath you.
“shhh it's okay sweetheart. you did so good for us baby. we’re gonna put you to bed now okay?” chan murmured to the man shaking in the bed. hyunjin managed to croak out an “uh-huh” in response. you grabbed a bottle of lotion from nearby and began to work it into the reddened skin all over him where the ropes had been, while chan wiped down hyunjin's groin with a warm cloth. you hummed a tune you knew hyunjin loved and his eyes fluttered shut, a tiny smile making its way to his face.
after everything was put away and the room was right again, chan crawled into the bed to spoon hyunjin’s half asleep form while you crawled in the other side to press yourself to hyunjin's still somewhat heaving chest. you pulled the blanket up high and tucked yourself into his warm skin and he wound an arm around your waist. chan's hand rested on hyunjin's hip, squeezing the flesh there every so often.
being here felt so right, so natural, so easy. loving these two was as easy as breathing. you couldn't believe it had taken this long to get here but now that you had, you weren't letting them go. before your eyes fell closed you heard the sound of chan's lips kissing along hyunjin's shoulder before he whispered “rest now my loves. because i have big plans for you tomorrow.”
THE END
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cutielando · 2 months
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my love ~ lando norris
instagram au
synopsis: hard-launching your relationship and showing the world just how much of a simp lando is <3
my masterlist
♡♡♡♡♡
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liked by y/n.official, carlossainz55, oscarpiastri and 4,567,389 others
landonorris my whole world. tagged: y/n.official
view all 794,867 comments
y/n.official i love you so much <3
landonorris i love you more baby <3
maxfewtrell you could have at least given me photo credits for having to put up with you two liked by y/n.official and landonorris
landonorris shut tf up
y/n.official don't listen to him, we love you max <3
carlossainz55 congrats mate!
landonorris thanks! now you can finally stop calling me lando norizz
y/n.official never stop calling him lando norizz, carlos
carlossainz55 wasn't planning on it
landonorris y/n.official whose side are you on?
y/n.official my own side
user1 OMFG I CAN'T BELIEVE THISSSSS. LANDO NORIZZ??????? 🤯🤯
user2 PARENTS
user3 mommy? sorry, mommy? 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨
user4 pathetically sobbing into my pillow because of how cute they are
user1 same girl, same
mclaren can't wait to see you in the paddock, y/n! 🧡 liked by y/n.official, landonorris and 14,967 others
user5 our papaya boy found his papaya girl 🧡🥺🥺
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y/n.official our hearts speak the same language 🧡 tagged: landonorris
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landonorris you make me the happiest that i have ever been
landonorris i love you baby 🧡
y/n.official i love you more honey 🫶🏻
maxfewtrell such a simp
landonorris maxfewtrell let me be
lilymhe adorable !!! ❤️
y/n.official i miss you girl !!! 🩷🩷
lilymhe landonorris alex_albon double date?
alex_albon sigh...anything for you baby
landonorris the things we do for our girls
user1 SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP THEY'RE SO PRECIOUS 😩😩😩
user2 when will it be my turn 😭😭
user3 i'm so happy for them !! they look happy together
francisca.cgomes you are gorgeous together !! ❤️❤️
y/n.official i love you !! ❤️
user4 this is lowkey the couple we didn't know we wanted but needed liked by y/n.official
mclaren 🧡
user5 the mclaren admin is just as in love with them as we are liked by mclaren
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liked by landonorris, carlossainz55 and 1,856,394 others
y/n.official smile 📸 tagged: landonorris, lando.jpg
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landonorris my heart smiles when i'm with you
y/n.official you're making me blush babe 🤭
landonorris 😏😏😏
user1 he's so head over heels for her 😩😩😩
user2 LANDO.JPG CONTENT?????
user3 will we see you at races after the summer break y/n.official?
y/n.official yes !!! i'll be there and i'm excited to meet all of you !! 🧡
user3 omg she actually replied i'm crying 😭😭😭😭😭😭
carlossainz55 he hasn't stopped talking about you while we were golfing this morning 😠
landonorris can't help it
y/n.official i'm the same, so 😋
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liked by y/n.official, daniel3.jpg and 302,586 others
lando.jpg my muse tagged y/n.official
y/n.official you make me feel beautiful 😭🫶🏻
landonorris you are a goddess. i love you
y/n.official i love you so much 🥹
daniel3.jpg glad to see you taking pictures again
landonorris i have a pretty good subject to capture now
user1 she is so beautiful i can't 😩😩😩😩😩
user2 i wanna be her so badly 🥲
user3 i wanna meet her as badly as i wanna meet lando
user4 landonorris can you fight? cause we're coming to steal your girl
landonorris 🤺
francisca.cgomes you are gorgeous 😮‍💨
y/n.official no you are 😏
user5 being alive at the same time as y/n should be considered a blessing liked by landonorris
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bambiesfics · 6 months
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𝐄. 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 ♥️’𝐬 𝐌*𝐥𝐟𝐬 ╰₊✧ ゚
Part One - [FIND PART TWO HERE]
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ˎˊ˗ SYNOPSIS: You’re a yummy, soft around the edges older lady, with a post-partum body that jiggles in the most delicious ways. Ellie simply can’t get ahold of herself, every time she sees you, her pupils turn into pretty pink hearts, and her clit thumps in rhythm with her beating heart.
ˎˊ˗ A/N: This is re-upload of my series fic, part 2 & 3 are already written!
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𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓, when Ellie Williams realized for the first time, how much of a sick little whore she was for older women, especially with children.
Her jaw went slack when she walked by your house in the warm weather, lustfully staring at how the crease of your ass was spilling out from under your denim cut off shorts. You were too busy wiping chocolate off your toddler's face to notice the young brunette ogling you like a pervert.
Her steps faltered and then eventually just slowed to a complete stop. A wanton chance to stand there and stare at you. Ellie’s heart was thumping fast, but her clit was thumping faster. You were so womanly, so plush and pretty. Gosh, Ellie was so enamored with the tubby meat of your ass, and those yummy thighs of yours, to notice that her vanilla scoop ice cream had slowly melted atop her tight fist, and the sugary drippings splattered onto the toe-box of her converse sneakers.
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When you finally stood up from where you were bent over your toddler, after haven given the aforementioned teen girl, a free, front-row show to ogle at your asscheeks. You’d realized that the same adorable young girl with auburn hair, had been staring at you. You naturally assumed it was heatstroke that made her all stiff like that. So you invited her inside. But reality set in when you noticed that no matter what you were doing, whether it was getting her a glass of water, or placing the back of your hand on her forehead to gauge her temperature, Ellie's eyes always found their way back down to your puffy nipples or your buttcheeks.
She continuously ran her tongue along her bottom lip as she manspread. Or rubbed her palms down her thighs just slow enough for you to catch the pride flag bracelet dangling from her wrist. And in less than a second your thoughts had flitted from ‘Oh…’ to ‘OH!’
You tried to push it into the back of your mind. Because, surely that didn’t mean anything. Ellie was just a nice young lady whose head was stuck in the clouds, the bracelet and the wandering green eyes, they didn’t necessarily mean that she wanted to…fuck you, did it? She’s too young to be so ambitious anyway, to be so wantonly lustful. No not this sweet, slightly spaced out, teenage girl. That’s what you wished to believe, so you rolled off the lustful thoughts, and instead offered her some lunch. A baloney and lettuce sandwhich with the crust cut off. Just how you assumed every kid liked it, It was the motherly thing to do.
“Wanna taste you sooo bad” she muttered as you came up close to place her lunch next to her. In an instant a deep pink blush bloomed wildly on Ellie’s face, her eyes widened in embarrassment and the blood vessels in her eyes became more pronounced. “I-I meant I wanna taste your sandwiches. L-L-like the one you just gave me…..I’m really sorry.” She turned her head to the side “Fuck. me.” The cherry cheeked girl had whispered the last part so low you almost missed it.
Ellie was so fucking humiliated, but she couldn’t help it. All she could do was trip and stumble over her words, and apologize each time her sinful lips accidentally verbalized every vivid fantasy she had, without her brain’s consent. Your curvy, post-partum body was doing sick things to her cunt. Cause damn, all she wanted was to stuff her face under your puffy pussy, tell you to drop your full weight on her head and then beg you to suffocate her.
Ellie got her wish, because after she embarrassed herself, you invited her to watch a few cartoons with your tot. Cartoons transitioned to action thrillers when your toddler got sleepy. And thrillers turned into you riding her tongue as she nipped her pink lips at your thumping, swollen clit. Suckling it into her mouth as she rubbed her own pussy through her jeans. Ellie brought both hands to grab the fatty dough of your ass and forced you to grind on her face, ride her nose until your heart's content. She even licked downwards until she reached your pucker, tonguing your furled tight rim. She’d always wanted to rim a girl, and fuck, today she just might. Before Ellie could continue poking the tip of her tongue into your asshole, you lifted yourself off her face and hovered your pussy above her lips as you came, watching your hole drip out sticky strings of your arousal onto her chin. Ellie held out her tongue to catch it.
And then you—.
“—Ellie!”
“Ellie!”
Your voice ripped right through her fantasy. “I think it’s starting to get late, you should go home now.” You said as you held her shoulder, worried about the ditzy girl.
Ellie’s eyes faltered momentarily, disappointed at the realization she had just gotten too deep into her fantasy again. Of course some random lady with a kid and likely a husband wasn’t going to let her fuck on the first day they met.
She pushed herself off from your counter and readjusted the front of her pants, trying to accommodate her swollen clit.
She hadn’t been this ravenously attracted to a girl in years. She already knew she was going to finger herself at the thought of you and your ass suffocating her deliriously, tonight.
Ellie shuffled outside, hands stuffed in the front of her pockets playing with the little Hawaiian tooth pick you put on her baloney sandwich.
The sun was low, and the horizon of its setting was a warm orange. The air cooled the nape of her neck. All she could think about was you.
Ellie had completely forgotten about how the point of her walk through your neighbour, was to go pick up her date from the next park over.
-Fin-
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1K notes · View notes
mphountitled · 4 months
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𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐬 𝐄𝐏. 𝐈 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐦𝐚𝐧
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❝ 𝘾𝙖𝙣'𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙚𝙚, 𝙄'𝙢 𝙖 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙨𝙞𝙜𝙣? ❞
Pairings: Park Seonghwa x Fem!Reader
Synopsis: Being begrudgingly seduced by the anarchist
Warnings: Language, Enemies to Lovers, Cop!Reader, Revolutionary!Seonghwa, Implied Violence, Crazy Form!Au, Seduction, Smut (+18, minors dni) Corruption Kink, Innocence Kink, Masochism, Humping, Fingering, pet names, Rough Sex, Massive Degradation Kink, Dom!Seonghwa, Sub!Reader, Squirting, Humiliation, Unprotected Sex, Hate Sex
A/n: I might turn this into a series featuring all the Pirates with their own smutty little parts because I cannot help re-watching the Crazy Form mv. It's too good
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The very sight of the undulating mosh pit has your stomach rolling with nausea as you enter the dimly lit warehouse. The corrugated walls are illuminated only by various splotches of neon paint, and you suddenly feel the uncanny need to pray as you enter the crowd.
You begin to grow fearful, not onky because this crowd might birth a fresh panic attack, but because you fear for your focus as well.
That you may not be swayed from your mission.
The Intel that led you and your police partner here had been incredibly difficult to come by because every one of their little followers were so terribly loyal.
So naturally, upon receiving a tip off about a show being hosted on the seedier outskirts of town, you had no choice but to attend.
In this unpredictable field of law enforcement, of one thing you are completely certain: There will always be a clear distinction between the good and the bad and they are as bad as they come.
They are common criminals, and there is nothing else to it.
In fact, referring to them as anything but, feels like a gross display of exaltation. Exaltation, which is, evidently, what they are used to.
Disgust is smeared across your face as you and your police partner sieve your way through drunken bodies swaying to the sound of Seonghwa's voice. Although you're shoving roughly past people, all in an attempt to get to the front of the stage, you can not help but marvel at the crowd, undulating to the beat of a bandit.
His face, along with the faces of 7 of his fellow delinquents were smeared across every wanted poster in the city, and yet here he is, raging into a microphone while the crowd cheers his name.
“If I hear ‘Seonghwa’ one more time I fear I might shoot myself in the foot,” you call out, to your partner not far behind, “Keep a tight grip on your weapons, please,” you say, craning your neck back as you palm cradles your back pocket with the Glock 14 nestled inside, “We don't know what any of these idiots are on and I dont think we want to find out.”
Your civilian attire is successful in keeping the attention off of you and your partner as you break out of the heat and anxiety of the moshpit, right in front of center stage.
Seonghwa is right above you, cradling a microphone as if it were the Holy grail while his accomplice, a very inebriated San, bounds across the stage, stirring up the crowd like Seonghwa's personal hypeman.
You could almost feel your vexation increasing to ungodly heights.
Everything about this egregious display of egomania makes your blood boil raging hot, and although these are only 2, you find your hands clenching in anticipation of being one step closer to putting all 8 behind bars.
Your hatred seems to be oozing out of your pores because soon, you catch his attention. Perched on a stage elevated amongst the masses, he is looking at you now. You. Instead of any of the other drunken groupies in the crowd begging to get even a sliver of attention.
With both hands cuffed around the mic, he peers down at you and winks before belting out the final words of the song.
How badly you itched to bind his wrists with your silver cuffs.
How badly you wished to get him and his insolent underlings off the streets.
"They do know how to capture an audience… we can at least give them that," Your head snaps sideways as the words of your partner rouses what little patience you're already working with.
You tap lightly at his badge. The sound of your nail hitting the metal is drowned out by the raucaus applaud but your police partner watches you intently as you cooly say, “Don't forget why we're here, Sergeant,” your voice holds caution as the noise of the crowd trickles down.
The set ends, and the man on stage drenched in flamboyant white linen bids the crowd a ‘Very good night’. He strolls off stage, not without giving you one last, knowing glance.
‘If you catch me, it's because I let you catch me,’ is what those eyes seem to be saying.
So much for blending into an unsuspecting crowd.
“These are not your friends. They're common criminals.” Your voice is louder now, with the absence of that Seonghwa's cacophony. “Stay here, make sure none of these degenerates kill themselves.” You're hellbent om following Seonghwa off the stage, but your partner's light snickers have you pausing slightly. You raise your eyebrows in questioning.
“You speak about them like they're not just fans," Your partner shakes his graying head, "Like they're complicit,”
“They are." You almost immediately reply with a narrowed gaze. "As far as I'm concerned, their fans are just as bad as them.”
With those parting words you make your way towards the part of the warehouse sectioned off from the rest of the crowd, where Seonghwa and his accomplice disappeared off to in the wake of their applause.
You reach what appears to be a backroom hidden behind the makeshift stage. It is far quieter than the rest of the warehouse pulsating with cacophony. You do not miss the slight apprehension that swallows you whole when your feet stop you from venturing over the threshold.
“It doesn't look like you have a backstage pass,” San sits beside Seonghwa on a couch positioned in the focal point of the small room. You recognize hid face as another one of the men whose visage was stamped in a very large police docket on your desk.
“Apologies,” you murmer to San, “I only have one of these,” you raise your police ID to the side of your face and San rises from his seat in mild curiosity. He sinks closer to you while Seonghwa, the man who held most of your attention, sits reclined, with his legs spread on the wide sectional.
He sits lazily, almost kingly under a giant white sheet. A flag plastered to the wall, with a giant, obnoxious, A carelessly spray painted in black.
“I thought we said no fans allowed backstage." San says in a sing-song voice, blatantly ignoring your badge with his giant shoulders now bending down to your height. The circumference of his hat casts a wide shadow over you, all in a clear display of intimidation. "That counts for pigs, too.”
His steely gaze never wavers from your face, and you fight valiantly to keep your emotions tamed under a calm, nonchalant reserve. "If you're a cop, where's your uniform?" San does an obnoxious display of racking his eyes over your body.
"Your dad's place," you whisper cooly, "I couldn't put it on in time."
Your words have an unmistakable smile cracking on the sides of San's face. "I enjoyed that very much."
"I thought a degenerate like you might." Despite your words, San is still smiling. In fact, you fear yourself at risk of slipping right into that enchanting gaze of his were it not for the interception of the third voice in the room.
“How interesting,” Seonghwa's voice cuts through the tension blistering between you and San like a white, hot knife.
“Leave us.” San's head snaps backward towards his accomplice, and all Seonghwa does is smile as they communicate, quite literally without words right in front of you. Seonghwa evidently 'says' what is needed in order to get San slyly leaving room. Not before tipping his hat in parting.
With your attention now focused solely on the man ok the couch, drenched in the white linen, whose arms are outstretched and resting on the headrest, you suddenly find yourself completely and unfortunately unsure.
You had met plenty of prisoners. Dined with manner delinquents and questioned many criminals, it is only in his presence when you feel your usually tough reserve quaking at the smallest fraction. In the face of what is apparently true rebellion.
“Why don't you have a seat,” he snickers when he finds you already stepping over the threshold, making yourself all too comfortable in an evil space. Nothing good existed beyond this point.
“I hope you enjoyed the show,” There is a depth to his voice that is regrettably tickling down the edge of your spine, dousing every bit of pateince you had.
“You call it a show… I call it inciting a riot,” you shrug, finally choosing to sit beside him on the wide sectional. Far too close beside him and his outstretched arms.
Despite the warning bells, you refuse to exhibit any fear.
“Is that why you're here?” His voice remains steady as he focuses it on tracing the tips of his fingers against your shoulder. He wants to see how quickly his touch could elicit a valley of goosebumps.
He is all too pleased to find you shivering in protest.
“You're here to arrest me?” In all honesty, Seonghwa enjoyed watching you try to push him away for the sake of your precious morals. Call it masochism, but there is something enticing about a woman who so very clearly abhors everything he stands for. Seonghwa cannot help but find it almost irresistible. His captain always remarked on Seonghwa's enjoyment for not only fixing broken things but also obsessing over them.
You did not know that the frown plastered across your face only accelerated his racing heart more. Desire plunged through his arteries as he immediately recognized you as a challenge.
Something to perhaps break.
It would be so incredibly satisfying, especially because you represented everything he despised in this wretched world.
Order.
“Actually, no.” You say, staving off another shivsr as you evade Seonghwa’s steadily heavy growing eyelids. “We received a call that someone was disturbing the peace.”
“In an abandoned warehouse?” He asks, voice airy and tone almost dismissive because he is much closer to you now, leaning towards you, as if enchanted by your very scent. You watch him with apprehension as you begin to feel the very first signs of what you regrettably realize to be attraction.
However, you can not move off the couch now because you can not control any of your motor functions in your concrete bones. Every one of your morals howl for you to get away from this man. To cuff him, send him down to the precinct and convict him for... something…
but that 'something' does not come quick enough, and he's leaning closer to you, with both arms still resting on the couch behind you. Before you can blow up your entire career, and close the distance, you wrangle some bit of sense to turn your head sideways, evading his half lidded eyes and slightly parted lips.
Your blatant rejection rouses him slightly, and he readjusts himself in his seat. Seonghwa brings his legs together to better manage the heat rushing to his cock in the wake of your rejection and apparent attraction (and immense frustration) as he shifts even closer beside you.
“You will find no disturbance here,” he says, “Only music.”
His words release the floodgates of your vexation, and your head snaps as you fire off. “Music that you weaponize to spew your delinquency.”
“Ah. Ah.” Seonghwa dips his head down to your ear as he whispers, “Delinquency, or rebellion?”
You're laughing humorlessly into the air, effectively causing Seonghwa’s smile to widen and his cock to stiffen completely in the confies of his pitch black dress pants. You are oblivious to his eyes, watching you as if you hung the very moon.
“You and your… freaks preach your vitriol and call it ‘rebellion’ when all you're actually doing is polluting our city with riots and crime.”
“You don't wish to be liberated from an oppressive world order?” He adjusts himself again, getting far too excited with the way this conversation is flowing. Your wide eyes and high vibrato do little to calm his restlessness.
“What oppression!?”
His voice is quick and monotonous, “Capitalism. Classism. Racism.” His fingers clench and unclench before swiping against the back of your neck, “Why do you willingly submit to a system that is simply un-winnable? We want you to free yourselves from the hierarchy. Fucking wreck the system-”
“You're fucking Pirates,” you spit the word out, unwokowungly snapping the very last of your reserve before Seonghwa is pulling you into a heady, heavy kiss by the nape of your neck.
"Fuck yes," He whispers before pulling you in as if you weighed absolutely nothing and you let him. You let his lips move languidly against yours as your hands fall against his chains and the white linen frills spilling from his collar. His hand is still positioned on the nape of your neck and he squeezes, forcing you to kiss him back. He groans into your mouth when you begin to work with him instead of against him. You mouth falling open as his tongue collides with yours.
Vaguely, in the background, outside these four walls, you can hear the crowd beginning to cheer once again as raucous music spills from unseen speakers. You can hear San beginning to sing into a mic, and your hand on Seonghwa's shirt curls imperceptibly.
“You're so beautiful…” You hate how easily his words affect you. You hate what a slave to desire you seem to be as he leans back to immediately push his hands in between your legs.
“Tell me to stop,” he challenges, keeping his feline eyes trained on you as he unclips the buttons of your jeans with one hand. “Tell me you don't want this disgusting delinquent to make you cum over and over again.”
Your lips are pursed painfully, and you throw your head back with your eyes clenched shut as you lift your hips. All the better for him to wriggle your jeans down to your ankles.
As he brings your legs up to his lap to pull off your jeans completely, Seonghwa's movements become all the more reckless and all the more urgent.
“All the same,” he murmurs before kneeling on the floor in front of you, “You conformists are all the fucking same.” Your eyes flutter open, along with your mouth, and the very moment your gaze locks onto the spray painted flag, hanging above you, Seongwha pushes aside your underwear, immediately spearing your dripping cunt with his long fingers. You release a broken moan into the air and his smile has blossomed into a full-on lopsided, evil grin as he brings your knees up to frame his face.
“2 seconds,” he taunts, in between your chorus of broken moans going head-to-head with the sound of San’s sensational belting, “it took me 2 seconds to have you humping my hand like a pretty fucking slut-”
Despite the pleasure coursing through your body, you still manage to keep your teeth clenched as you murmur, “You're the one… fuck… you're the one kneeling in front of me like my personal whore-”
Seonghwa's eyebrows raise, and his eyes glint in excitement at your taunting. He prided himself on being someone who could take as much as he gave out, and you're doing a terrific job at holding his attention when so many other people fell short.
You were interesting, of that, Seonghwa was sure.
“You make me want you so bad, Dove,” he admits before swiping his other hand over his stiffening bulge to the rhythm of his hand pushing in and out of your cunt.
“You drive me fucking crazy-”
“You're already crazy- fuck, just like that! Please don't stop-” your clenching around his fingers, eyes locked on his wide, excited eyes and his close lipped smile as brings his other hand to swipe over your clit.
The very second his calluses make contact with your swollen, puffy clit, you're cumming around his fingers. San’s vocal rages and your screams pour out as you fight to keep your eyes open. Seonghwa's fingers are still pushing into you relentlessly, and your heart sinks when you realise the seat underneath you is drenched with your arousal.
Seonghwa's mind is flooded with the image of you squirting so shamelessly around his fingers. Seeing you give yourself over to him so seamlessly made him feel absolutely restless with arousal, and he's pushing you down onto the couch before you're able to fill the air with idle protests.
His clothes suddenly feel too constricting and he curses the black corset as he wrestles with the buttons of his collar. He does not care that the buttons are flying onto the floor because he is clambouring onto the couch and hovering over you as he slots his hips in between your open legs.
“I need you to make a mess for me,” he whispers, before pulling his collar open, showcasing a patch of his tanned chest to your wide eyes. You unbuttoned your own shirt at the very same time that Seonghwa pulls down the zip of his pants, and he nearly whines at the sight of your breasts spilling out of your top. You are using him just as much as he is using you.
“Just like that, baby,” He nods, forcing his cock deep inside you as you begin to tweak your own nipples to stave off the discomfort of being stretched open so completely.
“F-Fuck- Seonghwa…” He is still nodding as he bends down towards you. Strands of his black hair tickle your face as he positions his hands on the side of your head and ruts into you with urgency. “I don't think I can take it-”
“You're already taking it so well, Baby.” He coos, as he forces his cock deeper and deeper into your clenching walls.
“You're taking everything I have to give and you're doing it flawlessly,” his praises are like that fashioned from a poet and the sheer artistry behind mere words have your head flying backwards as you release a torrid moan into the air.
“Where are you going?” He asks with a breathless laugh as he brings your head back by the grip of your throat. He is driving his cock inside you, his own frills spilling over your skin as he chokes you relentlessly.
Seonghwa is the very sight of violent beauty: hair mussed with his collar completely undone. His corset is still fashioned around his waist but it succeeds in tightening his abdomen, bringing him closer to the edge as the torrid sounds of your fucking fills the air.
"Fuck I'm close,” He grunts with his eyes nearly rolling to the back of his skull. "Tell me you hate me-" he whispers.
"I hate you," you moan out. "I hate you so fucking much-" It fell from your lips so easily because it is the God honest truth. Despite the spell he currently has you under, in the eyes of your aspirations, and everything you've ever worked hard for, you hated him and people like him. People who threatened to dismantle the progress lawmakers have strived to protect. And so, with your orgasm crwsting and your toes clenching, you whisper those words over and over to him. And every time to tell him you hate him, he chokes you harder and fucks you deeper.
"F-Fuck- 'Hwa I'm-" he nods, eyes now incredibly pained as he drives his cock into you with no chance of stopping.
"Cum for me," His whisper has you reading a broken moan into the air and Seonghwa watches as you descend into the depths of your euphoria.
"Gorgeous-" He exclaims through clenched teeth as his own hips begin to stutter, "You're so fucking gorgeous-" He whimpers before spilling inside you.
