#Buy glass element | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bluesidez · 4 months

Text

[The Ideal Gaze]

lab tester: @ichigosluvrr 🩻

pairing: DadBod!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

summary: Miguel is feeling a bit out of your league, so you remind him that he’s just in your lane.

content warning: established relationship (they’re married with kids!), domestic fluff, mild hurt/comfort due to Miguel being an idiot that does not understand The Female Gaze, some miscommunication between reader and Miguel, 18+ so MDNI, a little raunchier than I intended tbh but hopefully I presented DB!Mig well, body worship, heated tension, reader is like obsessed with Miguel’s new Dad Bod, deepthroat 😗, missionary position, unprotected p in v sex (WRAP IT UP 🫵🏾), the word Ma as a term of endearment from Miguel to reader two times

word count: 5.3k, halfway proofread

a/n: Fulfilling this first because this was technically my first request! I added a few more elements (thank you Miguel server!), so I hope you don’t mind. There were no specific requests other than fluff and smut, so I went with the flow. I hope you enjoy! (Also, I found the original artist's post here!! Go give them some love!)

Your blood is pumping as you round the corner, only a few more steps until you reach the driveway.

The jog today was pretty refreshing. There were no calls from work asking about things that could wait until 8 AM, no toddler fussing about waking up, and no child whining about getting homework done. It was just you, your FitBit, your steamy audiobook, and the lingering thoughts of meeting your husband’s eyes this morning. Lately, it’s been like a little game to rile him up.

You’ve been married for a few years and a family of four for seven years with a sweet little girl, a second grader with the attitude of an old lady, and a precious little boy, a preschooler with keen intuition. With your lives being consumed with work and taking care of the kids, you feel like your relationship has been put on the back burner. Long gone were the days in which you two made love at the drop of a hat, fucking on anything that could hold you. Now, you were lucky enough to get a little dry humping.

It was getting depressing, and more annoyingly, frustrating, so you started to put your riled-up energy elsewhere. You were up at the crack of dawn making everyone’s lunches and going on occasional jogs, you were using your PTO for brunches with the girls and spa days, you had regular pilates classes, the real pilates, and most importantly, you were finding small pockets of time for yourself.

From buying yourself small gifts to filling your Kindle with romance books to pleasuring yourself on the nights Miguel worked overtime. You were sure to keep yourself busy. All of that, and you still couldn’t get the thought of Miguel entangled with you out of your head.

You heaved out as you stopped at the end of the driveway, taking a few breaths to calm your state. The book you were listening to was on a particularly enthralling scene and you wondered if it was something that Miguel would be interested in trying.

You looked down at yourself and decided to unzip the top of your athletic jacket, letting the tightness of your bra and the fabric push your cleavage up. One smooth swipe of your clothes and you were walking to the front door.

It was 6:40 AM, so there was plenty of time to have a little quiet moment with your husband.

You walked into the kitchen and saw him standing in all of his glory. A newspaper in his left hand, because some things didn’t need to be digitized, a “Best Papá Ever” mug in his right hand, black glasses on his face, and your favorite thing, a naked plush torso on display.

In the first years of parenthood, his metabolism was through the roof. Despite him joining you for every snack, meal, and midnight dessert, he never lost that tiny little waist or those washboard abs. It wasn’t until your youngest was born and babbling that his appearance started to change. His arms became a mix of muscle and cellulite, his thighs were softer than ever, his chest was full and plump, and his waist widened gifting you with his soft belly and a happy trail that continued to his belly button.

The early time didn’t stop the coil of neediness in your stomach from forming.

“Good morning, hubby,” you say with a lilt to your voice. You walked closer to him, an extra bounce in your step, and leaned on the island.

Sure enough, Miguel was peeking at your chest from over his glasses, mug hovering over his lips.

You only smiled coyly, waiting for his response.

“Good morning. How was your jog?” he puts the newspaper and mug down, folding his arms under his chest.

You stared at his bulging arms, pressed-up pecs, and his tummy that moved with him and almost whined.

“It was really good. Super nice and refreshing. Maybe a little warm,” you crossed your legs, impatient. “How’s your morning so far?”

“It’s better,” he says, making the short distance to crowd your space. He leans over you, hands going to the island. “My wife is here now.”

You smile at his words, hands itching to touch him but not wanting to ruin the stride. Instead, you look up at him and pan his lips.

“I’m feeling better, too,” you whisper, waiting.

Miguel leans forward to press his lips onto yours, the smell of coffee hitting your senses. You feel little fireworks go off as he starts to open your mouth. Everything felt just right in this moment.

When his hand slid across your back, you almost jumped up to wrap your legs around him. You tilted your head and wrapped your arms around his neck. You could feel yourself slipping against the counter, but Miguel was right there to steady you.

For what felt like hours to you after so long of a heated connection, the two of you made out on the kitchen island. Only some birds chirping, the occasional car passing by, and the hum of the washing machine could be heard next to the sound of you both breathing into each other’s lips

“Come with me to the shower?” you say, eyes heavy and pleading.

You could feel Miguel tense up, back rigid as he moved back.

“I better stay. Raul might wake up soon and he was having a hard time sleeping last night.”

Your heart dropped at the rejection. You were hoping that this would be the one, the moment that you’ve been anticipating for months. Some form of sexual connection.

“Ok. I’ll be out soon,” you turn and go to the master bathroom, tugging the zipper down hastily. You felt a bit dejected and embarrassed, but you’re trying to let it go. Your mommy side knows that your youngest woke up in distress last night so it makes perfect sense that Miguel wants to be alert for his cries, but your wife side wants her husband back and can’t help but feel like he didn’t want you.

With this brisk shower, you hoped this self-doubt and neediness washed away with it.

You tapped your fingers against the desk, staring off at your computer. Work today was slow, which you didn’t mind because that meant you could frequent your watchlist, but your mind kept wandering off while watching some random K-drama.

Last night, you woke up to what sounded like Miguel getting off in the bathroom.

He got off work super late that day, so you took the initiative to get the kids to bed and go to bed early.

What you didn’t expect was to wake up to the sound of his grunts coming through the bathroom door.

At first, you were a little hurt that he didn’t wake you up to help him out, but then you were so overcome by the sound of him whimpering and moaning that you couldn’t help but pleasure yourself.

He sounded so desperate and wanton, cursing every once in a while. You bit your lip as you imagined him right next to you, voice right in your ear. You wanted his weight on you. You wanted to feel his skin against yours.

You lay in the empty bed rubbing yourself until you came, his noises stopping a while before you finished. You were hoping he would come out and see you so you prolong your orgasm to no avail, sleep coming to claim you before he did.

When you tried to ask him about it in the morning, he kept avoiding your eyes, saying something about his stomach giving him the blues.

You let it go then, but that didn’t stop you from thinking about it all day.

In a spur-of-the-moment decision, you decide to text him a flirty message, running to the bathroom to take a picture to match. You waited a little bit, hoping that he could take at least a peek.

“You look gorgeous, honey.”

Just gorgeous? Not hot? Not good enough to make him want more?

You scrunched your mouth to the side, asking if he could send a picture back.

“Baby, you know I can’t. I’m at work right now.”

You huffed at that. You knew he was just in his lab by himself. There was plenty of time and solitude to take a picture. He used to send random pictures of himself all of the time.

For the rest of the day, you were irritated, feeling slighted at the hands of your husband.

You took a break from trying to seduce your husband, tired of the pushback. You put your all into taking care of the kids and maintaining the house when you could.

“And how many sticks does that leave Cassie with?” you asked Gabriella. You both were at the dining table with her math homework sprawled everywhere while dinner was in the oven.

“27!” she shouted, voice becoming more confident over the course of the math sheet.

“Correct! You’re knocking ‘em out, girl!”

“Buen trabajo, mija,” Miguel said with vigor as he came by to kiss the top of her head. “You’re doing so well.” (Good job, mija.)

“Does this mean I can get a cookie?” she asked, quick to melt her father’s heart.

“Not before dinner, Gabriella, you know this,” Miguel bounced Raul in his arms, a little fussy and sniffly.

“Please, papá!” she looked up at him with big brown eyes and a pout.

Miguel sighed, unable to say no to her 9 times out of 10.

He looked at you frantically, watching you snickering behind your hands, “You have to ask Mamá.”

Whenever he really wanted to say no, he used you as a trump card.

Gabriella’s shoulders drop as she turns to you, already knowing the drill.

“The answer is no. You can wait until after dinner,” you say, squeezing her cheek.

“You always say no,” Gabriella whines dramatically, slumping in her seat with her arms crossed, pout just like her dad’s.

“And you can always go to bed with no cookies,” you chide as you get up to go check on dinner. “Now go put your homework up and wash your hands, dinner is almost ready.”

She puts her papers back in her folder with the theatrics of a Broadway actor, sighing dramatically with each step she took to her room.

Miguel laughed at her actions watching her leave, “She’s just like her Mami when she gets like that. Fussy.”

You pause to put your hand on your hip, “No, she’s just like her Father when she can’t get her way. Whiny.” You open the oven and pull the lasagna out to the stove to cool a bit.

“Well, I can’t say no to her just like I can’t say no to you,” he says, placing Raul at the table with a hand running over his soft hair. “You both have the same puppy-dog eyes.”

“You like leaving the hard parenting to me.”

“That is not true. I just tussled with a four-year-old to get him to take his cold medicine and made a promise of not one, but two bedtime stories,” he says, coming up behind you as you reached to get the dishes. He got them down for you instead, hand on your hips and stomach pressed against your back.

You bite your tongue in order not to will your negligent, horny brain from awakening. You didn’t have time for those thoughts, little feet were near, and every advance you gave him ended in failure.

“Is he doing ok?” you say, referring to Raul he sat at the table with his head down, a teddy bear hugged against him as he pitifully moved his toy car back and forth. It was definitely a big shift from his usual talkative demeanor.

“We might have to go to the doctor again. His allergies are really acting up.”

You leave Miguel’s side to go squat down by Raul, “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

You rubbed his back, trying to see if he felt warmer than usual and sure enough, he was burning up.

“My throat hurts, Mama,” he said, little voice just about gone.

“Oh, I know, my sweet baby,” you say with a soft voice. “Do you want me to make you some alphabet soup?”

Raul’s face twists up, lip a little wobbly, “But I want some cheese noodles.”

“Hey, it’s ok!. You can have some lasagna. I just want your throat to feel better. Hot things will make it feel better.”

“The cheese noodles are hot, too.”

You smiled, “That’s right, the cheese noodles are hot, but I mean a hot liquid.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, hands squeezing his teddy bear as he thought, “Can I have hot chocolate?”

“Of course you can. Can I give you a kiss?”

He nods his head slowly and you lean over to kiss his head. You needed to get him under the covers soon. Before you could pull away, he wrapped his arms around your neck, snuggling up to be held. You couldn’t resist holding your baby, especially when you couldn’t take his pain away.

You get up to see Miguel helping Gabriella plate the slices of lasagna on each plate and setting up the side salad. Your heart filled with joy watching them giggle over the stretchy cheese. It was moments like this that reminded you that you were taking the right steps, that this was the perfect little life.

As they set up the table with the plates and drinks, you kept Raul in your arms, ready to help him with tonight's dinner.

“Thank you for the food, Mommy,” Gabriella said with a toothy smile.

“You’re welcome, baby,” you say, cutting Raul’s food up even smaller, not wanting him to struggle any more than he had to tonight.

The table was quiet, save for Gabriella and Miguel smacking their food occasionally and Raul’s wheezy breaths.

By the time dinner was over, Gabriella was buzzing in her seat for cookies, and Raul was close to falling asleep in your arms.

You couldn’t ask for anything better.

With Raul sound asleep, Gabriella tucked in bed, and Miguel watching cable, you had a moment to yourself to think.

Did today’s small touches mean anything?

You stood in the bathroom moisturizing your skin after a hot bath. You said you were going to stop trying to fish for your husband’s attention, but if you were honest, today’s brief moment of connection did it for you. You couldn’t stop your thoughts once you were alone.

You decide to wear just a pair of panties and one of his old t-shirts to bed: a look that wasn’t trying too hard to get his attention, but you’re sure he’s going to notice it.

You sat on the bed and decided to read until he came into the room. You hope you were giving a sexy girlfriend vibe. Your skin was all smooth, you smelled good, and you knew you looked good.

When Miguel walks in, he pauses at the door to stare at you.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Come to bed,” you say.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Miguel shuffled over, eyeing you from head to toe. He looked delicious in his tank top, fabric stretched in the best possible ways.

He crawled on the bed next to you, “My band t-shirt?”

“Yeah! It’s comfy.”

He rubbed his hand up your naked thigh and your nerves started to sing. Any further up, and you might just wet your panties from his touch alone. You missed it so much.

He leaned over to kiss the juncture your neck and shoulder, your neck, your cheek, and then he stopped.

He just…stopped.

“Well, I gotta go in earlier tomorrow, so I’m going to sleep early. Is it ok if I turn this light off?

You felt your throat dry up, “Yeah, ok.”

He got under the sheets and switched his lamp off, leaving you in the dark with the faint light of your Kindle illuminating the room.

“Goodnight, honey,” he said with a yawn.

“Night.”

You turned your Kindle off and just sat in silence, his snores breaking the illusion of the dark consuming you.

You’re starting to think the worst.

You kept up a number of tactics subtle to glaringly obvious to appeal to your husband from changing up your perfume to what you would say was an amazing strip tease. Absolutely nothing is working.

He kept listing off excuses from the kids to his job to his parents to his brother, anything to avoid an intimate session with you. He even chose a night out with his boys over a night in bed with you which was jarring because he always made you feel good before going out to have a good time.

Did he not find you attractive anymore? You knew childbirth brought a lot of change, but you were still the same woman he met and fell in love with.

Did he not love you anymore? He often praised you for being a good mom and his pet names never stopped, but after that, his declaration of love for you had been very surface-level.

Is he cheating on you?

You really didn’t want to entertain that thought, but your heart couldn’t take any more pain than it already had.

So, one day when you say you’re taking the kids to the park, you drop them off at your mom’s place instead, hoping that if there was something going on, no little hearts would be broken once you unleash a beast in the house.

You pull back in the driveway to see that he’s still here, just as you suspected. You make your way quietly through the house, inching closer to you all’s bedroom.

Your heart almost stops when you hear the sound of Miguel’s voice, high and breathy in a way that should only reach your ears. You don’t think when you swing the door open, adrenaline pumping high.

Miguel yells, scared to death but alone.

“What are you doing?” you ask, voice frustrated.

“What am I doing? What are you doing?”

You look at the state he’s in, shirt up, waistband under his dick, and a mystery fabric in his hand.

“Were you getting off?” you say, hands dropping to your side. “Do you…do you not love me anymore?”

“What?”

“Do you. Not. Love me anymore. You avoid me every time I’ve tried to initiate something with you. We haven’t made love in so long. You keep making excuses to not be alone with me. You don’t even want to do normal things with me like send pictures or makeout until we’re out of breath. I’ve heard you in the bathroom during the night and now you’re here doing the same thing, without me, your wife.” Your eyes start to water after it all, feeling utter defeat.

“Cariño, this is a misunderstanding,” he pleads, voice distraught. “I do love you. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“Then why are you doing this to me?”

“Because,” he pauses, fixing his clothes to have some decency. “I…haven’t felt the greatest about my body.”

Your tears dry up as soon as the statement resonates, “What? What do you mean?”

Miguel sighs.

“Lately, it’s getting harder and harder for my old clothes to fit me anymore, I’m way too busy to hit the gym and more than anything, I think you deserve a man who’s a little less,” he gestures to himself, “let go.”

“Says who?”

He looks at you as if you’ve grown two heads, “Uh, everybody?”

“Well, who is everybody because I’d like to strangle them for letting you think that my husband isn’t good enough for me.” You walk deeper into the bedroom crowding Miguel’s space. “You’ll always be perfect for me. The vows I promised to you will not be broken over something so normal as weight gain.”

He looked like he could cry.

“Why did you hide you were feeling this way, baby?” you hold his head in your hands scratching at his scalp.

“It felt stupid and silly. You’ve been doing so well socially and physically, I wanted to see if I could fix it on my own before bringing you down with my problems.”

“Miguel O’Hara,” you say, gripping his jaw firmly. “I’m your wife. I might not be able to solve everything, but at the very least, you need to talk to me. Tell me how you’re feeling, express yourself with words. Don’t hide.”

He wrapped his arms around you, sniffling, “I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

You pressed a long kiss into his scalp, rubbing his back.

“Oh my gosh,” you chuckled. “You were feeling so much internally, meanwhile I was practically screaming at you to fuck me. I thought you weren’t attracted to me anymore.”

So much for communication.

Miguel just burried his face in your chest while he groaned, “That’s the thing! You were driving me crazy with your tight little workout clothes and your lingerie. You looked so good, but I couldn’t get out of my own head. I’ve been…”

“You’ve been what?”

“I,” he got red in the face. “I’ve been using your underwear.”

You look down to Miguel’s crumbled up hand and it was in fact your underwear from the night you wore his band t-shirt, drenched in his essence.

Your stomach turned with excitement.

“So this is what you were doing in the bathroom in the middle of the night, hm? Using my panties? Giving them more action and attention than me?”

Miguel nodded, eyes hazy.

“Did it feel good?”

Another nod.

“I bet it did. I would wake up and hear you trying so hard to cum.”

You don’t know how, but his face got even warmer.

“You left your poor wife all alone, thinking about you on top of her until she came too.”

“I did?”

“You didn’t know?” you ask, playfully. “I was up all night imagining you walking out to see me. I wanted these arms to come and hold me.”

You squeeze at his arms on your sides.

“I wanted your weight on me. I wanted your chest against mine.I needed you so bad.”

You move to sit in his lap, knees on the side of him.

“You do such a great job of being a father. This beautiful change in your body is only proof of your hard work and dedication. It’s proof of love for your family.”

Miguel only melted in your hands, face a cloud of emotion.

“I love you, Miguel. I adore you. I yearn for you. I want you.”

With every declaration, came a kiss to his lips.

“Can I show you how much I love you?”

“Please.”

With that, you took his shirt off and made your way down his chest. You lingered around his chest, holding his pecs as you kissed them all over. You couldn’t stop your moans as your tongue felt across the hairy planes of his chest, sucking and pulling on his nipples. Miguel shudders as you pay special attention to them, sensitive after not being with you for so long.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” you breathe into his skin. You slide onto the floor and just press your face into his stomach.

“You like it that much?”

“Love it. You look so yummy walking around. You could be just standing there and I get so,” you cut yourself off, trying not to overwhelm him with just how much you were feeling. “You’re hot, baby.”

You kiss down his happy trail to reach his pants, his stomach twitching. You tugged a bit too hard on his pants, causing him to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” you say with a pout.

“I haven’t seen you like this since we won that couple’s retreat.”

“Not my fault. You were all sexy up there, beating the other husbands with your big brain. It was doing something to me.”

You finished pulling and you could almost cry with joy when Miguel’s cock springs next to your head. The sound you make when you see it also has Miguel wound tight.

Completely taken over by your neediness and desperation, you pull one of his thick legs over your shoulder, kissing and sucking on the skin while your fingertips dance around the entirety of his length.

The display of strength shocks Miguel who drips and whines at your actions.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” he whispers.

You cup him while you take his head in your mouth. It felt like pure bliss to have that familiar taste in your mouth. With the way you were humming, Miguel can tell that you were about to put him to sleep.

You took no time letting your tongue stretch to take more of him in. Your cheeks hollow as you go further, one hand kneading at the thigh you were holding and the other switching from fondling him to wrapping around the base of his length.

“God,” Miguel’s voice filled the room, the loudest it had been for the past few months. “I don’t think I’ll last that long.”

You let go of him and lick down the sides, “That’s because you’re too busy fucking other things instead of me.”

“’M sorry,” he whined as you went back down on him. “I-I was still thinking of you and, ngh, wanting you.”

“Mm hm,” your voice sent shocks down his spine as you didn’t let go. He moved his hips steadily, dick sliding in and out of your mouth and pudge occasionally pressing against your face.

The faster he went, the noisier the sounds got. He moved his hands to your head, thighs eerily close to tightening around your face. You couldn’t have it any better.

You dug your nails into his hips, throat contracting in order to take him in. Even with your jaw slacked, it’s been so long since you took him like this that you gagged more often than not. With every sound of your throat struggling, Miguel shouted your name, hands gripping tighter on your hair.

You could tell he was close by the way his thigh was tensing on your shoulder, so when he said the four words, you took him to the hilt, face completely pressed against him.

“Shit!” he felt like passing out as he released into your throat. You swallowed as much as you could, but you couldn’t take it all, saliva and cum esxaping down your chin to his balls.

He grunts when he pulls you off, chest moving sporadically.

You lick your lips and let out a satisfied sigh, “Finally.”

Miguel could only chuckle as he laid back on the bed. You crawled on top of him, sitting on his thighs with a smile. You rub your hands on the skin of stomach, slowly getting to his chest, “I’m like, really wet right now if you want some more painties to use.”

He growled as he pulled you closer.

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope,” you say, popping the P. “I really want you to do it in front of me. Maybe send me a video for the nights you work overtime.”

He had the nerve to look embarrassed as he wrapped his arms around your back, “I might be able to arrange that.” He kissed your lips to distract you from speaking on it further.

After Miguel returned the favor with his head between your legs, the both of you were enjoying a quiet moment together before having to go pick up the kids.

“I can’t believe you thought I was cheating on you,” Miguel said as you were drawing circles on his chest.

“Miguel,” you say, lifting your head. “I pulled all the stops. I did things that I knew you loved: the t-shirts, going commando, the flirty pictures. I even brought whipped cream to the bedroom and you told me ‘I can’t eat that, it’ll blow up my stomach,’ when you were literally in the kitchen taking shots of it the night before.”

“Ok. So I see how you might have gotten to that ludicrous conclusion, but did you not notice how much I’ve been staring at you?”

You clicked your teeth, “Yeah, but what does that mean when you don’t act on it?”

Miguel twisted his lip, “Will you feel better if I told you that your work pictures turned me on too?”

You pinched him resulting in a yelp, “I’ll feel better right now if you give me a shower round.”

He pulled you in his arms as he got out of the bed, “Let’s go before your mom calls.”

You giggle and swing your feet on the way.

After your afternoon of praising his body, Miguel emerged as his previous confident self. This meant more days with him walking around shirtless, more quickies in the morning, makeouts that ended in pleasure, him smacking your ass, you smacking his ass back, and sex. Lots and lots of sex.

Right now, Raul was down for a nap and Gabriella was enjoying her tablet time.

You, however, were clawing at Miguel’s back like a cat as he pounded you into the mattress.

“Fuck!” you shouted, eyelids fluttering as Miguel’s cock dragged across your walls. “It feels so good.”

“Quiet, mi vida,” he whispered. “The kids are in their rooms.”

You were quick to cover your mouth, moans muffled. It really didn’t matter because the creaks of the bed were just as loud as you. One change in position and the headboard denting the walls could be added to it.

It was all too much.

First, he woke you up with kisses down your body and a promise to lighten your load around the house. Then, he got the kids up and prepared breakfast with the help of Raul. Later while you were out running errands, he sent you a coupon for a spa that just opened up down the street and warm message.

Now, he has you losing your mind with his hips slapping against yours, whispering praises in your ear.

“Miguel!”

“Hm? Talk to me.”

“I-I can’t-” your voice keeps getting louder unintentionally. He was so calm while he was reaching so deep inside. Your mind was hazy, wanting nothing more than him to keep going.

“You’re doing so good, Ma. You’re so good to me and the kids. You’re such a beautiful wife. Such a pretty Mama. Just wanna make you feel good.”

You felt yourself clench around him at his words, tears falling across your temples. He kissed your tears tenderly, strokes getting deeper.

“M-Miguel,” you say with your heart full. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. So, so deeply,”

That was all it took for you to suck him in and scream into his shoulder, nails digging into his shoulder blades. His release was soon after, painting your walls with his lips pressed against your ear.

“Papá! You have to be more careful,” Gabriella fussed with her hands on her hips while Miguel was in the kitchen trying to make the family a snack. “You got hurt at work!”

Miguel paused and reached behind his back, fingers roaming over the healing scratches on his shoulder from his last session with you.

You covered your teeth with your lips as Miguel turned to look at you with his eyebrows raised.

“It’s ok, mija. Papá is tough!”

“But you gotta put something on it,” Gabriella said with a huff.