You're both moaning into the air, at the very same time that Choi San appears at the threshold.
"You work fast," San says languidly. He shifts his gaze from your horror-stricken gaze to Seonghwa who stares at his accomplice with a smirk on his face.
"I work smarter," Seonghwa says, "not harder." You're very much aware that he is still very much inside of you in front of a complete stranger but that panic dissipates when you realize Seonghwa, himself, is nothing but a stranger...
"The police is not gonna be a problem for us anymore, right?" He asks sweetly before dipping his head down in between the crook of your neck. You are starkly aware that your silence is answer enough...
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ann1-wr1tes · 15 days
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Leon Kennedy NSFW Alphabet
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Dynamics: RE4! Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader
Synopsis: Spicy Alphabet
Warnings: Adult themes, obviously smut
A/N: Hey Leon simps...hope ya'll enjoy! Also if anyone wants to request any other characters for an alphabet, let me know!
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A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
-Leon is very good at aftercare. He always makes sure that you are comfy and well cared for. He'll run you both a warm shower and he honestly just likes to take his time, washing your body and making sure you are well cared for and clean. His favorite part is when he finally gets to lay back in bed with you and relax as you drift off to sleep.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
-Leon loves your whole body honestly. If he had to pick one thing he'd probably say your hands. He likes to hold them and kiss them and its just something that's so grounding to him when he's fucking you and he intertwines his fingers with yours.
-On himself I think he'd be particularly proud of arms. He knows he's got some muscle on them and it just makes him feel strong.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
-Leon would probably prefer something simple like your stomach if not inside a condom. If he has to pull out, he doesn't like making too big of a mess so your stomach will do.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
-He's always wanted to wake you up with a little surprise. Whether that be waking you up with head, fingering you, or fucking you awake. Its just something about how pretty you look when you're sleeping next to him and you have your ass pressed against his dick...
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
-Since this is taking place around RE!4 he doesn't have a lot of experience. Of course he's not nearly as clueless as he was in RE!2 but he's too busy to have that much experience under his belt. Luckily he's a quick learner.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
-He likes it simple. Missionary or maybe Doggy-style. Missionary is just perfect, he can gauge all your reactions and see how you feel when he looks at your face and its just perfect. Doggy-style is nice when he presses his chest against your back and he gets to be as close to you as possible. His arms would be wrapped around your waist as he rolls his hips into yours.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
-Not too goofy but he may crack a few horrible jokes here or there. He wants to keep the mood light and not too serious.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
-Not too messy, not completely bare. Given his line of work and very limited amount of time he has at home, I think he tries his best to stay as well groomed as possible but he leaves a little bit and has a nice happy trail.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
-In the moment he an get very sucked up into all the emotions and the feelings that happen during sex. His life is hard and he rarely ever gets to take the time to unwind so sometimes it can be emotional for him and he just wants to show you how appreciative he is.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
-Oh absolutely. When he's off on the other side of the world, away from you he's got to have some way to relieve stress. Its not that frequent but he does it often enough late at night when he's thinking of you.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
-Definitely has a praise kink. He wants to hear how good he is doing for you, how good he is making you feel, and if you happen to tell him how strong he is or how handsome he looks then he might just cum right then and there...
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
-Usually at home in bed, but there have been a few instances where he has enjoyed some shower sex. You two just wanted to spend some time together after he got home from a mission and he couldn't help himself when he saw soap running down your skin and your pretty body standing there in front of him.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
-Just you in general. He loves everything about you and god does he think you're hot. You barely even have to do anything to get him hard. You could probably give him a few good kisses and he'd start to get heated.l
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
-No guns, no knives, and I don't think he'd be huge into choking. Anything that could hurt you is a definite no for him. I also don't think he'd into the whole "daddy" thing..it kinda just weirds him out-
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
-He prefers giving. Its one of his ways he likes to show you how much he loves and appreciates you. Just having you lay back and spread your legs is one of his favorite things.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
-Steady. Not too fast, not too slow. He likes to get the job done but not rush it too much. Of course if you want it rougher/faster he'd be happy to oblige and there are moments when he's feeling more emotional or soft so he'll be a bit softer and slow then.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
-He doesn't mind them. Sometimes he'll get a call for work and he'll have to leave soon but he wants to fuck you on last time before he goes. I feel like it'd be a common thing between you too.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
-He's neutral on taking risks. He's pretty much down for anything you'd like to try, so long as its within reason. But if you want to experiment then he's more than happy to give it a try with you.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
-Leon has good stamina but the poor boy is tried most of the time. I think he'd be able to give you a good few long rounds before passing out lmao-
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
-He doesn't own any toys himself but if you had some and wanted to use them he'd be happy to. I think he'd be more eager to use them on you but if you convince him you'd probably be able to use a vibrator on him or maybe a cock ring-
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
-Doesn't tease at all. He's very giving and generous while having sex and he loves to make you feel good.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
-Not too loud but not quiet. I'd say he's somewhere in the middle. He'll let out a few good groans and maybe some moans if you get him feeling really good.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
-He loves it when you wear his clothes. Whether that be an oversized shirt or his jacket, its just something about seeing you in his clothes that gets him going.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
-Definitely a grower. Leon when he's soft is a good 6.5 inches and when he's hard, he gets to a whole 7.5 inches. When hard his dick tilts slightly to the left but has one of two prominent veins running up his shaft.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
-Pretty high honestly. He's always pent up from his job and stressed so one of the best ways he can relieve himself it by fucking you. Plus he just loves you and can't seem to get enough of you so his sex drive is decently high.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
-He tries to stay up long enough for you to fall asleep first but sometimes he's just so worn out that he either falls asleep with you or a little before you.
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ohcaptains · 1 year
Text
abby love spell
pairing. abby anderson x f!reader
synopsis. abby’s been handsy all damn day. can’t even take her hands off of you on patrol, where she should be focusing on something far more important...like staying alive. naively, you think watching a movie will distract her. it’s no use, really.
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an. anyway slay. this is based off of this request that someone sent years, nay, millennia ago. what can i say, i was busy procrastinating writing and focusing on playing the game. again. pls enjoy, comment and reblog, etc. it makes the gay thoughts stronger<3 (not showing in tags so reblogs appreciated)
warnings. 18+. please do not read or interact with my blog if you’re a minor. do not copy my shit, i’ll find out. hand on throat (no choking), house wife kink, f!receiving penetration, strap on sex, lots of description of spit because i’m insane. references to oral, but no description. soz. maybe next time champ. 
Something was up with Abby. 
She’d always been an affectionate girlfriend, but today, she was stuck to you like glue. The pair of you, alongside Manny and Nora, had left for patrol in the morning. You had been busy making sure the truck was stocked, while Abby was busy trying to find a way to keep her hands on you at all times. 
You were bent over the crates, checking and re-checking the contents, when her hands had slid onto your hips, thumbs looping into the belt buckles. 
You went to flinch, hand coming out to grab hers, but you felt the familiar scabs on her knuckles. The familiar bumps of her veins – the map you knew off by heart.
“Hi Abby,” you sang, patting the back of her hand. Her chest pushed against your back, chin coming to rest on your shoulder. “Whatcha doing?” she asked, fully aware of what you were doing. 
You answered her though – anything to keep her locked against you like this. There were a couple of layers of fabric between you, but you could still feel the heat radiating off of her.
“Packing the guns.”
Abby hummed, then grabbed at your hip, using it to twist you to face her. You grunted an oft! grabbing the lapels of her jacket to stabilise yourself.
“Shit – Abby,” you scorned, but she ignored you. Instead, she flexed her arms, and you couldn’t see the lines of muscles due to her jacket, but the bulge of her biceps was there all the same.
“Already got 'em, look,” she grinned, wiggling her brows, and you patted her chest, an amused frown on your face.
“What is with you?” you asked, smoothing out her jacket. “Ben put a little something extra in your porridge this morning?”
“I’m just my regular, goofy ol’ self – what do you mean?”
Her blue gaze flicked to your top, visible from underneath your open jacket.
“That’s my top,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Oh yeah – sorry,” you quickly spoke, glancing down at it, and thus not noticing the tick in Abby’s jaw. She always loved you in her clothes. Loved the way they draped over you – especially the jagged arm holes she cut into them. 
The fabric would always hang loose at your sides, and she’d spend all day glimpsing at the drag of it over your chest. “Lights went out in the East block when you were at the gym. Had to get dressed in the dark—” you’re cut off, the surprise of Abby’s head dropping against your chest rendering your vocabulary to just one word, "Abby!”
“Mm,” she hummed, pushing her forehead between your breasts, “smells like me.” “Abby—” you said again, a giggle cracking at your lips. Your hands fumbled for her shoulders, shoving her away, or at least trying to – Abby was dead weight. You admired her strength. Loved it, but it was times like this when it was a hindrance to your mental stability. Finally, she stretched back to her height, shit eating grin on her face. 
You were too busy transfixed on her features, that you didn’t notice her hands coming out to the bottom of your coat. Suddenly, she pulled the zip up to the top, and she knocked your chin up with her knuckle, leaning down to give you a deep kiss.
You went somewhere else for a second, the drag of her tongue knocking reality out of the way. Melted, succumb to her sudden overwhelming taste -- but she pulled away too soon.
“Cold out,” she grinned, hands rubbing at the length of your now-covered chest, and you were too dazed to respond.
It was like that all. Damn. Day.
She never once stopped playing around with you. 
She’d boost you up walls, hands sliding under your thighs in an attempt to push you up. Hand at the bottom of your back to signal you to walk faster, hands on your hips to pull you out of the way. 
Pulling you around like a damn rag doll. 
Nice shot, she’d say, when it was actually pretty average. 
Good girl, she casually praised, after you’d jumped and grabbed her arm, letting her pull you up onto a roof. That one had got you -- had to take a second to gather yourself as she spoke to Manny about which direction you were going.
Got to an abandoned warehouse and she pulled you to the side, sparing a few minutes to kiss you against a stack of boxes.
What’re you doing? You’d asked, and all she said was, kissing my girlfriend.
Now, you’re trying to watch a movie together. 
Or at least, you’re trying to watch a movie – she’s too busy touching you to focus on the plot. 
You’re comfy on your shared bed, resting on her broad chest as you sit between her muscular thighs, and she’s keeping you there by the arm she’s got slung around your front – bicep on your shoulder – as she lazily kisses at your neck.
It’s distracting, to say the least.
“’um trying to watch,” you whisper, eyes fluttering closed for a brief second. The movie buzzes at you – an 80’s flick, all electronic beams, and bright colours. It’s about robots, and when Mel had brandished the disk in front of you last month, you’d been eager to have a watch. 
Now, the direction Abby’s mouth is taking is far more interesting. 
She scatters lazy, wet smooches over your neck, pausing before she places another as if she’s painting a picture. The drag of it makes you lethargic — makes you comfy and loose in Abby’s grip.
You want nothing more than to give into her touch. You’ve spent the whole day trying to shove down the overwhelming feeling of desire that she’d been pulling out of you. But you’ve been meaning to watch this movie for months.
No, you tell yourself. Focus. You breathe in, and shake your head, snapping back to the screen.
Abby hums. She’s so warm and soft -- her muscular chest surprisingly comfortable – that it’s lulling you into a sense of submission. You rest back against her, enveloped in her arms. Enveloped in the soft brush of her lips against your throat.
Focus, you repeat to yourself.
Got to give this movie back to Mel tomorrow, she’s been asking for it for weeks. “You can watch,” Abby whispers, brushing her mouth over your ear. The wetness of her lips forces a shiver down your spine. You try and run from it, shuffling in her grip, but Abby keeps you steady – lazily locked against you with her arm slung over your shoulder. “Just let me kiss you,” she breathes, placing a soft, delicate one on your ear lobe. Your eyes flutter again. She smells fresh from the shower. Smells clean, like her soap – pine and mint. Her hair is down too – you love it when her hair is down – and it hangs long, smelling like…strawberries? Your shampoo. Fuck fuck fuck. You shake your head, “can’t focus on the movie when you’re kissing me like that.” Abby smiles against your neck, and you feel it – feel it curve against your skin. “Sounds like a you problem.” “You’re an asshole,” you whisper, and she laughs.
“Just be quiet and watch the movie,” she orders, wide palm rubbing your bare thigh. “Quit whining.”
You grumble, mumbling something under your breath, but you do go quiet, and thankfully, she does slow her kissing. Resorts to nuzzling your neck instead, while her left hand continues to rub at your thigh. 
It is nice, and you manage a couple of minutes of this, relaxing and watching the movie before you feel her hand sliding upwards.
You inhale sharply. Breathe in her scent. Wait for her to slow down. Wait for her to stop. Yet she never does. 
Her long, thick fingers leisurely flutter over your bare skin as her hand inches to where you suddenly want it – God, do you – tantalisingly close to the boxers you’re wearing. Hers. 
Your whole outfit is hers and you swear she’s going to touch you, or at least brush her fingers against you, but she pulls back. Slides her hand away, wide palm retreating to your knee.
Disappointment twangs.
You try not to think about it, but the buzz she’d sparked settles low in your belly.
The film continues with its garish colours and cheesy dialogue. Buzzes and crackles, its movie star taking up the screen for an up-close shot. You swallow down the fluttering of your heart.
She’s still kissing you.
Her lips are wet, exploring. Nose cold as it nuzzles against your ear lobe, breath warm as she breathes, and her tongue darts out, skimming over your throat before she kisses the spit away. You hum, hips pushing again, and Abby palms at your inner thigh.  
“Shhh, baby. Can’t hear the movie with all your whimpering.” The breath of her whisper flutters over your neck, forcing goosebumps to rise to the surface. You roll your eyes back and try and convince yourself that it’s from annoyance rather than pleasure.
Her hand starts again, faster now, smoothing over your skin, not giving you enough time as she just brushes the tips of her fingers over your underwear, and your hand jolts out.
“Abby,” you warn, grabbing it. You intertwine your fingers with hers, stopping it in its tracks — clutching it on your lap, and Abby hums a laugh into your neck.
“Not gonna let me touch you there?” she teases, using the hand you’re holding to rub at your groin. 
You’re betrayed by your own knuckles, the touch forcing your thighs to clench together, and hips to jolt up at the sensation. You hate it. Love it, really. She’s winding you up like a toy. “Abby,” you whisper, conflicted. The tv hisses its dialogue, music singing – a car crashes into a wall, and the antagonist cackles in delight. Who’s the villain again? Abby hums a pleased, “Hm?” into your ear. You don’t know. Just have to spit her name out. Get it out of you, before it’s back, brimming at your lips like an omission of truth. 
She pushes her hand into yours, forcing your knuckles to rut against your crotch again, and fuck, your legs widen an inch, welcoming the feeling and silently begging for more. 
She’s smiling, sickly sweet – you know it. Know her. Know she’s grinning from the gradual win.
You keep a hold of her hand as she rubs it into you, coaxing something warm and tingly to build between your thighs. Your face goes hot. 
You suddenly can’t remember the plot of this movie. Try to come up with something convincing to Mel for when she asks for your review, but your temporal lobe has stopped working. 
All you can think about is the sensation between your thighs, the comforting tickle on your chest from Abby’s hair, and the smell of her – familiar, all-consuming. She runs the tips of her teeth over the flesh of your throat, and “Abs,” you gasp, free hand grabbing onto her forearm. 
Her tongue comes out, soothing the scratch from her teeth and you shift, shocked, hips bucking back against her, legs falling open, and she takes advantage – drops your hand and flattens her palm between your thighs, cupping your clothed pussy.
“Shit,” you gasp, clutching her strong forearm with both hands in surprise.
You can’t believe you’ve let her win.
She’s not even moving, just holding you, but the pressure is enough to force your thighs together, pussy clenching around nothing.
“Um’ gonna break up with you,” you quickly rush, eyes clenching closed. Abby cackles. Says, “Yeah?” “Mm,” you hum, nodding, fidgeting, trying to get her to fucking move. “Okay –“she breathes, stuffing her fingers low, thick of them pressing against you. Your mind goes fizzy. She talks. “--After I make you come though, right?” Your face clenches together, your mouth falling open. “You’re the worst,” you brandish, lying through your teeth. Meaning it wholeheartedly. 
She hushes you, “Shhh, I know,” and watches your facial expressions change – watches you try to self-soothe.
“The worst,” you repeat, voice cracking. Somehow, Abby’s lips get closer to your ear.
“I know baby, but I’ll make it good, promise.”
Her admission forces your eyes open, and you look down at where she’s got you – thick fingers barely pushing against your clothed slit, and God, you have to – have to grind your cunt against her. One slight roll of your hips, up and up, then down, and you huff, curse under your breath because Jesus Christ.
“Or you’ll do it for me.” “Shut up.” “No – do it again.”
You do. With your hands holding the forearm she’s got buckled against your collarbones, you hitch your hips up, and she keeps her hand tense, making it good for you. Makes sure the ball of her palm pushes into your clit, and you sigh. A tremor shoots through your belly.
“Keep doing that,” she mutters, mouth close enough that her words echo through your brain. “I wanna see.” She grabs a fistful of your shirt and drags it up. The cool air hits the soft skin of your belly, but Abby warms you as her arm flattens against it, hefty and comforting. 
You watch her strong arm transfixed. Watch the muscles tick as her hand flexes, the scars on her skin white and shiny in the dull buzz of the TV screen. 
Her fingers rub at your pussy, and your hips move, back arches, grinding against her palm, your breathing hitching and catching. 
She’s barely touching your clit, just brushing it, and the sensation slowly builds, pushing, making you reach down and fumble for her hand, pushing it deeper into you.
“Abs,” you choke, and she groans. Nods against your neck and admits, “wanted to fuck you all day.”
Heat rushes over you, forces you to clench together and pathetically whimper. “Been obsessed with me all day,” you breathe. 
In your cloudy vision, you catch sight of the TV screen, the movie playing out to two people who couldn’t care less. Yet you try and focus, but it’s hard to multitask with her hand between your thighs.
The antagonist is being arrested, and you have no fucking clue as to why. Probably something to do with the car explosion – or was it a truck? Abby carries on kissing you, sucking at the soft skin, bruising you with her sweet lips and tongue, “m’ always obsessed with you,” she purrs, the hand she’s got strapped across your collarbones soothing the skin of your shoulder. “Mm, yeah – but something --” she rubs the ball of her palm over your clit, pushes it, this time, and your sentence catches. “Shit —” you hiss, eyes rolling back. A shiver runs down your spine as your brain short circuits. Desperately, you try to keep a hold of reality, try not to fall into the dizziness of it all.
Sometimes that happened with Abby. You didn’t mind, but you wanted to hold on to your consciousness for a little while longer. You huff, shake your head – try to remember your next sentence. “Something different about today.”
“Had a dream that I fucked you last night.”
Oh, you think, that’ll do it. You can’t help but grin -- delighted that you’ve managed to weave your way into her subconscious.
“Things were different, normal,” she explains, still taunting you with her hand. She’s pushing up, grinding up and down your clothed slit with an intrinsic kind of determination, using just enough pressure to make you delirious. 
As she pushes her fingers low, your clit throbs. Your pussy clenches, tight and sore. You were never good at this bit. Never good at waiting. You clutch her hand, tense and fidgety, gut tightening as her fingers slowly push you to some metaphorical edge.
“Don’t laugh,” she adds, and you do, but not at her, more so at the situation. Your big, controlling Abby, asking you not to laugh at her. “M’ not gonna laugh at you Abs,” you pant, grinding slowly, breathing deep, trying to calm yourself down for this admission she’s so ashamed of. 
She leans in close, mouth against your ear as if the TV can hear. All it does is add to the pressure, her voice so close, it’s like it’s in your own head.
“I dreamt that you were my housewife,” she whispers, and fuck, that’s not what you expected. That’s not what you expected at all. “That I came home,” she continues, sliding her fingers up and down, up, and down, and you’re wet against her. Soaked through the cotton, her fingers damp with your slick. Jesus Christ, she’s only been playing. 
Hadn’t felt like she’d been trying all that hard, really, and here you are, making her hand all wet. You both watch her play with you – draw it out, fingers dragging, your hips trying to match her rhythm. “’n’ you were making me dinner, dressed up all pretty – heals on, nothing underneath.” “Y-Yeah?” you breathe, quick and short, the only sound you can make besides the quiet moans you’re mumbling. “And you waltzed up to me, said, honey, you’re home. N’ undid my tie.”
You’re wet enough that she can see the outline of your pussy through her boxers. Gently, she relaxes her palm and slides her middle finger through your slit, your legs widening, watching her, knowing what she’s doing before she does it.
“That’s it,” she mutters, finger pushing against your clit. “So fucking wet, s’so fucking hot,” she breathes into your ear, teeth on your earlobe and fuck, you nearly come. 
Nearly burst, white-hot heat jolting through you, eyes clenching together, pussy clenching – want her inside of you, feels like you’ve never wanted her more than you do now.
She carries on, languidly rolling your clit around, tenderly pushing at the nerve.
“Then you dropped to your knees,” she coos into your ear, and fuck, in your haze you didn’t see her move. Didn’t feel her slide her hand over your throat, holding you still. You swallow against her palm.
“and unlaced my boots. Took them off for me, so good. So helpful.”
She keeps the pace steady. Hits the nerve at such an angle that you can’t run from pressure. Your pussy gushes, and words fail you.  
Abby kisses your cheek, “You okay baby? Gone quiet on me.”
“I think um gonna come,” you quickly admit, voice cracking. You’re clenched so tight that it hurts. Just begging for something, anything, to fill the need she’s building. Your thighs twitch and you feel her smile on your cheek, curved cheekily. She ignores you. Carries on.
“Dinner on the table for me, my favourite. Dessert in the fridge, beer on ice. Your pretty little face so excited that I was back.”
Your small voice shatters through her spiel -- “Did you fuck me against the table?” you whimper, imagining it. “With my dress and heels still on?”
Abby groans. Her fingers break their rhythm for a second, go sloppy – get distracted. You think about her bending you over the kitchen table, your hair in her fist and her strap in her hand. 
She gets her rhythm back and picks up speed. Rubs your clit in tight, controlled circles, and you feel yourself get closer. There’s a familiar ache at the bottom of your belly.
“Yeah baby, I did,” she breathes. “Treated you like a lady. Made you come on my cock so quick that my dinner was still warm.”
“Abby,” you burst, cutting her off. Fuck, you hear it – hear how desperate you are. “You don’t wanna watch your movie?” she teases, using the hand on your throat to push your chin to her. She looks at you pitifully, blue eyes blown wide. “No,” you whine, teeth chewing at your bottom lip, making it swollen. You manage to shake your head, and she pulls your lip from your teeth, using her thumb to slide your spit over your chin. “Don’t wanna see how it ends?” she further taunts. “N-No,” you sob, nearly crying. Actually, no, you are crying. Yeah, your cheeks are definitely damp with something. 
You sniff, and Abby goes soft. For a fleeting second, she switches -- kisses away your tears, and says, “shh, okay. I know sweetheart, I know.”
She pushes her forehead against yours, and you’re lulled into a false sense of security before she pulls her fingers away. 
You shatter, gasp “No!”, and Abby kisses you, shuts you up, hands tugging your boxers down, quickly pulling them over your knees and discarding them onto the floor somewhere.
She tugs your thighs open, too, fully exposing you, and the cool air hits your damp pussy just as she stuffs her fingers back, sliding her thick middle finger through your slick before pushing it into your swollen, aching hole.
The world tips on its axis. For a brief, cataclysmic moment, you go somewhere else. Mouth open, eyes clenched close. The obscene pressure is overwhelming, and you clench around her finger, so tight that she groans into your mouth.
“Jesus,” she curses, “ease up baby, lemme make you feel good.”
It takes all of your willpower to loosen up, to relax. When you do, she slides out, then in, gently, slowly fingering you, warming you up, before she adds another finger, wet enough for the stretch, and you go blank.
You don’t say anything – can’t, no words, only sounds, loud and against her mouth. Cursing her out, moaning her name – garbled and sloppy, hands clutching her forearm, nails digging into her skin -- all sensation. 
You can hear how wet you are, hear your pussy squelching around her fingers.
“'m gonna come,” you gasp, and Abby nods, kisses you, tastes your spit and coaches you through it, “That’s it, baby, just let it all out.”
Seconds later, it rushes over you.
Sucks you under and spits you out, your hips bucking against Abby’s quick-moving fingers as you come, wet and hot, spilling over and soaking the sheets. “m’ my god, my god,” you whine, the white-hot feeling never-ending. 
Legs shaking, and Abby watches, praises you, says, “oh fuck, look at that,” and you can’t, it’d be too much. Instead, you whine against her cheek, back arching, body shuddering, her name spilling from your lips like spit.
“Abby,” you babble, “Abby, feels so fuckin’ good, you make it so good,” you drool, words sloppy, pussy clenching tight. 
The sensation continues. You breathe her name again, Abby Abby Abby – a prayer on your swollen lips. Please, you whisper — please what?
Abby won’t let you come down. Your sensitivity spirals, but Abby doesn’t stop. Drags her thick fingers through your clenched walls, and you gasp, hands grasping out to grab hers. 
You clutch her wet hand in your limp grip, whimpering, please, against her mouth.
“Okay,” she breathes, barely there. “Okay, I’ll stop.”
She pulls her fingers out of you slowly, kissing your forehead as you make a soft humming sound. You’re still so sensitive. 
The heat has cooled, but the feeling still lingers, and Abby kisses your forehead again, quieting the dull ache that’s washing over you. Gently, she pulls her hand away from yours, bringing her slick fingers up to her lips. 
You watch through half-lidded lids as she runs her mouth over them, humming in contentment. Pink tongue darting over the digits – you flush, your own tongue licking at your bottom lip as you study her.