“Thank you for your concern, nena. I’ll get Mamá to take care of it, ok?” he ruffled her hair as he handed her a plate of bunny-shaped apple slices. “Now go sit with your brother and watch some TV.”

Miguel huffed as he walked up to the side of you with his arms crossed.

“What? You should put your shirt on!”

“That’s not what you said when you-”

“Hush and go get the aloe.”

Miguel snickered as he gave your lips a peck, “Yeah, yeah.”

Life was wonderfully sweet.

With that, my first request is done! As always, like, reblog, and COMMENT. Let me know how you guys feel! 🩵

2K notes · View notes

deunmiu-dessie · 6 months

Text

ⅱ ▬ ⁽ 𝑔𝒽𝑜𝓈𝓉 ⁾

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ♡︎ : ₃˖₈ₖ ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ♡︎ : mdni----- unedited, NSFW, dubcon, rape/noncon elements, explicit content, spectrophilia, ghost/human, rough sex, "unprotected" sex, creampie, somnophilia, cunnilingus. ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ♡︎: after coming home from a grueling day of work, instead of being able to relax, the feeling of someone watching you has you scared. ꒰m!ghost ₊⊹ afab!reader꒱

CLICK

𝒯 he soft glow of your lamp casts a warm yellow light throughout the desolate home, but it fails to dispel the darkness that lingers. You make a mental note, weariness seeping into your thoughts, to buy a new lightbulb from the mart later in the week. The dimness of the room matches the heaviness in your heart, as you feel the weight of loneliness settle upon your shoulders, part of you knows you should be used to coming home with no one to greet you, but it still stings nonetheless.

Struggling to remove your gym shoes, you let out an annoyed groan, exhaustion causing you to stumble and collide into the wall with a thump. Finally freeing your feet, you stretch your arms above your head and let out a tired sigh. Your muscles ache from the long day at work, and the fatigue seems to seep into your bones. Your eyes flutter closed from the effects of sleep deprivation but your stomach grumbles with a ravenous craving for a thick pastrami sandwich. The thought of sinking your teeth into the juicy meat and tangy mustard momentarily distracts you from the weariness that engulfs you.

Discarding your wool coat onto the carpeted floor, you shuffle yourself wearily down the hallway towards the kitchen, fully expecting it to still be a mess from three days ago. The cluttered countertops and unwashed dishes serve as a constant reminder of your chaotic schedule and the lack of time you have for yourself. It’s as if the mess mirrors the disarray in your own life, and you can’t help but feel overwhelmed by it all. At times you missed living with your parents and not having any responsibilities. Being an adult was so stress-inducing you just wanted to lay in bed and cry sometimes.

Leaning against the hallway wall, you find solace in pressing your forehead against the cool, flowered wallpaper. Sleep weighs heavily on your eyelids, momentarily clouding your vision and tempting you to succumb to its embrace. And just as your legs threaten to give way, a gentle chill dances down your spine, jolting you awake with a surge of electricity. A tired sigh escapes your lips as you run your palm down your face, mustering the strength to continue towards the kitchen. The chaotic mess that greets you almost makes you cry.

Resting against the entryway to the kitchen, a pang of regret washes over you. Deep down, and not even buried that far truly, you wish you hadn’t taken your coworker’s shift. Despite your fondness for the woman, working two consecutive twelve-hour shifts was more than you could handle. And as the new nurse in the hospital, you were an easy target for those who wanted to shirk their responsibilities, they left you to run around like a headlesss chicken.

You finally gather the energy to carry yourself into the kitchen, reaching for a cup from the cupboard and turning on the sink faucet, allowing lukewarm water to fill it. Impatiently you can’t wait for the tap to run cold and quickly knock back the glass, the satisfaction of quenching your thirst outweighs the temperature. Slouching against the sink, you take a moment to stretch, feeling your joints crack and your muscles slacken. You flutter your eyes shut to stop yourself from gazing at the mess that’s your kitchen.

Placing the glass on the worn countertop, you set your medical bag on the kitchen island and head towards the staircase, overwhelmed by the longing for a shower and some rest. However, as you approach the hallway, a sudden shiver runs down your spine, causing goosebumps to rise on your arms. Your legs momentarily go numb, and you manage to grab hold of the stair railing, preventing yourself from stumbling. After being on your feet for a whole day, you were shocked you had not immediately collapsed when you walked in the door.

A sudden sense of unease washes over you when you survey your modest home, the horrid sensation of being observed seeping into your skin and festering in your mind. It’s as if the feeling surrounds you, leaving you breathless and on edge. Your eyes dart between the dimly lit kitchen and the shadowy staircase, it’s as if the shadows themselves are in motion. Objects seem out of place, and didn’t you leave your bag on the island?

Confusion creases your brow as you search for your bag, it takes a while but you discover it leaning against the couch’s armrest in the living room. Your unease deepens, causing a slight twitch in your eye. The entire situation leaves you unsettled. Anxiously, you bite down on your lower lip, feeling the sting as your teeth sink into the flesh. Once more, the sensation of being watched intensifies, as though someone is observing your every move, listening to your every thought, and knowing your every action. Goosebumps raise on your skin, skittering down your back.

You shake your head in disbelief and pinch the bridge of your nose, the weight of exhaustion and hunger bearing down on you. ( the latter was something you would fix in the morning, as you did not have the energy to cook anything.) The darkness of the hallway only adds to your supposed delusion. With a heavy sigh, you push yourself away from the railing and begin the arduous climb up the stairs.

Stopping just shy of the top of the stairs, you reach your hand out and glide it along the cool walls beside you, feeling for the light switch— one may think that you would know where the light was in a house that you’ve lived in for two years, but you seemed to fail to find it every time. Your palm glides along the walls, desperately searching for the elusive light switch. It’s a futile attempt, as if the house itself is playing tricks on you. The anticipation builds as you inch closer to the top, your body tensing with each step.

Finally, the click of the switch echoes through the silence. But it’s not your doing. Panic sets in as you realize someone else must be in the house, but soon the hallway is bathed in harsh light, exposing every shadow and corner. Yet no one is there. You stare at your hand, questioning whether you had unknowingly flipped the switch.

Ignoring the fear that threatens to consume you, you force yourself to continue. Quickly, you make your way to your room, seeking solace behind the closed door. But even within the confines of your sanctuary, the feeling of being watched persists. It’s as if an unseen presence lingers, peering into the depths of your soul.

Your skin tingles in question as the ethereal sensation of fingers delicately cupping your cheek sends shivers down your spine (truly almost nonexistent). A surge of unease washes over you, even though you can’t see anything, you can sense an intense, ravenous gaze fixated on you. Shaking off the remnants of your episode, you take a hesitant step forward, determined to overcome any lingering apprehension. With a burst of courage, you scurry to your dresser and retrieve an oversized T-shirt, a memento stolen from your older brother years ago, along with a pair of plain black cotton panties.

No matter what strange occurrences were unfolding, you refuse to let them hinder your plans for a hot shower. The past twenty-four hours have left you covered in sweat and grime, and you are determined to cleanse yourself of it all.

With eager anticipation, you make your way to the bathroom, barely bothering to close the door behind you. Placing your clothes in the sink, you turn towards the shower, pushing the curtain aside to adjust the knobs and pull up the shower valve, spurring on the hot water. As the bathroom fills with steam, your breathing becomes slightly shallow, the heat causing your cheeks to flush.

Stepping back towards the sink, you gaze at the fogged-up mirror, your reflection blurred and distorted. Like a scene from a horror movie, you raise your hand and press it against the glass, wiping downwards and watching as the water droplets cascade lower, dripping on your discarded clothing below.

As your eyes meet your reflection once more, they immediately lose focus and fixate on the imposing figure standing just a few meters behind you. Towering over six feet tall, his muscular frame exudes a suffocating amount of dominance and power. A scream of terror and disbelief escapes your lips, and in a panic, you grab the hand soap from the sink and swiftly turn around, hurling it towards the intruder. The bottle soars through the air, crashing into the wall before landing on the tiled floor.

There was no one there; you were going crazy.

“Calm down. You need to sleep. It’s been a long day; your mind is playing tricks on you.”

You were just full of excuses, desperately trying to maintain your sanity. But surprisingly, those excuses provided a strange comfort, no matter how unbelievable they were. So, you decided to settle yourself down, shedding your work pants and kicking them aside. Your shirt and undergarments followed suit, as you let go of all inhibitions. In that moment, the fear that had consumed you was momentarily forgotten.

You gazed at your reflection in the mirror, taking a moment to wipe away any imperfections. Your eyes wandered down to your body, taking in the soft ridges of faint stretch marks on your breasts with your fingertips. As your palms venture lower, they lovingly caress your thighs, reveling in the velvety softness of your skin and the warmth that radiates from them.

With a shake of your head, you release a sigh of surrender, allowing your hands to fall gracelessly to your sides. You take a step closer to the inviting tub, parting the shower curtain to reveal the steamy water within. As you enter the embrace of the hot water, a soft moan of pleasure escapes your lips, the heat enveloping your entire being and melting away the tension in your muscles. This shower was exactly what you craved.

After diligently scrubbing your skin until it’s both raw (and irresistibly smooth), you find yourself sitting on the floor of the tub, relishing in the sensation of the water cascading over your hair and body. However, as much as you yearn to stay in the blissful sanctuary that is your tub until the water turns cold, you reluctantly acknowledge the losing battle against sleep that you’re already engaged in.

Carefully rising from the bathtub, you extend your hand under the cooling sprays of the water to twist the knobs and halt the shower, pushing the valve down afterward. Exiting the tub, you forgo the use of a towel and opt to let the air dry you while reaching for your toothpaste and toothbrush from their respective places. Relocating your clothes from the sink to the nearby shelf, you proceed to brush your teeth swiftly, counting to fifty before spitting and returning everything to its original position.

You grab your face wash and dispense a small amount onto your palm, with gentle strokes, you massage the cleanser into your skin, creating a lather that removes the remnants of yesterday morning’s messy makeup. Switching on the tap, you lean over the sink, allowing the warm water to flow into your hands, smoothly gliding it across your face and rinsing away the soap.

Your back divots suddenly with a delicate grace as an ethereal caress firmly grasps your sensetive hips, eliciting a startled gasp of surprise from your parted lips. Your eyes pop open, darting around in a hasty manner, well, stupidly, seeing as you hadn’t quite finished washing your face--- the remnants of soap trickling into your eyes. A sharp hiss escapes your mouth as you instinctively lower yourself to rinse away the discomfort.

Once more the tantalizing trail of fingers tracing along your spine is undeniably present. You remain still, your muscles tensing in anticipation, trembling as the touch ascends higher, encircling your neck. With trembling hands, you turn off the faucet and inhale deeply, attempting to steady your racing heart. The deep, seductive timbre of your name being whispered intimately close to your ear fills you with a bone-chilling terror. Quickly, you snatch your garments from the nearby shelf and flee into the sanctuary of your bedroom, momentarily struggling with the bathroom door.

“Calm down, calm down; this is not happening. You’re hallucinating.”

You erratically throw on your shirt, using it to also dry your face, and shimmy your panties up your legs, the soft cotton resting comfortably on your hips. You quickly crawl into bed and pull the comforter up to your chin, shutting your eyes and tucking your bottom lip into your mouth. (Your hair could wait, you were not getting out of bed.)

“Hey, Alexa, turn off: Bedroom Lights. ”

You can’t even recall switching on the overhead light, but honestly, you’re past the point of caring. The mechanical response plunges the room into darkness, and the moment your head hits the pillow (as comfortable as it can be when cold and damp), you’re fast asleep.

You’re unsure how long it’s been, but your eyes flutter open, heavy with sleep when you feel the sensation of large, calloused hands gliding up your stomach softly. The touch is unfamiliar, but it doesn’t necessarily frighten you as it should, instead, you can feel yourself throbbing in your panties, gentle and shy. You blame your sleep deprivation on the lack of fear.

The hands approach your bare breasts, a thumb rubbing over the taught peaks of your pebbled nipples causing a soft gasp to escape your luscious lips, your cheeks burning with fiery heat, and your body arching ever so slightly from the bed, offering your breasts to the awaiting, eager palms.

Your pussy, warm and slick, constricts and drools with your arousal. Maybe it’s the thrill of imagining a supernatural encounter, but you’ve never felt as aroused and eager as you do at this moment; dripping and throbbing.

You feel a surge of anticipation as your panties are gently shifted aside, a trail of your desire following suit. Ghostly fingers swiftly trail up your inner thigh, getting closer to your sopping pussy, and despite the uncertainty of the situation, the mysterious touch ignites a fire within you. The paranormality behind the sensation makes your heart pound and your pussy salivate with need. Lost in a whirlwind of lustful thoughts, a soft caress on your clit causes your hips to involuntarily buck, your lip bruised from the force of your bite. “Ah~”

Your voice comes out as a breathy, needy whine. The suspense of where and when the next touch will land sends shivers of excitement down your spine. And as soon as you're almost on the verge of begging, a rush of hot air sweeps over your dripping core, causing your pussy to clench instinctively. Your throbbing clit pulsates with an insatiable ache, lost in a haze of pleasure, and your eyes roll back, unable to fully grasp the intensity of the experience.

As the sensation engulfs you, your throbbing bud is devoured by their hungry mouth. The combination of their saliva and your own intoxicating arousal trickles down, moistening your tight, quivering entrance. The sensation is nothing short of divine, as if their touch is delicately fondling and slurping at every nerve within your shuddering body.

Your hips, moving with a will of their own, rise from the bed and writhe. You can’t help but squeal softly as firm, powerful, and large hands encircle your hips, forcefully pressing you down onto the mattress, indulging in your warm, sticky juices; skillfully teasing your clit with its tongue. Your cries and pleas echo loudly, a stark contrast to your usual quiet demeanor when having sex with men.

Oh, but you felt like a bitch in heat, like your entire being was engulfed in flames and burning you from the inside out— it made you want to scream and cry.

Your body trembles uncontrollably as the knot tightens, gripping your stomach, thighs, and lower abdomen. In a desperate bid for relief from the agonizing pleasure, you instinctively gyrate your hips. Your vision blurs and fades into a blinding white haze, signaling your impending climax. But just as you teeter on the edge of release, the touches abruptly cease, leaving you yearning for more.

You whimper and attempt to reach down to your soaking pussy to pat and rub at your engorged clit, but you unintentionally freeze in place; a small knot of fear causes your eyes to well up, yet it only intensifies your craving for its caress. When nothing further occurs, you start to plead, like a desperate whore— as if you hadn’t been touched in years.

And as if pleased, the ghostly caresses return to your sensitive clit, moving with a deliberate slowness that sends shivers down your spine. You can’t help but let out a series of soft moans, as you offer up sweet words of gratitude to the mysterious entity pleasuring you.

“Ah, yes, yes, please!”

Your body tenses as the knot tightens, aching with a mix of pain and pleasure. Your hips move uncontrollably, seeking more of that sweet torment. Yet, it stops once more, leaving you to come down from your ruined high. You’re a sobbing mess now, grinding against the air, waiting for something, anything.

Your throat constricts suddenly, leaving you breathless as fingers delve into your tight, dripping pussy, curling and prodding your spongey g-spot. The digits seem to know your pussy like the back of their hand, stroking every nerve inside of you. The squelching sound of your arousal drowns out your heavy breathing and mewling moans. The entity suddenly adds its thumb to the mix, circling your clit quickly. The pleasure escalates swiftly, and your eyes squeeze shut as a rush of pure ecstasy overwhelms you, leaving your thighs quivering and twitching from the deep, blissful climax.

After the high subsides, you pant for air, the tension easing from your throat. You sprawl sensually on your bed, clit throbbing and arousal coating your sheets. A tepid, exhausted breath escapes your lips as a thickness delicately nudges apart the folds of your pulsating entrance, prompting an instinctual urge to flee. However, unyielding hands firmly pull you closer, and your legs reluctantly surrender to their command.

You can feel a bulbous, mushroom-shaped tip forcefully penetrating your quivering, weeping pussy eliciting a mixture of pleasure and pain at the invasion. Your pretty eyes roll quickly to the back of your head as the unknown entity plunges its heavy, thick cock into your tight entrance, your thighs pressed to your chest and legs draped over broad shoulders.

You keen softly, as your pliable walls ensnare his cock in a vice-like, velvety embrace. “More, I need more; please fuck me, please.” Your plea is abruptly silenced as its thick length withdraws from within you, only to resume with an intense, unconventional rhythm—leaving you no opportunity to adjust to its entire length.

The unyielding grip on your waist marks you in the most delicious way, leaving behind a trail of bruises that only heighten the pleasure coursing through you. Your pussy feels so full and sated, despite nothing physically filling you, you throb with satisfaction.

Lost in the depths of your pleasure, the reasons behind your desperate pleas elude you, but you continue to spill them forth without hesitation, unable to think. Once again, your breath is stolen away, your throat constricts, and an intense orgasm surges through you like a forceful tidal wave. A delicious warmth then radiates from your core, spreading through your tummy.

The most painful and pleasurable feeling of being filled with cum has you aching for a taste of it. Your body goes limp, but whatever is fucking you doesn’t stop; their cock pistols into you despite you slowly losing consciousness.

As your eyes flutter open, you gradually rise from the bed. The room is shrouded in darkness, leaving you disoriented about the time you’ve spent asleep. Urgently, you rush to the bathroom due to your full bladder. Stepping out of bed, a gasp escapes your lips as your foot lands on a cold, damp object. Upon closer inspection, you realize it’s your panties. Blushing, you drop them and shake your head, with your hair still slightly wet from the previous night’s shower.

As you enter the bathroom, you opt for the wall light switch instead of the one on the ceiling, casting a gentle, warm radiance throughout the room. Oblivious to your reflection, you casually stroll past the mirror, too exhausted to spare a second glance.

As you ease yourself onto the toilet seat, your tired eyes gently close, and the tinkling sound of you using the bathroom lulls you into a state of sleep for a brief moment. A few moments pass, and you linger a bit longer before reaching for a flushable wet wipe, dutifully cleansing yourself before discarding it into the swirling abyss of the toilet bowl.

With a swift flush, you rise to your feet and shuffle to the sink to cleanse your hands. However, as you slowly open your drowsy eyes and catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror, a sudden chill runs down your spine.

As you gingerly raise your shirt, a gasp escapes your lips. The sight before you is both shocking and unsettling. Crimson and violet bruises, resembling the imprint of a colossal hand, encircle your throat, cascading down to conceal your collarbone and shoulders. As your eyes wander further, a gasp escapes your lips. Vivid handprints, a testament to an intimate encounter, mark your hips in crimson and violet, while a constellation of hickies adorns your tummy.

As you gaze into the mirror, you suddenly catch sight of a man standing behind you, from earlier. Surprisingly, he seems closer than the last time you saw him, and you can feel the warmth of his body through your shirt. He stands tall, with bulging muscles and an overwhelming presence that leaves you breathless. However, his appearance remains a mystery, as you struggle to make out his features. Just then, the bathroom door slams shut, plunging the room into darkness as the lights flicker off. Your heart skips a beat as you feel hands slowly trail up your shirt, eventually cupping your pussy.

His voice is like a warm embrace, wrapping around you with its deep, sensual, sinful, and amused tones.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

2K notes · View notes

yuujispinkhair · 9 months

Text

Good Boy

Sukuna is a powerful man. Everybody knows him as the successful and arrogant CEO of the SHRINE company. But they don't know that at home, in the bedroom, he is a very different man. Only you know what Sukuna truly needs to be able to function in his stressful job.

Pairing: Sub!Sukuna x Dom!Reader (female) Genre: smut + fluff Word Count: 5.5k Warnings: 18+, smut, BDSM elements, sub+dom dynamic, reader is a soft dom, restraining, collaring, impact play (flogging with a leather paddle), dirty talk, spitting in Sukuna's mouth, praise, edging, Sukuna cums untouched on command, pegging (Sukuna receiving). This is a modern + no-curses AU. Sukuna is a CEO and married to Reader. All things happen with mutual consent. All characters are of age. Minors don't interact. Dividers by @/benkeibear

Sukuna is a powerful man. Successful and feared by many. A big player in the business world. He makes it look easy, makes it look like he can do all of that effortlessly. He keeps up a high pace, coming to work before everyone else and only leaving after the sun has set. Attending business events and giving interviews for magazines while always wearing a smug smirk on his handsome face. Always hiding his true self behind a mask of professionalism and arrogance.

No one is allowed to see behind that mask. With one exception. There is one person who knows how stressed Sukuna truly is. How tired he is. Only one person knows the toll his work takes on him. Only you. Only his wife.

You are the only one who knows that sometimes the powerful CEO needs a break from everything. Only you know that sometimes this big, strong, and powerful man wants to be on his knees for you, bound and collared, needing to hear you call him your good boy before he is able to cum.

Sukuna hadn't known this side of himself for a long time. Maybe it was because he wasn't mature enough in his younger years. Maybe it was because his past relationships never offered him the amount of trust and love that the relationship with you gives him.

But Sukuna still remembers the day that changed everything. The day that made him discover something about himself and about his deepest needs.

He only wanted to take a short trip to your favorite lingerie boutique to buy a little something for you for White Day. A new set of sinfully expensive lingerie that you could wear for him.

It had been a stressful day at work, a meeting with the CEO of a rival company that had left Sukuna pissed off and on the edge. He hoped to find distraction in picking sexy underwear for his beloved wife, picturing you in it, easing his mind with thoughts of fucking you while you wore that pretty red lacey set with the little heart dangling from it.

But things didn't go as Sukuna had planned. His gaze strayed away from the luxurious red lace lingerie and landed on a display of collars. And all of a sudden Sukuna felt conflicted. So damn conflicted.

At that moment, he couldn't tell why the sight of those collars made him feel so strange. He drew his gaze away again and strolled to another corner of the boutique to look at more beautiful lingerie sets. But he couldn't focus. His thoughts stayed occupied with those leather collars. And suddenly, he found that his feet had carried him back to that one display.

He walked past it several times until he sighed and finally stopped in front of it, took one collar out of the shelf, and let it glide through his fingers. The black leather felt nice in his hand, smooth and warm. He tried to picture it on you, but to his utter surprise, he realized that it wasn't you who he wanted to put it on.

Oh. That is interesting.

He gulped.

His large hand trembled slightly when he brought the collar up a bit. He held it in front of his throat, feeling his pulse accelerate at seeing his faint reflection in the glass display.

What if...

He ground his teeth in annoyance when the shop assistant interrupted his moment by walking up to him.

"I see you are also interested in our Playtime Collection, sir. All collars and restraints are of the highest quality, of course. They offer high comfort and long usage. Do you want to pick one for your wife to go with the lingerie? I would recommend a thinner one in that case, more delicate, and maybe in a matching red? We also have some collars with a diamond charm. That collection is very popular for White Day. Should I get it for you?"

Sukuna stood there in silence for several seconds, too stunned to say anything. A rare moment for the CEO of the SHRINE Company. But he was a professional, after all, and so he turned around to smile politely at the shop assistant, his usual mask perfectly in place, as he informed her,

"No, thank you. This one is perfect. Put it in a separate gift box, please."

He left the shop feeling light-headed, and the bag sitting on the passenger seat of his Porsche seemed to emit a seductive lure the whole drive home, making adrenaline pump through Sukuna's veins.

What if she puts that collar on me?

The thought excited him and made him feel ashamed at the same time.

Never had he imagined he would be into this. Wasn't it embarrassing that a man like him even contemplated something like this?

But underneath that shame was something else. Something he craved: Comfort.

He knew what a collar like that meant. I wasn't just a pretty little accessory. It meant giving yourself to someone. It meant a sub giving themselves into their dom's hands fully. And that was a thought that made him grip the steering wheel tighter.

Wouldn't it be lovely? Wouldn't it be exactly what he needed after a hard day like this? Coming home and letting you put a collar on him? Giving himself into your loving hands? Handing control over to you. He loved you with his whole heart and soul. He trusted you like he never thought he could trust someone apart from himself.

Wouldn't it be so comforting to let you collar him and dominate him completely? Wouldn't it be such a relief to let himself fall into you? To hand control over to someone else, at least for a few hours, in the safety of his home?

The thought made a low groan slip from Sukuna's mouth.

He hid the small gift box in the walk-in closet. It sat there next to his designer watches and golden cufflinks, waiting for him to finally propose the idea to you.

When he did, after an exquisite dinner a few days later, you had smiled at him, slipped on his lap, and petted his hair, eyes filled with love and understanding.