You curl your legs together, thighs wet, feeling the pressure that’s still there. Abby sees you wince. She studies your features -- notes that your eyes haven’t lost their glaze, and now they’re edged with something wild, as if you’ve gotten a taste, but not enough to scratch the itch. 
There’s a familiar softness to you, too. Almost lethargic, as you run your nail over her forearm, eyes flicking over her strong jaw and flushed cheeks.
“You were messing with me all day.”
It’s a whisper, words tentative. Abby licks her lips, noting how your glassy eyes follow the movement. “Messing?” she repeats, inching forward, and pressing her forehead against yours. You close your eyes, a small, contented smile on your lips, then lick them, teeth coming out to chew. “Hm.” “You like when I mess with you?” she teases, and you hum again. The smile you’re donning builds, bubbling into a nod. 
She can’t help but reach out, and gently run her thumb over the pillow of your bottom lip, tugging it free from your teeth. You sigh, body leaning into her touch. “You’re very distracting…” She slides her wide palm over your cheek, dragging it to the back of your neck, then holds you there, inching her head to the left and brushing her mouth over yours – a small hint of you on her lips. “…S ’almost dangerous.” “’ m sorry,” you quickly breathe, come drunk. Drunk on Abby fucking Anderson. In your hazy and small headspace, you suddenly feel bad. She must know because she shakes her head, “don’t be.”
Her breath flutters over your lips, hand flexes at the back of your neck. That pressure that she’d subsided, is back. Feels suddenly critical.
“s’my fault for thinking I have any self-control.”
You want to kiss her. The desire sweeps over you, crashing like a wave. You go to move, but she whispers, “wanted to fuck you in that abandoned warehouse,” and all you can do is ask, “Why didn’t you?” A laugh rattles through her.
“nearly did.”
You think about the blood on her hands, think about the smear of it as she pulled your hips against hers, mouth hot and desperate. She’d sucked a quick bruise under your earlobe, and you’d melted. 
Electric had shot through your belly, warming between your thighs. 
Abby, you’d moaned, and she’d just about growled. Teeth had nipped at your tender skin, just this side of mean, and your brain had short-circuited.
You forgot about the impending danger around the corner — all you could think about was Abby, with her wandering hands and soft lips. The way she licked away the scratch and kissed you again, said, we gotta get this thing over with so I can take you to bed.
“Would have, too, if I wasn’t so damn responsible.”
She tuts at herself, annoyed at her regiment. She licks the spit off of her lip and you pout, I wanted to do that, you think.
“I like the responsible Abby,” you manage to mutter, bumping your mouth against hers, “She keeps me safe.”
Abby hums. Her eyes close as if she’s bathing in your omission. Abby does keep you safe. She’s strong, capable — a brilliant teammate and when she needs to be, a leader. She quiets the anxious thumping of your heart, and when she’s got you like this — floaty and soft — quiets it completely.
“Please kiss me,” you suddenly breathe, overwhelmed with the desire to have your mouth on her. “I’ve been waiting patiently.”
At the back of your neck, you feel her hand flex. She brushes her mouth against yours again, gently teasing, “You have, haven’t you?” her brows raise – followed by a sickly sweet smirk.
There’s something about this space you’re in that makes even the smallest of mockeries big and meaningful.
“I have,” you just about plead, and Abby’s smirk twists, a flash of longing bleating over her features, before she catches your lips, kissing you deep and long -- your resulting moan cracking through the bedroom. 
Her tongue comes in, wet and warm, forcing you closer — forcing you to just about clamber into her lap, damp inner thighs sliding against her sweatpants.
Abby pulls away, eyes dark and cloudy as she whispers, “Want me to get the strap?” and the only answer you find is, yes.
 You watch as Abby drags the leather straps up her thighs, then crawls onto the bed, buckling up one side as she moves. Immediately, with an instinct she’s drilled into you, you get onto your knees to do the other, hands fumbling around the leather. 
You’ve done this countless times before. Know what notch she likes it on. Knows she likes it tight, likes when the leather stretches over her thighs, marring them red. She lubes it up as you buckle her up tightly.
“So helpful – such a good girl, you know that, huh?”
She moves to kiss you, and you giggle into her mouth, catching the back of her head as she pushes you into the bed. Her strap brushes over you, and you sigh, humming at the sudden wet sensation. 
She tastes like you. Tastes like musk and mint and Abby. You tongue your way into her mouth, suddenly wanting more. Wanting her, carnally. Spent all day with her -- you spend most days with her, but it’ll never be enough.
You break away from her, slowly blinking, watching a trail of spit connect the two of you. She’s propped up on one elbow, watching you. 
Her eyes are navy blue under the shadow of the light, the freckles on her nose hidden, but you know they’re there. Know how they sprinkle out evenly as if they were painted there before she was handed off to her mother.
“I like being helpful,” you admit. Something flashes in her eyes. Her features shift, once playful, now soft, and her hand comes out, brushing your hair away from your forehead. 
Instinctively, you move into her palm. It’s warm – calloused, familiar. You move to nuzzle your nose into it.
“I like that you let me come along on patrols,” you whisper.
You don’t see it, but Abby’s face twitches, “I don’t let you do anything – I want you there.”
There’s a beat before you respond, too busy running your nose over her palm. When you turn to her, you flash her a cheeky smile, “So you can mess around with me.”
Abby sniffs a laugh, but she shakes her head, “So you can save my ass when I eventually fuck up.”
“s ’never happened. I don’t remember.”
“Selective memory.”
Her fingers move, forefinger resting under your chin and thumb coming up to slip over your bottom lip. Abby swears she sees your eyes glaze over again. She loves this. Loves when you get like this. It lets her know that you trust her, trust her to do what’s best.
“You with me?” she just about purrs. You hum. She watches as your body goes limp like she’s pressed a hidden button. You shift, your legs open wide, and your breasts bounce with the movement. If you were watching, you’d see eyes shift over your body – hungry and desperate.
You breathe in a sigh, and it rattles in your chest. “Yeah—” you whisper, “---think so. You make me feel so dizzy, Abby.”
Your eyes flutter closed, tongue coming out to catch her thumb. Your teeth go over it, and the hood of her nail drags over your gums, your bottom teeth pushing at the soft flesh. The sensation goes directly between Abby’s thighs. Still, she shows her usual concern. She cocks her head to the side.
“You’ll let me know if it’s too much, yeah?” “Yeah Abby,” you whisper around her finger, “s’never too much though. You know me.” “Promise?” she asks, ignoring you. “Promise,” you repeat, then, “I can still taste myself on you.”
Your tongue closes around her finger, wetting it – warm and soft. Abby briefly thinks: this is what she feels like inside. She goes red at the thought. An ache builds – she suddenly wants to be nestled deep, watching you come undone again.
You suck her finger further, eyes still closed, lost in the motion. The intoxication makes you grab a hold of her wrist, keeping her steady as spit pools under your lips, dripping towards your chin.
“Is this what I did in your dream?” you suddenly ask, blinking up at her. You catch her dark eyes, and she notes the spit that’s drooling over your tits.
“When I was on my hands and knees for you?”
All of the willpower Abby had left snaps in two. She suddenly shifts, moving you by shoving her big, strong hands under your thighs and spreading you open.
“Lemme fuck you,” she babbles, hitching your hips up. You watch her try to gather her nerve, but she talks and talks as she shuffles you around  – “I gotta fuck you baby. Gotta – gotta make it good, okay?”
“Okay,” you whisper, nodding, seeing her lose her cool. “I gotta.” “Okay,” you whisper again. You reach over with your hand, smoothing it over her cheek, begging her to look at you, but she just takes the hand and tries to get you situated. Moves the pillow, and makes sure your hips are pushed wide enough. “Yeah – I just, fuck. Yeah, fuck. Lemme – please?” she suddenly stops, like she’s caught herself before she falls off the ledge completely. The soft skin of your thumb smoothes over her cheek, and you nod, flexing your hips up, “fuck me, Abby.”
The roles shift and ripple. When Abby gets so turned on, she gets desperate — pleads and begs instead of tells.
But when she’s got the strap stuffed against your wet hole, the roles snap back.
“Oh fuck,” you whimper, suddenly overwhelmed. You’re still a little sensitive, and now lightheaded and dizzy with delirium, all you can do is pout against her pretty mouth, eyes glazed and wide. “Shhh, baby. Shh shh shh,” she punctuates. She looks down at where you connect, and slides the strap across your sopping folds, listening for your reaction. You huff, whispering her name – then jolt up when she brushes it against your clit, hands coming for the back of her head again.
“Abs,” you gasp, scuffed knees pressing on her hips.
“Um gonna make it good, okay?” she soothes, “don’t I always make it good for you?”
She does. Abby knows you like the back of her palm. Knows all your buttons, knows when to push them – how. Knows when it’s too much, or when it’s not enough. Her eyes flash open, blue and alive, and she kisses you as she stuffs the head against your hole, slowly sinking in, burying deep.
“Oh my fucking God,” you sob against her mouth, clenching, so fucking full that you have to arch your back. Your breath hitches, letting Abby know that you’re filled up tight.
“Abby,” you whine, hands reaching for your tits. You squeeze them, fidgeting, going a little frantic at the sensation. Abby watches – sees.
“Shhh, shhh, shh,” she hushes, brushing her lips against yours, kissing you sweetly. The tenderness makes you sob, the taste of her tongue intoxicating. It lulls you, quiets you, and she pulls away, ordering, “Hands in my hair, baby, know you like em’ there.”
You do as she says, sniffling, trying to calm yourself down. She’s dragged this out slowly, though. You hadn’t realised how much you wanted her until she stopped.
She reaches over you, grabs a pillow, ordering, “Hips up, high, sweetheart – that’s it,” before she stuffs it under you, the movement jostling her cock, but when you relax back, legs high on her back, Abby stuffs you again, the new position forcing the strap to hit something devastating.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck – “you curse, eyes flashing white. “‘um gonna come so fast, Abs.” “S’okay baby,” she soothes, slowly pulling out of you. She brushes her mouth against yours as she whispers, “I’ll just fuck you until you can’t anymore.”
God, it must take minutes.
Must be minutes – maybe even seconds – of her slowly fucking up into you, splitting you open on her cock, before you’re feeling the familiar swell flood your pussy. 
You’ve got your fingers laced in her long, blonde strands, and you’re pretty sure you’re scraping your nails against her scalp, but Abby’s too busy murmuring how pretty you are to notice.
In your almost drunken haze, you notice how pink her lips are – all swollen from her teeth and wet with spit – and you can’t keep your eyes off of them. They spill compliments all over you. 
Bathe you, before pressing them to your mouth, swallowing your desperate cries.
Abby’s got one hand at the nape of your neck, and the other is clutched around your left knee, keeping it locked up against her upper back. The position means you can’t run from her. 
She’s an all-consuming presence, and it’s almost too much. She moves her hand, but you don’t dare move your knee. It’s locked there, and the position she’s put you in makes you delirious. Then she doubles the pressure with her thick fingers against her clit.
“Jesus – fuck, Abby,” you curse, eyes rolling back, the world going dark. You’re so wet that she can’t catch a grip, and her fingers swirl sloppily over your clit as her face clenches together, as if she’s doing it to herself.
“So fuckin’ wet,” she grunts against your lips, her face a snarl. You don’t see it, but she shakes her head. Shakes her head and then speeds up, fueled by the desire to make you wetter. Make it worse better for you.
The change in speed forces your eyes open. You grab onto her shoulder, hiccuping a sob, wet, hot heat pulsating between your legs. 
Your eyes roll back again, mouth comes open, fingers clench tight and Abby sees it. Knows you’re about to come so hard that she’ll feel it. “Abby,” you gasp, and she nods. Presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips and soothes you with, “I know.” “S’gonna be – b-big, fuck. M’ clenching so fuckin’ tight.”
Abby feels your back arch into her, your tits pushing against her chest. She keeps at her steady rhythm – tilts your pelvis and bucks her hips with an unrelenting tempo, catching the sight of the strap, white from you.
Your orgasm blindsides you.
You’re silent as you come. Mouth open against hers, clenching so tense and tight around her cock that it almost hurts. Then, Abby sees you release, gushing over her cock as your hips stutter and legs shake, your orgasm washing over you, knocking you for a loop.
She groans at her sight, then hears you sob, strangled, followed by, oh my god Abby, oh my fuckin’ – then it’s all whimpers, your pussy still pulsating around her strap.
Abby slows her pace.
She ignores the pressure between her own thighs, and instead, kisses the drool off of your lips, shakingly saying, never seen you come so hard like that twice, s’gotta be a record, and you’re so fucked out that you don’t even laugh.
Your eyes are glazed over, sweat pooling at your hairline, and your mouth is still hanging open as if you’re trying to find something to say. Abby kisses it shut. Tries, again, to ignore the throbbing of her clit. Tries to ignore the desire to fuck you into the mattress and make herself come.
You’re still shaking for fucks sake, but Abby can’t stop. She’s already pushing it by slowing, humming against your mouth, the sounds almost a whimper. 
Her face is snarled together, jaw clenched, and she sees your brow furrow. Feels you clench your fists to her chest, wondering why she’s still fucking you. When she drops her head into your neck, you understand.
“I’m sorry—” she sobs, wide palms dragging under your shoulders and latching onto them. “I’m – fuck – feels so good.”
You snap out of your delirium. Or it twists at least. You spread your legs, ignoring the pressure behind your clit – the sensitivity that never had a chance to subside. Now, you’re here for Abby.
“S’okay baby,” you drawl, voice trembling, but fuck, your girlfriend is desperate. You hitch your hips up and press against her tight, so she has to grind against you to fuck you, and Abby loses it. 
The added pressure against her clit forces her to moan, the sound muffled by your throat.
“Use me, okay?” you whisper against the shell of her ear, hands in her hair, clutching her to you. “use me to come.”
“S-shit, okay,” she whimpers. “Okay okay okay—” lost to her pleasure, Abby sloppily rocks into you. She picks up the speed, sinking into your wet and swollen hole, splitting you open and moaning your name so loud that it rattles through you.
“I’m gonna come,” she whimpers, then, “holy fuck, um gonna come.”
Heat rushes over you, overwhelming. All consuming. You’re suddenly filled with the urge to kiss her. 
Taste her on your tongue, and just this side of mean, you use her hair to move her, dragging your mouth against hers, letting you see her red, sweaty face and fucked out eyes.
“That’s it, baby,” you whisper, nodding, meeting her thrusts as she fucks you. “You gonna come inside of me?” you whisper, pouting, “You gonna fill me up?”
Realistically, you know she can’t. So does she, but that doesn’t stop her from nodding, hips rocking against yours. Going, “Jesus – fuck. Fuckin’ dirty.”
She hides her red face in your shoulder again, as if she’s almost embarrassed by how desperate she is.
“My fuckin’ dirty girl,” and grunts, and she punctuates it with a snap of her hips, knocking the sensitivity up tenfold. 
It feels so good, and if she carries on this way, you’re likely to come again, but by the clutch of her fingers and drag of her breathing, you know she’s not going to last long enough. 
Know that it’s not about you, though. Know that she’ll likely catch her breath for a second and begin all over again. Abby was like that. One was never enough.
Her high-pitched, shaky breathing brings you back. It’s there – even if you can’t see her face, you know it.
“Gonna come for me Abby?” you whisper. Then, with your wet mouth against her ear, you whimper, please baby, please come for me.
She does. You feel her body clench against you, a strangled gasp muffled against your neck, and then she’s shaking, orgasm washing over her and taking her under. 
You soothe her through it. Rub her muscular back, drag your nails over her spine, and kiss the side of her head. When the aftershocks cool off, she laughs. The sound rumbles against your neck, shocked and alive.
“Holy shit,” she curses, giving your neck a sloppy kiss. Your skin is still electric, but it slowly sparks out, bottoming to a dull delicious numbness. A slow, lazy smile pulls at your lips. 
Your head is still a little fuzzy.
Abby hands slide out from under your shoulders, and she presses them besides you, pushing herself up, long blonde hair falling around your head like a curtain. Her cheeks are blushed red, eyes wiry and alive. 
You feel yourself staring at her. Abby stares back. She shifts idly, cocking her head to the side and leaning to kiss you. With her tongue in your mouth, she whispers, “’m gonna move.”  
Gently, she slips out of you, kissing away the scrunch of your brows and pout to your lips. She quickly unbuckles the strap, pushing it to the side before leaning down again, wide palms pushing your thighs apart to try and distill the pressure there.
“Okay?” she breathes, putting all of her weight onto her elbows.
“Mm,” you hum dreamily, leaning up to give her a messy kiss, “That was really hot.” Abby kisses back, humming in agreement, “Feel like I just found out the meaning of life.” “What?” you laugh, scrunching your face at her.
You raise your brows, laughing, “the meaning of life is coming while fucking me?” “Yep,” she grins, bumping her nose to yours. She turns to the TV, the credits rolling.
“Should we start the movie again?” she asks sincerely, but you shake your head, fingers tightening in her hair. 
Lazily, you slip your tongue into her mouth, wrapping your legs around her lower back and using your feet to push her ass into you. She groans, trying to catch up, but you pull away just when she matches your rhythm.
You lick your lips and lean back, your mouth curling into a delicious grin. Abby watches you reach out, your thumb running over her bottom lip, and she catches it in her mouth just as you say, “Still wanna taste you.”
more abby smut
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halcyone-of-the-sea · 3 months
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PAIRING: Hunter!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Werewolf!Reader
SYNOPSIS: There’s blood on your hands again.
WORDCOUNT: 16.8k
WARNINGS: Intense gore, body horror, death, mutilation, weapons, firearms, knives, intended harm, violence, blood, descriptions of wounds, angst, fluff, protective!Simon, religious mentions, period time standards for men/women (1700s), etc.
A/N: The first of my reverse AUs is finally here! Enjoy!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
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The tale of the Werewolf extends back to around 2100 BC. It was written in The Epic of Gilgamesh, scored into a clay tablet by hands long buried—a corpse forever still in the earth so deep, the bones have yet to be found by greedy eyes. Perhaps the oldest surviving story in human history, and there is still a passage that bleeds into stories hundreds of thousands of years later.
In such, Gilgamesh, a man on the search for immortality, rejects a woman for the reason of turning her previous husband into a wolf. 
“You have loved the shepherd of the flock; he made meal-cake for you day after day, he killed kids for your sake. You struck and turned him into a wolf, now his own herd-boys chase him away, his own hounds worry his flanks…”
And then, the tales spread, changed, through history and through spoken words of caution. Like water trickling from a well, down the shape of the wooden bucket delving deeper and deeper into a pit of age—of caution. 
“The Beast of Gévaudan. Man-eater.” Through France
“He has a wolf-head, you know? Tall thing—short brown hair all over him.” Through Scotland
“Beware the man that changes shape under the full moon.” England.
Now, in the late seventeenth century, it all comes to a head. Even the people in 2100 BC knew that someone who changes into a wolf, or some bastard-like imitation of one, was very much real; it is very much an affliction that overtakes sense and reason. A curse. 
Transferable down to the saliva of one entering your bloodstream.
You must never get within the beast’s sights. 
There’s blood on your hands again. 
Hunched over, your body quivers, and the bareness of your flesh in the moonlight is of little concern to you—trapped in a fetal position while the chilled wind howls.
Howls.
Howls.
“Get out of my head.” Your fingers grasp at your scalp, pulling; ripping. A sob jaggedly slashes your throat open. “Please,” you rattle in a fast breath, the grass snapping as you writhe. “Get out of my head.”
It had happened once more, and you can’t remember any of it. 
The forest is deathly still. No birds sing their songs—no breeze moves the long grass, patches trampled down around you as if a beast had staggered into the small clearing you’re lying in. Maybe it had. There are shadows that listen to your quiet panic, the low whines and gasping quivers of your throat; from behind the trees that speak in the way that only they could. The deep night creeps into you, and the moonlight bathing your flesh doesn’t push back the terror in your bloodstream. 
Your body burns like you’ve broken every bone twice over, and judging by the blood stuck in between every line and dip of your skin, to anyone walking past, the analogy could be very real. Fingers flexing and bending, you try to force out the venom inside of your head with desperation befitting a dying dog, spine visible out of the skin of your back as you sob all the harder. 
You tried to stop it—you had; you always do. But, just like every month when the full moon mocks you with its silver-hued face, it never works. 
It never works.
Your eyes stare at nothing as you lay here, in this place of grass, blood, and bile, of corruption as deep as a vile sin of flesh. It came over you like a wave, fingers trapping your throat and bearing it to the caress of fangs. There were different names for it here, miles from your village and the terrified eyes that search the tree line; names coming from the hunters and their black deeds. 
Shapeshifter.
Demon spawn.
Werewolf.
“I can’t take it anymore,” you shove the side of your head into the ground, pushing the torn earth away from the cuts of long claws. Tears flood the dirt until it’s wet and muddy, pushing the crimson stains on your skin away in long streaks. “It hurts, God, please, it hurts.”
The sound of your hysterics rises and falls in the stillness—the inactivity of fearful birds and beasts wondering if your fangs would rip from your gums and your claws would tear from your fingertips. Fur along your body the color of which leads to stories of their own spreading far and wide. 
The White Wolf. The Specter of St. Francis’ Village. A hound from Hell. 
More pale than snow, and sharper seen than a knife or blade through the black trees. Even if the memories of your shifts were fuzzy at best, there were flashes of those who’d seen your gargantuan form from the confines of their stone-cut homes. Those wide eyes. Yelling—screaming; sprays of blood as heads were separated from bodies—
“Stop!” You scream, your legs kicking out as your toes scrape the grass. “It’s not me! It’s not!” 
There’s a call of alarm from deep within the woods, the flash of torches and bellow of hunting dogs. They’re running you down, you’d forgotten that in the depths of your breaking mind and body, and by the time your elongated limbs had set themselves back into a more human-like appearance, your spine cracking at every vertebrae, it had slipped your thoughts entirely. It always took you a long time to understand what had happened after…everything. 
But even now, the shouts of the hunt are pointless to the visceral breaking of your consciousness, stuck between leaving bloodlust and knowledge of horror. There’s flesh in your teeth, and you wail before your fingers drag down your face, cupping over your ears. In the back of your skull, the panting of dogged breath echoes; running, blood, blood, blood. It’s a dance of fangs, of pale fur, staining every inch and flooding the back of your mouth. Drinking it down like water.
Flesh—lovely, disgusting, flesh rent and torn to the bone with smacking gums belonging to a square snout. 
Who had you killed this time?
By the time the dogs had tracked your scent to your curled body, it was already too late. 
“Here!” Male voices shift in and out on the backs of crows, hard and cruel. “It’s here!”
“Get the dogs on it!” 
“It’s not me,” you mutter incessantly, not truly understanding what you’re saying as hounds burst through the bushes, all snapping teeth and slobbering tongues your eyes widen in an instant. Panting, your jaw clenches; long whines move your throat. 
“What…?” Blinking quickly, the dogs surround you—having to be at least ten of them on their nimble legs and thin tails. Everything is distant to you; separated. A knife could be driven through your heart, and you wouldn’t even realize it until minutes later, bleeding out on the grass. 
The hounds are afraid of you. 
They dart forward and balk back, your scent driving them up a wall until rabid slobber drips from their maws. Torchlight pulls through the trees—quicker now, running. Fangs nick your shoulder and you yell, shoving up to your backside as the world swirls, shuffling away as the dogs snarl. Their eyes are red-huen. Drunk off fear and order. 
Your head darts and shifts, blood dripping off your chin to travel down the flesh of your stomach and navel—so much crimson that the whites of your eyes are violent under the moon. Hands slipping over the wet grass, your face pulls and slackens in delirious confusion as you try to stand but fail. You cry out in sharp pain, and the dogs go wild in their kill circle, nearly attacking one another in anticipation. 
You glance down and see the black crossbow bolt sticking out of your thigh. 
The scent of wolfsbane in the air only then becomes clear to you, and the realization is slow. Wolfsbane—you’d been told about it by the village priest. It makes beasts of the night dumb and weak; minds unclear. 
In a moment of clarity, the reason behind your incurable hysteria becomes clear.
Lungs heaving and eyes far-off, the hunting party bursts through to where you stay, and you look up in animalistic fear. Figures dip and slip into one another, faces becoming demons as the visages melt into twos and threes. You yell out, sniffling and sobbing, trying to back up until the hounds grapple onto your shoulder and rip a chuck out of your arm. Screaming, your hand moves back, shoving at its snout before hands staple themselves to your wrist. 
“No!” You wail, injured leg dragging as you’re forced back into a heavy chest. Hot breath fans against your neck as multiple grips pull and touch you—shackling you down with rope and chains. Your throat screams itself raw, kicking and struggling futility. “Let go!”
You’re too weak—too drugged off wolfsbane and blood loss. Rotting teeth move across the canvas of a smeared painting, you can’t focus beyond the riot of your heart inside of your ribs.  
Grubby hands snap under your chin, digging into your flesh as you cry, not able to move as the restraints are tightened. A silver muzzle is slapped over your jaw. Dark eyes shimmer as you rage—aggravating the bolt wound until fresh blood forms a puddle on the ground, which the dogs lick their lips at. 
“Look at that,” a low, lust-filled voice eases out, and hands around your body tightening as you squirm, head spinning. Silver and wolfsbane. Your eyes snap to fight the sudden flood of fuzzy heaviness in your body.  “Pretty little Hell-Beast, eh? Almost seems a bit strange to have the Spector be her. Think that hunter shot the right bitch?”
“Course,” another grunt, a hand grabs the top of your head, jerking it up as your head lulls along with the force. You can barely focus on the words being said. “He isn’t a fuckin’ twat. Killed a werewolf in the next village over, too. Heard he skinned the fucker and took its head for his mantlepiece—just like the vampire skull he wears.” A pause. The dogs are still barking—echoing out in the trees. You can’t feel your legs. “Isn’t that right, Hunter?!”
A shout is sent into trees as your panic breeds with the drug, eyelids drooping as your head is snapped and moved by your hair. Your buggy eyes don’t focus on the man until he steps into the torchlight, the crowd parting for him as the metal of your chains drags and clinks together. 
It’s as if the very blackness of night takes human form. 
The man, the Hunter, is tall—very tall. He looms like an aloof animal over most of the others here with his dark boots and his black hood, and yet, under the fabric, there is no whisper of his face. 
Only the upper visage of a pure white skull, and two long, needle-pointed teeth where canines should be. 
“Ghost,” one of the men laughs, groping at your bleeding thigh before you shriek, muffled from behind the muzzle, and weakly kicked out. “Good shot, Mate. Right in the meat of the thing. Gave a good trail for the hounds.” 
Ghost blinks slowly, grunting under his breath as the large crossbow in his hands is shifted. He stays silent as your visible pulse hurries on as if you were a rabbit and not a wolf, watching from under the cover of his hood. The darkness of his clothes is blue in the moon—silver buttons down the length of a loose shirt and pants stuffed into boots. The hood is attached to a jacket, which itself extends down to his knees and sways lightly with every shift. The silent resting of weapons and tools is not lost to anyone. 
Belt of filled vials and large knives; a firearm over his back, and two pistols hidden on either thigh. That crossbow was still in his hands.
Brown eyes openly dig into your soul, dead as a corpse, and your voice whines as your thigh is finally released with a laugh. Your vision blacks and comes back a moment later as you try to breathe from behind the muzzle, gasping. That skull on his face…you don’t like it. It scares you. 
And the Hunter only continues to watch numbly as his wide shoulders stay stationary.
“Get the cage!” Someone roars, and you flinch, shrinking until a dog with short fur comes and nips at your ankles, the man holding you grinning sharply as you sob and shake.
“C’mon—expected more of a fight from you, Spector. Getting bullied by dogs, now? Ain’t that a twist of fate, then. Bet this devil’s whore can’t even walk with all that wolfsbane in ‘er, eh?”
A grumble of chuckles as the rattle of metal is in the distance. You grow more fearful, mind flashing to a burning stake and the trials you’d seen in village after village. No—no they can’t put you in a cage; they can’t put you on trial.
They’re going to make it hurt.
“Say we try it out.” A shadow comes closer and grabs you by the arm, ruthlessly shoving you to the ground. You cry out as your spine meets the earth, arms and legs kept under chains that tangle and screech in their metallic way. The rope that holds the muzzle pulls against your neck until you can’t breathe except in ragged wheezes. 
“Go on,” they taunt, some holding back the rampaging dogs just to watch you flail and shimmy. Your face grows hot as you struggle to sit up—shaking so violently you can’t focus on anything but the quiver. “Put on a show for us, Beasty!” 
Death would be better than this.
Tears hit the ground as the cage is finally brought into view, the men all groaning and annoyed that you hadn’t even attempted a forced shift or a desperate run into the trees. 
Ghost’s fingers, you notice from the side of your blurring eye, tighten minutely around the body of his weapon. You do not doubt that he’s wondering if it would be easier to just put a bolt through your eye right now. 
“Get it loaded up,” the Hunter’s voice is accented and gravel-like. As if rotting wood is being peeled back and scraped along gravel, he stares at you for a long moment and then glances at the dogs. “And get those fucking mutts under control.”
“Which one?” Is the low-blow joke, and the ruckus of loud amusement that follows makes you want to die. 
It’s not your fault, how do you tell them that? It’s not your fault.
Your throat bobs in an attempt to speak, but you can’t move your jaw from behind the restraint of your face—held tight to you as the men come back over and grapple for you again. The priest was right, wolfsbane makes werewolves sluggish.
You can do nothing as you’re ruthlessly dropped into a silver cage, borrowed, no doubt, from the Vatican itself, and christened with holy water. But it was a funny thing, really, and the dark humor wasn’t lost to you even like this. There was nothing godly about this contraption.
Locked in, you shove yourself immediately into a corner and hunch over, grasping at your thigh as the bolt still leaks fluid in a long trail over the ground. The pain is so great in your head, that the physical agony is little—a bullet wound to a sliver. 
Your temple slams into the metal, smacking into it as your eyes shove themselves closed. 
Head hurts—hurts. I can’t think. Can’t think. It’s humming, my skull is breaking open.
Bile pools in the back of your throat, but the muzzle keeps it in, leaving you gagging as the cage is lifted with a grunt and carried by long poles; back to St. Francis' Village, no doubt, but you can’t…focus.
“Think you might ‘ave given her too much, then, Hunter,” one calls, slapping Ghost on the shoulder as the crowd follows after the panicking quarry. The large man only gives him a look from the side of his eye and the villager pulls away immediately, awkwardly chuckling before hurrying off after the others.
Brown eyes watch your bare body hunch and spasm, pupils wide as you’re carted off. 
He’d been generous with the wolfsbane, truth be told. He’d expected you to be…Ghost’s dark brows pull in from behind his grim mask…he’d expected you to be different.
Humming under his breath, the Hunter watches the torches disappear into the trees and lets his gaze linger on you. 
There was something…off.
Blinking, he turns, eyes studying the place where they’d found you with sharp attention that misses nothing—not even the birds that come back to settle into the trees again. Large boots shift through the grass, and as he’s re-settling the crossbow in his hands, his eyes find something glinting. 
Watching, Ghost takes another step and brings his body to the item in the grass, hidden, before he kneels. Digging with large digits, the Hunter’s hands loop through the chain of a necklace, dragging it through the torn earth until he can gaze at it fully under the light of the moon.
Blinking in slight surprise, Ghost finds the body of a silver bullet hanging from the confines of a leather strap. Brown eyes shifting to look over his shoulder, the man listens to the cheers and merriment of the hunting party mutely. A simmering understanding brews in his gut. It’s only one that you could know from years of experience doing just as he had—hunting and being hunted in turn with a knowledge of all things dark and unholy.
It could never be easy, could it?
A low grunt later, the man sighs out a deep, “Fucking hell,” and moves to slowly stand, slinking back into the darkness. 
They kept you in the cage and set it on display in the middle of town for days.
Shivering now from the cold more than the wolfsbane, you stay collapsed into yourself as people come past to poke and prod at you—even sticking knives into the slits of the cage and digging them into you like an animal until your flesh was marked and brutalized. 
You don’t remember what it’s like to not be bloody.
The bolt wound was festering; infected. You dare not touch it, because the pain only makes you want to vomit, and if you do, you’ll most likely suffocate on your own bile before the trial ever happens. 
Yet, on the fourth night of this, as your eyelids flutter and your body grows weaker, a shadow comes to visit. 
“You weren’t born one.” It isn’t a question, but the sudden voice makes you startle. 
Eyes locking onto Ghosts’, your mind flies with fear—thinking that perhaps there’s more abuse that you’ll be put through. But no…the man has no weapons on him tonight. Only a long knife at his belt. The mask stays. 
You stare, unable to speak as your fingers twitch.
Grunting, Ghost’s head tilts, gaze moving up and down as you curl in tighter around yourself. A cold breeze rips through the square, and your eyes clench closed with breaking will. When you open them again, the Hunter is kneeling by the cage, and holding up something in his hand loosely. 
“You going to behave if I take that muzzle off?” You nearly gasped at the hanging image of your necklace—a silver bullet on a leather strap; that dark and heavy thing usually kept around your neck. A reminder.
After a moment of wide-eyed staring, you nod quickly to his question, a desperate, pleading thing without the need to utter words. Please, you want to scream at him, take it off.
Ghost’s eyes are as dark as a mound of dirt, sharply intelligent and filled with an unflinching reality. He doesn’t care what you are, and he won’t until you speak to him and let him judge your character far before any courtroom can. The man knows what a lie is better than any priest. 
“Good,” he says curtly, accent far more deep as he thinks, re-capturing the bullet in his palm and standing before he shuffles it into his pocket. 
You can’t help the anxiety as Ghost moves forward, loping to the side of the cage with the side of his eyes on you incessantly. It’s obvious how his other hand lays limp on the hilt of his blade that, with only one wrong move, you’d feel the chill of the edge with no time at all. 
But the temptation of getting this muzzle off was too good to ruin, and so, you stay as still as you’re able as crows call in the distance and the deadness of the town leaks into your blood. 
Ghost moves his free hand and orders, blankly, “Closer.” 
You hesitate, body tight before you drag your face closer to the bars, angling it parallel with the metal so the tight bind on the back can be taken up. The fear can be smelt the second your eyes have to break contact with his with the turn of your head—neither of you trusts the other. 
Ghost hums under his breath at the sight of your broken body coming farther into the open light of the moon, the whites of your eyes all the more visible from under the slathering of blood and tears. He hadn’t been absent to witness the abuse you’d been put through, even if the coin from his successful hunt was feeding him at the inn, a small window allowed the tight view of your torment at the hands of the people you’d once lived around. 
But the reality was that you’d killed people—scores of them—and yet the worst part of it was that he wasn’t sure if you even knew that.
It took four nights for him to break his only rule: never get involved after the job’s done.
But the hunch he had was too important to ignore. 
Large fingers latch onto the knot at the base of your skull through the cage itself, Ghost grunting at the sight ahead of him. The rope had been gradually chafing over your flesh, peeling back hair and skin until only the bloody meat was left—Simon had to wonder if the people of this village even wanted you alive for the trial or not at this rate. You’d be dead by tomorrow if that infected bolt at your thigh wasn’t taken care of.
Despite himself, a part of his chest tightens at the sight of the thing sticking out of your leg, dripping a yellowish puss. It had been a good shot, and he had overcoated the bolt in wolfsbane. 
Ghost hadn’t expected you to be so susceptible to it—most werewolves only got slower, but you…you seemed to have a stronger reaction. He files that fact away and tilts his masked face to the side. 
Grasping at his blade, the sound of a knife being slipped out of a sheath makes you startle, jerking your head back and shoving away even as your muffed whine of pain falls out. Ghost momentarily readies himself for an attack, but the way you force your mangled body to the opposite corner has him grumbling out a hard, “Easy.” 
The Hunter raises the blade, watching you with unblinking eyes. Your body shakes; panting. It was like calming a feral dog.
“You want the thing off or not? Have to cut it.” Once more, the man rises and walks over, boots almost silent over the small raised platform the cage had been set on like a trophy, you inside are comparable to the golden coins that greedy eyes touch and run their dirty hands over. 
Your mind is a troubled thing as you watch this Hunter and his crude knife come closer, kneeling again, and motioning with two fingers to shift your head. 
“Out ‘ere,” Ghost says, brown eyes not letting you guess anything about his true motives. “Don’t have time to fuck around. Guards’ll make a round soon and I’d rather not get caught wide-eyed.” 
Your brows pull in, hands clenching and unclenching in your lap as goosebumps travel the length of every limb. You were tired—hungry and thirsty; there were open wounds that burned with infection and ones that were crusted over with dirt and grime. You can’t feel your toes, and the tips of your fingers have long since gone numb. 
The thought of getting this muzzle off was like the promise of heaven being dangled in front of your nose. Your hesitation this time is far longer than the first, moonlight glinting off the visible blade in Ghost’s hand as he stares. That mask holds death. 
The hood is gone from him—only that pale bone left and sewn into dark, dark, fabric. The sharpness of the teeth leaves your throat bobbing in a nervous swallow as your head carefully shifts to rest on the bars. Bending, you present the knot once more and try not to focus on the way Ghost’s attention is fully on your expanding lungs; the pulse that is seen through the meat of your neck. 
But he says nothing before his fingers once more grasp the rope and the tip of the knife slips up. You don’t even feel it before the sudden slackening of the muzzle, and then the thing slips from your face before it slaps the bottom of the cage with a dull thump. 
The first thing you do is vomit. 
Spine pulling in, your body jerks as the bile that had been in the back of your throat rockets out, restrained hands slapping the ground as the acidic concoction leaks from between your torn lips. Face on fire, you choke and retch for what seems like minutes before you can finally breathe in the damp air—the innate shame and disgust rolling through as you cough raggedly. 
It’s only after you’d forgotten the man kneeling outside that he seems to remind you of his presence with a grumble. 
“Breathe. It’s no use if you can’t speak to me.”
A weak, quivering glare comes across your eyes, saliva dripping off your chin as your tongue moves to lick at your lips. But the brown gaze is as immovable as stone. Finding it pointless, your hands come up and delicately touch the base of your skull, only making you flinch when the fresh blood pools down and over your neck, licking at your shoulders. Tiny droplets fall to hit the metal one at a time. 
Ghost’s fingers twitch as he puts the knife away. 
“Who bit you?” You stare at him, hands falling before your wrists rub at the aggravated skin of your jaw. He shifts his head, voice slow but heavy. “Speak.”
“...I’m not a dog,” your voice is scratchy, hoarse. You send a small glance his way, mouth open and nostrils flaring in an attempt to bring in the oxygen you’d been lacking. 
“Really?” A hidden eyebrow is slowly raised. “Hell, coulda fooled me.” 
“Damn you,” you whisper, not meeting his gaze as you shuffle back. The crossbow bolt catches on one of the cage’s bars and you bite on your lip to stop the shrill yell that threatens to exit. Head moving, you lightly slam your skull into the wall in pain. 
Breath hitched, you clench your trembling jaw tight. 
“Speak or don’t,” Ghost grunts, and he makes a move to stand. “Your funeral.” 
A spark of fear stabs you as he begins to shift, and you can’t explain why. Perhaps it was because it was the first conversation you can remember having lately that wasn’t one-sided or on the edge of a blade.
“W-wait,” you stutter, blinking through the blood. The Hunter doesn’t slow, and then he’s on his feet and fixing the gloves over his fingers, flexing his hands before his foot begins to pivot— 
“Please, don’t go,” your voice is thin and pleading, echoing through the street. “I’ll answer your questions, any of them you want,” the sentence cracks through a dry throat, tears welling. “Please, don’t leave me here alone.” 
Ghost had half of his body turned away before it went rigid; the side of his dead eyes flash to you, swirling with specs of moonlit silver. A hunter and a werewolf lock gazes, great beasts respectively brought together in seconds that seep into slow minutes of delicate need.
Knowledge and company. Understanding and a horrible fellowship. 
The Hunter’s eyes twitch in their ever-narrow resting place, glancing away before he mutely moves back to where he was before. 
He wastes no time.
“Who bloody bit you?” 
You stifle a pathetic sigh of great relief, taking company with a man who had shot you not days before. Yet the ability to speak and be heard was a commodity that was dimming each and every day.
“It was already fully turned,” you speak quickly, tongue tripping. “A big wolf—a gray one with eyes like the sky.” 
Ghost glares to the side. Gray? There were no contracts for gray werewolves with blue eyes in the area. Only you—only Specter. The next question is just as stiff. 
“When?”
“Three years ago,” your lips move. “Only three years, I promise.” Brown eyes narrow slowly, fingers tapping the fabric of his pants once before he makes a noise in the back of his throat. Ghost’s jaw clenches, mind working through the hoops that need to be jumped. 
To you, the questions might seem pointless, but to a hunter, they were important—very important. Werewolves who are born afflicted with this moon-drunkenness are different from those turned by a bite. Not only are shifts from turned werewolves more violent, more deadly, but they rarely know their own actions from that of the frenzy under their skin; those that are born as such are rarely out of control, unlike your faction. 
The only question now was if Ghost could condemn you to death when it was obvious your human form was entirely different and you had no semblance of an idea of what was going on. Was it even his problem to care about? Even looking at you now, the man blinked away from cuts and inflicted injuries—the muzzle on the ground. 
The blood and the bolt.
He’d known it had been a foolish play to bring all of those townsfolk with him on this hunt but he needed their knowledge of the terrain; he hadn’t passed through St. Francis’ before. At the time, Ghost hadn’t been averse to assistance as long as he got the job done in his own fashion: capture or kill, the contract had stated. Rarely was he known for capture.
Maybe, deep down, he’d known something was already wrong about this.
“Show me it,” the Hunter grunts, staring you down, a deep anticipation growing in his bones. He had to make sure you weren’t lying.
You lick your lips, face pulling with every twitch and sway of your form. The black at the edges of your vision was coming back, and you blinked quickly, chains dragging before you shifted your back with a quivering breath. The punctures were difficult to see through all of the gore, but Ghost made do as he grabbed at the waterskin at his waist and the rag hanging from his belt. 
Flooding the fabric in the lukewarm water, he hums out a firm, “Don’t move. Cleanin’ it,” before you feel the press of the rag to your back. 
Gasping lightly, you almost jerk away before the sensation becomes a nearly welcomed one—the drag and slight scrape of rough material. Your averted eyes dip lower, staring at nothing as your heart momentarily slows to a normal pace. Ghost cleans the areas where the swell of scar tissue is the most obvious, and, one by one, the violent groves spread out like a slash of paint over canvas. Along the left side of your waist, the blood gives way to a dented ‘v’ shape of healed punctures. Deep, dragging; a point to where your side was almost ripped away before it broke off swiftly. 
Ghost’s dark eyes fight the need to widen, and that hidden blankness stays. 
A great gray wolf with blue eyes…
His mask tilts, head shifting as his gaze moves slowly. Gloved fingers twitch to touch them, moving in an almost examining way that befits a surgeon and not a decapitator. Your breath is held in the back of your throat, but you sag nearly entirely into the bars of the cage, growing more unsteady by the second. 
The scent of infection is so strong it makes your head burn, and you’re overtaken by it as Ghost’s presence suddenly disappears. 
You don’t know if it’s minutes or hours before you understand that you’re alone again, but when your limp neck finally turns to wonder where your silent captor is, you are greeted with nothing but moonlight. Blinking through the sludge behind your eyes, the sinking in your gut was stark and sudden—like a knife dragging itself from gullet to navel. 
But all you offer is a light whine as more blood moves to cover the places where Ghost’s rag had just cleaned. You were scared of him, no doubt. A hunter through and through down to the vampiric skull on his face and the shroud of death at every inch of his form. 
He’d shot you and drugged you with wolfsbane. Found your necklace. 
So why had he talked to you?
Your head is too muddled for this, too delicate. Like the crimson under your nails, it dries and flakes off of your brain as the lack of distraction breeds stored agony. There wasn’t anything left to focus on besides the upcoming trial, your death, and the pain that doesn’t let you sleep except for now, on the brink of not rest but unconsciousness. 
And at the sound of a key being slotted into the silver of your cage’s door, only then does your body slump with the weight of doom. 
You don’t even feel the hand that grasps at your ankle.
The sway of the horse makes your teeth clatter with every clop of hooves. 
Your conscience mostly comes and goes, only staying in thin seconds where you feel the press of clean bandages on your afflicted flesh and the tipping of warm broth into your mouth. Grass under your head. 
Blankets being shuffled over your clothed body when you shiver. 
When you’re finally able to speak, when the horse is moving along and hands keep your back stuck to a strong chest, it’s a low, garbled, “Ow.”
Ghost barely blinks down to your head as it slumps to the gait of his horse, glancing before his attention returns to the thin forest trail ahead of him. You’d made noises in your sleep often enough—this was no different except for the fact he felt your shoulders flex.
Slowing the horse with a pull on the reins, the dappled mare settles to a walk. 
“You up, then?” Ghost hums, his hand around your waist tightening as you groan under your breath. “Good. Thought I was dragging a corpse—would have wasted my bandages.” 
Your eyes shudder as they open into the light, having to focus on moving them before the sting of the sun makes them water. But you do, and then the confusion outweighs the numb stinging of tended wounds. 
Head shifting, you look behind you slowly with wide eyes as the horse under both of you snorts.
Brown eyes watch you before a dark brow twitches upward. “What is it?” 
You just blink, mouth slightly open. 
“Where…am I?” 
“Forest.” Ghost states matter-of-factly. 
If you had the energy to glare, you would have. Seeing that nothing will get the man into a proper conversation—he was a brick wall even now—you look down at yourself and land on the scarred forearm that keeps you secure on the saddle. Ghost’s gloves were still on, but the sleeve of his dark shirt had ridden back to his upper forearm, and in the wake of pale skin, you find the black ink of all manner of warfare. 
Werewolf skulls; vampire fangs and fire. The slash of inkish chains with skeletons. 
Your lips thin, your senses slowly becoming your friend again as you stare at the snarling face of a needle-hewn wolf. Eyes tightening as the horse moves to the left, your body follows the reactive action before Ghost’s pressure tightens once more, visibly veins behind the pale flesh. You move on, seeing the thin tunic and pants over your body—feeling under that, the bind of wrappings with the scents of mashed yarrow leaves in the fabric. 
They’d been re-applied recently, too. 
“Stay still unless you want to re-open them,” Ghost utters, eyes scanning the trees for unseen threats. It was midday by now, the sun high above the trees watching the both of you on your trek to seemingly nowhere. “We’re far enough away, but I want more distance before I take the time to close them fully.”  
“The trial,” your arm moves up, fingers grazing the side of your nose before it falls back down. Ghost can feel the air heat with unease. “The…the cage?”
“Trial was two days ago,” he draws, thighs shifting over the saddle. “Give or take.” 
The confession isn’t as shocking now that you have woken up here, but the lack of remembrance on your part of that time startles you. It’s a blank slate—just like the aftermath of your shifts. You don’t like not knowing. 
The next question comes out with a haggard cough, sweat dripping off your nose. “Why?”
“You’re going to tell me ‘bout the werewolf that made you,” the Hunter grunts. “And you can’t speak if you’re lit up like a pig on a spit. Took you the night we met in the square.” 
Through it all, Ghost barely looks at you—always his attention keeps to the trees and the shadows that linger; seeming to listen. He knows more than anyone that they do. 
The horse continues on, your pain surfaces again, and with a shuddering breath, you fall into a fitful sleep once more. The arm around your body tightens, and the warmth it lends is accented when Ghost’s shifting gaze glances at the top of your head. He wears an expression he can’t name yet.
When the throws of fever pull their curtains back for the last time, it shows you the slats of the attic above your head, wood polished and clean as the heat of fire moves over your body. Pulling a large inhalation of air into your lungs, you blink softly as if clearing away cobwebs with a broom—willing sense to return in the few seconds it had flown away. 
The furs are warm. 
In the village, you weren’t anyone of standing. A simple woman—unwed, and, thus, unimportant due to the era the world sees itself in. It wasn’t all bad…namely, it hid your affliction far longer than you could have hoped it did. You had a small piece of family land passed down to you on the edge of the village, and that was where you stayed. Nothing fancy; a hearth, a large, single-room property with a garden and a well. You were known to keep sheep, a fact that had caused perhaps a few hysterical chuckling fits when, every full moon, one or two went missing, but it gave you the ability to accumulate money and, more importantly, an alibi. 
Who would suspect a werewolf to own sheep?
But this home already had a more detached feel to it—something removed. The air was sterile, somehow. Groaning, your face tightens before you rise to the palms of your hands, muscles quivering to keep the strength your stubbornness gives to them. Half-vertical, you turn and study the area. 
Square, the four walls are stone with mortar and clay to keep the rounded blobs together. You’re on the ground floor, a staircase to the far right while the bed is stuck into the left corner; a nightstand sitting void of all except a single chamber-wick holding an unused candle. A sturdy table with one wooden chair, a stone fireplace set into the same wall the headboard is level with, and a large oak door.
There are runes written on it. 
You can’t make sense of what they mean, but when you see them, your tiny-pupiled eyes slip to the rest, all placed at windows or near some point of entry—unassuming things until you realize why they were red in color.
Your shoulders tighten, and whatever bit of magic moves through your skin lets your nose pull to the scent of human blood. 
You clear your throat and look away, licking your lips with a dry tongue. Moving your toes under the two bear furs that rest at your abdomen, you notice the lack of earth-shattering pain that accompanies it, and, shifting a hesitant hand, you grab the edge and push it back a bit farther. 
Bandages with perfect ties meet you, void of any crimson staining. 
Truth be told, you expected more of a Hunter’s home—skulls; trophies. The town always spoke of burnt bodies strung up on crosses that mark the property of those in this profession, a ward and a sign of grim hope. Vampires mostly, wasting away in the brutal sun. Others as well. Werewolf fur and witch bones shoved in blessed boxes. 
This place is almost normal, you think, thighs shifting over the dip of the bed as your finger runs the white wrappings where the bolt should be. Your mind dares not go to how he got the thing out of you, and at the stretch of sutures, you take your curious grip off of it entirely. 
Looking around once more, your brows furrowed tightly. 
Where was the man? The hunter responsible for your current predicament? Ghost. With his vampire skull mask and his black attire—a hellhound with dark ink and intentions. More importantly…
Why were you still alive?
Your memories come back slowly as you stand, bare feet moving to the floor as the tunic over your upper half falls to your knees at the verticality of your spine. They creak a bit, the bones, at the ability to stand fully upwards and not be impaired by bars of silver. A strength seeps through you slowly. 
In the deafening silence, you clear your throat tinily and lightly itch at the clean flesh at the back of your neck where the muzzle sat; rubbed raw now scabbed and healing with the spread of natural oil balms. Taking in a slow breath, you step forward with a heavy limp and watch the door, glancing at locked trunks and cupboards, eyes blinking. Your muscles ached, but the sting only served as a way to remind you that you were still here—living. Few in your position were granted second chances. 
You’re about to study the runes at the door when you’re called to with the creak of the stairs in your left ear. 
“Wouldn’t recommend it.” Your head snaps over, blinking quickly. 
Ghost carries the leather holders of his twin pistols in one hand, the bodies of the weapons in them hanging as he comes to ground level one step at a time. Brown eyes glance over through the confines of his skeletal face-covering as he walks to the table, placing down the items. 