"You want me to collar you? You want to be my... submissive?"

"Yes, that's what I want, darling. Only if you are comfortable with the idea."

"Of course I am. It will help you with all the pressure at work. It will help you let go. You know I am always worried about you with all the high stress levels you have day in and day out. I'm glad you came to me with this idea, Sukuna."

He released a breath of relief and tightened his arms around you. Of course, you understood. You always knew exactly what he needed.

Sukuna laughed softly. How funny it was. Here he was, this tall, buff man with a body full of solid muscles and intimidating-looking tattoos, someone who was feared in the whole business world, while you were so soft and small compared to him. But he knew you would catch him. He knew you would be strong, so he could be weak. He knew he wanted to be on his knees for you.

You did research starting that night. You discussed everything with him, set boundaries, and outlined how you both expected this dynamic to work. You went shopping with him the next day, getting everything you needed. You started slowly and tried things, experimenting to see what you both liked and to find out what exactly Sukuna needed.

That was a year ago. Sukuna has been collared for eleven months now, and he has never felt more liberated in his life. The collar grounds him. The collar takes the pressure off.

Sometimes, when he has an extremely stressful day in the office, he takes five minutes off to close his eyes and imagine coming home and getting on his knees for you. Just the thought of you putting his collar on him tonight helps him get through his busy workday. Just the thought of being allowed to get into subspace tonight makes him get through another meeting.

When you are in public, your roles are reversed in everyone else's eyes. Sukuna is the powerful CEO. The big, muscular hunk of a man in his designer suit who is in control at all times. The one with the smug smirk and the snide remarks. The one who effortlessly navigates through this business party and holds an immaculate speech before mingling with the crowd, where he charms new potential business partners into making a deal with him. And you are the sweet little wife on his arm who looks up at him and depends on her rich and dominant husband to take care of her.

They don't know the truth.

They don't know that you told Sukuna before the party that if he is a good boy tonight and manages to get that potential new business partner on his side, you will let him worship your pussy when you are home again.

Sukuna never expected how easy it would be, how natural it would feel to hand over control to you and let himself slip into subspace. How splendid it would feel to give himself fully to you.

He sighs when you bind his wrists with his tie, fixing them behind his back. He feels warm when you tell him to kneel for you. He is excited by the way you look at him when he is on the floor on his knees for you, with his muscular thighs spread, completely naked while you are still dressed. He loves to feel your gaze on his body, on his muscles, on his tattoos. He loves to see the love in your eyes.

Sukuna groans when your gaze lands on his cock, taking your time to look at him. It's so arousingly intimate. You have seen him naked so many times, have seen and touched his cock so often. But it is different when he is bound and kneeling before you. It makes him so hard that he feels dizzy. Pre-cum is running thickly down his hard length as your gaze inspects his cock and his taut full balls.

He moans when you get up from the bed and stand beside him, putting a hand in his pink hair and tugging on it gently, pulling his head against your hip, petting his hair, and cooing at him,

"My pretty boy."

Sukuna can't help but let out a sigh of relief and nuzzle his face gratefully against your hip. He feels exhilarated when you grab his hair and tug on it, smiling while you look at him and tell him,

"Open your mouth for me, my love."

He does so eagerly, opening up and sticking his tongue out while gazing up at you through his long black lashes. He is well-trained and proud of it. Sukuna has always been a fast learner, driven by his ambitious nature. A man used to working for his well-deserved success. Always striving to be the best. Of course, he had excelled in this task, too. In becoming the perfect submissive pet for you.

He can see the approval and adoration in your eyes, and it makes his heart feel so full. Especially when you praise him for his obedience.

"Such a good boy."

Your fingers caress his hair, making him moan lightly when your nails scratch over his undercut, but his mouth stays open, his tongue still sticking out, eyes fixed on your face, waiting for your command or for whatever you have planned for him tonight. Finally, he doesn't have to make decisions anymore. Finally, he can rest and give himself into your loving hands.

You slowly part your lips, which are painted with the beautiful, deep red lipstick he loves so much on you. His lashes flutter in anticipation. Your hand grabs his chin, gently tilting his head further upwards, and then you spit in his waiting mouth, letting your spit drool into his mouth slowly, showing him that from now on, you are the one in control.

"Now swallow it."

He does so, and your hand caresses his cheek lovingly.

"You are so good for me, Sukuna. You truly deserve your collar, baby."

His cock twitches needily when you put it on him, and he feels the smooth leather wrap around his throat. Your fingertips caress his neck lovingly for a moment before you pull away to let your hands slip under your skirt. Sukuna watches with a lust-filled gaze as you pull down your panties, the lacey red ones he gifted to you. You let them fall to the floor as you sit down on the bed, spreading your legs, letting Sukuna see your glistening wet cunt underneath your short skirt.

"You were such a good boy tonight at the party. It's time for your reward."

Sukuna moans softly when you fasten the leash on the golden ring on his collar and give it a firm tug, pulling him closer until he is kneeling between your spread legs.

Your pussy is right in front of his face, hot and dripping wet. So beautiful, so enticing. He can feel your warmth, can smell your sweet scent. He wants to push his face between your legs so badly. But he waits obediently like the good boy he wants to be. He waits for your command.

"Spoil my pussy, pretty boy. Make me cum on that pretty face of yours."

And Sukuna is happy to obey. He eats you out devotedly. He worships your pussy. Licks it, kisses it, sniffs it, loves it with tender kisses and sweet suckles on your swollen clit, and fucks it with his tongue until you gasp his name and cum on his face.

You reach down afterward to tease his cock. Edging him, running a teasing fingertip over his swollen mushroom head and pressing it against his slit. Giving him a few slow pumps only to pull away again. Circling his tip lovingly, swooping up a pearl of pre-cum, and bringing your finger to your lips to taste him, moaning and praising him for how sweet he tastes.

You coo praise at him for being so strong, for being so good for you, for holding back so long. Sukuna's head is spinning. He is drowning in the warmth of your love, in the sweet comfort of your control over him. His cock throbs heavily, so close to busting his load. But your voice drifts to his ears,

"Uh uh, not yet, my love. Not yet. Take your time, baby. You've been working so hard those last few days. I need you to let go fully before you are allowed to cum. Free yourself from everything. Let go of work and your busy schedule. You aren't the CEO of SHRINE here in this room. You are my pet. You are my good boy. I own you, and I decide everything for you. You don't have to think anymore, Sukuna. I will tell you when to cum. Give yourself to me."

And he nods, breathing heavily as his cock throbs with pleasure and need. It would be easy for a strong man like Sukuna to slip out of his restraints and manhandle you, throw you on the bed, and fuck you into the mattress until he is satisfied. That knowledge somehow makes this whole scenario even more arousing. Because he knows he won't give in to these urges. He will be a good boy. He will be strong. He will hold back as long as you want him to. He isn't the one who decides things here. He is yours completely.

You smile at him, and your gaze travels over his body again until it stops on his hard cock.

"Look at that gorgeous cock of yours. So long, so thick, so strong. And all mine."

When you join him on the floor, Sukuna is already a mess, sweating and moaning, cock twitching needily, his balls sticky from all the pre-cum that ran down his length.

You get on your knees and put your small hands on his muscular thighs, caressing them tenderly as you slowly lean closer to blow air onto Sukuna's swollen wet cockhead, making him groan loudly.

"Aww, so cute for me, hm my prince? Can you be my good boy and cum on command? Can you cum just from me looking at your pretty cock?"

Your words make a low growl fall from Sukuna's lips as his balls tighten and his cock twitches. He gulps and looks at you, maroon eyes burning into yours as he nods,

"Yes, please let me show you how good I can be for you."

You smile and moan softly, your eyes clouded over by lust, and it makes Sukuna's stomach flutter and his heart throb. More pre-cum is trickling down his hot length and runs over his taut balls before it drips onto the carpet underneath him. And your eyes are on his cock and his balls, following that small rivulet of pre.

Your voice is a tender caress,

"Such a sweet boy for me."

Sukuna's muscles are taut, biceps flexed, wrists straining against the tie, pecs, and abs taut, his thighs clenched. Your words drive him crazy. And the feeling of your eyes on him, on his cock, makes his head spin.

There is something so demeaning about kneeling here on the floor, bound and horny, being told to cum on command, being told to cum untouched like some pathetic little virgin who never fucked his load into a woman.

But oh, how he loves it. How it gives him peace. How it turns him on. Sukuna can't help but roll his hips as if fucking into your tight cunt, rutting his cock against nothing, as a shaky moan falls from his lips.

Your hand cups his cheek and caresses it lovingly before it wanders down over his flexed pecs and biceps.

"You are so beautiful. Look at that pretty cock. Look how much you're leaking all over yourself."

His gaze travels down to his cock, and he groans loudly, seeing his angry dark pink, swollen cockhead, messy from all the precum. He feels and sees his cock twitch at the attention, so aroused that you are looking at him. And he feels his balls tightening, feels his thighs spread even more, and he knows he is close, so fucking close.

It's your voice that sends him over the edge,

"Now show me, baby. Show me how that pretty cock cums for me. Make a big mess all over yourself, Kuna. Cum for me. Now."

White hot lights fill his vision as he feels himself cum, cock twitching and shooting his hot cum all over himself in messy white ropes.

The sounds coming out of his mouth are sounds Sukuna would never let anyone else hear. Desperate whimpers and needy mewls, a shaky sob when his cock throbs and shoots another spurt of hot cum all over the carpet and his thighs.

You talk him through it, coo at him, praise him for being such a good boy, telling him how pretty he looks and how pretty his cock is when it shoots cum everywhere. How cute he is when he makes such a mess for you.

And Sukuna's head is spinning. He shoots his whole orgasm all over himself until his spent cock just twitches, but no cum comes out anymore.

He still moans when you make him clean it up, swooping up his cum from his abs and chest and feeding it to him from your fingers. And more moans fall from Sukuna's lips when you tug on his leash to make him lean down and lick his milky cum off the floor. He does so obediently, and when you tell him to open his mouth and stick his tongue out to show you that he really was a good boy and swallowed it all, he can't help but smile proudly.

He is happy, so happy when you praise him and when you take the tie of his wrists and hug him lovingly, praising him for being so good for you.

He feels pride surge through him, filling his every pore. Sukuna is a proud man through and through in all aspects of his life. Confident and self-assured, even arrogant most of the time. But nothing fills him with so much pride as this. Cumming untouched at your command.

This is his biggest accomplishment today. Not that he succeeded in snatching a lucrative business deal from the white-haired Gojo brat. Not that he poached one of the Zenin Group's most important partners. No, his biggest accomplishment today was that he was a good boy for you. The thing Sukuna is the most proud of is cumming exactly how you told him to.

He smiles proudly as he looks up at you. You smile back at him and run a hand through his hair, cocking your head and asking in a voice full of love,

"What do good boys say?"

And Sukuna's smile grows even bigger, and he says loud and clear in his smooth, velvety voice,

"Thank you."

His heart feels so full when you nod, and your eyes fill with pride. You pet him and lean down to kiss him on the lips. Lovingly and tender, showering him with affection.

Sukuna thinks no one in his small circle of people he considers his friends truly knows him. Not even Uraume, who has been his assistant for many years.

No one but you.

You know him. You know what he needs. You know what he needs on the days he comes home with a victorious glint in his eyes. You know what he needs when he comes home tired and stressed. And you also know what he needs when he comes home in a grumpy mood, complaining about work and all the incompetent fools he has to deal with all day.

"What's with that attitude, Sukuna? I think I have to put you in your place again."

Yes, you know exactly what he needs. He told you he wants you to be rougher with him whenever he is in one of those foul moods. That he wants you to rein him in on those days. Because you are the only person who can do that.

Your words instantly shut him up, and he feels himself already slipping into his submissive role as he smirks at you across the table and tells you in his low, velvety voice,

"I would be delighted if you showed me my place, my love."

Soon, his smirk is replaced by soft groans as Sukuna writhes on the bed.

Finally, he is free. He doesn't have to think but can only feel. He can let himself fall into this delicious mix of pain and pleasure, and you catch him with your love.

He is used to being in control. He is used to being a powerful man in his everyday work life. He is used to being a King, so to speak. But not here, not in your bedroom during a scene. Here you reign. Here you are, his Queen, and he is the obedient prince. A beloved, pretty pet.

You trail the leather paddle slowly over his skin. Just a teasing touch, a light caress, tracing his firm muscles while you admire his tall, muscular body spread out for you. Sukuna is breathing heavily, arousal and excited anticipation filling his veins. His cock is rock hard, trapped under his heavy body, pressing against the silky sensation of the bedsheets. Every inch of his skin is highly sensitive right now.

He knows the sweet pain will come any moment now. It makes him heady with lust. You have reached the top of his back, slowly trailing the paddle over his neck and the stubble of his undercut before you pull it away.

A loud, needy groan falls from Sukuna's lips at the same time that the loud slapping sound of the leather paddle connecting firmly with his ass cheeks fills the room.

Finally, he is falling. Finally, he is slipping into the sweet, delirious comfort of subspace. Bound to the bed, spread out for you, this tall, muscular man so utterly at your mercy. It is everything Sukuna needs.

Another firm slap lands on his ass, and Sukuna moans into the pillow. It's a feral sound, low and primal. He promised you to not hold back during your scenes, and he found that it's freeing to let it all out and be loud in bed and let you hear his unrestrained lust.

And your praise makes it even better. A soft hand lands on his firm ass cheek where you just spanked him a moment ago. Such a tender, soothing touch in stark contrast to the hard slap and the sting of the paddle. You caress his ass tenderly while you whisper to him,

"You are my good boy, Kuna. Doing so well for me. Are you ready for the next round? I'll do five this time. Do you think you can take it, baby?"

He nods,

"Yes, please. I'm ready. Please give me more."

It was never as easy and natural for him to beg as here in your bed.

Sukuna takes the spanking like the good boy that he is. He moans and growls and begs for more. And you spank him to an orgasm that makes him almost black out. With his buff muscles tensing up, his toned arms pulling at the restraints as his strong body shakes and trembles, his cock twitching beneath him, soaking the bed sheets with his hot cum, while he sobs into the pillow, a mix of your name and breathless thank yous.

You give him time before you untie him and tell him to turn on his back, joining him on the bed to spoil his cock with slow, thorough strokes until he is hard again and moaning and twitching. You finally straddle his lap and sink down on his throbbing length, riding him until you scream his name and cum on him with your warm cream gushing over him, pushing Sukuna over the edge, too, letting him fill your sweet cunt with his cum as a reward for being so good for you.

It's the end of a particularly stressful week, and Sukuna finds himself unable to relax. The book he wanted to read lies forgotten on the leather couch. He couldn't focus on the words. The hot bath he took didn't help him relax his tense muscles.

But then he hears the sound of the elevator followed by your footsteps as you walk into the penthouse, and he feels his skin tingle.

He is by your side only seconds later, wrapping his arms around you from behind, greeting you with a loving kiss on the neck and a murmured,

"I missed you, darling."

He has been looking forward to this Saturday evening. Has been craving it, knowing what he will get tonight because he worked so hard this week.

"Is my sweet prince ready to get all the stress fucked out of him?"

It's the ultimate level of submission in Sukuna's eyes. And the ultimate comfort.

Yes, Sukuna can be sweet. Yes, he can be submissive. Yes, he can be a good boy. And he proves it to you right there on the bed in a position that is so vulnerable but so freeing.

His face is resting on the dark red silk pillow, his thick muscular thighs are spread, exposing himself to you fully.

His cock is swollen, throbbing hard, pre-cum oozing needily out of his slit and running down his veiny length and into the silk sheets. His balls almost ache from how taut they are. Anytime you are about to peg him, he is so hard that he thinks he will faint.

But the feeling of the leather collar around his neck grounds him and gives him reassurance.

Sukuna groans softly when your hands trail slowly over his muscular back, caressing him, massaging his tense muscles, your voice so sweet and soothing while your lips trail kisses down his back,

"You are doing so well for me, baby. So beautiful."

Your praise makes his cock twitch, and a low groan spills from his lips. You finger him open, taking your sweet time with him, lubing his tight hole up thoroughly, gradually adding more fingers, and leaving gentle kisses on his back. Cooing at him when your fingertips rub against his prostate and needy moans fall from Sukuna's lips.

You pull away, but only to straddle the back of his thighs, leaning down over him to tease him with the slicked-up tip of the strap you are wearing. Rubbing lightly against Sukuna's lubed-up hole, driving him crazy, making him moan and whimper, sounds that he usually would never make. Your warm breath caresses his neck, and your lips brush tenderly over his skin,

"Are you ready for me, baby? Can my prince take my cock?"

His hole clenches at your words, his hips buck.

"Yes, please fuck me."

Sukuna almost can't take it anymore, head spinning from lust, sobs escaping his lips as he forces himself to hold back and not take but only receive as you keep teasing his lubed-up entrance with the tip of your strap, slowly stretching him open around the thick tip.

He gasps loudly when you push the dildo into him fully, his ass twitching around it, even as Sukuna's gasp turns into a hoarse groan.

"So cute. Such a good boy for me."

You sound breathless too, and a moment later, you roll your hips into him, beginning with a slow but deep pace, fucking Sukuna with deep strokes that make both of you moan.

Soon, the pace becomes faster and harder, the tip of the dildo hitting Sukuna's sensitive prostate unrelentingly, making him see stars.

A wild, loud moan falls from his lips, uncontrolled, desperate, full of lust and pain and raw need.

He needs this today. This was a stressful week. He needs to get fucked rough. Needs to get dicked down hard. Needs to get wrecked.

And you give him everything he needs. You fuck him with punishing hard thrusts, torturing his prostate with your thick strap, making Sukuna's body tremble beneath you, making him sob and whine into the pillow, the pillowcase wet from his spit and even some tears.

Instinctively, he begins to rut against the mattress, grinding his leaking cock needily against it. But a firm slap lands on his right ass cheek.

"Stop that. Good boys don't need their cocks rubbed. And you are a good boy, Sukuna, aren't you? You are my very, very good boy, right baby? A good boy like you cums just from my strap, right?"

He nods wildly, sobbing as he answers you, his voice almost unrecognizable, higher than usual, full of tears and raw need,

"Y.. yes! Yes, I am your good boy! Please, please...let me cum on your cock! I won't disobey!"

You moan softly at his plea. Your warm hands run up his muscular back, caressing him, every touch making his cock throb. And you go slow, so slow, pulling the dildo out of him almost completely, making Sukuna whine loudly. But he instantly shuts up when you tug on his leash. He grits his teeth and forces himself to stay still, giving himself to you, waiting for you patiently.

Anything to be a good boy for you. Not demanding anything, not taking anything. That isn't his place, and he knows it. He is here to receive. To give himself to you completely. He forces himself to calm his breathing, relaxing his flexed muscles, and you reward him with a whispered,

"Aww, yes, just like that, baby. So good for me. I trained you so well, hm? Now take it, baby."

And you roll your hips into him, pushing the thick dildo back all the way into Sukuna's tight ass, making him moan, loud and broken, as his strong body shudders under you.

You laugh softly and grind your hips against him, rotating them slowly, rubbing the dildo against his prostate, sending shock wave after shock wave of bliss through him. And Sukuna cries out, unable to hold back. But no words are leaving his lips. At this point, he is unable to form them, only loud, unintelligible, needy cries and whiny moans.

He knows he won't last long now, can already feel the familiar tightening in his heavy balls, can feel the pressure inside him build almost unbearably. His muscles flex again, and you moan his name, full of love, followed by the command he needed to hear so badly,

"Aww, yes, Kuna. You're so good for me. You can cum on my cock now, baby."

And he does. Crying out loudly, a wet, unrestrained, desperate sound full of tears of bliss. His ass clenches hard around your strap, his strong body shuddering from wave after wave of a world-shattering prostate orgasm ripping through him. His cock pulses copious amounts of hot sticky seed onto the already stained sheets. Testament to the bliss he found here.

You lean down to kiss his neck gently, trailing tender kisses all over his broad back, fucking him slowly through his orgasm, moaning when you cum on the strap, too, just a few seconds later.

Sukuna closes his eyes and feels some hot tears slip out of the corners of his eyes as you snuggle against him, resting on his broad back, the dildo still buried deeply inside him, and you caress him, cuddle him, and whisper sweet praise to him, telling him how much you love him. And he knows he is in heaven here with you. No matter how stressful his life as a CEO is, he can endure it because he can come home to you and let you take care of him.

To everyone else, Sukuna is the feared alpha male. But to you, he is your good boy, and that's a fact that can get him through any workday.

He will continue to expand his business empire. He will acquire new business partners. He will go to countless meetings and negotiate contract after contract. Sukuna will work hard to make his company the best in the whole country.

But only if he knows he can be on his knees for you every night with the leather collar around his neck and your fingers petting his hair while you call him your good boy. Only when every Saturday he is allowed to cum on your strap.

His success is just as much your success. Because without you, Sukuna couldn't be the man he needs to be.

This was the first time I wrote submissive Sukuna, and it was so much fun!! IT WAS SO EXHILARATING TO WRITE THIS FIC!! Thank you so much to the sweet anon who sent me the ask about my thoughts on sub!Sukuna. He is SUCH a good boy ;) I want to hear him whimper and sob so bad!!

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.

Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk x y/n

2K notes · View notes

the-californicationist · 2 months

Text

Mirror Image

The 141 boys buy a mirror for your bedroom... (TW: elements of cnc)

Gaz is the type of guy who would leave you filthy little notes written on it in your own expensive lipstick, knowing good and well you'd drag him to the shops to buy you three more. They start off tame -- Flash yourself for me, babe ;) -- but now, weeks later, after plenty of mirror-related games, you wake up to your largest dildo suctioned to the glass with a little post-it stuck to the fat tip that says -- Suck it til you come. Send me the vid xx. And when he finally gets home, he gives your pussy plenty of hard cock to keep you full while you show him how deep you can swallow your toy.

Ghost catches you staring at yourself in it one night. He'd just taken you out for your anniversary dinner, and you were admiring the silky black dress he'd bought you, admiring how your nipples are just barely visible through the thin fabric. "Like what you see, missus? ...'cause I fuckin' do." His hand traced its way around your ribs, reaching for your freely hanging breast, plucking ever so delicately at your peak beneath the silk and making you squirm. Before you know it, your dress is rucked up above your thighs, the neckline shoved down to show off those bouncing tits, and you're so full of his drooling prick that you can hardly see straight.

Soap doesn't hang it on the wall. Oh, no. That baby is positioned right above the bed, retro-style, and every night (...every. night.) he pounds into you, making you watch yourself over his shoulder, letting you see the way his muscles ripple and pop in his shoulders and legs as he ruts into you endlessly. Sometimes, he makes you ride him reversed, your juicy ass directly in his line of sight. He forces your hips to hump him at a wild pace, even if you beg him to let you take a break, yanking your hair down your back and forcing your face up toward the mirror so he can wink at you in the dark glass.

Price comes home early one night and catches you touching yourself in the soft glow of the mirror's backlight. You have it on the floor, propped up at an angle, you fingers plunging deep inside your wet holes, eyes fixated on the way your pussy glistens in front of you. "She's pretty, innit she?" You gasp, hurrying to try and cover yourself, but he catches you by the nape of your neck, tossing you like a ragdoll on all fours, shoving your face into the cold glass. "Give 'er a kiss, love." You don't understand what he's asking at first, but he doesn't wait. You feel his fat cockhead stretching you so wide that it burns, slipping into your slick slit inch by punishing inch, and his hand crushes into the sides of your throat, forcing your jaw to make contact with the glass. "C'mon, sweetheart. Show me how you use that mouth." So, you obey, kissing your own reflection, making a mess of the smooth glass with your lips and tongue, your hot breath and ragged screams fogging up the reflection.

#call of duty fanfic #141 headcanons #cod headcanons #john price x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #gaz x reader #cod smut

820 notes · View notes

lordcrumps · 10 months

Text

The Sims 2 For Rent - CC EXPANSION PACK

Sul Sul!

~ More photos under the under the cut ~

Last week the Sims 4 got a new pack, this week Sims 2 players get that same pack! In a collaboration with @platinumaspiration and @tvickiesims and a HUGE assist from @episims, we bring you "The Sims 2 For Rent CC Expansion Pack!"

This is a large set, and advisable that it does not get merged even further than it already is! - I ran into some issues when trying to do this!

When you explore this pack, please take a look at the marble ring rug, it has some surprisingly cute rug swatches! I put a swatch in it to remove the marbles themselves, so you have a cute small rug! - I only mention this as I was going to bin the rug off once uploaded, but then I found it had some lovely swatches!

FUNCTIONALITY

So most of the items will function as they should and intended as. Its just not just deco items.

There is two collection files included, separated into build buy! Please note that fences and stairs and spandrels cant be but into a collection!

The squatty toilet that took me over 12 hours to make, yeah they squat, animation can be a bit bouncy but such is life. This toilet also can be flushed, get dirty and is cleanable!

Outdoor plants are seasonal!

Counters are animated with insides built, there is no drawer on the counter, I did not want to change the shape of the unit, and saw EA did the same - ignore the fact they grab something from a non existent drawer

Wardrobes have interiors elements, and have working doors!

Each Kettle have two versions, choose only one, one for the colour traits mod / one 'normal'. They function as Tea makers! Huazzah!

Spandrels in build mode are classified as fences. I made a variant with fence / no fence.

Several of the larger deco pieces such as the Arch Gate, or umbrella are actually lights!

Radiators act like radiators!

The Aircon Unit is completely functional, doesn't lower bills, but it does lower sims temperatures!

"Water Heaters" act like solar panels, they get money off your bills!

The Electrical Fuse box has 2 versions, I kept them both in, one wall deco and one functions as a burglar alarm - I wanted more alarms.

Most Sofas / Chairs have morphs!

Slots added to the Vanity and Bathroom Cabinet!

FENCES / SPANDRELS / STAIRS OH MY!

I have included swatch images of each of the spandrels, fences and stairs and labelled them to match, this is so that you can go in and take out any of the swatches you do not want. This is because there are lot of new fences and the menu can feel cluttered with them in for some people.

DOWNLOAD

ALT - SFS

~ Credits / Thanks / List of items not converted under the cut ~

MORE PHOTOS

CREDITS

Mini fridge is cloned from Targa over at MTS - so now it works just like a regular fridge barring a few animations (get baby bottle and juggle)

Kettles were cloned from @pforestsims's kettle, link here.

@jacky93sims for the base of the squat toilet! Epi for the code edits!

THANKS

@tvickiesims, @platinumaspiration thank you soo much for helping with the objects, really couldn't do it myself!! Your amazing, awesome, and some of the best creators out there! Thank you again!

@episims - YOU ARE DA BOMB! Thank you for all your help in getting those toilets working with me, and everything else you do when you answer my little annoying questions! Appreciated like you wouldn't believe!

LIST OF ITEMS NOT CONVERTED - @sims4t2bb

Due to the sizing / functionality of these objects, they will not be included in this pack!

All Yer Fixins Untenable Food Stand

Mali's Moonlight Market Craft Stall

Vegan Vittles Night Market

Late Night Snack Dessert Stall

Rice to Meet You Night Market

The Unrestroom

Fisherman's Slats Window - Tall

The Secret Maze Window - Very Tall

The Secret Maze Window - Super Duper Tall

Stained Glass Tomarani Shutters - Tall

Stained Glass Tomarani Shutters - Tall and Open Wide

The Save Us From Ruin Tallest Cinched Wall Curtain

The How Many Times Do We Need To Tell You It's Not Silk Taller Wall Curtain

The We Are Going To Jail< Tallest Wall Curtain So You Know the Truth Curtain

#4t2 #lordcrumpscc #thesims2 #4t2 conversion #4t2 cc #sims2 #sims2cc #For Rent #Ep15 #Sims 2 Does it Better

2K notes · View notes

werecreature-addicted · 6 months

Note

Do you remember your writings about a minotaur and a farmer girl? Well, how about this, one night there is a party in the small town, you know, and that day both humans and monsters attend, it is a day when everyone can have fun and relax, humans, werewolves, half-snake creatures, orcs, minotaurs, etc, anyway, in the town the minotaur realizes that the girl he lives with is somewhat "popular" among some humans and monsters, since it shows that some have an interest in her, you know, they are in love with her, and well this is something that makes our minotaur jealous 🤭

part one, two, three. and for those who didn't see the Minotaur's name is Sam now.

Sam looks up at the dazzling lights that flit through the night sky. Fireflies glow in the dark like stars. Children run around with glass jars trying to catch the small insects. There's so much noise, it's a little overwhelming, children shrieking in delight, groups of people talking loudly, and a little further down a band was playing.

You reach out and squeeze his hand, reminding him that he isn't alone.

"It's pretty, isn't it? I'm so glad you decided to come to the solstice festival with me," you say smiling. It is a beautiful summer night, and having you with him makes it all the better. he can't help but think that you're pretty tonight too.

"You've been begging me for weeks to come with you, I couldn't say no," he murmurs. it wasn't quite true, you'd just been hinting over and over again that he should come out with you tonight. You laugh and squeeze his hand again before letting go completely, and he fights the urge to pull your hand back in his and cling to you a little longer. Sam craves your touch more than he should, your hands are warm, and small in his, and they make him feel at ease in a place like this, surrounded by noisy strangers. Even though he's out of his element, he is glad he came, he feels better knowing he can keep an eye on you, and keep you safe, should the need arise.

You'd promised him other nonhumans would be there tonight, and you'd spoken the truth. everywhere you looked there were werewolves, nagas, and some paler humans he could only assume were vampires, Still, he felt like he stood out, he was a good foot taller than anyone else here, and he did notice the nervous glances he was getting. He gets it. he's big and scary, covered in scars, and has a broken horn.

The people of the town surprise him. many people came up to him and started a conversation, even though they were clearly nervous. He hated it. And he hated that he hated it. He still wasn't good at talking to anyone who wasn't you, just because you're nice and treat him with respect doesn't mean All humans are like that, he knows all too well just how cruel most of your kind can be.

That being said, most people coming up to him weren't actually there for him but for you. He knew you were lovely, kind, charming, and attractive, but he's a little surprised that so many others thought the same. It seemed like half the town wanted to catch up, buy you a drink, take you for a dance. humans and monsters alike.

He feels the jealousy spike, he wants to hoard your attention, and selfishly keep you all to himself. The two of you were basically alone on the farm, he'd almost forgotten what it was like to have to share your attention. and it's not a welcome change. Luckily for him, you don't seem eager to leave his side. You politely turn down the handsome werewolf who asked you for a dance. You seem perfectly committed to staying by his side this whole night, just like you promised you would. there are no words for how grateful he is that that's true.

"I don't know how to dance," he admits softly as the werewolf walks away.

"What?" you ask, not following his train of thought.

"I mean. if you want to dance tonight, that's not something you can do with me," he explains, his mood darkening as he thinks about the things you couldn't do with him that you could with a more normal man. He thinks about all the people who've talked to you tonight, any one of them would make a better more stable partner than him. He feels guilty for wanting you, especially when he considers how much he doesn't deserve you.

"No one was born knowing how to dance, Sam, it's a skill, you practice and you learn. If you want I can teach you," you offer. Sam felt the blood drain from his face, He'd fought countless bloody fights and none of that was as terrifying as the idea of trying to learn to dance in front of such a large crowd. You laugh lightly seeing the look on his face,

"At home, I'll teach you when we're alone, besides this-" you gesture to the band playing "-isn't really my style, I'll figure something better for us to dance to," you assure him, and he relaxes. Dancing, alone with you, at home. your shared home. it makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Love is not a word that he never uses ever, and he rarely even allows himself to think it, but he's not sure how much longer he can keep the words inside. He's sure that if you really do teach him to dance that will be his breaking point, or maybe he wouldn't say "I love you" but he might just kiss you deeply instead. Then again, maybe he should, if you were officially his it might keep some of the other men in town away from you. He wouldn't mind that at all.

#monster imagine #monster fucker #monster #monster boyfriend #teratophillia #minotaur x reader #minotaur boyfriend #minotaur

1K notes · View notes

pitchsidestories · 4 months

Text

can't stop this feeling II Alessia Russo x Reader

part 2 I masterlist I word count: 2954 I

a/n: hi, the oneshot is based off the ask to write for Alessia, we hope you guys like this one, it's on the longer side, so get cozy.

Vick Hope looked expectantly at the two players who formed The Tooney & Russo Show together. The question she read out loud only a couple of seconds ago, was weighing heavy on the Arsenal forward.

They were playing a quick-fire question round of who’s more likely for the new episode and the moderator asked them:” Who’s more likely to kiss a girl?”

“Alessia, she just did last night!”, Ella yelled enthusiastically.

“Tooney!”, Alessia gasped.

Shooting an innocent smile in her best friend’s direction the Manchester United footballer defended herself:” What? You just told me.”

“Yes, but that was just a kiss between teammates.”, the Blonde explained, her cheeks turning slightly pinks as she spoke.

“You never kissed me.”, Ella reminded her with a cheeky grin.

“Yes, because you’re my best friend. I’d never kiss-.”, Alessia licked the lips nervously.

“Your friends? Liar.”, the midfielder clicked her tongue reprovingly.

The remark of the fellow footballer made the blonde blush even harder:” Can we change the topic please? This is ridiculous. It was fun and meant nothing.”

“Sure, so who’s more likely to get into a bar fight?”, sensing the change of the mood in the room Vick Hope switched the discussion to something more light-hearted.

“Definitely Tonney.”, Alessia laughed.

“True, I can’t deny that.”, Ella responded, shrugging her shoulders in a nonchalantly manner.

Last night, when the kiss which the podcast had hinted at, happened the Arsenal team has been out in the bars, celebrating the end of the season. The temperature been up letting everyone know that summer was around the corner.

“No, drinks for, y/n.”, Lia told her teammates at the table seriously. The room was nicely lit, with modern art on the walls and a lot of plants as decorative elements.

“Wally, I’m 23 and not longer 16 anymore.”, you scowled at her.

“Still, the rules are the rules.”, the Swiss woman declared, she didn’t seem to be impressed by your throw in.

Clearing her throat, Katie offered you grinning:” You can take a sip from my drink.”

“Thanks, Katie.”, you replied happily.

“Katie!”, Kim scolded the Irish player.

“She turned 23 this month, you guys need to calm down!”, she scoffed.

“Listen, I’ll order a drink now!”, Leah announced as she banged on the table, to underline the seriousness of her decision.

“Lee, I love you. Thank you!”, you sighed gratefully.

“Excuse me? I thought you loved me more.”, Alessia interjected, her pretty lips formed to a pout.

“Did you buy me a drink?”, you rose an eyebrow at her, but couldn’t help to giggle because of her silly facial expression.

“No?“, Alessia replied truthfully.

“See?“

Your teammate shrugged: “Fine then. I still love you.“

“Love you too. But not as much as Leah.“, you replied when the blonde defender reappeared next to you with a drink in hand.

You carefully took the glass from her: “Thanks, Lee.“

“You’re welcome.“, she laughed, holding up her own glass so you could clink your glass to hers.

“Cheers.“

You both took a sip of your drink and you had to admit, Arsenals vice captain had a surprisingly good taste in alcohol.

Lia playfully hit her best friend on the arm: “Leah, you’re breaking the rules!“

“The rules aren’t for her anymore.“, she replied decisively.

You nodded enthusiastically: “Exactly!“

The Swiss midfielder shook her head in faux shock: “Unbelievable.“

You suddenly felt an arm snake around your shoulders. When you looked over, your eyes met Beths. She leaned her head on her shoulder, obviously not on her first drink anymore and said: “You’ll always be our baby, y/n. No matter how old you get.“

“Oh yes.“, Lia agreed.

You shook Beth off and grimaced at your older teammates: “Ugh, you’re horrible.“

Between some gasps and a few protests, Kim only looked at you with an unimpressed expression: “No, we know you love us.“

You were about to respond that maybe they should have their alcohol consumption supervised instead because none of them seemed sober at the moment when Alessia grabbed your wrist. Your attention immediately shifted to her.

“Want to go get some fresh air?“, she asked, her blue eyes twinkling.

“Yes, please.“, you nodded, happy to escape your teammates for a moment.

A smile appeared on your friends lips as she pulled you along: “Come on then. Maybe they have calmed down until then.“

You both stepped outside into Londons night air. It was chilly and you wrapped the arm not holding your drink around yourself. “Let’s hope so. It’s just so annoying when they’re babying me like I’m still that academy youngster who joined them seven years ago…“

You sighed quietly. You were still grateful for these women. They were welcoming and supportive when you first joined Arsenals senior squad. By now you even considered most of them your family. But they still seemed to ignore that you had changed since then.

“Maybe they still want to believe that.“, Alessia grinned, bumping her shoulder against yours.

“Possible.“

“Maybe it makes them feel less old.“, the striker suggested while taking your drink from you and having a sip.

You let out a laugh: “I guess that could be true.“

While she was busy enjoying your drink, you used the opportunity to reapply your lipgloss. As you followed the contour of your lips with the applicator, you realized that Alessias eyes were following your movements.

You frowned at her: “What?“

“That’s a pretty gloss.”, the blonde muttered under her breath.

Her visible nervousness amused you.

“I could put some gloss on your lips if you’d want to?”, you offered her, smiling innocently.

“Sure.”, Alessia nodded as she kept focussing on your lips. They are so kissable, the forward thought to herself while you applied the gloss on to her.

Stepping a bit away from her, you noted:” It looks great on you.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s true.”, you replied but before you could add anything more your teammates lips were on yours, you exchanged short and sweet kisses.

In between those Alessia stated with a huge grin on her face: “And very kissable.”

“Oh, do you think so, Russo?”, you gave her a challenging look.

“Yes.”, she declared laughing.

“Too bad you’re only for the boys you’re a pretty solid kisser.”, you sighed dramatically. Despite the joking, it did hurt you saying this out loud. You couldn’t dwell on it for too long as Alessia showered you in more kisses to stop you from talking.

“I can still kiss you anyway.”, the forward claimed confidently. The two of you have been too oblivious to your surroundings, so you didn’t see your teammates turning up behind you, who have started to worry what took you two so long.

“Oi, Lessi kissed y/n!”, Katie yelled.

“Katie.”, Caitlin scolded her girlfriend.

“Wait, what !?”, Beth gasped, the shock has been written all over her face.

“Relax, girls, it was just a kiss.”, Alessia tried to soothe them with her response.

“It’s never just a kiss.”, Beth answered in a serious tone.

“Well for us it’s, right y/n?”, the younger forward asked you.

“Uhm, yeah sure.”, you mumbled, you could feel the rest of your team could sense that you were lying.

The Irish woman was clearly ready to reply something sharp, but Caitlin stopped her. “Don’t say anything right now, Katie.”

“I think I’ll be going home now.”, you decided quietly.

“Already?”, Lia questioned surprised.

When she saw you nodding the Swiss woman continued: “I can bring you home.”

“Oh, you don’t need to.”, you told her.

“I was about to leave anyway.”, Lia shrugged.

“Okay, fine.”, you gave in, after you said your goodbyes to everyone, the older midfielder and you were on your way home by foot.

While you were walking Lia was absently smiling at her phone. Normally the Swiss woman wasn’t clued to her device this much, she would have pointed out the beauty of the gardens you both were passing on the way or talking about whatever crossed her mind.

“Are you texting Mariona again?”, you teased her smirking.

“Again?”, the midfielder repeated, biting her lip guiltily.

“Oh, please, you know what I’m talking about, you playfully rolled your eyes at her before adding more earnestly, I’m happy for you, Lia, you deserve it.”

“Thanks, I’m just surprised, I haven’t told anyone yet.”, Lia confessed.

You shrugged, biting back a smirk: “Yes but you know we all have eyes and access to Instagram, right?“

“It wasn’t even obvious!“, the midfielder protested, throwing her hands up in defeat.

“Doesn’t matter we all know.“

“I guess you do.“, she sighed.

You raised your eyebrow: “See?“

“Yes. But Lessi…“, Lia suddenly changed the topic.

You could feel your heart skip a beat but pretended to remain unfazed: “What about her?“

Your teammate studied your face for a moment. “What was that about?“

“I don’t know…“ There were a million thoughts in your head, a million explanations but the reality was that you had no idea why this had happened. You were thinking about blaming it on the alcohol but you knew Lia would not buy it.

Seemingly unsatisfied with your answer, the Swiss midfielder followed up with another question: “Was it just a kiss like she said?“

You knew where she was going but you decided to act dumb: “I mean… you know Lessi. She’s just very affectionate.“

Your indifference seemed to bother Lia. She stopped right on the pavement. “But kissing is a different level of affection.“

“Yeah…“, you admitted slowly, your gaze trained on the tips of your shoes as you paused by her side.

Lia let out a sigh of understanding and when you looked back up at her, her eyes were full of empathy. “You wanted it to be more than that, right?“

“I did.“ Your voice was hoarse and quieter than you expected. You cleared your throat.

“Oh, y/n.“

Before you could protest, Lia had pulled you into a tight hug.

For the first few seconds, the embrace felt soothing and comforting but then you shook your head, signalling your teammate to let go.

“But it’s okay. I know this will never happen with her.“, you said, once Lia took a step back.

The older player whipped out her phone again and started typing: “Let me text the others.“

“Wait, what?“

“They should talk to her.“, she explained quickly.

“Oh, that’s probably useless…“

With a stern face, Lia looked directly into your eyes: “No. I know you think this is probably not a big deal. But it is. It is hard enough being a queer woman, this should not be one of the things we should have to worry about as well.“

“What do you mean?“ The fierceness in her voice almost left you speechless.

“Being randomly kissed by a straight girl. I’m sure Lessi didn’t mean it like that but… she should know.“

“She should know what it means…“, you whispered. The kisses from earlier in the evening replayed in your mind and only then did you realize that Lia was right. Alessia was the one who had initiated this.

“The others will talk to her.“, Lia plainly said before gently pulling you along.

You immediately fell into step with her as she walked you to your flat. She only left when you assured her that you would be okay.

Crawling into your bed in the quiet of your home, you hoped that sleep would come quickly.

On the next day Leah was the first to approach her teammate, opening the conversation in her earnest England captain tone: “Lessi, can we talk?”

“Sure.”, Alessia mumbled a bit nervous due to the stern expression on the older blonde’s face.

“About last night.”, the defender continued, getting straight to the heart of what was about to be discussed.

“Is this about a kiss?”, she bit her lip in front of the older woman.

“Yes., Leah confirmed her fear before adding, Lia texted me that y/n wasn’t happy.”

“Of course, she wasn’t as a queer girl getting kissed by a straight one.”, Beth joined their talk shrugging.

“That’s not what I..”, Alessia interjected with a helpless look on her face.

Clearing her throat to draw back the attention on her Leah asked the younger forward:” Why did you kiss her?”

At this point Alessia felt like she was being cross-examined by her friends.

“I just like..her so much.”, the blonde tried to explain her feelings for you in front of your teammates stammering.

“Like Lotte and Tooney?”, Beth questioned.

“ I thought so. But they never looked so..”

“Kissable?”, the England captain ended the sentence for her.

“Yes.”, Alessia nodded, licking her lips anxiously.

“Does she make you feel things like you did with boys before?”, the oldest of the players threw in.

“No, I’m not into girls.”, the younger forward shook her head.

More softly than before Leah responded:” Maybe not into girls but into her.”

“Into her?”, Alessia ran through her open hair to calm down her nerves, but she had to admit that this gesture didn’t help at all in this situation where their questions stirred something inside her for which she wouldn’t have simple answer.

“Yes.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”, the half Italian pointed out.

“Alessia.”, Beth tried to soothe her.

“I mean I’ve only been with men before.”, she reminded them and more important herself.

“Doesn’t mean it always has to be that way you know?”, Leah told her gently.

“But..”, Alessia begun.

“You don’t have to give yourself a label if that’s what’s concerning you.”, the defender emphasized.

“Thanks, girls.”, she whispered already deep into her own thoughts.

“Do you want to hear my humble opinion on this.”, Vivianne tuned in, turning up next to her girlfriend’s side.

“Of course.”, Alessia said.

The Dutch woman looked deep into her eyes while talking solemnly:” Nothing of this matters. Who you dated before, how you label yourself. But if you want to keep kissing her, don’t deny yourself that. Otherwise, you should apologize to her.”

“Well, said Vivi.”, Beth said padding the shoulder of the taller player.

“You girls are the sweetest, but I don’t know.”, the younger Blonde forward answered genuinely.

“You don’t have to know yet.. just trust your feelings.”, Leah reassured her.

Alessia nodded slowly: “I think I should talk to her.“

“That sounds like a good idea.“, Vivianne agreed, giving her teammate a gentle pat on the shoulder.

You were on your way to leave the pitch when Alessia stopped you right after training.

“Oh hey, Less.“, you said casually, trying to move past her.

“Hey. Can we talk?“

You had dreaded this question but still nodded cautiously: “Yes.“

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to get hurt.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you, that was wrong.“, Alessia apologized sincerely.

Trying to avoid her bright blue eyes, you looked straight over her shoulder: “To be fair, I kissed you back which… wasn’t right of me either considering you only kiss boys.“

“Don’t. I initiated it. I don’t know what had gotten into me.“

You finally looked at her, searching for any sign you could find. “So you really think it was just a mistake, huh?“

The striker frowned: “I didn’t say that.“

You were surprised by the defensiveness in her voice. “True.“

For a second, Alessia just stood there, studying you. Nervously, she ran a hand through her hair. “I’m just really damn confused about what happened.“

You immediately believed her. You knew the desperate expression in her eyes too well from yourself: “Trust me, I’m confused too.“

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to confuse you.“

In this moment, you wanted nothing more than to put your lips on hers to stop her from apologizing.

“I just don’t want you like a best friend, Less…“, you said, your jaw set defiantly.

“I never felt about anyone this way…“

“And I never felt like this about a teammate.“

There was silence between the two of you. Both scared to make the wrong move.

Alessias voice was light as a feather as she whispered: “Do you think this could be something?“

“I do.“

It felt like your heart was somersaulting in your chest.

Your best friend took your hand in hers, her face softening even more: “But you’ll have to be patient with me. I’m new to all of this.“

You let out a soft chuckle: “I mean your kisses were the opposite of patience.“

She playfully hit you on your arm: “If you don’t shut up, I’ll have to kiss you again!“

“Try it.“, you challenged her but quickly added with more seriousness: “But I promise we can take it slow.“

“Promise?“

“I promise.“

“Come here.“, Alessia said, pulling you in for a gentle but long-lasting kiss.

You broke apart as Katie yelled from somewhere: “Guys, I think the kids will be alright!“

As you looked up, you saw your teammates standing at the gate of the Arsenal grounds, watching you.

Lia winked at you before turning to Katie: “I think we have to admit that they’re not children anymore.“

“Told you so, Wally!“, Leah joined in.

Kim Little grimaced: “Ugh, young love is so disgusting.“

“Oh, Kimmy, we know you love them.“, Beth grinned at the small Scot.

You looked at Alessia with raised eyebrows: “I think it’s time for us to leave, Lessi.“

“I agree.“

Maybe this was just the trial stage but the way Alessias hand fitted so perfectly in yours, told you this was going to last.

You were almost out of earshot but you could still hear the smile in Kims voice: “Such a pretty couple.“

“We knew you thought that!“, Leahs voice shouted.

You bit back a smile. What would you do without those girls?

pictures are from pinterest.

584 notes · View notes

foreingersgod · 4 months

Note

hellooo! i loveddd ur cc country reader fic. do u think u could do one like that but with kate? hope ur doing okay!! <3

If She Ever Leaves Me . KM

pairing: country!kate martin x country wife!reader

synopsis: country kate <3

A/N: this is quite literally my favorite song of all time, lesbian country has a special place in my heart so i’m so excited for you guys to read this one!

word count: 6.2k

I see you watch her from across the room

Dancing her home in your mind

you were from another world, kate was convinced. dolled up in your red gingham sundress, the one lined with ivory lace and a sweet little bow that sat in between your breasts. your cowboy boots clunked rhythmically against the wooden boards on the old bars floor as you danced to the music. you had once had a drink in your hand, a fruity little cocktail because you couldn’t handle the strong stuff like kate did. but the glass was long forgotten when you left your girlfriends company to join in on the line dance.

kate remained seated on the leather bar stool, her own pair of boots propped up on the foot rest. her elbow was leaned up against the varnished bar as she swirled her drink mindlessly. her attention was no longer on the ice that slowly melted within the glass, but on you, in the midst of the friday night bustle. she had brought you to the bar just like she did every weekend, a small tradition you adopted when you first started dating. you had fallen in love with the small little town and the cozy bar within it and found yourself most happy in the musical chaos of it all.

while she loved seeing you out there in your element, she couldn’t help but wish you’d stay right there next to her. her heart turned to mush at the way you would smile, flash your pearly whites as you sung along to the music. she loved how your dress twirled around your calves as you spun around in circles, your voluminous hair bouncing behind you. but she hated how you were so far, wanting to see that charming smile and those gorgeous locks up close for herself. she couldn’t stand the thought of you being out there for all eyes to see. hated how any man or woman could claim you as theirs in their minds.

kate was aware of your immense beauty, knew how especially the men liked to gaze in your direction. you were a sight for sore eyes, not even having to lift a finger to attract the attention of everyone in town. and while kate did get jealous, seeing how the single folk in the bar constantly asked you to dance or buy you a drink, she knew you’d never cave. your love for kate was outstanding and hardly likely to dissipate over a few drinks offered by lonely cowboys. they could continue to stare at you, imagine dancing with you all they wanted. but she knew it was her, at the end of the night, that got to take you home and settle between your thighs.