“Keeps the spirits out—smudge ‘em and the house gets haunted,” he grunts. “Rather not bleed myself again to get the runes copied.” 
You stare in mild shock, sound sparking from the back of your throat. “...Right.” 
Side-eyeing the markings, you shiver and step back from the door, silent as Ghost seems to focus on his task at hand—looking over his weapons.
Large hands running the metal and wood, the pistols in his grip shift as the drying light of the day streams in through the curtains of the windows. He touches them intimately, knowing every grove and dip until he tilts one and rubs away a slash of dirt from the barrel with his bare thumb. 
You quickly turn awkward, looking down at yourself and the bareness of your lower legs. It wasn’t lost to you that the man was the reason you were in this situation in the first place. 
“You shot me,” you grumble—not unlike someone who had a knife to their throat. 
“Affirmative,” Ghost says nonchalantly. You get a slow, blank glance and nothing more. 
“Have you drugged me?” You ask, heart speeding up. There wasn’t anywhere to go—not without an escape plan and with Ghost in front of you.
“Wolfsbane?” The Hunter shifts his thighs, boots moving over the hardwood. “Negative. Not yet.” 
“Yet?” An attitude seeps in, lips thinning. 
Ghost sighs under his breath, slipping the pistols back into their holsters. “Forgetting about how we met, Love?” 
“No,” you huff. “Not really.”
“Perfect.” Eyelids pull down slightly. “Don’t.” Ghost nods his head to the table's chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sit.” 
“I told you I’m not a—” A sharp, numb look makes your snappy reply stall itself, and you stand there for more than a minute before you find the pointlessness of this.
You limp forward and sit in the chair.
Looping your arms around your waist, you glare to the side as your skin crawls at the unblinking eyes that stare. Ghost rolls his shoulders, tilting his head. 
“What do you know about the werewolf that bit you beyond appearance?” 
“Nothing,” you chuckle hopelessly, moving a finger in confusion. “I…I don’t know why you’re asking me about it—it’s not like I had a conversation with him.”
The Hunter blinks at your sudden confidence, unable to separate your form now from the one in the cage; blubbering ceaselessly in a grassy clearing. But lesser pains always bring out someone's true colors. As long as you told him what he needed to know.
Ghost explains with a sheen of dull annoyance. “Every turned werewolf holds a connection to the one that bit them. It’s pack mentality.” At your blank look, his brows pull in, the mask shifting. “You telling me you’ve never come back into contact?”
“...No?” Your lips dip. “For three years I’ve been by myself with this.” 
Brown digs into your face, a small sheen of confusion slipping in to tighten them, around his biceps, Ghost’s fingers twitch. 
You lick your lips, speaking up in the impending silence. “I don’t remember anything after I turn. Is that normal?”
“For you?” He mutters, still not taking his eyes off of you. “Yes.” 
“I’m not going to pretend like I know what’s going to happen,” you shrug. “But at the very least I want to try and understand why I’m like this.” You open and close your mouth for a moment. “Before you kill me, anyways.” 
“If I wanted you dead,” Ghost grunts through a half-amused tilt of his head. He doesn’t beat around the bush. “...You would be.” 
“‘Capture or kill,’” you huff. You’d seen the flyers; heard from word of mouth. “Right.” You sigh. “They’ll track you down, you know. They’re not going to just let you take me.”
“They won’t make it through the forest. Bastards would get lost on the trail.” The Hunter moves until he can grasp the waterskin from the counter, dragging it over with his hand. He tosses it to the main table in your direction after he comes back over, and you hesitantly reach forward and pull the top off. Ghost changes the subject back to his studies of your condition closely. Dark eyes slip down your front as your lips part to take up the liquid. “Before your shift, tell me what you see.”
Your throat bobs as you drink the water, thirsty as it soothes your dry mouth. You hum, but the inquiry makes your hair rise. Your arm wipes at your mouth as you lower the waterskin, a small thankfulness in your heart. “It’s less of what I see and more of what I hear and smell—blood; metal. River water. I…” Your chest tightens. “I feel my bones breaking and I hear howling mixing with whispers.”
“Whispers?” Ghost leans, eyes alighting with dim interest. “What’re they saying?”
“I try to block it out,” you whisper, not exactly answering. “Makes it go faster.” 
A long nothingness ensues. 
The impending night grows deeper, and then Ghost finally speaks again after you begin to shift with unease. He nods firmly, tilting his head as if it’s already been decided. 
“Next full moon, you’re going to listen to them.” 
Your horrified face snaps up. It’s a moment of stuttering before you force out a heavy, “What? No!”
He’s already turned, moving back over to the stairs and placing one foot on the steps. 
“Ghost!” You yell, face devoid of blood.
He side-eyes you. “Go back to bed. You’re dead on your feet.” 
And then the same man who shot you in the thigh with little remorse disappears into the attic.  
The Hunter was a strange beast.
The days the two of you spent together were mostly silent—left with tight stares and tense shoulders. Clipped sentences. 
Ghost, for what it was worth, gave you space in this small house; as much as you could get. He kept himself up above while you stayed on ground level keeping yourself occupied. You’d gotten spare trousers and socks, a jacket, and the bed was practically yours with how your scent rolled off of it now. Yet, you had never been permitted to go outside. 
You’d seen the land from the windows—careful of the runes, of course, and it wasn’t anything… ghastly. A vegetable garden, a single-stall stable with a dappled mare, and a beaten-down trail out the front. 
No livestock.
No bodies. 
It was only when you had become ever more curious about your lupine curse that you braved the stairs to the attic—one week into the impromptu stay. It’s funny due to the fact that Ghost had never said that you couldn’t go up there sooner.
You stand now in the flat room with a sloping roof and find the man making bullets. It’s a long table, parallel to the walls in the center of the room; dark and covered in all manner of books and tomes. Grimoires tied up and locked. Racks of weapons with markings and blessings tied to sheets of ribbon…it was something you’d never seen before. 
Studying it now, the contents were a dark fascination. 
Ghost fiddles with his silver shell, mixing in gunpowder into the hollowness. He doesn’t speak until you do, but he knows you’re there.
“Tell me more about werewolves,” you speak through the air, and he waits before answering. “The ones who are born with it.”
“Rare,” Ghost comments, and you’re stuck by how willing he is to tell you about this. He puts down his bullet and picks up another. “Harder to find, even harder to kill. Unlike you, they know what goes on when they’re running ‘round. Fuckin’ nightmare to pick up the pieces—bloodbath.” You thin your lips. “Not all of ‘em are murderous, but they’re unpredictable. Can’t help but make packs.”
“Instinct,” you murmur, coming a bit closer. Ghost pauses, looking at you before huffing in the form of a gruff ‘yes.’ Your wondering continues. “But why am I alone then?”
“That’s the question,” the hunter says slowly. “Need to figure out why.” Brown eyes slowly move to you. “‘Fore more people end up dead. Or turned.”
“Can I,” you stop at the table, standing opposite the man. “Can I turn people, too?”
“No,” is all you’re given. Ghost’s eyes glint. “And I’d rather you didn’t bite on me to try.”
Your face heats.
Your attention focuses for a while on how he works—prepares for something unseen. He’d said he’d kept you alive to help him find the one who bit you, but he’d also cleaned your infected injuries, bandaged you, and fed you. Kept you warm. Safe. It was far more than could be said about your village.
However, it was strange how Ghost’s stark muteness was something that you found in the darker hours, a small comfort. When the moon was coming in from the windows, and you hid from its rays as if being stalked down, he once found you sleeping under the bed on the floor because of it.
He never said anything, just offered you a silent hand and helped you back out with a slow blink and a tilt of his head.
There was a distrust, obviously, but there was also an unspoken nearness. No one would make any sense of it—you couldn’t either. It was like a wolf and a raven; something built on hesitence but necessity. You didn’t like Ghost’s mask or his brutalist profession of shooting his wolfsbane-coated bolts, and he didn’t like that once a month you turned into a rampaging werewolf. 
Comparable things, really. 
But even here, in this workshop in his attic, you saw the need for this—for hunters. If you couldn’t stop yourself, there came a time when you had to be stopped. Truth be told, you expected it to be a quick and final end. Maybe that was just a foolish hope. 
A silver bullet would have always been your final song, you believed. Perhaps the very one that had once swung from around your neck; the one you’d never taken off until now. 
But then, perhaps that would have been your own brutalist profession.
“Thank you,” you nod. Ghost pauses, fingers stained with gunpowder. He blinks at the bullet in his hand as you continue. “I know you don’t care about anything beyond your work, but if you hadn’t gotten me out of that cage they would have burned me alive. Skinned me.” Your tongue pokes out of the side of your mouth. “I don’t know, but it wouldn’t have been kind. Job or not…thank you for getting me out of there.” 
“I shot you,” he utters, voice gravel. Ghost seemed confused.
Your lips flick. “I never said I forgave you for that part.”
A smooth chuckle wafts out over the attic and your own softly mirrors. Your head tilts somewhat quizzically. “But, about that…did you mean to put so much wolfsbane on it?”
Ghost shakes his head, grumbling. A small sense of honesty leaks out. “...Expected you to be bigger.”
You blink, and then, a few seconds later, a loud snort echoes like a ringing bell. 
The Hunter's unimpressed look only leads you to find him all the more enjoyable. “Shut it. Fuckin’ hell.”
A hand is waved from your party, dismissing the harsh snap. “Sorry, sorry.” You puff out amused air. “Spector not up to your expectations?”
Ghost nearly rolls his eyes, trying to focus on the task at hand. He didn’t mind your company, at the very least he knew he needed to keep an eye on you for any potentially forced shifts or hostile attitude. What he hadn’t expected was to find you so…different from your muzzled counterpart, your shared physical inhabitant. 
He could almost call you endearing if he wasn’t so numb to the sight and scent of reality. 
“Sightings were far between,” Ghost grunts. “Here-say. I took an educated guess—better to put something like you out of commission than drag my way out of a forest without legs.”
“No apology?” You try, tilting your head.
“None,” is the drawn response. “I don’t have regrets. You’re alive.” 
Your fingers touch the outside of one of his journals, tracing the bumps and grooves of age and wear. You hum, but don’t reply. Most of your pains have been pushed back now, even if you still weren’t up to full strength. Food and rest helped, but the anxiety that perpetuated only lengthened the healing process. 
When you can’t trust even yourself under the drunkenness of the moon, it only makes your fear of the sun worse. Everything made you afraid—most of all your mind; most of all, the future. 
“Why do you want to find the werewolf that turned me?” You have to speak this, have to push. Your curiosity demands it.
Ghost puts the bullet down and grabs a rag from his belt, mask turning to look your way as he brushes off his hands. He pauses, looming with that gargantuan height—natural intimidation in the span of his chest and the trunk that makes up his front. You find yourself in his shadow as he rubs at his fingers with the rag, taking it away and slotting it back into his belt a moment later. 
The man’s heat leaks into your body as he blinks over, glancing your form up and down in a single look; keeping a respectful distance but still making his attentions known. 
He stares. “If it keeps biting people, there won’t be any villages left to take up contracts from.”
“Money?” You frown.
“Principle,” Ghost counters, chest rising and falling steadily. “There needs to be a middle ground. Too many feral werewolves, too few people. Cut off the head.”
“Ominous,” your form turns to his, itching at the back of your head again—the scabbing skin. “If what you said was true, how do you know the thing isn’t already dead? If it hasn’t tried to get to me, what was the point of making me?”
“Because you hadn’t left St. Francis’ by the time I put a bolt in you.” Ghost grumbles, rubbing a hand on his bicep, itching above the fabric of his tunic. He stretches with a grunt—and you see his shirt ride up and the pale skin underneath. You gawk for a moment at the length of scars and brutal muscle.
“Charming,” you dryly utter, stuttering in a brief second of pulling back your senses, but the Hunter continues on, ignoring you.
“That was where you were turned—your territory. You stayed because your leader is still close by waiting.” Legs shift, and all of a sudden, a body is over you, hands are on the base of your skull, pushing your own away as brown eyes dig into the injury you pick at. 
Your breath hitches, tensing for a second as your spine straightens. You watch widely from the corner of your eye as Ghost runs a careful hand over the flesh. He puffs a breath, chest moving in a grunt that is both commonplace and expected, yet the brush of his chest to your shoulder is not. 
You restrain a shiver, nostrils moving to the overwhelming swell of leather and gunpowder. Bone fragments; the tang of whiskey. 
His skin as he runs a thumb over the edge of your wound.
“It’ll start cracking.” Ghost utters, and through his fabric, you feel the brush of speech. “Have to apply more balm. Stop messing with it unless you want stitches soon.” 
It takes a moment more of his surgical study and a small clearing of your throat before you can speak. Your mind changes the subject for you.
“So…if my bite can’t turn anyone,” you breathe, nearly sagging as Ghost’s fingers catch in your hair, shifting it under his attention to get a better look. He listens, you know. He wasn’t good at talking, but he always listened. “Why did they muzzle me?”
For a brief instance, you think you feel the Hunter’s fingers jerk a tiny amount—some reactionary muscle twitch that leads your body to still. 
Ghost can’t say why he did that, though perhaps it was the sudden flash of the injuries that he’d wrapped on the road back to his property that went over his eyelids. Or the cage—your pleading face aching for whatever small sliver of brutish company you can get. 
The silver bullet that he still had in his pocket, attached to that leather cord. He knew the purpose; the intent. Just as he knew the scrape of scabbing under his fingertips. 
“Control,” he grumbles, and it’s all he’ll say. 
Your burning face is somewhat down-turned, letting him do as he must, study what he can. He hadn’t made any moves to endanger you, and besides the upcoming full moon, there was nothing here that screamed imminent danger. Danger as a general, yes, of course. You were a werewolf in a hunter’s home—it would always be…your eyes flutter when his fingertips drag over your scalp…it would always be danger….dangerous.
Ghost doesn’t think you notice it, but your eyes are drooping. 
He watches after the slight shock wears off, a tiny smirk flickering the hidden skin of his lips after he realizes the reason. If you had a tail, he’d assume it would be moving in a soft arch by now. 
The man was mildly amused at that, and before he moved away fully, he had to stop himself from uttering a sarcastic, ‘like that, then?’ 
He had to remind himself not to get attached to whatever…this was. He was using you as bait, as some key to his problem. Not a companion. The distance here had to be firm and heavy-handed. 
“The balm is down in my packs,” he grunts, leaving just as his name implied before you had the chance to gather your bearings and the lack of caressing heat. You startle back to the attic room, eyes wide and face loose before Ghost’s retreating footsteps echo on the stairs. “Don’t bloody use it all, then.”
The front door opens and closes with a pull of weighted wood.
“I can’t do this,” you mutter, pacing alone in the middle of the night down in the living room 
The full moon was tomorrow. 
“I can’t do it,” you itch at the back of your head, peeling at the nearly healed flesh harshly. Your nails dig into the soft tissue, drilling like a knife. A bead of blood slips around your fingers, but it doesn't stop you.
It’s late—late enough to know that Ghost should be asleep by now. For days, the paranoia, just like always, builds until you are nearly as mute as your Hunter. No more curiously searching his attic; no more questions about his job or how he got into this business. Brown eyes had been lingering more as the days went by, this strange companionship growing. You knew, in his own way, he was…worried.
So silent, even he had been getting noticeably uneasy. Shifting legs and quick glances. Nights where you hid under the bed from the moon until lunch came around, Ghost speaking as easily as he could to try and coax you out to no avail. You, a feral dog with white-rimmed eyes. 
At supper, only hours before this panicked pacing, you had told something to Ghost that made him double-take. 
“If I can’t stop it…I need you to shoot me. In the head.”
He’d never answered, but his eyes seemed to get ever-sharper as the hours continued on. More tense. Ansty.
But…that was his job, wasn’t it? 
“Can’t do it,” you murmur. Blood slips down your wrist. “It isn’t right—”
“Spector?” Ghost’s voice had become so familiar to you that the only thing that made your heart skyrocket was the sudden call of it. Your gasp is sharp from behind a panted breath, hand flinching away from the crater you were steadily digging in your skull. A long string of blood trails into the air as your fingers jerk away, and it’s only then that you notice the deep pangs of pain.
Your eyes shudder for a second as Ghost’s form makes it to ground level. He comes over slowly, attention staying on the way the moonlight makes the crimson stains glint from the dripping line seeping into the sleeve of your tunic. He blinks, and you both stand.
The man’s skeletal adornment was missing, though the fabric under remained. A loose sleep shirt and pants, stained by the rays of night. 
“Let me see,” he sighs under his breath, a tiny rasp telling of the sleep he’d been awoken from.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you utter. He doesn’t seem to care, grabbing your wrist and pulling the limb away as his body takes up presence behind you. 
“Was already awake,” Ghost grunts, eyes narrowing in hidden worry. You calm down a bit at that, one less problem to worry yourself about. 
The Hunter, quietly, leaves for a second and grabs his pouch near the door. With a muffled command, he nods to the bed until you’re backing up and hitting the back of your knees off of it, sitting. 
Ghost lights the candle on the nightstand and opens his belongings with stiff glances your way. He noticeably doesn’t ask why you’ve harmed yourself like this.
“I can’t,” you say it like a plea for help. “Ghost, I can’t do it again.” 
Hands fiddle with clean bandages and take out his waterskin. The man douses a rag with the liquid and comes over, shifting onto the bed and lightly turning you so your back is to him—legs half hanging off. 
The hard press of cold water makes your breath hitch, and you bite your lip.
“It hurts,” you push out. Ghost knows you’re not talking about the newly opened wound. 
“Breathe,” he says to you, seeing the way your sides expand with heavy lungs. Brown eyes flutter from the push of his large hand to the warmth of your shaking flesh. “Tell me about your home, yeah? Heard you lived in your own place.”
The question makes you double-take.
He’s asking me that? Here? Now? Hours away from perhaps another catastrophe?
Yet, you can’t help the slippage of your tongue as Ghost’s fingers rub into your scalp. The rag is lessened, and, soon, the material is rubbed gently over the sore itch of weeping skin. You fight a whimper and reply with an addled mind. 
“It…it’s quiet. Calm. I always keep the candles going because I don’t like the dark.” Ghost works quietly and quickly. 
“There,” he grunts, glancing at the flickering light of the candle he lit. He’d have to remember that. “And?”
“I kept sheep.”
He pauses, and, without meaning to, a soft scoff bounces off the confines of his chest. It catches your attention far better than a bullet could. Ghost shifts a needle and thread out of his gathering of items, taking away his limbs only for the short while it takes him to loop the two together. 
“How many?” The masked man asks, amusement gone just as quickly as it had come. 
“Only a handful,” you whisper. Your mouth opens and closes, glancing over your shoulder as the candle-light spills out over the room; casting shadows over Ghost’s face, catching on his long eyelashes. Those browns of his glint like tree trunks covered in dew.
“Please,” your words are muffled. Eyes wide and fearful, there isn’t anything that can console you on this. “You need to kill me.”
There was a dichotomy to you—a violent thing. You didn’t want to die, no, you feared it heavily, more than the moon, but the truth was that you couldn’t keep going through this. The unknowing. The breaking bones, the blinding pain. The understanding that nothing that you do can stop it. 
“It hurts, Ghost,” your breath stutters. “More than taking off a limb, more than slicing yourself open and ripping out your intestines—it burns more than the light of the moon.”
The Hunter listens through all of it. He sits, he stares, and he hides the brimming sense of concern behind his dead eyes.
With a pulling of his eyebrows, Ghost’s free hand moves upwards and grabs your chin. Freezing, you study this phenomenon from over your shoulder, face on fire with eyes wide to the pale skin visible to your view. You hadn’t realized until now, but this was the most you’d seen of the man’s face. 
You could make out the point of his crooked nose—the strength of his jaw under the form-fitting fabric. Cheekbones and the heaviness of his brows. Wisps of hair. He had eyes like a cat, you had to admit; something sly about them despite the numbness that seemed to extend bone-deep. 
But his hands had been kind to you. 
Firmly, Ghost’s fingers run your flesh, and he blinks softly before a low sound echoes in his throat. He pushes carefully on your jaw and shifts your head back forward so he can help you. When he lets go, your heart quivers in your breast
“I’m ‘ere,” he mutters, and you feel the first stitch enter the thin flesh of your head. You take down deep breaths, focusing on the scrape of his fingertips and not the point of the needle. Ghost can understand the fear of it—of pain. It’s instinct. He tilts his head and pushes out, “I can only ask for one full moon from you, yeah? No more. I just need one.” 
“And if I can’t find the werewolf?” Your voice vibrates with emotion, staring down at your hands as Ghost’s chest brushes your spine. The scent of him was addling your brain; the rub and slide of his hands.
The Hunter’s jaw clenches softly. “...Then I let you go.”
It wasn’t what you were expecting, but anything from the time you’d gotten a bolt through the thigh was unknown territory, and, like a dog without a leash, you’d run into it. Your brows furrow, blood oozing down your neck before Ghost’s grip shifts to place the rag back again, swiping away firmly. 
“Go?” He nods, but you can’t see it. “But what about the hunt?”
“I can manage.” The stitching pauses. The air is broken up nearly a full minute later. “You’re not evil.” Before they start up again as if nothing was uttered aloud. 
The confession makes the sting in the back of your eyes start up again—a strong thing of confusion and vulnerability. Ghost continues his task, pulling together your skin one suture at a time until the injury is fully closed; clean. 
“Chin,” he lowly states, and you allow him to tap your jaw, shifting it up so the wrappings can loop above your ear and over your forehead—securing them. 
Even far after the blood has seeped through, the two of you stay.
Come morning, you already feel wrong.
Your body stays in bed, shaking—sweating. A large pain flairs in your chest over and over like a pulsing well in the earth, skin twitching with the spread of blood. Ghost sits beside the bed all the while, having dragged over his chair. He leans back into it, one arm over the side, hanging with the thing ever so often moving to rub at the back of his neck. 
You don’t think he’s moved since he brought it over last night; since he got another candle to stick into the holder—push back the dark. To watch, to study, or just to stave off your rising anxiety is another question. 
It’s only after the fourth time you try to rip at the stitches at the base of your skull that he finally grabs your hand and holds it silently. Now, his thumb moves over your knuckles—his gloves back on. 
At noon, he tries to suggest eating.
“Hungry?” Ghost asks. 
“No,” you say instantly, sweat dripping over your temple, your body partially buried under blankets. “No, I’ll just throw it up.” 
Brown eyes glint. “Just one bite?” 
Your mouth is already salivating—thoughts of wet flesh and blood in the forefront until you whine and shove your face into the pillow; panting heavily. 
Whispers dance in the shell of your ears. 
I’m here.
I’m here.
I’m here.
“Go away,” you whisper quickly to them. 
Ghost pauses, hesitating. After a moment, his thighs tense with the action of movement, thinking you’re speaking to him. Something swirls in his chest, but he starts to stand nonetheless.
Your eyes widen.
“No!” Both of your hands latch onto the Hunter’s wrist, fear a needle stuck in your gaze. “No, not you. Stay, please.”
A silver cage covered in blood slides across Ghost’s slightly shocked look, but he only licks at the corner of his mouth and slowly leans back once more. 
“Not going anywhere,” he says, accent dipping. “Tell me what you’re hearing, yeah?”
His hand slips back into yours, and he presses into your pulse softly, counting. The sun continues across the sky.
“I don’t like how it sounds,” you say, shaking your head. “It’s wrong.”
“Focus,” Ghost breathes, looming closer. His grip squeezes once. “It can’t hurt you.” 
You shiver, eyes tightly closed as tears burn the back of your nose. “It’s howling.”
A suddenly gloveless hand spreads up your cheek, resting there and pushing back the sweat that pools. It’s calloused—scarred. You whine, head spinning.
I’m waiting. 
Find me.
Find me.
“I don’t want to,” you utter under your breath, words an amalgamation of slurring gasps. 
“Spector,” Ghost calls, head moving closer. “Eh.”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” your hurried panic is similar to a mind overdosing on wolfsbane. “Gotta go away—gotta get out—”
“Spec!” The Hunter’s quick bark makes your eyes pop open, and you lock instantly with brown orbs. 
They’re tight, unblinking just as always. They offer just a few moments of clarity. 
Ghost holds your head still while the rest of you shivers with cold sweats, you can hear the blood inside of his veins; his heart pumping. The scent of his skin was addicting to the point of memorization on the airwaves. You watch, gulping down breaths as your throat bobs. 
Eyes dart you up and down, fingers spreading out to offer what little comfort he can. The man wonders if he’s completely in over his head. 
Ghost pulls his face-covering up to his nose, and your heart skips beats at the sight of ravaged skin and stubble, scars spreading out like your own. Long ones, short ones, burn marks, and hyperpigmentation. He wasn’t pretty, but he was real. 
Oh, he was real. 
His grip on you strengthens until all you can focus on is him. 
Ghost blinks, and you see his lips move. The gravel of his voice was never more clear. “Fucking hell, keep that head on, okay? Nothing’s going to happen as long as I’m here. I’ve got you.” He sighs out a low breath, thumb running your undereye as the small dribbles of tears begin to sneak out. Ghost murmurs. “I’ve bloody got you, alright? Let it happen—we can figure it out.”
He’d grown fond of you over the course of a month. You were curious; not pushingly so. Honest. Good. You’d been dealt a bitter hand, and damn him if his stone heart wasn’t stretched thin at the raw fear on your face. This wasn’t your fault, but he needed to find who turned you and stop them before it got any more out of control than it already was. If more unstable werewolves went running through the woods, there wouldn’t be anyone left in the territory alive.
“When you turn,” Ghost says as clearly as he’s able. “Go. Don’t fight it. I’ll find you.”
“Promise?” You ask, a weak flicker coming to your lips—eyes vulnerable. 