Well, it takes more than whiskey to make that flower bloom

By the third drink you'll find out she's mine

“good evening, missy” a deep voice slurred from behind you “i saw ya over there dancin’ and was hopin’ i could buy ya a drink?”

you had just returned to your seat next to kate at the bar, almost winded from all the dancing. a small film of sweat lingered on your forehead as you plopped down, adjusting the skirt of your dress. kate’s hand found its way to the divot of your hip without a second thought. she ordered you a brand new drink once she noticed you reaching for hers, letting you finish off her whiskey was a recipe for disaster. the bartender poured your drink as kate leaned in to kiss your blushed cheek, listening to you rave about the excitement on the dance floor. it wasn’t until your drink was passed to you, pausing your conversation, that you were suddenly interrupted.

“oh,” you licked your lips, the salt from the rim of your glass sticking to your upper lip. you turned around to face the stranger to see it was a taller and quite older man. he was muscular and burly, a thick beard embellishing his face. not that it would sway your opinion, but he was no different than the rest of the men who thought they had a chance with you “no thank you”

the man seemed to be taken aback, nose scrunching in disgust. he shook his head and and rolled his eyes, large hands coming up to rub his jaw. he inched closer to you, broad shoulders on the brink of colliding with your back. kate immediately noticed this, tightening her grip on you as she shot a stern glare his way.

“no?” he scoffed “it’s just a drink, lady”

“look i’m just not interested alright?” you sneered, trying not to be too harsh and make a scene in the midst of the busy bar.

“and why’s that, huh? i’m a nice, good lookin guy. what’s your fuckin problem?” he spat at you, near slamming his fist on the bar. this triggered something in kate, causing her to leap from her seat in anger. but you placed your hand on her chest, sending her a look to tell her that you had it under control. she looked back at you, then back at the guy in conflict. kate was more than ready to put that guy in his place, to claim you as hers and teach him a lesson. but she also knew you took satisfaction in telling these men off, ultimately deciding to take a seat and observe.

“i’m happily taken, i’ll have you know” you motioned to kate “i appreciate the offer, but i would appreciate it even more if you apologized and left us alone”

kate smirked, seeing his expression fall. it was always so gratifying to see these people learn that you were in love with someone else, and a woman at that. she tipped the rim of her cowboy hat mockingly at him, her way of making her presence known. the man cleared his throat, now embarrassed as he took his hand away from the bar and took a step back.

“you-uh-you’re right, ma’am” he mumbled, digging his hands into his pockets “m’sorry ladies, have a nice night”

he shuffled away in humiliation, probably on his way to pester some other woman he thought he could seduce. you watched him bump into a few people before he disappeared into the ever growing crowds. you sighed in relief, taking another swig of your drink.

“he not your type?” kate snickered, smirking at you teasingly before finishing off her own drink.

“shut up,” you laughed as you smacked her shoulder lightly. you turned on the stool, rusty metal squeaking loudly as you came to face her. nimble fingers came up to move a strand of hair away from her face “you know i only have eyes for you”

“you’re somethin else, ya know that?” she groaned, noticing the way you bit your lower lip and batted your lashes at her.

“i do,” you leaned in to place a small kiss to her lips “but you love it”

I've loved her in secret

I've loved her out loud

“can we just stay like this forever?” you asked, resting your head against kate’s shoulder as you let your eyes close.

these were your favorites moments. sitting on the porch swing with kate as the sun went down, crisp summer air swooshing past you. the sky glowed pinks and oranges, reflecting onto the home you shared on this secluded farm. the chains of the swing creaked with each push, kate’s bare foot touching the floorboards just enough to rock you back and forth. crickets and other little critters sounded from the fields in front of you as the evening fell upon the town. the grasses and weeds of the crops whistled in the wind, adding to the noise. kate hummed an unknown tune-probably some song she heard on the radio weeks ago-as she draped an old knit blanket across your laps.

“mhm,” her hand wrapped around your shoulder, tugging you closer into her side to keep you warm. her fingers toyed with the fraying ends of your sleeve, an old country singer tee shirt that you stole from her drawer one day “then i’d get to keep ya all to m’self”

“you already got me to yourself, kate” you chuckled softly, nuzzling your nose into her neck.

“yea,” she continued “but here? it’s jus the two of us. no drunks at the bar, no assholes givin us a hard time in town…it’s just you, me, and the farm. everything i’ve ever wanted’s right here”

you smiled against her shoulder, feeling the rough material of her flannel shirt on your lips. kate was the biggest sweetheart, was always vocal on her appreciation for this life. it was true, everything she wanted was right here. she was never set on a busy life at all. as long as she had her woman, her animals, her crops, and most likely her guitar (because how else would she serenade you on quiet nights like these), then she’d never need anything else. you were her entire world, what made her the person she is. she’d do anything to keep this life with you.

“mmm,” you sighed, another breeze lulling you into sleep “i love you s’much, kate”

“i love you too, darlin” she confessed, sensing your drowsiness “more than you know”

The sky hasn't always been blue

It might last forever

Or it might not work out

her back ached, her feet hurt, and her head pounded with the memories of your conversation this morning. kate had never meant to say what she did, and now she beating herself up at the thought of hurting you.

she had woken up at the same time she always did, quietly padding out of bed and into the connected bathroom as to not wake you. you hated early mornings so kate normally let you sleep while she did her morning farm chores. in return, you’d clean the house, run errands, and you often helped kate with anything she was behind on. it was a fair trade off and the routine worked for you, so there were hardly any issues during the countless years you’ve been together.

but for some reason, everything seemed to have gone wrong this morning. kate’s alarm didn’t go off so she was late to milk the cows, causing her to go behind schedule by at least 45 minutes. the water heater apparently stopped working, she ran out of toothpaste, and her favorite work pants had a pretty gnarly hole. then, she accidentally woke you up by knocking down some of her toiletries because she was in a rush. you were shocked to wake up to such chaos, trying to ask her what was wrong and asking if there was anything you could do to help. but rather than answer or kiss you goodbye and tell you she was in a rush, she snapped at you angrily before running out the door.

“can you just leave me alone? fuck” she had said, trying to pull her boot over her left foot “christ, i don’t have time for this, i gotta go”

the comment left you dumbfounded, disgusted by her tone. sure, there were times that kate got a bit angry and said something she didn’t mean, but it was never like this. she never said anything that directly offended you. plus, she always apologized if she hurt your feelings. this time, on the other hand, felt like a personal dig at you.

you laid in bed for a while as you replayed the scenario over and over in your mind. it had made you incredibly upset, knowing that she was somehow mad at you for asking if you could just help. eventually, you decided to just get up and get some work done throughout the house to try and take your mind off of it. but no matter what you did during the day, you couldn’t shake how terribly she made you feel. her words stuck with you like glue as you went about your daily chores.

the dishes were done and the floors were scrubbed spotless by the time dinner rolled around. you made your self busy with prepping the food as you waited for kate’s arrival. she typically finished around 5:30, but with her being in such a hurry, she most likely wouldn’t be back to the house until 6:30. so you focused on cutting the vegetables and marinating the meat until she was home.

kate, meanwhile, was finishing rounding up the horses. she so desperately wanted to go home, eat the delicious dinner you had made, and curl up under the covers with you while you read your book aloud to her. but now, as her hands grasped around the brass door knob of the front door, she realized that that may be harder to achieve than she had thought.

she was instantly met with discomfort the second she set foot in the house. the air felt heavier and the atmosphere was merely dimmer than it should be. the radio would often be playing somewhere in the kitchen, you could never get anything done without your old school tunes. her heart twinged at the loss of your humming, the sweetness of your voice nowhere to be found as she kicked off her boots and set them aside.

her legs dragged her into the kitchen where she spotted you silently chopping away at some peppers (the ones you had insisted you grow yourself, giving yourself yet another thing to tend to). you were still and quiet, not even so much as swaying your hips. she knew that you were upset right away. and you had every right, she admitted internally, her behavior this morning was uncalled for and she didn’t blame you.

“hey, baby” she mumbled, testing the waters. she wandered through the kitchen, making her way to the cabinet to grab a cup for a glass of water.

“hey” you murmured back in response. now it was the tone of your voice that stung kate. you didn’t bother to look at her, keeping your focus on the task at hand. but kate couldn’t bring herself to look away from you, instead she took the time to study the expression on your face and the movement of your body. you seemed stiff, muscles tense with irritation. the features of your face were soft-they always were-but now they were soft with disappointment. you were a headstrong gal, kate knew all too well, and would rather go all night completely mute than pretend like this morning never happened. so she decided to shrug off her guilt and pride and own up to her mistakes.

“darlin’?” she set the glass down on the counter top, no longer worried about the water. she came up behind you as you slowed the movements of your knife.

“hm?”

“m’sorry” she divulged, chest pressing against your back. her arms came to wrap around your torso as she let her head fall. her chin now rested on your shoulder, her nose nudging at the angle of your jaw “for what i said today, that wasn’t fair to ya. you were jus tryin’ to help”

you said nothing, pushing her off your shoulder as you resumed your chopping. the small action made kate’s insides churn. she tried again, this time placing a hand on your lower back and attempting to apologize once more, but she was swiftly shot down.

“thought you wanted me to leave you alone?” you taunted bitterly. you moved over to the stove and slid the diced vegetables into an already simmering pot. she sighed, scratching at the back of her neck.

“baby, i didn’t mean it” she pleaded “i’d never want you t’leave me alone, i was just upset and i lashed out. it was wrong of me”

“yea,” you laughed in disbelief, still moving restlessly around the kitchen to display your anger “it was”

“can you just-” she halted to try and find the right words “can you just stop for a second? please”

you set-more like carelessly tossed-your cutting board and knife back onto the counter. your head whipped in her direction, shooting her a dissatisfied glare. your sun kissed cheeks were down a darkened red and your brows furrowed downwards, your nose scrunched up and your tongue ran along the insides of your cheeks out of annoyance.

“i’m sorry, im so so sorry” kate continued once she realized you were listening “what i did was incredibly shitty and you don’t deserve that. i’m so grateful to have someone who is so willin to help me out and i took that for granted. but i promise i didn’t mean it at all and it won’t happen again”

she pulled her sweet puppy dog eyes on you, beautiful blue irises staring back at you. it genuinely seemed that she felt horrible. you knew kate like the back of your hand, knew that she definitely didn’t mean to say something like that. although, it had cut you deep in the heat of the moment and made you feel awful all day. but seeing her so distraught over this, now practically on her knees to beg for your forgiveness, it had you rethinking the validity of your coldness. you could never stay mad at her for long.

“it’s just-” you groaned, fingers coming up to rub at your temples “it just made me feel so mad and you ran out without even apologizing”

“i know, i know. i shouldn’t have done that” she gulped, hoping that you would come around “but i really don’t think i can stand ya bein’ mad at me any longer, baby. you gotta forgive me”

you chuckled at her urgency. it was true, she always felt lost when you were cross with her. a smile worked its way onto your face as you stepped towards her, throwing your arms around her neck. her arms tugged you in closer as she let out a sigh of relief.

“alright, you’re forgiven” you tilted your head “but, it better not happen again, got it?”

“got it. never again, i swear it”

you got up on your tip toes, your house slippers about to fall off your feet, to kiss her. before you could pull away, though, she had grabbed both sides of your face to kiss you even deeper. you moaned with surprise when her fingers threaded through your hair, tongue slipping into your mouth as she caught you off guard. you indulged in the kiss until you had to pull away for air.

“ok, cowboy” you breathed against her lips “you gotta let me go, dinners gonna burn”

“oh, m’never lettin you go ever again”

If she ever leaves me, it won't be for you

she sat back in her seat, an old wooden rocking chair that matched the one you were in. it was an oddly hot night this june even though the sun had set hours ago and the cold air from the lake was creeping closer. the heat from the bonfire in front of you only added the warmth.

this was one of your favorite things to do, sit outside on the small concrete patio kate had made, roasting marshmallows and taking turns on the guitar as a toasty fire crackled against the humid air. you had the acoustic instrument rested on your knee, a hand woven strap around your shoulder as you lightly plucked the strings rhythmically. you sang quietly along to a song as you looked off across the field and into the mountains, you were in your own world. kate was merely listening, too distracted by your beauty to sing along. the way your lips moved with each lyric, how your nearly manicured nails strummed against the guitar so smoothly.

“what?” she snapped from her trance, eyes blinking when she noticed you. she hadn’t realized you’d stopped singing, fingers no longer on the guitar. kate cleared her throat as she chewed on the insides of her cheek.

“s’nothin” her hair swaying against her shoulders whilst she shook her head “you’re just pretty s’all”

“oh stop” you giggled, the most infectious thing kate had ever heard. when she died, your laugh would be the last thing she’d want to hear “that’s the liquor talkin’, babe”

“definitely not,” she hated how you never believed her compliments, always denying your own beauty. but that just meant she got to compliment you twice as much to get you to buy into it “i could be sober forever and still think you’re the most breathtaking woman to grace the earth”

you had now set the guitar down, propping up against the varnished table between the rocking chairs, pushing yourself back and forth by the heel of your boot. you reached your arm over, fingers outreached to kate. she took your hand without hesitation, giving your hand a loving squeeze. the whites of your teeth shined through the darkening sky as you let yourself smile. you’d never get tired of the affection kate showered you with.

“you’re my everything” she whispered to you, thumb mindlessly stroking the backside of your hand.

“and you’re mine” you replied as you thought your conjoined hands up to your face, kissing her knuckles “my universe”

She loves Wild Horses and Tumbling Dice

She don't have a single tattoo

kate remembers the exact moment she met you. when she wandered into the quaint house of a close friend from college, noticing you right away. her friend, caitlin, was having a fairly large get together for her birthday: poker, beer, and pizza. kate typically hated going out and socializing, but rarely ever was she able to say no to good food and a cold glass of cheap beer. she debated not going for the longest time and instead having caitlin over one night for dinner to make up for her absence, not really wanting to get dolled up and leave the comfort of her home. but she forced herself to go anyways, turning the key in the ignition of her truck and making her way down the road.

boy was she glad she did.

you were like a rainbow in the midst of a storm, a rose among thorns sitting there leaned against the back of your chair. the moment caitlin had let her in the house, guiding her into the kitchen to grab her a drink, her eyes were glued to you. your hair was let down down, a leather cowboy hat resting atop your head with a think pink band wrapping around the base. a flannel that was far too big for you swallowed your upper half, leaving kate to only imagine what laid beneath it. she noticed your muddy jeans, how your velvety skin ran across the stiff denim when you doubled over in laughter. you were absolutely radiant, kate didn’t need much also to fall head over heels for you.

for the most part, she avoided you all night. her nerves were getting to her, not even having to talk to you to become riddled with anxiety. something about you enchanted her, drew her in like a moth to a flame, but she couldn’t bring herself to make an introduction. rather she lingered on the outskirts of the room as she made pointless conversation with mutual friends, eyes wandering just to get a glimpse of you every so often.

then, as kate was talking to small group of people in the living room, caitlin summoned everyone into the kitchen for the poker game. her heart began to race, watching as you followed the crowd of people to the dining room table. kate was the last to funnel through, finding herself straining her neck to find an open seat. and much to her luck, like a sign from the universe, the last open seat was directly next to you. maybe this was meant to be, written in the stars that she’d sit next to you tonight.

“hey,” she swallowed hard when she tapped on your shoulder, choking back a cough of uncertainty “d’ya mind if i sit, ma’am?”

you looked back behind you, eyes wandering up kate’s tall figure. you grinned, pulling out the chair a little more so she could sit down.

“not at all!” she squeezed in between you and the person next to her, arm brushing against yours electrically as she tried to find a comfortable position “i -uh-i don’t think we’ve met?”

“oh! yea no” kate felt like she was about to faint, she barely made it past the initial question and now she was already being forced into an introduction? “i went to college with caitlin, we’re pretty close buds, but um…i don’t go out much so i’m not around”

“really? that’s crazy you’ve known her for so long!” you said. kate would be forever grateful that you disregarded her awkwardness “i met her a while back when i first moved to town, she helped me get settled in and everything”

kate exhaled, the words spewing from your lips hardly retained as she was concentrated on your immense beauty. you voice sounded like honey, everyone else’s words becoming jumbled in the background.

“sorry, i didn’t even tell you my name,” you internally scolded yourself “i’m YN”

“s’nice to meet you, YN” she nodded, offering a calloused hand out to you. you gladly took it, dainty hand fitting perfectly into her much larger one “m’kate”

and just like that, such a simple introduction seemed to entice a years worth of conversation. throughout the entire poker game the two of you couldn’t seem to stop talking. to be truthful, kate threw the entire game in the first hand just so she could get out as soon as possible to talk to you. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t do the same. this didn’t go unnoticed by caitlin (or any of the others for that matter), quickly catching on to how her best friend had stuck like glue to you. whilst the rest of them pushed around chips, threw down hards, and occasionally cussing over a bad hand, you and kate sneaked away to the backyard.

‘we’re just gettin’ some air, we’ll be back b’fore the games over’, she announced when caitlin asked why you both backed away from the table. caitlin nodded innocently, pretending she didn’t know your true intentions. she smiled smugly behind her cards as she watched kate open the back sliding door open for you, placing her hand on your hip to guide you in front of her. suddenly, caitlin felt like a matchmaker.

the air was still, crickets sounding loudly from deep under the trees and bushes of caitlin’s backyard. an owl cooed in the far distance, moonlight beating down onto the lush and green lawn. everything went silent when kate slid the door closed behind you. you were far too scared to say anything, opting to take a seat on the concrete steps and listen to the tranquil sounds of the south. kate plopped down next to you as she let her knee relax just enough to bump into yours. her lips parted, eyes locking with yours, elbows resting on her knees as she fiddled with her fingers in her lap. she wanted to know everything about you, hear every story you had to tell. she had the unexplainable urge for you to consume her every being, needing to know what it was like to love you. she didn’t care you had just met, or that you were merely just talking, something inside her told her this was love at first sight.

she had only muttered something along the lines of ‘i think i could sit here all night with you’ before you were high off chitchatting once again.

maybe an hour passed, maybe 2, you weren’t quite sure. time seemed to stop as you sat there talking to kate, the sky growing darker with the lights inside being your only source of light. your butt stung from the roughness of the concrete, but the discomfort didn’t seem to cross your mind once as you babbled to kate about everything and anything. from childhood stories, to worse first dates, there didn’t seem to be a single topic left out of discussion.

in such a short amount of time, she learned so much about you. how much you adored animals, that you wanted to be a veterinarian when you were little but ultimately not having the money for college. she learned that you loved to bake and that’s why you moved out to town, to take over your great grandmas bakery on the edge of the valley. you told her about how your favorite thing to make was carrot cake and that you’d love to make one for her sometime, really just an excuse to see her again. she learned that you hated needles, that you’d wanted to get a tattoo last year but ended up chickening out before they could even lay down the stencil. even the little details, like your parents divorce or your close relationship with your brother, she came to know it all. and loved every bit of it. she had never felt so connected to a single soul in her entire life.

“wait wait wait,” kate threw her head back, throat bobbing as she laughed “there’s no way you did that!”

“it’s true!” you cackled, hand coming to grasp at your chest as you chuckled “i swear to god it’s true!”

“so you mean to tell me…” she tried to get the story straight, tongue darting out slightly as she processed what you had said “that you got chased down? by a wild horse?”

“yes! my friend bet me 20 bucks to try and get a stupid selfie with it-cause let’s be honest we were 16 and fucking idiots-and i spooked it from behind, and well…it chased me all the way back to my truck!”

“well you’re a hell of a lot braver than me, i woulda been knocked out cold within a second!” you snickered, luring the most mesmerized grin from kate. she looked back out into the yard when she sensed the mingling was dying down, the air going quiet once again. “you know i-um…this has been really nice, sittin here talkin to ya”

“yea,” you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, still looking at kate even though she had turned “it has”

“could be kinda up front with ya?” kate blurted. she had been contemplating it all night, asking you out and overcoming her fears. but the whole night she couldn’t see herself doing it. that was until now, the moment she understood how badly she needed to see you again.

“of course, kate”

“do you think i could get your number?” she might faint on the spot, the sudden sour of confidence could send her into cardiac arrest “i mean you definitely don’t have to give it t’me at all, i don’t know i just thought that-”

“kate,” you laid a hand on her shoulder to get her to ease up, she held her breathe in fear of your possible rejection “i would love to give you my number”

and just like that, the rest was history. she’d remember this moment forever.

She'll drink all the liquor and leave you the ice

kate leaned against the cedar post that held the rickety porch together, weathered and old from so many years of love. her boots, a new pair that you had gotten her for her birthday, left muddy prints on the slats underneath her. she had her arms folded across her chest as her fingers came up to toy with the bolo tie that sat snuggly underneath her collar. it was baby pink, like the band of the hat you were wearing during the night you met. kate was never big on pink, but after meeting you, it became her favorite color.

she was watching you closely, not wanting to miss a single second of the moment. you were out in the front yard near the little flower garden you insisted on starting when you moved in with kate. it stretched along the fence that separated the yard and the plots of land reserved for the rest of the farm. endless species of wildflowers sprouted from the dirt and mulch, other plants you picked from the gardeners market sat freshly planted. you loved that damn garden with everything you had. sometimes kate wondered if you loved your flowers more than her.

dressed in a light green sundress, the one that sat untouched in the back of your closet most days, you stood radiant under the evening sun. there was a cotton apron draped around your waist, you had sewn several pockets into it by hand so that you could carry your supplies in the garden. there wasn’t a shoe, sock, nor sandal on your foot either. you claimed to prefer it that way, wanting to feel the earth and “be one with nature”. it made kate laugh, seeing your toes sink into the soil. you were on your hands and knees trying to pull the freshly grown weeds, hands wrapping around the base and tugging the roots from their clutch in the ground. kate could make out a line of dirt that spread from your temple to your cheek, most likely from wiping your hand across your sweaty skin. with a groan, you sat back on your knees, tossing the last few weeds into the basket next to you and throwing your head back. you sighed from the excessive heat and the gnawing pain in your forearms. but kate couldn’t help but stare at you in awe, whether you were dirty and tired it didn’t matter to her. she watched as the neckline of the dress dipped down, your chest heaving, causing the tops of your breasts spill just a tich. kate gulped deeply in astonishment. your pink lips, now red from the amount of times you’ve licked them, puckered out as you stretched your neck. it took everything in her to not march over to you, lay you out onto your back, and give the neighbors a show they certainly wouldn’t want to see.

“quit starin’ at me you creep!” you hollered across the yard, snapping kate from the trance you had her in. she chuckled under her breath, her arms falling to her sides.

“m’just appreciatin’ the view” she was so good at smooth talking you, always getting you rattled “can’t a woman just admire her gorgeous wife?”

“not when her woman’s knee deep in weeds and is too tired to make it back to the house!” you pouted, balled fists coming to rest on your hips. you were scolding her now?

she made her way down the cobblestone path, tripping on the stone that stuck out more than the rest. you had asked her to put “fixing that stupid fucking stone” on her to-do list earlier in the month, but she had never gotten to it. you’d probably pester her about it again eventually. your mood instantly changed when she stepped foot onto the grass, shaking her head at you jokingly.

“cant believe you’d leave me out here in this blistering heat, makin’ your so called ‘gorgeous wife’ sit out here helplessly” you nudged again, neck craning up see her clearly.

her face was covered in freckles, darkened from a days work on the farm. her hairy was tied into a braid, strangling hairs whisking around ever which way. you noticed the pink tie on her neck, always smiling when she wore it because you knew she bought it because of you.

“well i’m here aren’t i?” she held both of her hands out to you, offering to help you up “i’d be quite the fool to leave ya”

“such a sweetheart” you tutted, letting kate yank you from the ground, grunting from the force. with her bewildering strength, you stumbled into her. your arms gripped onto her biceps and hers found the way to your rear, giving you an inviting squeeze “thank you baby”

she tipped her head to the right, one hand coming up to tangle itself in your hair. her lips met yours momentarily, capturing you in a winded kiss. you squeaked in surprise at her actions, only to accept it immediately after and kissing her back.

“anytime” she smirked, nipping your bottom lip as she pulled away “although you looked like absolute perfection out here…on your knees…that pretty little dress ridin’ up your thighs. gettin’ me all hot and bothered, yet you’re the one doin’ the weeding”

“keep it in your pants, martin” you rolled your eyes, trying suppress the butterflies in your stomach. but you could never trick kate, she knew exactly the things she did to you. you hooked your fingers through her belt loops as you began walking backwards towards the house, taking her with you “now come and help me”

“help you with what? i thought you were done weedin-”

“not with the weeds silly” she looked at you confused. you pursed your lips as you pushed the front door open “with somethin’ else…this dress ain’t gonna take itself off”

she groaned, biting down on her tongue. images of what she’d do to you on a continuous loop in her mind “you tease”

“maybe,” you shrugged, already making your way down the hall and to the stairs, swaying your hips to egg her on. kate had halted at the bottom of the stairwell, unable to form a complete sentence it seemed “are you coming or not?”

“i’m comin’” she said, following you to the bedroom “just you wait, darlin”

…That's too much cologne, she likes perfume

#kate martin #kate martin x reader #kate martin x yn #kate martin oneshot #country kate martin #wnba x reader #wnba imagine #wnba basketball #wlw imagine #wlw #lesbian imagine #lesbian #wcbb #wcbb x reader #iowa wbb #rpf x reader #rpf #foreingersgod

494 notes · View notes

syoddeye · 4 months

Text

reminiscent

my entry to @glitterypirateduck's ghost challenge. ~8k.

prompts used: #83 caught in the rain/#54 omegaverse/brother's best friend replaced with #100 you are soap's sister

tags: two POVs, societal bullshit (omegaverse), brief mentions of Catholicism, angst, vomit, hurt/comfort, negative self-talk re: asexuality and medical condition, medical inaccuracies, crass/mean Simon then protective Simon, Simon in glasses, kind of being someone's beard, brief mention of suicidal ideation, sibling loss, grief

one line summary: When your brother Johnny dies, a man named Simon buys your life out from underneath you.

a/n: this jumps around throughout time. i gloss over some a/b/o elements. banner from @/cafekitsune. ✨

A nudge to the toe of his boot, and Simon flexes his fingers over his sidearm. The vest’s buckle dangles, unfastened and limp. There is no grip to pull, no trigger to squeeze, just the painfully blue eyes of his superior, dim and unflinching.

“Ghost,” Price glances at the empty holster. “We’re back. You have ten minutes.”

It takes a second. Simon shoots a look at Soap to silently convey incredulity, but he might as well take a blade to the neck. The seat across from him is empty. Before memory strikes, he’s on his feet, bursting through the van’s doors and parting the reception committee. He doesn’t register faces or sounds, shutting out all distractions to carve an efficient path to his target.

God help anyone bold enough to try and stop him. Ten minutes is a courtesy, not for him, but for whatever unlucky officers tasked with the cleanup.

The walk eats three minutes.

Beneath a percentile of pressure, the rake pushes in place and the lock yields. He catches the door before it slams, and the moment it clicks shut, his nose twitches. The room reeks of damp earth and pine, a hearth in a lonely, snowed-in cabin. It gathers the force of an avalanche, pummeling into him and stealing his breath. It settles an invisible weight on his chest and limbs. Buried to his neck in memory, he forces himself to move. He’s dug himself out of the ground before. He’ll do it again.

There is no time for reverence. The proper personnel will arrive shortly. Price can only distract them for so long. Simon empties the contents of the bedside cabinet onto the neatly made bed and takes what he’s looking for—the spare dog tags, a sketchbook, and any traces of them. A photograph flutters out, dated two years earlier. Johnny and a slightly younger woman with the same grin in front of a Christmas tree. He hears his sergeant’s lilt as he pockets the picture and other goods.

“Come to mine for the holidays. I don’t want you to be alone.”

Simon doesn’t think of himself when he slips into his quarters. He thinks about the sister, and his own family.

The days pass, surreal yet sharp and excruciating, as if he’s a surgical patient and the anesthesia didn’t take. Attends the debrief. Doesn’t hear it. Shrugs off the offers and orders for assistance and counseling. They’re given a week to sleep and heal, time Simon spends studying Soap’s sketchbooks and scouring public and private records to learn more about the younger MacTavish. It strikes him on the drive to the cliffs, Johnny’s ashes in his bag, that he’ll never see him again. That the sister will never see him again.

He goes for a drink alone, walking across town to avoid Price and Gaz, and plants himself at the end of the bar. A few beers in, and a vaguely woodsy smell turns his head. The ghost of Johnny at the edge of his vision dissipates, leaving some scruffy man in his sights. He finishes his drink, eyes locked with the stranger. His designation doesn’t matter. He’ll do.

Until he doesn’t.

Simon barely touches the man on the walk to the park. Doesn’t bother committing his name to memory or looking at his face. One thing leads to another, and eventually, the man’s on his back in the grass. He paws at Simon’s chest and whines, baring his neck pathetically. It turns Simon’s stomach, and before anything really happens, he retches into the bushes. The stranger sputters and stumbles into the dark.

He sits beside his mess until dew forms.

The following day, he beats Price to his office. The old man doesn’t insult him by walking on eggshells, he listens. Asks if Simon is sure.

“That isn’t what we heard in his will.”

“No, but it’s what he would’ve wanted.”

Price stares long and hard, then acquiesces. “I suppose you’d know.” He raps his knuckles on the desk with a heavy sigh. “I’ll start the paperwork.”

In hindsight, it is a mistake to believe your teacher when he says the forms are anonymous. How feeling nervous or scared is okay and that the answers will guide discussion in the coming weeks. You faithfully believe him and answer honestly. When he turns up for a home visit, you’re shocked, and your parents are mortified.

The three of them quickly align. They emphasize how normal this is, that they all took the test when they turned sixteen, and that you still have a few years to learn more about it and to come to terms. Pamphlets are shoved into your hands before you’re excused to your room so the adults can speak privately.

Whatever he tells your parents lands you in a stale, uncomfortable counselor’s office. This time, you know better when she tells you the sessions are confidential. It takes three months of careful lying to mollify your parents adequately.

At a family gathering, your aunt proudly announces that an older cousin finally completed presentation, a whole three years after her test. A year later, that same cousin shyly admits she dropped out of university, a hand on her round belly and a baby on her hip. It’s only then you start truly seeing your omega relatives. How they stick to the sidelines, huddle in the kitchen, and fuss over everyone else’s comfort. Docile and pliant.

For years, you pray to God to turn out differently. To be nothing. And if not nothing, please, make you a beta like your father or an alpha like your mother or brother. Amen.

You cry for hours after your results. Your parents do their best to convince you it’s a blessing, but you see the results for what they are—a countdown.

School automatically splits your class into new health electives, fracturing years of relationships in one fell swoop. New social hierarchies form over the course of an afternoon, and you find yourself on the outside of old circles. It gnaws and bites like flies to see former friends turn their noses up at you. Cracks and shifts your insides, uncovering anger as old and boiling as a deep-sea vent. You let your grades slip to the bare minimum because what’s the point? Won’t some alpha take care of you anyway? Barf.

Your parents weather the fallout. They invite that cousin for tea with all four whelps in tow. It’s hard to hear her proclaim the wonders of life as an omega through shrill cries and fussing. That night, your mother’s patience snaps after you declare your life over. The fight goes nuclear, ending with your banishment to your room when she asks if your cousin’s life is over, and you say ‘yes’. While you may be sorry, you don’t regret it.

The next morning, you find Johnny at breakfast. Just like the test, you see his sudden, surprise visit for what it is—an olive branch. You wonder when your parents called and begged him to request a short leave. Parents know their children’s weaknesses. You’re thick as thieves. Before your results, the last time you cried was when he left for basic.

Johnny drags you around town to tackle a list of your favorites, dismantling the defensive wall you're hellbent on building. Anger festers under your skin, begging him to say the wrong thing.

Yet, if anything, your hissing and snapping amuse him. He ruffles your hair and dodges your fists, and you find chances to throw an elbow into his ribs. However, you're both far from the even playing fields of childhood, and punching him is punching stone.

"What's eatin' you? Somethin' happen?" He jeers, goading you on the walk home.

"You know what happened."

"Yeah," he admits with the sharp edge of a laugh. "You turned into a thin-skinned cretin just 'cause of a test."

You see red, and Johnny humors you. Takes a few desperate kicks and slaps before grabbing you by the forehead and stiff-arming. Stocky, but a reach longer than yours. You’re hissing and spitting when tears spring to your eyes, and a frustrated sound heralds a break in your voice.

It all comes out. How it’s like your future is a foregone conclusion. That you don’t want to undergo presentation, bonding, or, most of all, have an alpha dictate the rest of your life.

For perhaps the first time, your loudmouth brother shuts his trap. Doesn’t say a word. No snarky comments or unserious answers. He just lets you wail. In retrospect, it’s clear that he swapped a cudgel for a knife. Dissected your rage with a mind trained to defuse explosives.

That Sunday after mass, he hugs you and makes a promise before he leaves. Years later, half-listening to an officer who asks if there’s anyone they can call for you, you wish you remembered what it was.

In the hours following the officer’s departure, you go through the motions—numb and shell-shocked. The tide’s out, and you stand on shore, waiting for the crushing grief.

Aunt Marion sits on the sofa, going through the address book to inform people, one by one, of Johnny’s passing.

You’re in the kitchen fixing her supper and creating a mental to-do list when you overhear her tell someone, “I’m filing for change in guardianship in the morning. John never did have the time to find that girl a proper mate. You still have that matchmaker’s number, right?”

There’s no time to process the first loss with a second snapping at its heels.

Your brother’s headstone is not standing for more than an afternoon when a suitor shows interest. He circles like a vulture, the disgusting creature. You wish you could say you weren’t expecting it.

The portrait of your best friend bears witness from atop the mantle. In uniform with a buzzed head and a serious expression, it’s him, yet nothing like him. The Johnny you know—knew—would be grinning ear-to-ear, greeting folks, lightening the mood, and scolding your relatives for not footing the bill for a proper venue. He’d be angry they’d put it on your shoulders or invite this many people.

You hadn’t wanted any of this, either. You knew him best, but nobody listens to you. As Johnny followed your parents into death, you’re left alone, subject to the whims and mercies of an aunt who sees only your designation.

The court swiftly transfers power to your aunt. Omegas cannot roam about without anyone to account for them, after all. Johnny was declared your ‘guardian’ following the crash that took your parents. Didn’t matter if you were an adult, a whole twenty years old. The title always amused you with its inherent pompousness.

Guardian. You don’t find the archaic term funny anymore, not when a neighbor cuts through the room, intentions clear. Your nostrils flare at his vinegariness, the feeler he sends to test the waters. It sets your teeth on edge, encouraging the oncoming migraine. Why the foulest-smelling alphas think they can go without scent blockers, you don’t know.

God grant you the audacity.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Johnny was a good man.”

“John,” You swiftly correct. ‘Johnny’ is reserved for family. “John was a good man. Who are you?”

The man smiles, and his pupils unnervingly dilate. “Alan. I live three down.” His gaze briefly flits to your neck.

You bristle. This is why you opted for a turtleneck that morning. The awful gut feeling some boorish idiot would seek you out now that you changed hands. To act so bold at a funeral reception. “Well, Alan, from three down, you can–”

“You can find refreshments through there.” Aunt Marion interjects, the older woman floating into view, reeking of powdery florals. She does not need to posture. A slight tilt of her head and intrusion into your personal bubble banishes the man into the next room, with her eyes fixed on him until he disappears.

"Good riddance," she mutters. “Alan Findlay. The gall. Like I’d let that cur have you or this house.” She sniffs, grimacing. “Go take another blocker. Now. You’re distracting the guests.”

You knew your aunt’s intervention was not for your well-being, but you still wilt. This is how things are and always have been. Johnny simply shielded you from it. Unbonded omegas are bargaining chips. Hares set loose in front of sighthounds. How foolish, thinking you could outrun centuries of tradition and deny nature. Aunt Marion is entitled to the house, your future, and the money that comes with both.

You trudge upstairs, and on the landing, you swallow a hard lump in your throat. Steady now. You start toward the bathroom but freeze at the sight of Johnny's door. There's a sliver of light beneath it.

No one should be in there. No one has been in there since he last deployed. Your heart lurches against your ribcage, anger curling your fingers into fists as you reroute automatically, marching to catch the trespasser. Another greedy relative with sticky fingers, no doubt. You turn the knob and push, and the curse on the tip of your tongue promptly fizzles.

A colossus stands in front of Johnny’s wardrobe, clutching one of his shirts. You do not so much as enter your brother’s room as you run face-first into the wall of the man’s scent. It bludgeons the olfactory with leather polish and tobacco, cedar and amber. Familiar, somehow, and powerful.

“You’re the sister.” His free hand hovers beside a cloth mask tucked beneath his chin. He’s clad in black like a mourner, though you don’t recall him. The deep voice prickles, snagging on something sharp in your chest. Pink and pale scars etch over his chin and mouth. You briefly study them before your eyes dart to the shirt and then his face.

“Yeah,” The hairs on your neck rise at how his scent and facial muscles relax in tandem.

“Were you smelling John’s shirt?”

“Yes.” He says without hesitation or a shred of shame.

And it’s the lack of shame, the nerve to enter a dead man’s room, that does you in. The last straw. You flatten against the open door and gesture into the hallway. “Right, okay. Get the fuck out. Now.”

To his credit, he complies. The shirt remains clenched in a fist.

“Leave it,” You snap, but he closes in. Citrus wrinkles your nose, beckoning you to relax. What have you accomplished by antagonizing a man this size? An alpha? This is not your brother, not someone likely to entertain your irritation. Your neck cranes, head hitting the door with a quiet thunk, and you stare into eyes the color of pitch, ringed by dark circles. Instincts like cicadas, buried to avoid that which would exploit them, dig their way out of the ground. “Stop–”

“Your aunt. She’s in charge of the house and you, yeah?”

Your mouth dries. You don’t answer.

His nostrils flare, and a chill runs down your spine. Apparently, he finds whatever trace of your pheromones agreeable enough to hum. Then he hooks a finger in the mask and drags it into place over his nose and mouth.

“You don’t smell like him at all. Blockers or no.” He tosses the shirt onto Johnny’s desk as he lumbers past.

You’re left adrift, clutching the door for dear life. The earthy smell lingers. How long had the stranger been in here that he’d gone and stunk up the room? Your hands shake hanging up the shirt, and you avoid looking at anything else as you slink out, proverbial tail tucked.

In the bathroom, you knock back a second blocker and a pain reliever, drinking sink water cupped in your hands. You glance at the prescriptions on the shelf. Blockers and suppressants. They look different, equally distressing, and comforting now that you’re alone. You close the medicine cabinet, and something slips into the sink. A frown forms instantly at the sight of the stupid, ugly Kevlar bite guard. Johnny brought it home one leave, swearing up and down it was safer than commercial. An extra layer of protection to be worn during the weeks bookending your seasonal heats. Humiliation accessorized. Downstairs you go.

Aunt Marion waits in the living room, flitting about, excitedly chittering to her husband. The moment she sees you, she brightens further, aglow with a sense of accomplishment. Dread calcifies your stomach.

“What have you done?”

Undeterred, your aunt smiles and pats your hand. “Only what John would’ve wanted.”

Cedar and myrrh, stone and soil—a burst potent enough to cow the eldest member of your family, forcing her to retreat a step. You feel a presence at your back and slowly turn to face a wall of muscle wrapped in black. This close, your nose finds the word it was looking for. Sepulchral.

“This is Mr. Simon Riley. He served with John,” Aunt Marion nervously chirps. “He’s made a generous offer for both the house and your bonding price, pending the validation of his bloodline and such.”

It’s a knife to the gut.

As far as you know, the various blood work and lineage reports come back satisfactory. However, their contents are a mystery, as you’re not allowed to request copies without his permission, and you’re not about to ask. You don’t even know how to reach him. He said a dozen words to you at the house, then vanished after speaking to your aunt.

The following week, you nearly wear a track on the floor with your pacing. No announcement regarding an impending bonding appears in the paper. It isn’t required, but it isn’t out of fashion. You suppose more modern rituals are exclusive to immediate family nowadays, without the need for public acknowledgment. You shudder at the thought. If you’re to be humiliated, you’d rather have as few witnesses as possible.

Another week passes. You receive letters and packages in his name, ‘S. Riley’. Hard proof that despite his absence, this is his home, not yours. Then, a deposit appears in the house account Johnny opened. You don’t touch it. You won’t legitimize a thing if you can help it.

You return to work. Everyone expresses their sympathies, and you call the omega representative in human resources to apprise them of your status. Their smile is tight on the screen when you dodge their questions and ask to simply update the paperwork from ‘J. MacTavish’ to ‘S. Riley’. Every day, you listen for his return and wonder if you’ll find him sitting in Johnny’s chair. It sets your teeth on edge.

A month turns over in limbo. You briefly wonder if you’re the sibling who died, now cursed to languish where you only glimpse your brother in the periphery, with a monster stalking the fenceline.

Christmas is a date that happens. You refuse an obligatory invitation to your aunt’s home and donate the gifts you already purchased. New Year passes the same way; miserable and isolated like any other. And then, thirty-three days after he buys your life from underneath you, Simon reappears on the second day of the year.

“Gonna let me in?” Simon grunts, toting two bags and car keys.

“Not gonna command it?” You sneer, confused over the delay, certain of his tricks. He’s going to try and bond you, sooner or later.

Simon stares. There’s no malice, only exhaustion. Sweat and musk batter your nose, acrid and disgusting, masking his usual spoor. It’s strange. Perhaps you’re noseblind to him already. You step aside.

Simon removes his shoes and jacket, rolling his shoulders with audible albeit muffled pops. He grunts at the packages, turning one over in a single broad hand before evidently deciding to deal with them later. He starts upstairs.

“First on the right”

He pauses halfway.

“My old room. It’s for guests now, but you can have it. Just. Don’t go into John’s room.”

He grunts again, but he listens.

Simon cloisters for two days. His scent returns to normal, slowly rolling over the house like a thick fog. It doesn’t seem to be an early rut, as he’s made no noise or sudden moves. Nothing to suggest a return to a bestial nature. You force yourself to continue your routine.

One morning, you find dishes in the drying rack and the paper on the table. Outside the back door, a half-smoked cigarette. It’s him, obviously, apparently skulking about in the small hours. As if the house needs another ghost.

His presence, no matter how spectral, frays your poor nerves. You forget a quarter of the shopping list one day, cursing through the door with arms full of bags.

“You didn’t use the money.”

You whip around to find Simon with a book tucked under an arm. He moves practically undetected between his light feet and pervasive scent.

The deposit. Right. Simon is joint owner of your accounts now.

You return to the groceries, jaw working at the irritating flatness of his tone. “I don’t need it. I earn my own wages, and I intend to continue working.”

“Didn’t tell you to quit. I said you didn’t use the money.”

“I don’t want it.”

The floor creaks under his foot, but he stops the second you tense. “It’s for you. For bills and expenses.”

“I don’t. Want it.”

“Johnny said you’d be difficult.”

“And he never fuckin’ mentioned you.” Regret immediately rises in your throat, demanding that you apologize, but you choke it down. You do not know this man. Law or not, he is a trespasser.

You do not hear him leave, but he gives you a wide berth. The next day, he’s gone again, but he leaves a note with his number.

Back to work. Use the money. - S

A couple of weeks later, after running out to collect your holds at the library, you return to Simon’s car in the parking space, a pair of mud-caked boots inside the door and a hastily half-unpacked bag on the table. The previously weak musk of Simon’s is refreshed and intense, drifting through the house. Begrudgingly, you put your stack aside and tidy a little. You pluck a knit hat beside the bag and squeak at the smell of rust and iron. The garment plops into the bag, unfolding into a skull-print balaclava, the bulk of which carries a red stain. Dry, thank the Lord.

You heave his bag to the floor with a huff and find another note.

Went out. Back late. - S

‘Late’ is generous. Hours pass. You fix dinner, stow the leftovers, finish your laundry (in case he needs the machines), reorder suppressants, and cozy up to crack the spine of the latest installment of a horror series. The patter of rain against the windows and the mountain of blankets ensconces you into a state of languor.

The key turning the lock startles you from sleep. Bleary-eyed, the back of your hand wipes drool from your lip, and the other leverages you off the sofa. Your vision gradually clears to reveal Simon’s hulking shape, filling the front door. Dripping and soaking wet, a puddle of rainwater pools at his feet. Without a word or acknowledgment of your presence, he peels off the paper mask adhered to his nose and chin and drops it alongside his flooded shoes. His socks and anorak go next, and before he discards any more articles of clothing, you make yourself useful.

You march past, movements automatic, into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

A minute later, he shuffles in, dressed in sweats and a dry shirt. You deduce he swapped clothes with whatever’s in his bag. An aborted ‘welcome home’ sits on your tongue, but your nose catches something metallic. Blood.

Simon leans over the sink and promptly shoves a hand under the running water. From what you can see, his knuckles look bad, but he doesn’t appear injured elsewhere. You grab a bag of frozen peas.

“Pat it dry and give it here,” you grumble, dropping a towel by his arm and wrapping the peas in another.

His hand is a mess—knuckles raw and bloody, skin torn in places where he clearly punched something or someone. It’s ice-cold but not actively bleeding. You hold the makeshift cold compress in place and apply pressure. Another stilted silence passes, and you catch a whiff of citrus.

“Were you drinking? Are you drunk?” It sounds more accusatory than you intend.

“Yeah.”

“So this isn’t from work?”

“No.”

“Is it from–”

“Scrap.”

“Oh.” You squint. “So you got in from a work trip. Went for a pint. Made a new friend.“

Simon’s eyes snap to you. “She’s cracked the case,” his hand creeps toward yours, giving you time to let go before he steals the compress and pulls away. “Needed to blow off steam.”

“That’s idiotic,” You snap, traipsing behind him to the living room.

In response, he chuffs once like a warning shot. You keep your distance as he sinks into Johnny’s chair, groaning, and throws a heel onto the ottoman to drag it closer. Head rolling against the high back, his eyes flutter close as he relaxes into the cushion. He grinds his molars as he appears to forcibly unclench his muscles. You fetch the first aid kit.

The slight curl of his lip makes you almost regret being nice. You set the tea and the kit on the side table, perking at the sound of him mumbling something suspiciously close to ‘thanks’.

Part of you considers retreating to give him space and go to bed. Johnny always spent the first several hours of leave decompressing alone. Yet you return to the blankets and book. This is still your house, even if your name will never appear on the deed.

Simon breaks the not-quite-companionable silence by dropping the wrapped peas on the table and exchanging them for the kit. Over your book, you grimace at how he uses his teeth to tear open an antiseptic wipe, then silently gag at the sharp bite of isopropyl in the air.

“You didn’t use the money. Again.” Simon finally says, smearing antibiotics into his split skin.

“I told you–”

“It’s not my charity, if that’s what’s keepin’ you. It’s the survivor’s grant.”

The tension in your jaw could crack a tooth. Labdanum and firewood billow from the armchair. Scowling, you slap the book shut. “Stop.”

His face is expressionless, voice goading. “What? Not doin’ it for you? That not a nest for me?”

You straighten, shoulders rising to your ears and lip pulling into a sneer. He’s saying it to get under your skin, and it fucking works.

“No, it’s not a fucking nest and no, I don’t find your stench comforting, thanks.”

Simon tosses the ointment and leans forward to drape his thick forearms over his thighs. The purpling bruises on his knuckles glisten in the lamplight. His studying agitates, his pupils like needles on your face. Then he asks the question that makes you hit the ceiling.

“You broken?”

At nineteen, you go to bed on Beltane and wake to a bombardment: sharp, needling botanicals of lemongrass and mint tempered by frankincense and lavender. Eye-watering and suffocating. You slip out to the nearest clinic, and the sickly-sweet smelling nurse beckons you to sit so she may deliver a killing blow.