Ghost nods once, and it’s all you need. “I’ll find you,” he repeats. “Doubt me?”
“No,” you ease, clearing your throat. “But…one more thing?”
“Anything,” the Hunter instantly says. 
“Just don’t shoot me in the thigh again.”
When the claws start protruding from your nailbeds hours later, you’re bolting to the door with only one last glance at the Hunter and his half-pulled-up mask. Booted feet hitting the wood as he stands, he lets you go even as his thighs tense in a need to run after you. Patience was his beast to tame, but it seemed to have left him in the form of a woman disappearing into the tree line. 
There is companionship in broken things.
Your body slips into the forest just as the creak of your bones begins to shift and bend. You fall into a heap, hearing the gargling of marrow under your skin like a call to sea. An urge grows to infect you; a feral need to run and hide. Biting back a shrill scream, a hoarse yell escapes instead—flesh rippling as your mouth opens, fangs breaking the supple mushiness of your gums as blood floods like a river. 
Find me. 
Find me.
Find me.
“Ghost,” you whisper, hands snapping to your head. “Ghost, please.” 
Your bullet, you want your silver bullet.
A rabid scream rips from your throat, and back in the house, Ghost’s hands tighten into fists as he glares at the open door. He growls under his breath, eyes tightening in a certain type of anger that brews in his gut. The nights your shuffling woke his light slumber were more common than when you hadn’t, and every utterance was clearly heard to his ears. It had become a curse to him—how you’d met.
A regret was seeping in, a care, and now, as he forces himself to back up and head into the attic, Ghost clenches his jaw tightly. So unaffected by the horror of monsters, he was now at a loss of sense for this growth of feelings. 
He wasn’t dull, he knew that some of the contracts he took marked him as a tool and not a person of stable mind. He’d done things he wasn’t proud of, and he would continue to do them for no other reason than they were the orders he was given.
But you had broken a piece of that off of him, somehow, someway, your face had seared itself into his retinas—speared him at the brutality that your community had treated you with. The muzzle. It was cruel, and while Ghost was precisely that, there was a limit. 
He did his job, and that was that. Anything after wasn’t his problem. 
You became his job, and the one who turned you was an add-on. Maybe if he justified it to himself, he could understand his actions better. 
But he was already sprinting to grab his gear when the first howl shattered the night.
A white beast prowls the forest. 
It stands on two legs, but it isn’t human—isn’t natural. It’s taller than a grown man is; snout pulled back in a soundless snarl that puts dogs to shame with rows of teeth so sharp, they look like pale knives. Its feet—large, splayed—soundlessly skate the ground until clawed fingers slam to the earth. 
A nose inhales the scent above the dirt, tongue lulling as a shaggy tail lays limp behind a curved spine. In between the erect ears, under the thick skull of the werewolf, the rolling bumps of a brain spark. A pull.
Find me.
Your eyes are tiny black dots—and they blink once before you rise once more. A great growl moves inside of your chest, the large collection of hair around your neck standing on end.
I’m waiting.
But there’s something that keeps you here—standing in the grass as the moon shines atop your head, your fur nearly glowing even with the stain of bloody injuries. The remains of clothes are about a meter away; only strips of what was. 
Your gaze looks over your shoulder, and your gargantuan frame lumbers backward until you can stoop to them—nose once more sniffing with your arms reaching.
Your fingers twitch, blackened claws digging through the ground as a near purr echoes in your throat. The scythe-like additions card across the strips.
Gunpowder. 
Leather.
Whiskey.
Something you can’t quite name, but feel drawn to despite the tightening noose at your throat. There was something there you can’t focus on…something that you need. 
Your drooling jaws snap, saliva coating the fangs until they drip off one at a time to stain the grass. Body shifting, your head lowers until your wolf-ish visage rubs against the fabric, licking at the sides of your gums as delicate grumbles slip out of your mouth. 
A far-off howl leaves your frame freezing.
Eyes slipping back into the feral-inhumanity of a wild animal, your body jolts up, gaze to the forest trees and the rustling of bushes. The swell of rain on the clouds is in the back of your nose, and the previous attraction to the ripped clothes is lost as simply as it had come. 
You were being summoned. 
Ears twitching, the entirety of your body refuses to move to the sound; tensed and ready to spring on anything that moves if only to let off the spike of anger at the lack of control. The pull grows stronger, and it feels like something is trying to drag you away into the wilds.
This was the sensation you were always trying to fight—the one that led to the aggression; the hunt. You knew that if you followed that howl, whatever was left of your human sense would be gone entirely before you could stop it. 
Yet, this time, there’s a nagging need to find the owner, and you can’t remember why.
Your large head tilts, feet spaced as the curve of your spine grows more aggressive—hunching forward as you snarl at nothing, claws shaking as your fur is more bristly than sleek. 
Like pure white spikes. 
In the back of your head, a thin sliver of a memory slips in. Fingers on the back of your head, caressing calluses and dark, dark, eyes. Clean bandages and gentle touches.
I’ll find you.
If the side of your vision picked up the shadow shifting from far off into the trees, your curled lip never turned that way. If your nose twitched to the heavy weight of a man’s sweat, it never shifted to point as a mutt would to the rustling bush.
Your body bolts after the resounding echo of a wolf’s howl, and it’s no later that Ghost slips after your clawed prints to follow.
Crossbow in hand, the hunter’s mask gleams in the darkness, his pale eyes twinkling. Bending down, he glazes at the long pushing tracks of your form—seeing the spray of dirt to the side and the broken branches. Ghost blinks, shoulders tense before he swiftly stands and continues on. The firearms at his thighs lightly rattle, and the bolts in his crossbow are already laced with wolfsbane; silver tips smelt a week ago. 
He passes a river with only a single glance at the tossed rocks from the bed, sloshing through the water as the bottoms of his pants get weighed down. Ghost’s mind is on one thing only: make sure this plan won’t get you killed. 
The bolts aren’t for you—the silver bullets aren’t for you. 
He grunts under his breath, the dark woods casting phantoms over the ground. The Hunter’s legs shift through tall grass, and he carries himself with the ingrained confidence a man of his station requires. If he were anything less than a monster himself, he would have died ages ago. Ghost shoots and lets others come up with the questions, but he could never be called dumb. 
Seeing what fast glimpse he had of your shifted form after the last time, he was struck by how erratic it acted. Snapping head, twitching ears, and roving eyes. If he didn’t know any better, Ghost would have called it rabid. 
Yet, your actions with his borrowed shirt were…body-stilling, to say the least about it. It had made his gut swirl.
“Give me a trail,” Ghost utters to himself, brown eyes still picking up the dash you’d taken. His agile feet splash through a puddle, the beginnings of raindrops hitting his head. 
The man grabs at his hood and pulls it up stiffly, frowning under his mask.
Rain would wash away the tracks.
“C’mon, Love,” he grinds out, body hunched. “Leavin’ me to do the dirty work, eh?” 
It’s too quiet—even a collection of minutes later of hard hiking, the trees barely move. There aren’t any birds; no animals beyond the black bodies of crows in the far-up branches, waiting, watching with obsidian eyes that don’t blink. 
Ghost isn’t off-put, but the length of his strides gets far tinier, carefully stepping over twigs and rocks like a soldier at war. Then again, he was at war. And if he was caught unawares, there wouldn’t be a bullet to pull out of his side, but, instead, a chunk missing. 
His ears were almost ringing from how hard he was focusing. 
Brown eyes shift from one area to another, and then, suddenly as if a deer, he freezes. 
Ghost’s body winds up, fingers twitching from the stark trigger discipline of his crossbow downward instantaneously. No one but him can explain what just happened, but he knows when he has to listen instead of act. Stuck in a clearing not unlike the place he’s first met you, his feet rest shoulder width apart and his eyes stare blankly into the trees ahead.
Your tracks end here.
From behind him, just as the large raindrops slap the side of his bone-ed visage, the small crack of a twig makes his ears twitch.
A low snarl sets his hair on end. 
Looking over his shoulder, Ghost is met with the same color that he’d become so accustomed to in a full month completely blacked out. Void. Lifeless to anything besides rage and bloodlust. 
Your white fur was infected with dirt, blood, and leaves—a mosaic of ferality ingrained into your body; pale fangs snapping. The beast slips through the treeline, slapping a veined hand into the soggy earth. 
Ghost only watches, eyes a mystery. 
His finger shifts over the trigger, and for the first time in his life, he hesitates. 
The man looks into your glinting orbs, the dripping saliva on your lulling tongue as your esophagus pants for breath. One hesitation, he always knew, would mean death. One mess-up. 
You’d asked him to end it, he shouldn’t feel remorse, guilt, perhaps—he was still human, despite his appearance, but remorse was deeper. It left wounds that were harder to lick clean again. 
…So why isn’t he sending a bolt into your forehead?
Ghost remembers the times he’d found you under the bed, your shaking, and the way you hadn’t allowed him to change your bandages the first few weeks you’d stayed with him; didn’t want him to touch you. The nightmares and the small smile you’d gain when he’d spew his dark, sarcastic words as if this was a joke. How you’d always thank him under your breath for the food he’d give you, hunted by his own hand. 
A silver cage. Crimson blood. The sight of your pleading eyes when you’d told him to shoot you.
Maybe the two of you were far more alike than he’d dare to admit. And he currently won’t, not even on his deathbed. Not even now.
Ghost watches, and he waits. 
He can’t do it.
Your body slinks closer, stalking with the sound of anger, nearly rib-shaking in its volume. Ghost’s jaw clenches, and his body shifts to face yours head-on. At the sight of the crossbow, your snarl turns into an air-biting rage, saliva flying through the rain.
“Spector,” he keeps his voice low, even. The sight he’d seen as you smelled his clothes had to mean something. Ghost tilts his head, moving out a hand from the side of his weapon in an appeasement gesture. “I’m not going to shoot you. We have a job to complete…get those fangs away.”
He wonders if ordering you around will even work. You had told him before—you’re not a mutt. Ghost agrees. No mutt was the size of a fucking boulder.
The werewolf’s claws drag—goring the mud as if a pig to tear apart. 
“Spector,” the Hunter tries again. But something’s different about his tone; he drops it, letting it pull on a softer string. “I’m here to end this. We’re here to end this.” He blinks and lowers the crossbow completely. “Breathe. The night can’t last forever.” A breeze whips the trees. “I made you a promise.”
There’s a second, he thinks, where he can see something shift in your gaze, pupils slightly widening above the deluge that wets down your fur into a sopping mess that hangs off muscle.
“That’s a girl,” Ghost grunts, taking a small step closer. “Never told you,” he utters, eyes locked with yours. He sees your nose twitch minutely. “But if we get this right, Spec, there’ll be no more painful shifts, hear me?”
Your dog-ish mouth is closed, hanging off every word as Ghost comes even closer.
“I kill this bastard,” the hunter breathes, gloved hand still outstretched, nearing closer to the near-silver of your form. “The moon’ll have no claim on you. She’ll let you off the leash, Little Wolf. You get to decide when it happens.” 
He thinks he has you now, back to some state of recognition in the addled brain that tries to see him as prey; as competition. Ghost’s fingers are close enough to almost touch you, but just before he can brush his gloves over your wet fur, your mouth opens in a display of untamed challenge. Your growl is enough to make the man unconsciously reach for his pistol, and in the time it takes him to realize the fault of it, you’ve already rampaged forward with an unhinged jaw.
Ghost’s eyes widen, taking a quick step back. 
Your legs push off, and you shove the hunter out of the way just before the fangs of an immense beast can clamp down on him, your own finding the shoulder of gray, thick fur.
Fighting as wolves do, Ghost only needs a moment to recover and get to his feet, though the sight in front of him can rival any that he’d seen before. His crossbow clatters a few feet away, sending the bolt off into the trees with a metallic ‘twang’.
The two werewolves roll around the pouring clearing, snapping teeth and rending claws drawing blood that’s deep enough to swim in to the green grass. White and gray meld together—blue eyes like a knife to Ghost’s chest when he takes it in from between the sound of tearing fur. 
“Bloody fucking…” the man trails, staggering as his palms slap to the pistols at his side. He blinks, shouting in more of a bark than even a dog could imitate. “Spector!” 
The wolves pull and rip the other to shreds, flesh torn and limbs grasping for purchase. Bodies are slammed to the ground before getting tossed to the side, fangs flashing in the moonlight. Ghost watches crimson stain your fur a pinkish-red.
He can’t get a good shot.
The werewolf that turned you sinks its claws into your sides, dragging them downwards as you yowl, eyes tiny with aggression before your jaws connect with its snout, biting down with more force than a horse’s hooves. The monster screams—a garbed thing of fangs and saliva. 
Just as easily as it called you here to it, as it stalked your Hunter, it bashes your body back into the earth and takes you by the scruff of your neck. Eyes wide in that lupine way, you lock on Ghost’s profile before your body is lifted, and tossed away violently. 
Spine slamming into a tree, you hear the cracking and bending of your bones in your ears just after you hear the sharp shout from the man in the clearing, body dropping to a heap into the grass and mud. Angled head flopping back and forth, black infests the edges of your vision, coughing up blood that seeps from between your gums and slips down the back of your esophagus. Fur and flesh are stuck at the base of your throat. 
Whining, your limbs drag and pull futility, eyes flooded over with crimson and fogged by rain. A great roar worries the air, sending long shivers over your spine as you try to rise to your limbs, a five-fingered hand slamming you back down. 
Just before the fangs can clamp your throat, two great booms burst through the forest. 
The wolf atop you reels back, great bellow escaping its throat when you can finally drag your head to look over. This beast was clawing at its chest, shaking its large head in an arch to try and dispel the shock of having two silver bullets entering its back—the gray head snapped around to Ghost, who held his twin pistols aloft with eyes burning with anger from behind his mask. An avatar of vengeance; a bringer of death. 
The orbs inside of your sockets widened, nose twitching wildly as you bleat a quick warning bark. 
Blue-Eyes rises, body far larger than yours would ever grow to be—on two feet more powerful looking than a bricklayer many years into his craft; tall enough to reach to the sides of black-shingled homes and pull itself up. Ghost takes one look and growls under his breath, knowing there would be no time to reload the weapons in his hands. 
So he drops them and pulls slowly at the cruel blade in his belt until the gleam winks in the low light like a curved smile. Setting it in his hands, the small flicker of a sharp smirk on his lips is lost to you. 
Yet, there isn’t a chance for some brawl between two beasts—there’s only the flash of pale fur and the final crunch of a body hitting the ground. 
You bury your fangs into the wolf’s neck; the one responsible for all of your pain and torment spanning years of isolation. You feel the body seize as it drops, the last remnants of a dying brain trying to fight the inevitable nothingness that ensues, and, you only hold on the harder, the bloodlust seeping back in with every drop of life pooling into your locked jaw.
Your throat releases tiny growls of pleasure, biting a bit to make sure there wasn’t a sliver of a chance that something living was walking away from this scene. 
Ghost pauses, and in the back of his head, he knows he should stop you. Brown eyes see the animalistic sheen of enjoyment at a fresh kill, the way you pull at the flesh until chucks peel away from a gurgling wolf. Even when the thing is long dead and the rain still slaps the earth, you barely let go until you get a hold of the meat and tear with a backward jerk of your snout.
“Love,” the Hunter sheathes his knife, taking a step forward. The blood was pooling under your body. How many of those were treatable? He had to know. “Let me see what’s—”
The eyes that lock on him are not yours. 
Up to your ears, the entirety of your face was awash with the stain of life, dripping off the whiskers at your cheeks; your chin. 
Before he can utter another word, he finds himself on his back with a snapping snout right in front of his face, two dead eyes staring deeply into his own. Ghost sucks down a quick breath, hand snapping to the large wrist shoving down on his chest.
He pants out, gravel accent far more deep than it was before. 
“Easy, Spector. Easy. Eh—focus on me.” Your tongue licks at your fangs, body shaking. Ghost pushes out, “That’s it, then. It’s over, yeah? You did it; let's pack it up and head back home.” He grunts. “Recon even dogs get cold in weather like this—the bed’s waiting. Get a nice fire going.”
Ghost sees your face move closer, and his hand minutely shifts to the vial of wolfsbane on his belt. It wouldn’t kill you, but it could put you out of commission until your body shifted back into its proper form. He could carry you back—that wouldn’t be a problem at all. 
But he was worried about your injuries. Even now the droplets of blood roll off of you faster than the water can. 
Too much.
Brown eyes crease, darting a look down. 
“Fuck,” he growls, seeing the carnage and the open meat. “Sweetheart, we need to get you checked out—you need to listen to me. Can you do that?”
He can see the conflict; the internal fight. 
Your mouth moves with fast pants, claws stuttering over his gear futilely. You blink rapidly, shaking your large head in fast increments with small snarls. 
“C’mon,” Ghost says slowly, fingers looping the vial. “Keep listening. Know my voice is utter shite, but only you can tell me it.” 
Your head drops to his chest just as the wolfsbane is popped open, and, for whatever reason, Ghost pauses. He waits. 
You take a long inhale of his gear—of the leather and the gunpowder, and just before the Hunter can dump the vial over your skin, the long blackish claw on your finger loops the bottom portion of the fabric under his bone attachment. 
The man’s breath hitches as you let it rest along his nose bridge…holding it there as you drag your head upwards as if it were an impossible chore. Your mouth dribbles out gore to his cheeks, but the Hunter stares upwards into your eyes as they soften in a lupine way. 
Inexplicably, you let out a bone-rattling sigh and slump into oblivion. 
Come morning, you sleep under the spread of large fur blankets—clean bandages over your bare frame as the man has tended to you for hours. He mutters for you to slip your arms into a spare shirt after he finds your eyes open, not uncomfortable by your nakedness, though he wants you yourself to be at ease. 
His brown eyes are creased, and you can’t remember what you’ve done. 
You comply with small grunts and moans; more sore and cut up than you can recall ever feeling as a large tunic is slipped over your head by scarred hands. 
Gunpowder. 
“What did I—?”
“You finished the job,” he says, sparing you a glance as he shifts back with his eyes averting themselves from your visible legs. The sun seeps in through the windows. “It’s morning.”
You blink slowly, and the man eases you back down into the furs. 
“I’m tired,” your voice yawns out—weak and brittle like the hope you’d had that this plan of his would work. Eyes half-closed, they blink at the hunter with a soft kind of care that you can’t remember showing before. Whatever pain medicine he’d given you, it was working. The underlying itch was still as strong as ever, though. 
“Tired is good,” Ghost nods slowly, standing still until he crosses his arms and sets his feet. He’s in a fresh shirt and pants. There’s blood under his fingernails; traces smeared over his flesh. “Means you accomplished something.”
“Don’t think that’s entirely true,” you breathe. A pause. “...Why is your mask like that?”
It was half pulled up—showing off his lower jaw and the stubble. The scars that you already have memorized. Ghost shrugs, blinking those dead eyes of his. 
“Ah,” he grumbles. “Forgot. Here.”
He reaches up and slips the thing off in one motion. Your loose brain takes a moment to realize the entire face you’re staring into, but the second it does, the image is engraved into your mind forever. You make a noise in the back of your throat. 
“Better, Little Wolf?” 
“W—” Your lips stutter, new sutures pulling tight. “Why would you…?”
“Hungry?” Ghost asks, quickly changing the subject. “Know you like that venison that I caught.”
“No,” you breathe. “No, I’m not…I’m tired, Ghost. My head hurts.”
A hand sweeps over your forehead, staying as you sag into it with a hum and a fluttering of your eyes. 
“Bloodloss,” the Hunter murmurs. “Normal. Go back to sleep; take however long you need. I’ll be here.” 
The bond between the two of you has strengthened to that of a silver rope.
“Stay,” you plead under your breath, already slipping back into nothingness with no promise to wake up again soon. “Hold me, Ghost?”
“Simon,” he grunts to only himself, knowing that the words are lost to you. Perhaps that makes him all the more eager to share it with you when you’re better. “Stay still.”
It wasn’t like you could protest.
The broad man slips in, shifting the furs until you’re covered back up and your forehead is to his chest—keeping himself closest to the door where the runes still sit in their bloody glory. If he listened hard enough, he could even hear them humming him a tune.
No song was better to him than the one of your breath at this very moment. Alive. Moving. There were many times in the night that he thought...hm.
“Better, then?” The dry tease slips out. 
A kiss to the side of his mouth is what he gets in answer, and he doesn't say a peep more until he knows you’re back in the clutches of a dream—a good one, he knows, because he watches your expressions like a loyal guard dog would.
Ghost, Simon, rests his lips on the top of your head, and in a delicate murmur, eases, “You did good, Love.” 
There was much to do, but for now, all he had to do was hold you a little bit tighter and let his stone heart beat a little bit faster.
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2K notes · View notes
joonsytip · 8 months
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Withering for You || Seungcheol [Teaser]
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Pairings: Seungcheol x Fem!Reader
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut, CEO! Seungcheol au, Husband! Seungcheol au, Wife! Reader au, Music Teacher! Reader au, Arranged Marriage au, College Sweetheart au, Exes to Lovers au
Synopsis: When you are arranged married to the man, who's heart you had broken years ago, even dreaming about mending things seems next to impossible when he has been holding grudge for all these only to return it to you tenfold.
Warnings: Seungcheol is the biggest meany, crying, profanities, everyone is hurt and sad, everything is on rocks, sexual intimacy, rest will be specified under the part when published.
Dropping sometime next month.
Banner credits to my baby @hoeforhao (idk how I'd survive without you) <3
Permanent taglist: @kimmych @imsjane @novalpha @hiimhappysblog @fiantomartell
Main story out now checkout here!
[ SVT Masterlist ] [ SVT Flick - Fic Masterlist ]
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"Why did you agree to marry me, Seungcheol?"
The said man's lips curl up in a smirk as his snark respond comes to bite you, "I didn't agree, my family didn't agree. They still don't. But it's me, who's choosing to marry you, Y/N."
You shudder under his presence yet once more tonight.
"Why?", comes out your strained voice with a heavy question that you both know had been looming since the beginning.
"Why are you here?", he questions back, "To finalize on the wedding. But you could have said no. I believe no one has forced you to be here", he snides, "No one could ever force a manipulative woman like you."
There's an answer that's at the tip of your tongue which you don't want to let out because you know it would hold no value to Seungcheol.
The same Seungcheol who'd have once fought the whole world for you, has become the person who'd slice you down with the thinnest thread mercilessly.
You agreed to marry Seungcheol because you think life has given you another chance to be with the love of your life.
Seungcheol agreed to marry you just to make your life miserable because you were the one who had stomped over his heart and since then he has never loved again.
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→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip. ©️
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pshcomforts · 1 month
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➳ let you break my heart again | psh.
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collegestudent!sunghoon x fem!reader (mentions of wonyoung from ive)
“one day i will stop falling in love with you”
synopsis: you’ve been in love with your friend, sunghoon for a long time but he has eyes on someone else.
warnings/content: college au. unrequited love. pure and heavy angst. cursing. no happy ending. written in third pov. sunghoon’s oblivious. reader is introverted. a little bit of jay x reader.
comments, likes, and reposts are appreciated :)
word count: 3.3k
a/n: part two — ‘falling in love’. fictional characters — dae (jungwon’s boyfriend), min-su (heeseung’s girlfriend), and ji-woo (jake’s girlfriend). shameless part two is in the works i swear!
༘˚⋆𐙚。masterlist⋆.✧˚
current song playing: let you break my heart again by laufey
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
1:04 ─────|────────────── -3:25
it was a gloomy and early evening, and all y/n could hear were the sounds of bird chirps and wind whispers.
she gave a soft sigh as she arrived onto the school campus. “just a few hours today, it’s gonna rain too..,” she murmured with a saddened expression.
the girl soon felt a harsh arm tug around her neck, pulling her close within the person’s chest.
in an instant, the smell of cologne and fresh laundry attacked her senses and she knew who it was.
“you just got here??” her close friend, sunghoon beamed towards her.
y/n’s heart instantly thumped at the processed words. “yeah.. did you?” she took a gulp, eyes trailing up towards the body figure.
she heard him give a low chuckle that caused her insides to churn and twist all in one. “i’ve been here for a while, dummy. we’ve all been waiting for you.” hoon spoke, arms unintentionally linking her closer in his presence.
the girl awkwardly laughed along before swallowing her feelings away. “oh.. well, i’m here now.”
“finally! i’ve been waiting since 8am!”
“you have?” her head peered up and she only hoped that sunghoon didn’t notice the blushing red around her cheeks and ears.
he didn’t. the stupid boy was oblivious.
so he only cackled a laugh before furiously nodding his head — “yeah! i need to give you an update on how it’s going so far with wonyoung.”
oh.
y/n’s heart instantly sank to the pit of her stomach, killing all of the possible butterflies that had been formed there. “o..oh…,” she mumbled with a lip bite. “yeah, how’s it going so far?”
she attempted a smile but could only go so far with just her lips forcibly pressing into a thin line.
sunghoon didn’t notice the way his friend who’s crushed on him for months subtly withdrew away from him as he yapped on and on about his progress.
“so me and her..,” “and then we..,” “but she also told me..,” “and i really want her to know that..,” the oblivious boy mumbled on, and all she could do was let him run his mouth with how much excitement surged through him.
y/n laughed here and there, playing the simple mannered jokes to quiet down her aching pain that wished to become present.
but even with her efforts, her tears that caused a shine to display in her eyes were worsening her act. and when she quietly sniffed away her snot, sunghoon immediately noticed and stopped in his tracks.
“hey,” he nudged. “you okay?”
“yeah.. no, yeah, i’m definitely fine! it’s just getting cold so i think i’m getting a little sick.” she muffled back with her head turned away from him.
he didn’t give a response. at least, not right away. it was urgently quiet as he observed her body language, almost as if trying to figure her out.
“are you sure you’re okay?” the male softly uttered. his voice was sweet and reassuring, much like his feelings for wonyoung.