“Hyperosmia is uncommon during early presentation, but it should mellow.”

Her words run together, drowned out by an internal doomsday clock striking midnight. Milennia’s worth of inherited horror and fear knitted into marrow catch up all at once. She holds your hair while you vomit and updates your chart as you wash up. She tells you to return if it doesn’t resolve in a month or two.

It doesn’t. It never does.

Hours of appointments, dozens of scans and tests, and enough paperwork to rival the holy book. You know the ENT by name, but she never provides a conclusive answer beyond ‘genetic lottery’. Certainly doesn’t feel like a win.

It’s a cruel twist to be repulsed twice over.

“What’s wrong? Are you broken or somethin’?” A greasy-haired man sneers, chest puffed out with a hand planted above your head. Of course, a nitwit corners you the one time you leave the house. All the scent blockers in the world cannot deter the repugnant or unscrupulous. His proximity pushes a pungent, sulfuric acid reminiscent of a leaking battery on you, flaring in offense when you visibly recoil. He repeats himself, teeth bared and foul.

The bastard assumes you’ll fawn. Assumes you’re alone.

It’s difficult to keep a straight face as Johnny scruffs the stranger, bringing him to heel. Your brother compels the miscreant to apologize and then sets him loose, satisfied he’s neutered the man. He scolds you all the way home and curses himself for letting his sister out of sight.

On his next leave, he brings a bite guard. You cringe at the ugly device, but Johnny insists. Spouts some nonsense about not always being around to save your hide, reminding you that you can’t arm yourself. His near-mythic anger leaks into every word. He forgets you’re a mirror.

“I’m not wearing this. This is fucking medieval.”

“Just when, y’know, ‘round those times. ‘Til you find someone–”

“I won’t find someone. I don’t want to find someone. I don’t want anyone.” The admission slips out so quietly you don’t think he hears it.

“–I can try to smuggle some of the blockers they give us, but ‘til then, when it’s, y’know–” “Christ, Johnny, save it, I’m not gonna listen to my brother–”

“Then fuckin’ listen to your guardian, because I’m only gonna say this once.”

It stops you like a slap to the face. He’s never lorded his appointment over you. Never.

“So you don’t want a mate. That’s fine. I’ll support you, like I always fuckin’ have. I’ll sing it out in the streets if you’d like. Hang a sign on the gate. But has it ever occurred to you that I might want someone? That maybe this isn’t just about your life? That being saddled with you isn’t easy?”

The two of you putter on the corner in silence. He rakes his nails over the stubble on his cheek. He murmurs a c’mon and herds you home, cutting his leave short by absconding the next morning.

“You broken?”

Two words to dredge up the ugliest parts of your life, your twin irregularities. You suppose you could distill it simply as you’ve had to counselors and doctors throughout the years. Yes, actually. My nose makes it difficult to leave the house without a migraine, and nobody’s ever stirred my loins. Aren’t you lucky? A terrible two-for-one special you handsomely overpaid for.

“Coulda just said that.”

Embarrassment shrivels your tongue. Of course, you spoke aloud. The impulse to apologize and flee attempts to puppet you, limbs twitching involuntarily at the idea of running for hills and leaving civilization altogether.

Simon rises before you formulate a response and takes the makeshift compress to the kitchen. On his way back, he fishes something out of his bag. The floor creaks when he stops to loom over you, offering a closed fist.

Your palm opens, and he rewards your compliance with a flash of steel. A single dog tag threaded with a thin ball chain. Your brother’s name reflects the light, and you grind the heel of your hand into an eye socket.

“They told me there was nothing left.”

“There isn’t. Found that lyin’ around.”

Your throat constricts, and a weak ‘thank you’ sputters out. The shadow of a massive hand lifts your head, and you press into the cushions, away from Simon’s reach.

“I just told you I’m not into that.” You hiss, brow furrowing.

He pauses. The smirk on his face doesn’t match the doleful look in his eyes. “You’re not my type.”

“Been thinkin’, Lt, what if after this, we take leave together?”

Simon rolls off the mattress and grabs his shirt off the floor. Should’ve known it’d come up again. Soap’s a glutton for punishment. The drama. The angry, desperate make-up sex. No other reason he’d keep stirring the pot. The man’s piss-poor pillow-talk and refusal to keep things simple detract some, but not enough to make Simon move on. Knows the other alpha too well for that, got him living in his head and bedroom most nights.

“Could go to mine, meet my sister. Told you she’s a bit like you, remember? Surly, introverted, a menace.” Soap sprawls into the forfeited space. “She’s an omega, but—”

Simon pokes through the shirt, face blank and mouth shut. The way ‘omega’ comes out of Soap’s mouth, a letter at a time—the reluctance, the glint in his blue eyes—he’s sharing something special. He’s talked about this sister before, but this is different. Despite all the times he’s had Soap on his back, it’s rare for the mutt to willingly show his underbelly. It’s too intimate, incongruent with his nature. Simon course corrects.

“Yeah? Tryin’ to set me up with your sister? Dirty dog.”

The effect is instant. Soap pushes upright to sit at the edge of his bed, posture shifting to broaden his shoulders, chin tucking a fraction. His lips pull back as he barks something like ‘not a fuckin’ joke’ and that Simon is a ‘disgusting bastard’. Touchy subject, this sister.

He goes to leave, swiping his balaclava from the desk.

Soap staggers after him with one leg in a pair of shorts and grabs him. He’s got tenacity, but Simon’s all mass. In seconds, he removes his sergeant.

Simon listens to Soap’s ragged breathing, studying the flicker of genuine anger in his eyes. Storm clouds over the ocean, barely restrained. He shouldn’t rile Soap like this, not with everything else going on.

He doesn’t apologize.

“Gonna tell me she’s special?”

“No, she’s not—she’s normal. Different, but normal. Sensitive, is all.”

Simon releases him, unimpressed. “If she’s half as sensitive as you, she must be a crybaby.“

“Not like that.” Soap taps his nose. “Chronic pheromonal olfactory acuity. Rare genetic thing. Could pick you out of a crowd.”

“Shame. Laswell could’ve recruited her.” Conditions like that have their uses, but with her designation, it must be hell on earth. He says as much.

“Aye. It is. I’m careful about who I introduce.”

There it is, Soap skirting the issue again. Thinking if he meets the rest of the MacTavishes, it’ll legitimize their screwing. Convince him to throw their careers into the shredder. The brass looks the other way when alphas relieve stress; it prevents incidents, but they care if it becomes something else.

“Think about it?”

He does.

Soap’s chewing on something. Rather, something’s chewing Soap. Could be anything. Mexico. Graves. Hassan. Well and out of danger, his good knee bounces incessantly, the tap of his boot louder than the radio.

“Soap.”

“Lt?”

“Out with it.”

Soap opens. It doesn’t take much these days. The stress of the last couple weeks is still burning off, especially with Shepherd in the wind. Their world’s constricted, pressurized, a few bad days from implosion. People like his sergeant need talking space to alleviate it, among other things.

“I put in for leave,” He starts. “Goin’ home in a week.”

Simon glances at the men playing cards on the other side of the room, then jerks his head to the door. Soap falls into step, tea abandoned, and waits until they’re outside Simon’s quarters to continue.

“Said you’d think about it.”

“I did.”

“And?”

“Inside.”

He’s got him trained. In Soap goes, shirt halfway off before the door’s locked.

“Ghost–”

“Not Ghost right now,” Simon tosses the balaclava across the room and reaches for Johnny. He cuffs him by the nape of his neck and reels him in. Soap shudders into the kiss, holding Simon’s hand in place with his own, almost giving in, but—

“Simon,” He pulls away. “Don’t do that.”

“Not doin’ it for you?”

“No, you’re shutting me out. Goin’ away.”

“‘I’m right here.”

Soap frowns tiredly. “Why don’t you want to come? Meet my sister?”

“Couldn't possibly intrude.”

He slowly shakes his head. “I’m askin’. I want you to meet her. She’s all I got left. Besides you.”

Simon’s nose twitches. Could make this easier on himself and enforce the pecking order like old times. But he doesn’t. What he does is worse. Meaner.

“And what am I?” Simon closes in, crowding him to the wall. He roughly reclaims Soap’s throat, chest rumbling at how perfectly it slots into his grip. He knew Johnny was his the first time he took him apart. Saw how the other alpha leaned into it. Offered his neck. Renounced nature itself in the heat of the most natural act.

“You know what you are.”

Simon tuts. “I know what you want me to be, and I told you my answer before, didn't I?” He adjusts to cup Soap’s face and drags his nose over the other cheek. “Say it. Tell me what I told you.”

“We aren’t–”

“Go on.”

Soap slackens in his hold. “We aren’t mates. Can’t be.”

“Can’t be,” Simon repeats, grazing his teeth over the thrum of his sergeant’s carotid. A pulse like gunfire. “That’s right.”

“I want to be.” It’s not a whine; it’s hardly a complaint. It’s a statement of fact delivered with resignation.

So do I, he admits privately, before pressing his lips to Soap’s neck, then sinking to his knees.

Soap tries again after the dam, persistent as a dog after a bone. Simon lets him crawl into bed, thinking they’ll celebrate Graves and Shepherd eating each other alive, getting one in while they can. Instead, he receives a tired earful.

“It’s fucked, sir.”

He toys with the brown hair flopped over his shoulder and breathes deeply and slowly. Relishing the subtle undertones of the man on his chest, he grunts. “Gonna need to be more specific.”

“Could’ve wasted the bastard years ago. Now we’re stuck chasing him.”

“It’s the job.”

Soap’s stubbly cheek presses to Simon’s pec, eyes closed. “Haven’t been home in months.”

“This about the runt MacTavish?”

“Don’t call ‘er that.” He slaps Simon’s stomach. “She’d bite your head off.”

He snorts. “Sounds like a ray of sunshine.” His gaze slips to the door. They’ll need to dress soon. Laswell works fast. “Miss her?”

“Missed her birthday. Way things are going, I’ll miss Christmas, too.”

Simon shifts beneath Soap’s weight. Here it is, the shit pillow-talk. Another blatant attempt to manipulate the impossible. He huffs dismissively. “Put in for leave anyway. Makarov’ll be down for a dirt nap within the week.”

“You’re confident, Lt.”

“Gloves off, Johnny. Old man won’t stop you this time.”

That seems to do the trick. For a few easy minutes, his sergeant remains silent. Simon admires the droop of Soap’s dark eyelashes on his skin and even breathing. Closest thing to heaven he’ll ever see, he thinks.

Soap’s arm tightens its hold as he slightly flares his scent, a plume of woodfire as inviting as his words. “Come to mine for the holidays. I don’t want you to be alone.” His eyes open as he drags his chin to rest it on Simon’s pec. Soap can’t pin him on the sparring mat, but he can with a look. “Doesn’t have to mean anything.”

To you. Doesn’t have to mean anything to you.

“Think about it?”

A faint waft of tobacco and musk leaks into the room, and Simon nudges Soap off as Price pounds on the door.

“Kate’s got something. Briefing room, three minutes.”

By the time Soap pries himself off the bed, Simon’s half-dressed. He avoids the mirror. Knows what he’ll see. Disappointment.

“You’re not my type.”

It’s maddening, the Escher staircases his admission builds in your head, each step a question that may go nowhere. He’s been anything but forthcoming. Didn’t introduce himself at Johnny’s funeral, didn’t explain a thing.

Before you can interrogate him, he disappears. It’s past midnight when you lumber to your bedroom, and out of habit, you glance at Simon’s door. It’s shut, not a flicker of light beyond, but Johnny’s is open a crack. You hesitate. It’s different this time. Simon is no longer a trespasser. He’s not doing anything illegal. Just wrong.

You tiptoe and peer inside. It’s difficult to see in the dark, but you smell him. Leather and tobacco. Cedar and amber. Myrrh, tilled soil, and poppies. How on the nose for a soldier to smell like death itself. But poking through the thick, funereal brume is juniper and pine. The hours preceding heavy snowfall. It’s an odd combination, grounding and sharp, petrous and serene. A graveyard in the dead of winter.

His breathing is too controlled for him to be asleep. It’s a standoff, and you’re not keen to see it through, so you turn around and go to bed. Between four and five in the morning, realization strikes. You knew Simon long before you met him.

“Has it ever occurred to you that I might want someone?”

The wool is hooked from your eyes. For years, your brother marched home reeking of blood, iron, and something else. Someone else. From what little he shared, you knew his task force was small and covert, close quarters a given. You assumed the military dispensed provisions for their alpha-dominant population. It didn’t occur to you that their solution was in-house.

You grimace in revulsion, but the feeling drops away into guilt.

“Maybe this isn’t just about your life? That being saddled with you isn’t easy?”

A near decade under your brother’s custodianship, and you thought you made it easy by becoming a near-recluse. You weren’t so naive to think it’d last forever. You were adults, for Christ’s sake. Eventually, Johnny would’ve co-signed a lease, and you’d start the quasi-independent life you dreamed of. He’d have the space to start his own family. All planned out. You didn’t want to be a lifelong burden, but with his early death, that’s all you ended up being.

Now you’re somebody else's problem, assumed out of pity.

Your gaze wanders to Simon in the living room. There is no delicate way to ask. He probably wouldn’t appreciate beating about the bush.

“So you and Johnny, you were, uh, an item?”

Simon’s focus breaks from the book in his lap, peering over a pair of wireframe glasses. His cheek bulges, seemingly chewing his response before spitting it out. “Yes and no.”

Insufferable man. Patience isn’t something you’ve historically possessed in spades, and with him, less so. “I’m assuming ‘no’, considering your neck.”

He snorts and slaps the book shut. “Like I’d let that mutt bite me.”

“Jesus wept,” you drop the baking tin onto the counter, head shaking. “You’re incapable of holding a serious conversation.”

You fiddle with the baking paper, face heating in frustration. All you want is honesty. To get to the bottom of your situation, to his situation with Johnny. You stew in exasperation and pour the lemon filling. You don’t notice Simon until he’s at the edge of the kitchen.

“Johnny said you were all he had left.”

The bowl nearly slips from your hands.

“And Johnny was all I had left.”

“So you—”

“So I did what needed doing. You need looking after,” he says, working his scarred lip and continuing, his voice a hair thicker. “And Johnny’s gone. It’s that simple. Nothing more.”

You need looking after. You noisily set the emptied bowl on the counter and disregard the instinct to make nice. Comfort him. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

Simon coughs. “Law says you do. I reckon I’m the best suited for the job.”

The confidence startles an incredulous laugh out of you. “I must’ve missed that in his will, the one where it states my aunt ought to be the one ‘looking after me’.”

His eyes narrow. “Want me to return you? You’d prefer her to match you with the nearest alpha with half a brain? Bonded, wed, and bred by Spring?”

You angrily sweep the dirty dishes into the sink, a blistering anger coursing through your veins. “You’re disgusting.”

The mirth bleeds from his eyes. “No, I’m realistic. Something funny in the MacTavish line. Fucking dreamers, the two of you. Wanting things you can’t have.”

The remark causes your invisible, primordial hackles to rise. “What is that supposed to mean–”

Simon cuts you off with a single step into the kitchen. “Fuckin’ hell, do I need to spell it out?” He closes in, pointing a finger. “You aren’t interested in nobody, and I’m not interested in nobody but Johnny.”

He towers, chest expanding, using every bit of his mass to intimidate and keep you listening. To pacify you. “You can’t do a whit without a guardian’s or alpha’s say so, and I happen to be in the business of not giving a shit.”

You lock into a brief staring contest, and the beep of the oven breaks it. He wordlessly moves so you can slide the lemon bars into the heat. You inhale deeply, drinking in the tart citrus as a palate cleanser, and shut the door.

“So, what, I’m your cover story?” You ask carefully.

“Whatever gets it through that thick skull of yours.”

It’s not enough to stop the alarm bells ringing in your ears, but it quiets them. “And you’re not going to—You don’t want—”

“Already had a mate, not interested in another.”

There it is. “So you and Johnny were mates.”

Simon swallows, his thick neck contracting. He rubs his neck, hand skimming the slight protuberance on his neck. “Need a smoke. C’mon.” He turns, apparently certain you’ll follow.

You do.

A tiny ember lights his crooked features, and bluish-gray smoke curls into the air. He settles against a bare patch of stone some paces away downwind. It tests your self-control to not spout a line of questions. His silence obliges you to settle beside the frame, arms crossed in thinly-veiled agitation.

The paper’s half-charred, a neat cluster of ash in the tray when he finally speaks. He clears his throat, dipping his chin to gaze into the garden. Each word pushed out grudgingly as if evicted from some deep part of himself. “Johnny and me…We didn’t bite or bond. Surefire way to get discharged.”

You do him a mercy and stare into the cloud-heavy sky. “So when you said me and him wanted things we can’t have, that mean he wanted it? To be official?”

“She’s cracked the case.”

It’s stupid, his selective sentimentality. Still. It crowbars a smile out of you. Reminds you of Johnny. “He was always strong-willed.”

“That’s a generous way to put it.”

“How long were you together?”

“Off and on, four years.”

Thick as thieves, your foot. It eats you, your brother’s lack of faith. Your emotions must plume because Simon’s head swivels in your periphery. You need to increase your dosage, regardless of his claims.

“Can’t blame him for not tellin’ you. Probably thought it was for the best. You, however,” Simon stubs the cigarette with a dry cough. “Couldn’t shut up about you. Called you the ‘runt MacTavish’.”

“No he fuckin’ didn’t.” You wheel instantly, and his shoulders shake in a laugh. It looks almost wrong coming from him, yet you snicker. Your nose lifts in the air mid-giggle, and the breeze carries a clean scent. You relish it while you can.

It doesn’t escape Simon’s notice.

“He told me about your condition.”

You frown. “You knew and made me say it anyway? Prick. What else did he tell you? I’d like to set the record straight.”

“Once told me when you were twelve, you stuffed the neighbor’s postbox with garlic because you thought he was a vampire.”

Through time and space, your mother’s bony hand pinches your ear. She had dragged you, sputtering and whimpering, over to Mr. Stewart’s doorstep to apologize all those years ago.

You defend yourself, a smile tugging at your lips. “Because Johnny said he’d shave my head in the middle of the night if I didn’t!”

Simon chuckles. “I’m sure she had it coming. Don’t need to justify it to me.”

But you do. You explain how, to your childish mind, someone who only ventured out of their house at night and a severe widow’s peak was a bloodsucker. Johnny took the idea and ran with it, convinced you the garlic was a foolproof test. ‘Course he’d tricked you,

The cold evening air moves you indoors. The pair of you settle into your respective places, Simon in the armchair with a glass of bourbon and you nose-deep into a cup of chamomile. The night passes through swapped stories, mainly about Johnny but some about the rest of the MacTavishes and, reluctantly, yourself. With no alcohol in your cup, you can’t blame your unburdening on a drink.

It’s not lost on you how Simon pointedly avoids the openings you leave for him to talk about his family. It leaves your brain to hatch all sorts of theories, yet for the first time since he arrived, you don’t feel inclined to grill him.

On the landing, when you both wander to bed, you stop him. “You can move into Johnny’s, if you’d like. I imagine it’s, ah, comforting.”

He exhales. “You sure?”

“I was gonna sort out his things eventually, but that’s probably best left to his mate.” The words rush out in an embarrassed rush. Humiliatingly mushy. You don’t make it a footstep before a giant mitt ruffles your hair. The animal in you freezes, then jerkily flees. “Yeah, yeah, big oaf.” You mutter as you duck into your room, listening to him chuckle, then do the same.

“She gonna show or what?” Garrick asks, craning in his seat, subtly sniffing. “Came all the way here to pay our respects.”

“She’s just late.”

“Like Soap, then.” Price‘s posture is confident and easy. He’s handling this better than the sergeant.

“Better.”

“And you’re sure she’s alright with us paying a visit?”

“She trusts I’m careful about who I introduce.”

Price hums. “Trust’s good. Been nearly a year. It get easier?”

Easier’s a choice word. Things are smoother, Simon guesses. He and Runt got a good routine going, a decent dynamic. She’s no longer petrified whenever he’s within arms reach, doesn’t stare at him like she’s expecting the worst. She uses the money, cooks for two, and puts him to work on leave, keeping up the house.

The night in the park, he thought about eating lead for breakfast. He trudged back to base with the intention to do it but clapped eyes on that stupid photograph. Heard Johnny’s voice again. I don’t want you to be alone.

Even in death, his sergeant’s a solid bridge. The foundation of a fucked up home.

A familiar blend of heather and rain draws his attention to the entrance. In his chest, something settles.

“It’s what he would’ve wanted.”

#Ghost Challenge #GhostChallenge #mind the tags #punny title #ghost #ghost & reader #ghost & f!reader #simon ghost riley #posting this before i lose my mind #running away byeeeee

357 notes · View notes

thoughtsforsoob · 8 months

Text

ways he shows he loves you - stray kids

a/n: I want to write more to stray kids so here you go! I know I have a bunch of request at the moment and while I do plan on getting to them, I have to allow myself some freedom to create what I want as well! please enjoy and as always, requests are open and so is my 200 event!! (omg im past 300 now and I am so incredibly grateful! thank you so freaking much!)

bang chan - taking you home

I feel like chan considers taking you home as a huge step in your relationship, since ehe seems to love home so much.

he has a nice connection with his family so for you to go meet them means he's basically already planning the wedding

he likes to take you to places he remembers from when he was little (which are probably not too many places because he was just a little guy when he started training)

he also loves to make plans for you, his mom and his sisters hang out together

"you three go out! im paying for girls day"

he enjoys seeing pictures of his favorite people out, having fun together and getting along

the only thing he doesn't enjoy 100% is the teasing that collectively happens between you and his siblings against him but he doesn't;t mind it in the end because it just means you're comfortable with them and vice versa

and when he watches you and berry meeting for the first time...again...wedding bells are going off in his head

minho - supporting your hobbies

I don't see him as someone who is veery comfortable with just saying I love you all the time so he pressers to show it instead of say it

his way of doing so is by getting interested in your hobbies and most likely participating in them

lets just say you're a big fan of collection photo cards and trading! along with that, you also like to make bracelets for concerts! (lmao so cliche but this is what I can explain best! feel free to insert your own interests during the following!)

he definitely buys you albums all the time and when you don't pull him from a stray kids album, he rolls his eyes and keeps buying more until you pull him

he also loves watching you pack trades so he goes stationary shopping with you and buys you the cutest packing materials

he even packs a few trades for you and sneaks in a bunch of extra stickers and other freebies

he will also partake in bracelet making every time you attend a concert!

he loves sitting at the table, making bracelets with pretty beads (he insists on buying you the fancy glass beads for this project), watching a drama and eating snacks.

just seeing you happy and in your element and being able to support it is how he shows his love.

changbin - planning dates

idk about you guys but I feel like guys always leave it to their girlfriend to plan dates and come up with date ideas all the time

changbin is the exception

he knows all of the spots in the city and wants to take you to all of them eventually

he has a running list in a little journal he purchased when he first met you and started going on dates with you

he writes down the names of places he wants to take you to and crosses them out in highlighter when you eventually go so you can still see what he'd written down

he plans trips that vary anywhere from 2 weeks in LA to a evening picnic by the river

his favorite are "spontaneous dates" (in quotation marks because to him, no date is really spontaneous. he always puts some work into it, even if it's a late night run to the convenience store or a trip to the mall)

he's always navigating and making sure everything is perfect

his favorite part of the date is when you praise him for being so thoughtful and creative

he is so happy that he's impressing you and making you happy

he promises to himself that even when you both are old and grey, he's still going to sweet you off your feet with his amazing date ideas

hyunjin - remembers everything you tell him

(no bc...when people remember details about me I feel so happy)

anyways, he is such a good listener and pays attention to detail

whenever you mention something in passing, he makes a note of it mentally or if he knows he'll forget, he will write is down in his notes app

one example of this is during one exam season

2 weeks ago, you had told him bout your finals schedule and when it would start

on the first day, right at 6am he shows up with your favorite coffee order (or anything else if you don't drink coffee) and your favorite breakfast! along with a care package for the rest of finals!

the care package includes: two hoodies of his, you favorite candies, chips, ramyeon, and a couple other things he knew you'd find useful

he remember you telling him you had to get up at that hour to start getting ready for your 8am calc final

when he shows you, you damn near cry because of his thoughtfulness

he eats breakfast with you and makes sure your fueled up and able to focus on your test so you can ace it

the way he also thinks about you when he's out doing things like shopping

Oh I brought you back some eggs because I remember you said you didn't have anymore. also, this new toner because I noticed yours was running low last time I stayed the night."

jisung - never letting you pay

his love language is essentially paying for everything he can for you

if you deny him and tell him you're going to pay, just the thought of you doing something he is more than willing to do for yo has smoke coming out of his eyes like a cartoon character

oh boy and when you actually beat him and pay, he is red in the face

"sungie, I just paid for two coffee's. why are you all red like that?"