“if you need to, just go back home. your head might hurt if you stay in class.” he added in.
y/n hated this. she hated how caring he was, how unintentionally charming he was. she hated it, and she hated him (lies).
“no it’s fine, hoon.”
sunghoon’s face spoke with disbelief in her words. resting his hand on her shoulder, he firmly murmured, “i’m sure the professor will understand, i don’t want you to force yourself-“
“i said i’m fine.” the girl harshly reiterated.
after the cold shoulder, she felt his hand slip off of her shoulder — causing a burning pulse to ache in her heart. he was the one who withdrew this time, and she felt it.
“you didn’t have to be harsh, y/n.”
sunghoon’s hand was about to fully slip away but y/n caught it in time, fingers dangling onto the forearm with hope and regret.
“sorry, sunghoon, i’m just a little irritated with this cold,” she lied. nothing about her runny nose and teary eyes were about a cold. he was the reason, but he couldn’t know that.
✩ ‘i don’t even think that you care like i do’ ✩
hoon sighed. “i know you get a little mean when your head starts to hurt but don’t take it out on me,” he softly joked, playfully nudging her head afterwards.
the girl rolled her eyes before giving a light smack to his arm. “shut up, i’m just not feeling well.” another lie.
“well just don’t get me sick cause then i’ll get wonyoung sick.”
oh.
his words processed into her ears faster than she thought, and her smile dropped.
but when sunghoon looked back at her to see if she laughed at his joke, she quickly wore a grin once more.
“calm down, you guys are still talking.” y/n said with a stab to the heart.
“not after today, i hope.”
her ears perked up. she knew it wasn’t possible for her friend to like her back, especially with how much he always went on and on about a girl like wonyoung; but it didn’t hurt to have a little hope right?
✩ ‘pretend that we are more than friends’ ✩
“what’s happening today?” she asked, finding it hard to gulp down saliva with her heartbeats in her throat.
sunghoon awkwardly chuckled as he scratched the back of his nape. “i’m planning to ask her out today.”
another heart drop to the stomach.
✩ ‘i should stop’ ✩
‘of course.. i’m an idiot…,’ she thought to herself as she exhaled a heavy sigh.
“what? that’s not a good idea?” the boy asked, catching onto that exaggerated sigh.
“what? oh.. no, it’s a good idea! ask her out!” she beamed, displaying a wide smile. she felt like an idiot. her hopes went up for a second, just for it to be shot down like always.
✩ ‘heaven knows i’ve tried’ ✩
“thank you, y/n! you always help me with her, i can’t thank you enough!” sunghoon yelled, hugging and shaking her around.
y/n lightly laughed. “once is enough..,”
“what?”
“what..? nothing! hey, there’s jake and them, let’s go!” she dragged him towards their friend group and sighed in relief.
“you guys are finally here?” jake teased, displaying his full set of teeth as he laid his head on his girlfriend’s shoulders.
y/n nodded. “yeah, i just came on campus.”
“girl, it’s noon!” her friend, ji-woo yelled in disbelief.
“hey, my class is later, so i’m not late!”
“that’s true, at least she’s planning to go to class.” dae chimed in with a shrug in his shoulders.
“exactly! thank you,” the single friend defensively beamed back.
“that’s a first.” min-su uttered, causing cackled laughter to erupt out of the group.
a few topics of discussions immersed before sunghoon intervened with his own — “so i’m planning to ask wonyoung out.”
everyone immediately shifted their gaze to y/n, who had her head slightly drooped down. they knew she liked him. everyone knew, everyone but sunghoon.
but it wasn’t like they could just tell him for her. it wasn’t their place, and she’d honestly rather keep it a secret with how eager he was to be going out with another girl.
y/n softly shook her head ‘no’ towards her three closer friends who intentionally stared at her a little longer than the members. ‘no, don’t say anything, it’s fine’ — she spoke with that head shake.
ji-woo sighed out before uttering, “you’re really gonna go out with her?”
sunghoon’s head tilted to the side in confusion as he responded with a — “yes? is it that surprising?” he turned his attention to jake to get an idea of what his girlfriend meant, only for jake to just awkwardly smile.
“well, you’re just not the type to be that bold, you know?” dae urged, saving ji-woo’s ass.
“yeah, you’re usually more like the guy who just lets stuff happens unintentionally.” min-su said in an attempt to cover their question up.
“baby, i’m sure sunghoon’s just getting more confident with her.” heeseung replied to his girlfriend, intertwining his hands with hers.
y/n’s head slightly bolted before looking at the male who just spoke. they met eyes before he mouthed a ‘sorry’ towards her.
“hee’s right. she just makes me feel confident in being more out there. she’s so sweet, and talks confidently, and..,” sunghoon chattered on.
and it was then that she realized just how different wonyoung and her were.
wonyoung was extroverted, and y/n was introverted.
she was so outgoing and natural in everything she did, and y/n truly admired her for that. she couldn’t ever hate someone who was so unbelievably sweet like wonyoung.
but the two girls were different, and y/n could see just how much sunghoon and her wouldn’t work out. they were too similar, and he needed someone opposite from him.
her. it was her who was like that. wonyoung brought the best in him, and y/n was at least glad for that.
so as hoon kept yapping on about his plan, y/n disassociated with every thought that flooded her head. she couldn’t bare to hear the same words, so the best thing that she could do was just blur out whatever he was saying.
the group took notice and eventually stopped sunghoon.
“hey y/n, doesn’t your class start soon?” dae quickly intervened with an eyebrow raise.
“hm? oh, yeah.. soon.” she blatantly said, no sense of emotion shown.
ji-woo awkwardly laughed as she added, “girl you should start walking.” her chuckle was in an attempt to make light jokes of the situation, but y/n only nodded.
“okay,” she mumbled and got up from the table seat.
“oh, i’ll walk you.” jay uttered, taking the excuse and leaving as well.
sunghoon cocked his head. “what? but i was supposed to walk her. jay??”
“don’t worry, i’ll walk her! her class will be close to mine anyway!” the dark haired boy shouted before catching up to y/n.
“hey,” jay bumped his arm against hers. “you want to talk about it..?”
she sighed as she faced him. his face showed a sickly amount of worry and it only caused her to playfully push his head away.
“does it look like i want to talk about it?” y/n murmured, softly pouting.
jay chuckled. “no, but i’m here if you need me. i know it’s not easy, y/n, and sunghoon’s a little stupid for not seeing that you like him.”
she clicked her tongue as she rolled her eyes. “please, i haven’t shown that i’ve liked him at all. he’s not stupid, he’s just in love with someone else.” when her words actually processed, she felt her heart shatter into a million pieces.
the girl stopped her tracks and lowered her head, causing jay to look back at her with pity.
“y/n..,” he whispered, brows furrowing at her state.
“it’s pathetic, isn’t it?” she chuckled through her pain, tears already flowing down her cheeks. “being in love with someone who only sees me as a friend.”
“it’s not. maybe if you just tell him-“
“what, tell him and make our whole relationship awkward? no. he’s already adamant on going out with her anyway, there’s no point.”
y/n’s head lowered even more, hiding away her puffy, red eyes that were clear in daylight. she let out soft sobs before attempting to shut down her feelings.
✩ ‘promise i don’t mean to cry’ ✩
“sorry, this is gross. i’m not crying anymore, sorry jay-“
✩ ‘but i get overwhelmed and confused’ ✩
in swift seconds, jay pulled her into his embrace and softly squeezed her. “your feelings for sunghoon aren’t stupid. you may be for not telling him any sooner, but your feelings are never invalidated.” he muffled through the hug.
the girl cracked a smile at his words before slapping his arms. “thanks.. that was a little mean but, thanks jay.”
jay beamed a sweet and reassuring smile as he stroked her hair for a second. “what are friends for?” he said.
✩ ‘some day, someone will like me like i like you’ ✩
“are you still planning to go to class?”
“should i..? after i cried..?”
he cackled a laugh, shining a smile towards her before mumbling, “it’s up to you, but i honestly wouldn’t. you can always catch up too..,”
y/n turned her head to look at him. “are you suggesting that you skip with me?”
“who said i was skipping??” the tall male grinned ear to ear as he watched her exasperate a sigh out.
“you cant tell me to skip and not have you skip with me!”
“fine.. i’ll skip with you.” jay sighed in defeat. “but we have to get the others to skip too!”
“deal! i was already texting dae!”
the two laughed before making a weird U-turn from their pathway.
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
eventually, their plan to skip only turned into a library study session. and with such short timing, only a few were willing to do it — dae, min-su, ji-woo, and niki.
the rest were either still in class, at home already, or in some cases, asking their crush out.
so when it was just the six in one big table, everything was chaotically quiet.
y/n sat next to her three closest friends while jay and niki silently bickered here and there.
“i cant believe jungwon didn’t come, he’s usually always down for these study sessions.” niki snorted.
“well wonie wasn’t feeling it today so he just went home.” dae butted in, eyes staying glued to his laptop.
jay huffed out a sigh. “this is a little boring.. i thought we were gonna do something more fun when we skipped, y/n.”
“well, we have to catch up for the work we missed.”
“remind me to never skip with you again..,”
the group quietly laughed together as jay continued — “seriously, y/n, what was the point if we were going to do something like study?”
“i just didn’t want to listen to my professor talk,” she scowled.
“let’s go eat somewhere, at least!” the male frowned, eyes rolling at how much she was concentrating.
“i wouldn’t mind eating..,” niki chimed in.
“let’s go!” yelled ji-woo, getting everyone hyped up to leave.
y/n immediately jumped up from her cushioned seat with a beam — “okay! i just have to go pee first.”
“do you want us to wait for you?”
“no it’s fine, jay needs to get the car anyway so just come around the block and i’ll be here.”
a few debates on staying with the girl was made before she ultimately convinced jay to just let them go first.
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
once y/n was finally done, she brought herself to the front of the library. as she stepped out, she finally heard the heavy rain drops pour from outside.
the campus was flooded with wet puddles and muddy sidewalks. she exaggerated a sigh as she covered herself with a hoodie.
“should’ve just had someone wait with me,” she mumbled under her breath.
the girl glanced back and forth, from left to right to ensure nothing was in her way, but once she did so, she completely hated the sight she came across.
a few ways down from her once-peripheral vision, y/n saw sunghoon and wonyoung wrapped around each other in a hug.
she immediately found it hard to breathe with how tight her heart began to clench onto every single ache. tears ran through her cheeks as she watched from afar.
the only thing that further confirmed his stated plans from earlier were the dim lights on campus — exhibiting how well hoon was wrapping his arms around her, how well they fit each other like puzzle pieces.
she bit her lips as she tried to swallow back another crying sob, but she just couldn’t help it.
y/n was watching her closest friend fall in love with someone else this entire time, and she’s always been able to somewhat sustain it. but now? now, he would actually be with wonyoung, instead of the girl who’s been in love with him since high school.
✩ ‘if only you knew what i felt like’ ✩
her breath hitched as every memory of her and hoon being potentially more flashed away in an instant. she’d always thought that maybe on some level, she’d get with sunghoon because of how well it went for all three of her close friends to find their special someone from being friends first.
but that little fragment of hope she had left for something possible was now crushed to a pulp.
✩ ‘some day, one day’ ✩
it wasn’t like the movies where the two friends realize their love for each other, and y/n knew that now. because if it was anything like that, hoon wouldn’t have been so excited to tell her everything that he knew about wonyoung.
he would’ve just confessed his feelings, and baam, happy ending.
but yet again, it wasn’t like the movies.
so she harshly wiped her tears away and though no one was around, she couldn’t help but be thankful for the heavy raindrops that blended her tears in with it. a half smile plastered across her face in revelation to that while sighing.
‘happy for you..,’ y/n thought to herself as she pulled out her phone.
✩ ‘i will stop falling in love with you’ ✩
beads of water from the rain plopped on her phone in a quick pace while she texted a family member — ‘can you come pick me up?’
she bit her lips before leaving to her shared group chat with her beloved friends.
y/n <33:
hey.. i just remembered that i have an exam next week so i have to study for it
go ahead and eat without me tho!! my brother’s already on his way so don’t worry abt any of that! :)
jungwon’s bae 🩶:
You have an exam??
Why didn’t you tell us!
Just come out anyway 🥰
hee’s fav 🤍:
yeah one day won’t hurt!
jake’s girl 🫂:
jay’s taking forever but yeah, just come y/n!
y/n’s eyes glistened when she felt another wave of emotions hit her. they didn’t even know she was going through such a thing, and it hurt that she couldn’t tell them yet.
y/n <33:
no it’s okayy, another time!
a buzz to her phone was made before she found her brother pulling up. she ran to the car with a shaky breath, and soon, they drove away from the heartbreaking sight.
.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
when the girl got home, she immediately ran to her room and sobbed her eyes out. she broke down in a crying mess after holding it in in front of her brother.
tears streamed down her cheeks and snot filled her nose with every hiccup in her throat.
“i’m an idiot,” y/n grumbled in a scratchy whisper.
just then, her phone rang like crazy and she peeked over. her three friends were calling, most likely to call and talk like they do every night, but she couldn’t do it. not right now.
so she declined it, and a few other buzzed calls from them.
y/n ignored the flooding texts of concerns and playful frustrations before coming across a few from sunghoon.
hoonie 🤍:
You busy??
I have to tell you how it went, y/n
Text me back as soon as possible! I have such good news 🙂🙂
her heart sank. of course he had good news, she was there to witness it. but she was a good friend after all.
✩ ‘until i do, i’ll be thinking of you’ ✩
y/n <33:
oh really?? what happened?
✩ ‘then of course i’ll let you break my heart again’ ✩
★・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・★
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satorubi · 1 year
Text
#1 : SLUT CERTIFIED ! — eren yaeger
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꒱ ➛ CHAPTER SYNOPSIS : eren’s first favor.
˚◞♡ who ?? : eren yaeger x black fem! reader
˚◞♡ word count : 8.2K ( i am so sorry )
˚◞♡ chapter warnings : minors DO NOT interact, mentions of female anatomy, fem! reader using she/her pronouns, somewhat bimbo reader ??? mentions of asshole connie, mentions of player! connie ( i’m sorry ), use of profanity, oral penetration, cunninlingus, body worship, fingering, pet names such as [ mama, baby, angel ] slow-paced smut, a little bit of a cliffhanger.
˚◞♡ author’s note : NUMBER ONE — i am so sorry for posting this so late. i ended up re-writing the entire thing many times but i have a good feeling ab this ver. BUT ANYWAY !!!! first chapter !!! yayyy !! i’m very exited to share this with you alllll <3 i appreciate the amount of support you’ve given me before this was released and i love u for it 🫶🏽 anyways, excuse any mistakes or typos !! i hope you enjoy. reblogs n interactions are deeply loved <33
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the typical friday night lights of the city shined brightly through eren’s studio apartment. nothing but the sound of livid drivers behind their steering wheels and the occasional dog barking at whomever may pass by. not to mention you — his best friend ; sitting next to him with a burning blunt plied between your fingers as your eyes intensely gaze at the soothing window view.
although, you didn’t exactly look so soothed.
there was a look of a apprehension pervading your features, almost as if you were deep in thought. eren sets his jaded irises on you and the small smile that once stretched across his lips fades.
“uh, you good?”
your eyes trail over when you take heed to his question, w taking a breath before looking at him with hopeful eyes. usually, you didn’t find yourself having such a challenging time when asking eren anything, but as of right now, the next few sentences you say may or may not tarnish your friendship.
“i’m fine. i um.. i just don’t know how to really ask you this,” you confess. eren then turns his rested head towards you, eyes looking at you with scrutiny as he tries to piece together what exactly that little mind of yours was thinking.
“talk to me, what’s wrong? i do somethin’ again?” you rashly shake your head from side to side, grabbing his hands in yours and squeezing as you nervously laugh —
“you know your friend connie, right?”
the audible groan that leaves eren’s lips is priceless, and so was the look on his face, “you mean the annoying bald motherfucker from high school that won’t leave me alone? hm, the name doesn’t really ring a bell.”
well if that wasn’t obvious enough, yes, they knew each other. they’d been friends for a while now. you can recall first meeting connie during your junior year of high school ; eren introducing you at a house party your devious asses had no business being at. he was cute, and even a little funny, but you’d never really paid attention to him until a few months ago.
him now being in his twenties meant you got to see him grow to cover his body with ink — his arms and legs. and you most definitely couldn’t forget the amount of muscle he’d gained just over a year after graduating high school. point being, he was just your type. and you were his. that’s why it didn’t take very long for you two to begin talking. but of course, after a few dates and many, many occasions of giving him severe blue balls, you figured it was finally time to step it up a notch.
“well you know we’ve been talking for a while now..and we’ve been planning to go out of the city for a little vaycay and i was thinking that maybe it was time he and I could take our relationship to the next — “
“for him to fuck you and break up with you like he did that one girl last year? nah. not lettin’ you do that.” he interrupts you before you could even begin to finish, shaking his head from side to side as he focuses his attention back to the moving city outside the window.
you could say he was being harsh, but at the end of the day, eren knew him better than you did — regardless of being familiar with one another since the early age of fourteen. connie was a heartbreaker. a true player at heart.
that boy couldn’t keep a woman for longer than a month before tossing her to the side as if she was some accessory — many of those women being too good to for him to begin with.
women like you.
the women who were too kind for their own good. the women who never failed to put a smile on a saddened face with just a few simple words. you were the type of woman he’d easily break — and that was just something eren couldn’t bare to swallow. but alas, who was he to judge? he just wanted to see you happy — that was his one and only concern, and if this whole ordeal would succeed that goal, he has no problem doing whatever he can to get you there.
“i wasn’t asking for your permission. i just needed your help, but i guess it’s useless to ask now.” the look of lost hope on your face pulls at eren’s heartstrings, him almost immediately exhaling and rolling at eyes at the sight of your pleading yet condescending gaze.
“jesus, what do you want? advice? intel? a wing man—“
“i want you to teach me how to fuck.”
it took everything in him not to laugh because the more he held your gaze, the more he realized you were genuinely being serious. eren’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull. you stare, waiting for his response as he gives you an intrigued looked rather than a confused one, “i think you need to elaborate. that’s a crazy sentence to say.”
“y’know, like blowjo —“
“i know what sex is, yn.”
you and the word ‘fuck’ had never been been a thought in eren’s mind up until now, so to know he’d be the one seeing you bare for the first time was definitely…mind boggling. seriously, the closest eren has come to even seeing a glimpse of you would have to be when you went scuba diving in miami for your nineteenth birthday — and even then, you were still somewhat clothed.
“i know it’s weird and i completely get it if you aren’t comfortable with —“
“i mean..i don’t really mind teaching you. i’d rather you learn from me rather than a lame ass porno.”
that was a response you weren’t expecting. you’d made sure to prepare yourself for rejection when you came over, but eren had proved you wrong. he didn’t seem to be phased — a resting grin on his face whilst you fully comprehend his answer.
“wait — really?”
he nods, shrugging his broad shoulders, “yeah? it’s not like we like each other or somethin.’ just think of it as my favor to you.” eren motions his fingers for you to pass him the blunt, but you nearly drop it from your fingers as you toss your arms around his neck — embracing him tightly as you whisper a stream of ‘thank yous’ into his neck.
you feel eren’s palms trail up and down your spine, rubbing the small of your back. he laughs at your excitement, “what’s connie gonna’ think about all this, hm?” he questions — validly questions. of course he didn’t like the guy, but he still needed some source of clarity. his days of fucking someone else’s girl were long gone and he’d never step foot into that life ever again. it was too messy.
“he doesn’t know he’d be my first — well, second..besides you. plus, he said it himself : we’re not official! it’s not wrong to see other people,” you casually say this as if you hadn’t just admitted to connie openly voicing that he was playing you, but then again, if you didn’t see an issue, neither did eren.
“yeah, i bet he did say that.”
“oh don’t be like that. you’re such a hater — he is your friend after all,” you poke at his bicep teasingly, amused at the side eye he sends you. you knew eren and connie relationship wasn’t the absolute best — frenemies you’d like to call it. they had their good days, and their bad ones, but you knew, on the outside looking in, it was endless love for one another all around.
“he’s an acquaintance.”
your eyes roll and you huff, “whatever. when do you wanna do this? i leave for the trip in a few weeks. i wanna’ be as ready as possible before then.”
“well, i gotta’ meet up with jean and armin for poker tomorrow night, but after that i’m free if you —“
“great. we’ll start tomorrow. and poker? what are you, old men?”
“oh hush, you like to knit.”
you shove him and you both begin burst out in laughter. the rest of the night was spent doing what you and eren would normally do — watching movies, chatting amongst yourselves and every now and then, casually bickering like an old married couple over the silliest of things.
but these innocent gestures would soon hold a brand new meaning in such a short amount of time. neither of you realized the mistake you were about to make. the days of occasional i love you’s and holding hands out of comfort were long gone now.
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saturday night at armin’s ; a night looked forward to by most —most meaning eren and eren only. there was no better feeling than getting together with his closest friends to trash talk, share a few glasses of rum, and catch up on whatever life had thrown at one another throughout the week.
but what he loved most watching the look of defeat on jean’s face when eren finally placed his last chips. it was a scene he’d pay for.
“you’re a fuckin’ cheater.”
eren laughs, stretching his arms across the table and pulling the pile of neatly stacked chips toward himself. he takes a moment to look over at armin who has his phone out recording jean’s rage all the while chuckling tauntingly under his breath.
“hating the player when you should be hating the game. that’s crazy.”
“fuck you,” jean mumbles. eren steers his attention away from the grown man’s mini tantrum when he hears an angry knock at armin’s door. heads turn in unison, “damn armin. forgot you had a girl comin’ over tonight or something?” the blonde rises from his seat, walking over to take a look at the peephole to reveal a standing connie in front of the door, “it’s just con, guys.” the door is pulled open, and at the sound of connie’s name eren could already feel himself tuning everyone out.
the sound of connie’s voice alone was enough to make eren want to gather his keys and satchel to make a run for it, but it was nowhere near the time to meet with you.
“its about time y’all answer the fuckin’ door. i’ve been knocking and waiting for like thirty minutes now,” this was a lie. poker always started at seven, and it was now thirty past nine.
“you’re late,” eren huffs. connie gives him the finger, scoffing as he makes his way over to the table, “where were you?” eren sounded like a stern parent scolding their child, but at the end of the day, there was something off about connie in this moment that was shifting his mood from solemn to easily irritable.
“damn, am i not allowed to oversleep every once in a while?” oversleep eren’s ass. the purple and blueish colored bruises beginning to taint connie’s neck said otherwise. he’d obviously been acting on that ‘seeing other people’ bullshit he fed you — and if eren was being honest, the lack of coverage showed just how little he respected you.
eren conjures a smug laugh, “oversleeping huh?” jean does the same, vividly noticing the markings as his eyes peer over to the exact spot as eren’s, “more like fucking. i see you and yn are becoming pretty close, huh ?” he asks.
“y-yeah, yeah. she’s great, man.”
“just great? you’ve been talking for like four or five months now,” armin chimes in, and thank the heavens above that he did. it was evident that the group as a collective were well aware of connie’s shitty behavior.
“i mean…it’s nothin’ too serious. she’s cute, for real. we’re just taking it slow.” nothing too serious? for christ’s sake, he was planning a getaway with you in a few weeks. it’s like all of this was just a little game of cat and mouse to him. you’d think connie being aware of how tightly knit you and eren were would give him some sort of change at heart, but nope — that was just connie for you.
eren could practically feel the blood pumping through his veins. he rolls his tongue around the inside of his cheek, tapping lightly onto the wooden table with a deep mug twisting his chiseled features.
“i think ima’ call it a night,” eren voices, rising from his reclined position slowly while avoiding eye contact, “i have some shit to do.” shit to do meaning heading towards your place earlier than he should be. he couldn’t stand to be around connie and his ignorance. it was depriving and overall time consuming.
“the fuck? i just got here, eren,” connie scoffs, but eren doesn’t stick around long enough to hear the bass in his voice rise to a T. the door slams behind him, eren now making his way out of the door and down the hall to head for his black mustang parked out front. the skin of his cheeks and the tips of his ears flushed pink with a crack of discomfort bubbling inside of him.
the moment he unlocked his car doors and hopped in, he didn’t know if the adrenaline was getting to him or just the sheer fact that he liked the taste of making connie angry, but that whole interaction just made him all more enthused to see you.
no matter how much you liked connie or how much you cared about a potential relationship with him, he couldn’t beat the fact that eren would easily treat and fuck you way better than he ever could — hypothetically speaking, of course.
and that’s why, the only thought on his mind was to make tonight a moment you’ll never forget.
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with a day consisted of excruciatingly long lectures and excessive amounts of homework given by your professors, you could finally find yourself prancing down your apartment hallway, eager to enter your home to prepare for what the night had in store.
you fumble with the keys on your baby-pink lanyard, specially made for you and given to you by eren for your birthday one year. the sound of your living room television could be faintly heard resonating through the wood as you started to unlock your door. you furrow your brows since you know for a fact that you made sure to turn it off before you departed earlier this morning.
your hand twists at the nob, the fingers of your opposite hand clutching tightly onto your pepper spray, but to your surprise — you quickly feel a sense of relief travel through your body as you see none other than eren. his legs spread, arms behind his head as he lounges on your white couch which a bowl of half eaten ice cream resting on the coffee table before him.
to say he startled you would be an understatement, but the sound of your keys jangling did just about the same to him : his head almost immediately turning toward the door to face you.
“what are you doing here, ren? and how the fuck did you even get—“
“you gave me a key, remember?” he asks, pointing to his neatly hung set of keys on the coat hook beside the front door. as soon as you turn to look in that way, his lifeless lips start to smile and he begins to giggle at your confusion, “damn, about to pepper spray me and everything, huh?” he quips.
you simply plop down next to him, sinking into the warmth of the sofa as his arm gently moves to rest behind your head, “you’re the one who can’t send a damn text. it would’ve been nice to have a heads up, ren,” he smiles at your tone ; sounding just like his mother, carla, when she used to yell at him for being a sneak.
ah, what a time.
“i thought it was poker night. i didn’t think i’d see you until ten,” your inquiry was enough to make eren riled up all over again, but for your sake, he chooses to leave out the part where he nearly wanted to slap your potential partner across his face.
“i kept winning, so i left. it got boring.”
eren’s blatant lie didn’t seem to phase you. in fact, you seemed to have easily glossed over his sorry excuse of a response, and instead choosing to gush over the possibility of him seeing connie.
“was con there? did he say anything about me?” you giddily ask, a smile complimenting your dilated pupils with just the mention of his name. eren only sheepishly grins, “yeah, he was there alright. called you cute too.”
eren barely cracks a smile at this, seeing how effortlessly your face lit up at the sound of the bare minimum. poor, sweet, innocent yn — too blinded to realize the boy you spoke so highly of only used a simple sentence when speaking of you. it was sad almost, seeing you be so naïve. but then again, telling you wouldn’t make a difference — it would only start an argument.
“he’s so sweet. i think he gets nervous in front of you guys…y’know, when he talks about me.”
“…right.�� eren decides to navigate the conversation elsewhere, “so..did you wanna’ get some food or something before we start or..”
“don’t be so awkward, eren,” you laugh. you squeeze his bicep consolingly, “i’m gonna’ go freshen up a bit and then we can get going. it’s been a long day.” you tread off toward your room, shutting the door behind you and leaving eren alone on your living room couch.
for some odd reason, eren found himself to be more nervous than he was when he first entered. he didn’t know if it was the mystery of it all or the simple fact that he would be seeing you naked for the first time, but his heart was damn near beating out of his chest.
the scuffling sounds coming from your bedroom only induces his anxious heart, eyes directing their attention toward howl’s moving castle playing quietly on the tv.
“eren! can you come in here for a minute?” he hears your soft voice call out from behind the door. eren blinks a few times, confused on why you hadn’t just come out yet, but the moment he opens the door to your room — he knows.
there you were, standing in the connected bathroom in front of the mirror, adjusting and shifting your waist length faux locs from one side to the other. your body was decorated in a pink, two piece lingerie set. he’s stunned to say the least, eyes tracing the outline of your figure — picking and observing the small tattoos sitting just above your ass and right below your left thigh.
“eren? you with me?” your question snaps him out of your forbidden trance. eren clears his throat, running a hand down his chest in a self-comforting manner. it takes everything in him to control the arousal forming in his pants. there was no denying it — you were fucking gorgeous, but this wasn’t a regular hookup and you weren’t just a regular girl.
you were his best friend and right now, the hard cock in his pants is thinking otherwise.
“y-yeah, i’m with you. i’m right here.” you don’t see the way his eyes look you up and down, nor do you see him sucking on his bottom lip while doing so. instead, your focus is on the inner thoughts in your head, pondering about if your choice of attire was overdone.
“is it too much? i saw it at the mall earlier today after class and i thought it would be fitting —“ he cuts you off before you could even dare finish that sentence.
“nah, you..,” he takes a moment, looking at you in awe as if he’d just seen an angel, “you look beautiful.” you don’t perceive the smoothness of his voice but it’s there. it’s so obviously there, and you’re so obviously breathtaking.
face bare, lips coated in a thin layer of lipgloss and smelling as if you’d just showered in roses — like said, breathtaking.
“i-im sorry. i can take it off if it makes you uncomfortable —“
“no.” that slips out faster than he intended, but he didn’t care. it got his point across simple enough. you laugh, turning to your left to finally come face to face with him, only to dig eren in a deeper hole than he was already in.
“well..i’m ready when you are,” you announce. seeming to be all around enthused about this, you take a few steps closer, inching forward to the point where you’re arms length away. eren still stands there, quiet with gentle eyes as he grips the top ledge of the doorframe. you hear his breathing become unsteady, almost as if he’d lost that smooth talking, serenading attitude he once carried.
he felt like the virgin here.
“are you nervous?” you ask, studying the way his eyes pierce while he stares at your lips, “we can stop before it starts.”
with he way he was feeling, a wise man would’ve called it all off, but eren…eren needed needed you. he needed to touch you, to feel you, to please you in some way — beyond the act of just giving you guidance.
he answers your question with a question, “are you?” you shake your head, rocking back and forth on the heels of your feet as you wait for his next statement.
but his next move surprises you.
without hesitation, you watch as eren towers over you, taking his thumb and index to lift your chin — letting you naturally meet his alluring gaze, “can i kiss you, yn?” the moment you begin to nod is the same exact moment when his lips brush against your own. the contact almost shocking the both of you as a small gasp leaves your mouth, and his stuttered hand grasps the side of your neck.
eren was kissing you. he was kissing you as if you’d easily break under his touch. the butterflies in your stomach begin to flip. by default, you close your eyes and fall into it — moving along and following his soft yet hungry pace.
it was funny. it was like you were kissing each other as if you’d been waiting to do so your entire lives. considering you’d always deemed eren as attractive and an overall somewhat decent man, the thought of him giving you butterflies had never occurred.
if anything, those same butterflies were present while you spent time with connie, but never ever have they fluttered like this. maybe it was the heat of the moment, or maybe it was just an effort to set the mood, but this felt like an eternity you’d never wish to end.
his hand was incredibly light against your neck, giving you a distinct chill as the one creeping down your waist sends an unfamiliar shiver elsewhere. as the kiss gradually intensifies, over the course of a few seconds, reaching its peak, he then sucks on your bottom lip. pulling and yanking on it like he was in dire need of more — which he was.
he’s groaning, he’s hard, and most importantly, he’s infatuated. your lips felt like heaven against his, so plush and so comforting. eren was so lost in you that he couldn’t even begin to fathom the consequences that may come.
“y-you can touch me some more,” you mumble in between breaths — and that was all he needed.
“where…tell me where, baby.”
baby — a word you thought you never hear coming out of eren’s mouth when referring to you. it didn’t make you contemplate much though, it was hard to think about anything at all once you felt his hands grip and mush at your backside. he fondles it in his palms, letting your skin mold into his hands.
“i more, ren. more please…”
he hears you, he hears you so clearly — and he wants more of you too, “what, hm? want me to touch you here?” you feel his hand sneak around toward your inner thigh, fingers tips grazing the area near your pussy. you let out an unexpected sigh of pleasure.
“an important part of intimacy is what makes you feel good. so tell me, what feels good to you, yn?” eren appeared to look and sound more confident than he felt.
“h-here. here feels good.” you gesture toward your pretty pink underwear that had been fighting to be taken off for the last five minutes. eren was just as ready as you were, waiting for the moment you were comfortable enough to allow him to please you like he was itching to.
“yeah, you like touching yourself there don’t you?”
“y-yes,”
“you want me to touch you there?”
there should be a world record for how quickly you whimper ‘yes’ under your breath. the same goes for how quickly eren scoops you from the floor, cupping his hands underneath the back of your thighs as he carries you in his arms toward your bed. eren lays you on your back, your spine hitting the fluffed sheets of your mattress. as much as he wanted you right then and there, the thought of your innocence comes back to mind.
this was your first time.
“we’ll take it slow, alright?” he asks, and when he doesn’t hear a response from you he becomes worried. the energy shifts from hot and hasty to nerve wracking and what the fuck am i doing, and it’s evident, “do you wanna’ stop? we can forget that shit in the bathroom ever happened, okay? i don’t mind—“
“no! no, it’s..it’s okay, ren. really, i’m just a bit nervous that’s all.”
you weren’t lying. you were more than comfortable with him being the one to do this. in truth, you were more turned on than you’ve ever been, but then again this was all so surreal. the boy you’ve called best friend your entire life was about to be the first to see you in such a personal way.
there were so many what ifs — too many to count on your own two hands. what if there was a possibility he gets uninterested mid-way through? what if he was judgmental of the way you looked? what if he lies about your anatomy just to spare you the embarrassment?
these were all the things you’d thought of, but these were also all of the things that eren would never in a million fucking years do.
“nervous? of me?”
“it’s just, you’re the only one who’s ever…seen down there and i don’t know if —“
“look at me.” his hands travel up and down your thighs, comforting and soothing your jitters as you fight the intense amount of eye contact he was throwing your way, “can you look at me, please?” eren’s treasuring voice allows you to relax a bit, your eyes meeting his.
“you’re an angel — an absolute angel. you have nothing to be ashamed of. especially in front of me, okay?” you nod, breath remaining steady after hearing his words of encouragement. you shoot him that sweet, signature smile, allowing him to wipe away the small tear that’d fallen down your cheek.
“you’re too pretty to be cryin’ like that. worrying over nothing. lemme’ make you feel better..”
you let your back fall back onto your bed once again, watching as eren lowers down onto his knees while coming face to face with your cunt, “spread your legs for me,” he kindly orders. eren has no problem helping you do so, lifting your squished thighs onto his shoulders while your ass hangs off of the bed.
he takes the hair tie around his wrist and gathers his hair back, pulling his strands into a low, loose bun to the back of his head. there were a few more pieces of small hairs that scattered across his hairline, making him look all the more handsome than he already did.
“ready?”
you nod.
“if there’s ever a time where you want me to stop, don’t hesitate to tell me.”
you wished you could’ve captured the look on his face on camera, cause it was definitely a sight to remember. you hadn’t seen his cheeks this red since he peed himself in front of his crush in the second grade.
“can i take these off?” these referring to your underwear. the same pair underwear that reveal a damp patch in the middle now that eren was really looking at them. once you voice a simple yes, he takes a second to admire you. running his fingers along the waistband, eyes roaming all over with no clue what they should look at first. you were too pretty — too lovely for him to even begin comprehending.
eren hears you lightly groan, and he begins to pry your underwear off, but he does this slowly — so slowly that it’s almost unbearable for you. he was moving as if you were a brittle creature in danger of being easily corrupted ; which you were, and that’s when he felt the need to pinch himself. seeing your hips lurch around in an effort to get him to move faster was one of the cutest things eren’s ever laid his eyes on.
there was no way he was in this position right now. kneeled in front of you with your bare cunt staring back at him, your folds sleek with your own liquid bliss dripping from them like honey on a comb. to put it short, you looked good enough to eat — and that’s exactly what eren was going to do : devour you like you were the last meal he’d ever be able to taste.
he kisses your inner thighs, the intention of leaving marks becoming prevalent as he makes his way down toward your pussy, “you ever play with yourself?” eren was so close — close enough for you to be able to feel his breath on your clit, tickling you.
“s-sometimes,” you couldn’t look at him. not when he’s on his knees and touching you like this. he hadn’t even begun the action and you were already losing hope in the idea of you being able to keep your composure.
“ever had someone do it for you?”
with unsteady breaths leaving your lips, you choose to answer honestly, “no.” he chuckles, taking his thumb and unexpectedly grazing it over your clit. you nearly jolt at the feeling. given you’ve been the only one with the access down there, it felt much different feeling someone else’s hand.
“i can tell. look at how responsive you are, mama.” he sounded fascinated, flicking you gently just to get you used to the sensation. you felt so sensitive, so fragile — and that wouldn’t even be the be the end of it, “and this pussy’s so fuckin’ wet..”
“erenn… wanna — i wanna’ feel more!”
“what, hm? more what?” he keeps at the slow pace of his thumb, not stopping or increasing until he hears your next few words fill his ears and shoot straight to his pants.
“your mouth..wanna’ feel your mouth, ren. please?” you say this as if he didn’t look like he was sitting on the edge of his seat just waiting for you to grant him the access. it doesn’t take any further words for eren to latch his mouth onto your pussy slowly. he makes an introduction with small pecks to your visibly puffy clit, making sure to pay attention to the way your body reacted to the simple touch.
he watches your belly rise up and down from the snag in your pattern of breath. once he sees you begin to grow comfortable, he makes the jump to lay his tongue flat against your pussy, licking a long stripe against your core and letting the sticky salvia from his mouth lubricate you.
“ooh – fuck!” you whimper, quickly covering your mouth once realizing what’d slipped out. eren sees this, reaching his hand out for you to grab before taking his mouth off of you for a split second.
“don’t do that shit. i wanna’ hear you.”
he resumes, pressing the bridge of his nose against your clit and licking your folds to create a sort of double penetration. you feel the texture of his tongue tickling your labia, applying minimum pressure to ensure a pleasurable stream of delight traveling through your belly, “feels s-so good. you’re so fucking good at tha – nnn!” when eren starts to feel himself losing his breath, he comes up for air, just to see you now resting on your elbows and looking down at him with quizzical eyes. he’d never seen you look so happy.
there was sweat beaming from your forehead and a bit of it forming on your upper lip, the lips that which eren was fighting the urge to kiss. your bra strap had slipped down a bit, now resting on your upper arm and exposing a bit of your nipple that slipped from the cup.
“w-why’d you stop?” you ask, hyperventilating. eren rests his head against the inner flesh of your thigh, looking as dazed as ever.
“i-im sorry, you just look…so pretty.”
this wasn’t out of the norm. eren always made it a goal to uplift you whenever he could, but there was something about the deliverance of that sentence that sent your mind into a never-ending frenzy. it was hard to believe that this was anything more than just a simple gesture to really get himself into character with the heart shaped desire he carried in his eyes.
“you look pretty too,” the echo in your head must’ve been deceiving you. you’d hoped to keep that one to yourself but the look on his face told you that he’d definitely heard you say that out loud.
“yeah? bet you wonder what else i look pretty doin’ don’t you?”
a smug grin appears on his lips, but the teasing remark did no justice for how he truly felt. instead, he just decides to show you ; placing his mouth back into your pussy with little to no remorse with his tongue this time. your hands magically find their way to his hair, running your nails through his scalp as you balance your upper body with one elbow. eren groans into you, the sound reverberating through your core and shaking you a bit.
at one point, his fingers brush past your hole, earning a loud unexpected moan from you. this shocks him, almost as much as it shocks you. you didn’t know why, but there was a sense of urgency pumping through your veins. you wanted more — more than what he was already giving you after you’d asked the first time.
“oh? you want a finger, don’t you?”
“mmfuck – yes! yes, just, do something eren, please!” you beg. your back arches from the sheets, fists bawling with anticipation. eren stands onto his feet and finds a seat on the bed. his back now rests against the headboard, eren’s chest heaving as he motions his index and middle finger in a ‘come here’ motion.
you hesitate at first, not sure exactly where he wants you until he’s pulling you into the space between his thighs. you instantly feel the warmth as you collide with his tank top covered chest. he was so much larger than you — and well, that’s the benefit of having a best friend that stood tall at a whopping 6’3.
“lemme’ see that pussy,” eren orders and you oblige quickly, parting your thighs for him once again while his chin sits in the crook of your neck, “isn’t she pretty, look at her..” you feel his hand grasping on your jaw softly, directing your focus to the soppy, wet cunt between your legs.
you were still so wet. wet enough to feel your essence dripping down your crack and onto your bed. you were messy but you wanted to be messier — you wanted to feel messier.
and he reads your thoughts before you even have to say a damn thing.
“you want me to play with you, hm? teach you how to take fingers before takin’ dick, is that right?”
“ren, just do something –“
“answer me, baby. don’t be shy. this is about you and what you want. so why don’t you just tell me what it is you want from me?” the room felt hot, and the air felt thick. the only contact between you both being your back against eren’s chest and his hand casually caressing your tummy, “p-put them in. god – just put them the fuck in,” you whine. eren’s chest fumbled with a laugh and he gives the side of your forehead a quick kiss.
“there she is.”
goosebumps pattern your chestnut skin when you finally feel his hand inching toward your pussy. you carefully watch, mouth held agape and your eyes batting shut the moment his fingers move in a counterclockwise motion against your agitated clit.
“gotta’ prep you some more, okay? i don’t wanna’ hurt you.” oh, right, pain. you’d been so blindsided by the pleasure that you’d forgotten that this in fact was not the simplest of processes.
eren keeps rubbing your clit, his eyes piercing into the side of your skull as he does this. you take a second to observe the veins that decorated his forearms. blue and greenish lines hiking from his wrist to his inner elbow. you’d always thought he had the prettiest hands. so neatly manicured and topped with a thick coat of clear polish — a pink color if you’d volunteer to paint them for him.
you don’t know why, but all of this made you crave him — badly. you turn your head, wandering eyes finding his. you stare at him, then his lips, then him again. he looked so kissable.
you just had to do it.
leaning in, you take in his musky scent and it lures you in closer. so close to where you’re practically poking your lips out to get him to kiss you back — and he does. for the second time tonight, your heart bursts with excitement feeling his lips on yours. you place your hands on his thighs, grinding along with his fingers, “i think i’m wet enough,” you mumble. he looks down, seeing that — you were indeed wet enough. your slick covered the majority of his fingers and your pulsing pussy felt like it was just about ready to give up on its orgasm.
“i think so too,” he pauses the motion, hovering his middle finger over your hole, and begins to softly lubricate the area with your own mess, “it’ll be uncomfortable at first. body isn’t used to being stretched, y’know?” eren pauses, lips coming close to your ear as he whispers, “but i’ll break you in…and i’ll do it so good…and you’re gonna’ tell me just how good it feels, okay?”
that sentence alone got you wetter, and eren feels this — literally. he kisses your temple over and over as he slowly begins to push his finger inside of you, “don’t look away, you’ll miss how good you’re doing..” you clench onto his opposite arm ; the one that wasn’t busy giving you a bit of discomfort, and you bite down on your bottom lip.
it was one finger, and you’d been used to that. you’d done it to yourself maybe once or twice, but you’ve never gotten any sort of pleasure out of doing so. but now, it felt so different — the slow in and out, in and out, pace. his finger pushing and gliding along your snugged walls while he licks and nips at your neck and ear. it felt amazing.
“f-fuck eren, so…so good,” your breathless chest rises and falls, nipples as hard as they’ve ever been — needing to be touched. your hand slowly creeps up to touch one of your needy tits, gripping and mounding it in your hand slowly while pulling your nipples between your fingers.
he’s watching you — studying you, actually. this wasn’t just a learning experience for you, but for him as well. eren was learning exactly how to navigate your body. he knew which itches to scratch and what barriers you’d overcome. he got to see you in your purest form — carefree and exhilarated.
“y’know…the human body is a temple, yn,” eren begins, resting his head on your shoulder as he wraps his other arm across your chest, pulling you in tightly, “only the worthiest of men should be able to touch you like this.” you didn’t know where he was going with this, and you didn’t know why it was giving you the feeling it was, but you wouldn’t stop it even if you had the option to. his finger felt too good. you wanted — no, you needed another.
“so, what makes me so worthy, baby?”
“b-because i trust you.”
you feel the pressure of another finger slowly making its move to inch it’s way in — eren holding back until you give him the green light to even try, “yeah? you trust me to do this too?” he asks, pushing the second finger past your barricade as gently as he could. he didn’t lie, the stinging discomfort was nothing to mess with — but you wanted it.
“sh-shit eren!
you wanted to feel him stuff you full.
you clench your eyes shut, face scrunching up as you whine a bit at the temporary pain, “you’re doing good, yn. you’re bein’ such a good girl..”
that opened you up more. able to get better access to you, eren’s fingers moving together as one eventually became pleasurable. the uncomfortable feeling had subsided and somehow turned into an eye rolling, spine twisting pressure against your core. his fingers were slowly, but surely, jabbing into your pussy, a small creamy noise following behind his movements as the wetness of you makes it easier for him to get around.
“o-ooh! fuuuck, eren…right there –” you could barely maintain pulling a full sentence from your brain, but luckily for you, you didn’t need to say a word. eren could feel every little thought or emotion through your pussy. the way your walls naturally open up for him, giving him the opportunity to find that perfect spot ; it was like you were made for this — made for him.
“she’s so needy – thinkin’ maybe i should move a little faster, don't you? all i wanna’ do is make you cum, mama.” he says this as if it’s a promise — and to be honest, he was pretty close to achieving that promise. the sound of your whines and the squirms of your hips were enough to tell him to pick up speed.
so that's exactly what he does.
eren plunges his fingers in and out of you, poking at what he was certain was your g-spot — every time he’d hit it with his fingertips, there was another whimper leaving your mouth, “i feel that pussy tightin’ up, you wanna’ cum, don’t you?” tauntingly, he asks this as if you weren’t already on the brink of tears, “don’t fight yourself. let it go.”
now eren’s hand is moving rapidly, automatically making your legs spread further open. now, he was really there — and so were you. the knot in your stomach that's been there this whole time was starting to unravel. you rest your head firmly against his shoulder, “rennn – feels so fuckin’ good! don’t stop, please don’t stop!”
“i won’t, baby. i’m right here – i feel you, just let me have it.” his encouragement works and he reels you in. you feel your stomach contracting as your heart starts to race. eren sits you up straight, keeping your weakened body from falling over while he keeps working your pussy.
“eren, eren, eren! f-fuuck yess!” you shout and his fingers curl upwards creating a distinct squelching sound and you claw onto whatever you could find — that being the same arm between your legs.
“cum for me. cum for me, come on,” out of nowhere, you release — and all over his hand, at that. your eyes are wandering, seeing blank spots trickling the ceiling as you cum on both eren’s fingers and your mattress, “atta’ fuckin’ girl..”
he pumps you some more before slowly pulling his fingers out, leaving a stringed trail of your cum to follow them. there was enough on him for both he, and you to get a little taste — but he needed to know you were okay first.
you were reclined against his chest still, eyes closed with your exhales being rather hoarse. eren wraps both arms around you, hugging you from behind as he kisses the top of your scalp repeatedly, “m’ so proud of you, yn. you did great – so, fuckin’ great.”
your head is still in a slight daze, and although your vision had come back, you hadn’t yet gained the full consciousness to realize what the hell just happened.
eren just fingered you.
eren just made you cum.
eren just mind fucked you.
there were so many things to think about, so many moments to cherish, but most importantly — there were so many doubts running through your mind. you walked into your apartment today under the impression that this would just be a piece of cake : he comes in, he teaches you, he leaves — that’s it. so why did you want to remain snuggled into his arms? why did you want him to kiss you to sleep after coming down from that life changing orgasm?
why did you want…eren?
“you okay? i wasn’t too rough was i? anything hurt?” he must’ve sensed your uncertainty. you quickly rise a bit, turning over your shoulder only to see him with worried eyes.
“no, no. you were perfect,” you go to lift your hand up to side of his face but you stop before completing that thought, “but, i think we need to make some rules.” his already flattened expression got even flatter. eren could feel his heart dropping to his stomach at the thought of even making you uncomfortable in the slightest bit. that was the last thing he’d ever want to do.
“r-rules?”
you nod, now feeling the need to sit directly in front of him, still in between his legs. you hold his hands in yours, looking at him with sympathy, “you did nothing wrong, ren. i just think we should set some boundaries?”
“oh. so..uh, what’d you have in mind?”
you sit there for a moment, reminiscing back to a few moments ago when you were shaking in his comforting grasp, “well, maybe we should hold off on the kissing? i just…i’m with connie and i don’t think it’s appropriate to kiss you while —“
“got it.”
you’re left silent. eren had a habit of cutting you off, but as of right now, he seemed rather passive than talkative. the guy couldn’t even make eye contact with you. he only sits, eyes fixed on any other object in sight but you.
“eren —“
“it’s okay, really. i understand. no kissing, anything else you can think of that you might wanna’ add?” eren held a forced grin. there was no need to elucidate. he’d already caught on to what you were throwing down. you wanted him to forget about it. you wanted him to pretend like the brief moment of his lips on yours didn’t mean anything. he knows you’re confused, and so was he, but to deny the spark between you both in that moment would be ludicrous.
“well i…i haven’t really thought about anything else yet, but i’ll let you know when i do,” you stare into eren’s empty eyes for a few more seconds before he abruptly gets up and heads toward your bathroom. you watch as he snags a towel from your linen cabinet and runs it under the warm sink water.
he wrings it out, now bringing the towel over toward you ; who still sits up straight while watching him do all of this. he sits next to you, adjusting the towel in his palm, “open your legs, please.”
you were ineffable. completely silent, but slowly parting your thighs to allow him to gently wipe away the mess that streamed between them. you don’t say anything, and neither does he, but you both secretly cherish the feeling of his hands roaming your body.
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a bit of time passes, and you fall asleep. you didn’t know how, but you’d ended up on the couch in eren’s arms — snuggled in close with your kuromi plushie between your arms as you dreamt of anything besides the events that took place tonight.
you drifted off easily, eren on the other hand, couldn’t spare to shut his eyes. there were too many questions without answers running through his mind for him to even think about sleeping at all.
in all of his years of knowing you, he’d never thought about you as anything more than a companion, a partner in crime, a best friend — but tonight revealed that narrative to be false. eren liked the feeling of your body against his. he liked to be able to navigate which spots made you weak in the knees.
he liked that he would be your firsts.
but to openly say those words aloud is forbidden. you were right, you were somewhat with connie. it wasn’t eren’s place to feel any type of way about how you felt.
you asked him to help you out, not fall for you.
so that’s exactly what he’d do. he’d give you what you want. he’d play the role until his help is unwanted, and although it’d ache him, that ache would be nothing compared to the ache of losing you as a whole.
eren takes a moment to look at your somnolent face, finding himself with the same tingly feeling he’d had when he kissed you earlier. his eyes bat as he finds himself in a daze, reaching his hand up to touch the side of your face, eren’s cracked voice conjuring up one last sentence before returning his focus to the tv.
“you’re gonna’ be the death of me, yn..”
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tags : @sully-stick-together @lalalucidity
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