"I could've paid! now you have to let me pay for the next 100 things we get together!"

you roll his eyes at him when he makes these silly compromises with you and just rolls with it

for him, it's not that he thinks you can't pay for yourself because ehe knows you are more than capable

if anything, he's proud that his baby is an independent person and can take care of themselves

the reason he does it because he wants you to save your money and spend it on things for you and he wants to take care of you this being the best way he knows how

oh my god...

god forbid you buy him any gifts

he's all flustered and whining about how you shouldn't "waste your money" on him

after talking with him, he lets you pay sometimes but it's rare

felix - matching jewelry

it's all fun and games until you both get exposed...

before we go there, let's talk about how this started

for your first anniversary, Felix wanted to give you something special but had no ides what it should be

he was scrolling through TikTok one night and he came across a repost from you and it gave him the perfect idea

you reposed a couples post about a necklace with the bf's initial on it and he immediately got one made

you better believe hat we went to a famous custom designer and everything to get this made just the way he knew you'd love it

you gives it to you on your anniversary and to your surprise, not only do you have a "f" on your necklace, he get's a matching necklace with your initial on it...

he can't wear it out much but he always put's it on in private

one day...little sunshine over here has to leave to the airport with the group for an overseas concert and he forgets to take off the damn necklace...

"WHO IS (y/i)?" stays are going wild online and trying to find out who it is

from now on, Felix is more careful but now everyone knows his secret :0

seungmin - bring affectionate in front of others

look, this boy is not very affectionate, much less in front of other people

he's a very 'behind closed doors' type of person

when it comes to you though...he's not afraid to show his affection

the first time you noticed it was when he first invited you to meet his member at the dorm for dinner and movie night

he picked you up and brought you inside

you greet all of the members but right afterwards, he immediately just starts to cling to you

he has a hand on your thigh during dinner and during some shot periods, he's actually straight up holding your hand while eating

the boys look at him like he's finally gone insane and you're looking at him with such a confused expression

finally, jeongin of all people, breaks the silence

"hyung? I know you like (y/n) a lot but you're not letting her eat by holding her hand."

his face goes red because he's been caught and he lets go of your hand, putting a low apology to you

when the movie portion of the night comes around, he insists on your sitting right on his lap but if you decline, he is sitting so close next to you that he's literally going to merge into your body

jeongin - sharing clothing/shopping with you

(cw: I know not everyone feels comfy with the idea of sharing clothes for whatever reason and it's totally valid so I made two different options here!)

as we all know, jeongin loves fashion and anything that has to do with it

it's only natural that he wants to involve you into his hobby!

he wants to dress you up all the time!

sometimes, he'll drag you to his room and start to pick items from his closet to replace what you're already wearing...

you have to glare at him so he won't change your whole outfit

he also loves to take you shopping!

he walks into every store with you and asks your opinion on everything because he knows you're actually the one wearing it so you have to like these items too!

shopping can be a very stressful and traumatic experience for some people (ME!)

he understands if this is the case for you and tries his best to give you all the time you need and not overwhelm you with trying too many things on at once and not showing you 101 options all at once

if you don't like how something fits, he will never pressure you to show him anyway

he also never pressures you to go shopping if you're not in the correct headspace for it

there is always assurance from him that no matter what, he loves the way you look in clothes you both pick together!

he also loves to take ootd pics of you and he lets you take his!

he def never pressures you to do this either if you don't wanna

his soft launch of you is a pick of your latest ootd together but your face has a cute little fox sticker over it :D

#stray kids headcanons #stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids headcannon #skz fluff #skz texts #skz #skz imagines #chan x reader #minho x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #jisung x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader

472 notes · View notes

sizzlingcloudmentality · 17 days

Text

bonny lass

pairing: pre-outbreak! Joel Miller x f!reader word count: ~1.7k summary: Joel meets-cute you in a pub in Ireland. Two foreigners in a foreign country, that should be enough to share a kiss at the end of the night, right? warnings: fluff! reader is able bodied, no use of y/n, mild alcohol consumption in a pub, a kiss, dm me if I missed any a/n: I'm in Ireland rn and suffer from severe 'romanticizing my life' syndrome.☘️ What if I met Joel here? Can you imagine? The dream™️. As always: @guiltyasdave was waving her pompoms for me from start to finish + being the beta again 💛

The light is dim, the air thick with chatter and dampness. The rain has started again, early this evening, and the people streaming into the pub are soaked. But the bad weather doesn’t affect their good mood.

Joel watches them, fascinated, the way they weave through the crowded space like it’s their element, the way they easily find their spots at the bar, ordering their drinks for the first round. Cider, pale ale, whiskey, Guinness.

A small group of locals gathers in a corner of the pub, taking their instruments out of the cases and the noise of the crowd dies down, just a little bit. Anticipation and laughter fill the air.

The table in the corner, the table he sits at, fills with women and men, the worn mahogany brown table top fills with glasses. A few words are exchanged, but the accents on both sides are thick and so it’s just smiles, hands on shoulders and raised glasses with exclaimed Sláintes.

The Irish have this talent of hospitality, a talent which doesn’t let a foreigner feel lonely. During the day, Joel has Sarah with him, exploring the Emerald Island, exploring the possibility of an Irish heritage, the possibility of belonging.

But when the sun sets and his child is sleeping safe and sound in the Inn down the street, he has time to himself. The nights are his, his time to explore his own thoughts, to ponder, to watch, to feel homey in a pub. He's alone but not lonely.

Another pint finds its way onto the table, a bracelet dangling from the wrist attached to the hand on the glass. Joel’s eyes wander up the arm and he finds the smile that is connecting you with him.

“Hey! How are ya?” You beam at everyone sitting at the table and they respond with smiles of their own, moving together to make room for one more in their middle. You sit down, next to the man with the strong arms and the hair as dark as the guinness in his glass.

“Hey,” Joel says and clears his throat when he notices that he sounds not as gruff as usual.

You shrug your coat off your shoulders and the air grows thick between you both with the scent of Irish rain and the twinkle in your eyes. You assess the situation, sense that he is not part of the rest. But that he still belongs somehow.

“Not from around here?” you ask and watch him lean closer to be able to understand what you have said. He shakes his head and smiles wryly.

“What gave it away?”

“Your tan,” you smirk at him and raise your glass. “Sláinte. Here’s to two strangers meeting far away from home.”

“Neither lonely, nor alone.” Joel raises his guinness and smiles, teeth as pearly as the foam on his beer. “Sláinte, darlin’.”

You hold his gaze when you take a sip of your cider, happy to hide the way this stranger makes you smile. Happy to see the corners of his mouth being tugged upwards, making his guinness-black mustache move and dance.

You exchange names and your stories, glances and laughter. And with every time the tart cider bubbles down your throat, every time Joel licks the white foam from his upper lip and beard you feel more at home, here in this pub, far away from the address in your passport.

He insists on buying you your next drink and when he slides back onto the bench with two more pints in his hands, he chooses to sit snug to you. You're not strangers anymore. And who ever really is in a pub?

A pub, he thinks, is a cave. Dark and warm, a place to hide from the rain, from the world. He looks at you, the way you nestle your body closer to his than to the other men you share the booth with. You seem to be at ease, your eyes watching the locals with their instruments finally getting ready to start their session.

He smiles and when you turn your head to look at him you're smiling, too.

Come over the hills, my bonny Irish lass Come over the hills to your darling

A single voice, firm and tender starts singing from the one well lit corner, and the chatter dies down immediately.

You choose the road, love, and I'll make the vow And I'll be your true love forever

You sing along, silently, not a single sound coming from you. You know the words by heart and hearing them in a pub, in the middle of nowhere, in Ireland… It makes your heart ache.

It aches from being so full. Happiness, for once.

Red is the rose that in yonder garden grows Fair is the lily of the valley Clear is the water that flows from the Boyne But my love is fairer than any

You feel a strong, warm hand on your back, a soothing caress, a light pull closer to the man with the equally strong, warm body.

“You alright, darlin’?” He whispers, watching you closely, maybe even concerned about the sudden display of emotions on your face.

You nod your head and instead of answering you lean closer to him and bask in the offered comfort. Neither lonely, nor alone, you think to yourself.

The air is filled with rhythm, the fiddles and singing voices seep into your bodies. What were minutes turns into one hour, then two hours.

A bell chimes, announcing the chance of ordering one last round. Joel tugs on your shoulder before emptying his guinness, a thick blob of foam on his upper lip making you chuckle.

“A last one? My treat.”

You shake your head with a smile. You already feel lightheaded and lighthearted. No need for a last drink. You stir in your seat, stretching your limbs before leaning against Joel's side again.

“I think I'll get going. Having a long day tomorrow, touristy things, ya know.”

He nods his head, placing his empty pint back on the table and holding you close to him with his free hand. A finger mindlessly trails a seam of your shirt, drumming in the rhythm of the music.

“Would you…” you tilt your head and clear your throat, “...maybe bring me? To my B&B?”

“Course I would.”

When you step outside onto the dark street a fresh breeze blows into your faces. It carries the scents of the sea and the land, smelling of salt, earth and rain. The heavy drops that scattered down earlier turned into a tender spray, a barely-there caress that leaves your hair soft and your skin glowing.

The narrow streets of the village lay in silence, the only sounds are the fall of your footsteps, echoing from the ducked houses alongside the asphalt and the faint chatter of people walking the other direction.

Joel and you walk quietly, side by side. His side felt as empty as yours, not having your weight leaned against him felt wrong after a few hours of shared time and space. Your hands brush each other, a tender and ghostly barely-there caress.

A street lamp sheds light, a blurry hue of yellow and orange, making the dancing particles of mist visible. You turn your head, glance at him, the big Texan man with the dark hair and warm eyes and you see tiny watery pearls being caught in his beard. And curls. And lashes.

“You’re pretty,” the cider in your veins says and it sounds an awful lot like your own voice.

Joel’s lips purse into a smirk. “Oh, am I now?" A brow crooks, mimicking the curve of his nose. “You’re pretty, too, lass.”

Heat crawls up your back and into your cheeks, you mutter a “thanks” and before you can walk out of the soft beam of light, Joel's hand reaches for yours. His big palm against your smaller one holds you back from taking another step and suddenly you’re at his side again, his arm around your shoulders. He pulls you a little closer, closer than before in the pub and you look up at him with big eyes.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hi,” he murmurs back, the smirk now softer, a smile, just as warm and tender as his hand cradling your cheek. “You got time, tomorrow night?”

You nod your head and enjoy the way his fingers move along your skin.

Joel’s eyes wander over the details of your face and settle on the shiny pearls of mist hanging on the tips of your lashes. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Dark mahogany eyes, you think as your gazes lock. You lean closer, being pulled towards him without him pulling you. “Can I kiss you?” you ask and you hope that it sounds like the cider in your veins speaking.

Joel chuckles quietly, a comforting rumble in the quiet Irish night. “You sure can, lass.”

His hand shifts, his thumb making himself home just before your ear, the other four fingers disappearing behind it, tilting your head slightly, carefully.

You pull yourself up with your hands on his coat and close the small distance. His mustache tickles your lips before you kiss him and it makes you smile. Your noses touch, your lips gently press against each other and the tip of your tongue tastes him timidly. Malty-sweet and warm. Like Guinness and Joel.

He breathes you in, the scent of rain and of your skin and his hand tugs you even closer. Another kiss, soft and warm, like the light of the street lamp surrounding you. A dog barks somewhere in the distance and Joel rests his forehead against yours.

“Can we do that again, tomorrow?” you murmur and his beard tickles you again.

He nods his head, the tip of his nose nudging yours, his thumb trailing along the shell of your ear. “Course we can.”

‘Course we can,’ echoes in your mind, a little later when you're lying in your bed. The warmth of Joel, the weight of his kiss, it’s still there, on your skin. In your mind. With a soft sigh and a smile you fall asleep.

‘Can we do that again?’ echoes in Joel’s head and he smiles. He still feels the softness of your cheek under his palm and the way your lashes fluttered when you kissed. “What are the chances,” he whispers into the darkness of his bedroom, a stripe of orange light at the ceiling. Maybe it’s the luck of the Irish, two foreigners meeting far away from home, neither lonely nor alone.

comment or reblog to meet Joel in a pub. Or at least have a good time.

find my general masterlist here

the song being the inspiration: Red is the Rose - The High Kings

divider: @saradika-graphics

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #pre-outbreak joel miller #pedro pascal #ppcu fanfiction #ppcu #ppcu fandom #tlou #my writing

154 notes · View notes

gladiatorcunt · 5 months

Text

summary: priest!leto x afab!reader x priest!paul (title from scorpio by pour vous)

cw: blasphemy if i’m being so real, spit roasting, reader is lowkey losing it but they’ll be okay, dubcon, pwp-ish (there’s set up but it’s not that long imo), mention of paul being into predator/prey, daddy kink coded without the actual daddy kink, horror elements, unreliable narrator vibes, mention of them being willing to non con reader if things didn’t go their way, no incest between leto & paul 💀, reader’s their sad loser turned attic spouse, mention of eventual impreg, implied soft dom!leto & mean dom!paul, religious practice inaccuracies, possibly predictable plot twists, implied painful anal but reader’s too out of it to feel it, implied natural aphrodisiac in their spit, reader bleeds

wc: 2.5k

block & move on if uncomfortable,

do not translate/repost/give my works to ai

please consider commissioning me or leaving me a tip !!

You’ve been feeling… lost. The trees keep secrets from you and the clouds mix together like egg whites. You wish you knew what kind of pill you need to be on, you wish you knew what was wrong with you. You’re paranoid and seeing blank eyes watching you through the brick and mortar of your apartment. Your skin burns hotter than hell and sometimes you think that there are claws grabbing at your ankles when you sleep.

Church hasn’t been something you’ve bothered to attend since you were a kid, but you yearn for it now.

You pull your tattered coat around yourself as you step into the ancient building. The Church of Caladan is the oldest church in the country, if not the world. You hope you don’t look silly when you take caution with how hard your feet hit the stone. ‘You break it, you buy it’ must apply to old churches too.

Your unease rolls off you in waves, and a couple nearby priests seem to sense it in the same way that horses can sense fear. For a second you imagine bursting into flames, but there are hands groping your flesh through the great hellfire.

They’re about even in height, though one is clearly older. The gray hair weaved into his temples suits him more than it shows his age. The younger man has the same dark and wavy hair, but his gaze is a touch more haggard and rife with burden.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn't have burst in here…. I'm just looking around.” You rush to explain so they would go away, internally cringing at yourself.

“No, we want newcomers to feel comfortable enough to ask questions. I’m Leto,” He says and shakes your hand. “And this is my son, Paul. He’s recently started working here at the church with me.”

Paul steps up to shake your head as well, his mouth doesn’t move but you swear that the corners twitch. The stained glass windows cast a multicolored hue on his eyes and you find yourself lost in the swirling pools of light. Then black holes swallow the brightness in the irises, cosmic cannibalism.

You blink in alarm and awkwardly take a step back from the two priests. Father and son share a look between them that has the hairs on the back of your neck standing them.

Leto clears his throat and pointedly grabs your hands in both of his, encapsulating them in his warmth.

“You’ll have to forgive him, Paul’s never dealt with a lamb as darling as you before. He’s never dealt with one at all actually, you two can go through this together.”

Paul smiles but it fits all wrong, with teeth that should be fangs and with a tongue that appears forked. You blink again and all is well, the man before you fits his human skin like a glove. Maybe you should give them the benefit of the doubt, you’re convinced you’re going crazy anyway and Priests would never be capable of hurting someone. Ghosts aren’t real and Demons are just a crazed mother’s bedtime story.

“Um, okay. Thank you for accepting me.” That’s all you want, deep down, and they know that. “I felt moved to be here, I can’t explain it.”

Leto nods and Paul rubs your shoulder in sympathy. They would hiss that they know full well what called you here, but you might bleat and scurry away. You make a sad picture, abandoned and half insane, but that’s what they are for. To soothe and to serve you, to purify you from the inside out.

“Then all the more reason to stay and sit for a moment, don’t you think?” Paul finally speaks, the boyish tone surprising you.

“Paul’s right, let’s get this jacket off you, poor lamb. You must be freezing to death.” Leto coos, shushing your protests and carefully pulling the cheap thing off of you.

They take you on a little tour of sorts, pointing out the architectural details of the building itself as well as passionately delving into its history. Centuries of worship and service to the community, strangely never having sustained any kind of property damage. The priests speak of the church as if they were wandering through the halls all this time, and they chuckle when they tease you about how relieved they were that you didn’t suffer from a nosebleed. They’re quite common apparently.

“I think that should do it, i’d hate to think that we’ve been talking your ear off, dear.” Leto says, rubbing the inside of your wrist and directing you towards the large piano on the stage at the front of the church.

He must notice the sudden spark in your eyes at the sight, because his crow’s feet wrinkles deepen as he pulls the black piano bench out. Leto’s palm spreads out wide and he gives the leather seat a firm pat, signaling for you to sit down. Butterflies swirl in your stomach with anxiety but you feel too shy to refuse the clearly eager offer. You take a seat in front of an onyx grand piano far grander than you’re used to seeing in a church.

Leto soon occupies the space next to you. The bench is small enough that your thigh is pressing against his, warmth bleeds through your clothes and the indication of muscle really makes you wish you were alone in your room with a rose toy. You place your fingers on the pristinely polished keys and clumsily play some hodgepodge of a melody that you remember from your childhood. A mix of tchaikovsky and children's church songs.

You jump and play the wrong note when you feel thick fingers slide up your thigh. Your cheeks burn with heat but you focus on the music. Leto sighs with sugary sweet satisfaction but doesn’t move his fingers any further. He also doesn’t try to play, it’s almost like he only wants to bask in the domesticity of watching you perform. You think you hear him whisper “That’s it, who knew such a talented lamb would be gracing our doorstep?”

You get a flash of riding him on the piano, gasping into his hair chest when it breaks under the weight of your passion. Thin fingers come from behind to caress your ass as it moves, much colder than the cock you’re bouncing on. Then it fades away, and you’re back to making a fool of yourself with your little song.

Paul watches from the pulpit, eyes drinking in the way your curves expand and move as you squirm. His grip tightens on the bright wood but you’re none the wiser. You almost forget that he’s even there, something which he realizes because he strolls to stand behind you and his father. The music stops once you feel his breath on your neck and he bends down to tenderly pull your hair off of your shoulder, getting himself acquainted with the texture as he rubs his fingertips down the strands.

A distant voice calls out for Leto and he stands, smiling apologetically and thanking you for the performance. You feel adrift as you watch him walk away, reminding yourself that a man like him has other things to do than coddle you.

Paul slides a hand down your back and guides you down to the pew right up front, with a view of center stage, sitting right beside you with a wink. Once Leto returns, you spot the silver tray of communion wafers in his hands. The tray is set on the pulpit by his side.

The older man's eyes darken as he puts one in his mouth, and your brain shuts down when he snatches your face in his rough palms and kisses you sense no less. The wafer cracks as his tongue passes it into your mouth, the salty crumbs oddly making you crave something even saltier. There’s a sticky sweet sensation traveling through your body as you exchange saliva with him, your brain feels so foggy.

You break away, curling your hands into the collar of Leto’s uniform.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Your voice is small and not completely filled with disgust, you’re honestly too desperate for some form of human contact to make good decisions.

“We’re helping you, honey.” Leto purrs into the seam of your mouth, shaking his head in apparent fondness.

You’re too cute for your own good, at least they don’t have to worry about covering their tracks. Any incubus or succubus would be glad to get a hold of someone as lonely as you, but they wouldn’t love you like you deserve. You haven’t been watched by anyone as long as you’ve been watched by them. He hopes that Paul doesn’t shove his foot in his mouth and let it slip that he wished you gave them the opportunity to take you by force. His son carries a torch for a bit of predator and prey action, he likes playing with his food too much. You’re different from the scrambling mice that get torn to bits, though, you’re forever.

Plus, if you don’t get it now, he has no problems with explaining everything when you’re too weak to get up and try to run away.

Paul buries his face in your neck, spilling the vial of wine he had in his pocket down your shirt. It soaks the tank top underneath and though you try with all your might to wriggle away, the desire to resist gets brushed away under a heavy fog.

It’s nice to be touched, to be wanted after a lifetime of feeling the exact opposite. Perhaps this is why the lord guided you to his grandest home, so you could take his prophets into your body.

The black vanishes from Paul’s eyes and you sink against his chest, making out with his father as your eyes roll back into your head.

No words are uttered verbally as Paul shuffles to the side and pulls you to lie back on the pew’s cushion. Leto deprives you of his tongue and gives you a chance to breathe, which both men do with you in sync, resting their foreheads against you.

The nectar on your tongue tastes divine, little lamb, a voice whispers in your mind.

Let us give you purpose so you no longer need to roam, another begs.

You’re crying from the relief of having your mouth filled, Paul tilts your head up by your chin as he slowly slides his cock into your mouth. The ridges and bumps of what feels like piercings sends a jolt of arousal through you.

“Fuck-” He hisses and rubs your neck, watching you adjust to the stretch. “So warm-”

Leto tuts and clamps his hands around your hips, you’re already too fucked out to register sharp black claws taking care of your clothes. Leaving you bare. A shiver passes through your body as he drags his huge hand down to your pussy, being mindful not to accidentally scratch you. He intends for there to be no blood, this time, not a lot.

You gag on Paul’s length when Leto slams your hips against his pelvis, grinding not one but two large cocks against your cunt. If you were looking at his face, you’d see pitch black eyes and intimidating fangs, but all you can focus on is the hazy candle light and what must be someone playing an organ.

You catch a view of one of the stained class windows, a pair of angels cradling a lamb. It’s the only damaged part of the church, with cracks running along the angel’s wings. You’d think it’s a sneeze away from shattering entirely. Your view of it is blurred by Paul’s quick thrusts, gagging on it again. Drools drip onto the red carpet.

Leto grabs one of Paul’s curled horns and yanks his head to the side, scolding at him to be nicer to you. You’ve clearly never taken three cocks inside you, the one you’re servicing is proving to be overwhelming enough. Again, Paul’s new to this experience as well, just in a different way than you are. In a sense, it’s like he was born yesterday. The older man relays this to you through your choked moans and tears, assuring you that he’s taught Paul how to clean up his messes and be grateful. Something like this will be no different.

“Hush, beloved. I would have gladly speared your mouth but you would be dead before I could cum inside it.”

You see God in the sky when Leto slaps the tapered tip of one of his dicks against your slick entrance, God sees you when he gets the tight walls of ass to wrap around the other. Unbeknownst to you, it’s funny how so many things are, your blood pools around his balls. You’re in pain sure but you’ve never felt as much pleasure as you have in this instance. Both “Priests” smell your blood and well, only your body can tell the rest of the story. Later you’ll wake up to find that the building around you has ruby walls and it seems to be breathing. The shooting pain in your left hand is the result of two iron rings being chiseled into the bone of your ring finger.

The four leathery wings protruding from your back, with spikes poking out from the joints, are waiting to be discovered. As are the nubs sprouting out of your hair.

For now beads of sweat highlight your bouncing tits, Paul gropes one and Leto runs the edge of his claw along the side of the other. They’re hissing words that string together and disappear in the blink of an eye, voices slurred and sticky. Their babbling stops and starts again as you reflexively swallow around Paul’s cock when he skull fucks you without warning. They laugh too, but you can at least pretend that Leto’s tone is kinder.

“Alright, alright. That’s enough teasing.”

“But father-“

“I said no. And don’t think for a second that you’re getting anything else but their mouth.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“You lack self control, it wouldn’t be suitable for conception to occur like this. As delectable as their quivering cunt is, demons shouldn’t abstain from courting.”

“You’re saying that as you’re balls deep inside of them.”

“Don’t start with me, Paul.”

All while you’re making gurgling sounds in between the younger priest’s thighs. You hear growls that sound like a mountain lion’s emitting from both men, and the heavy thumps of something flapping in the air gets you holes clenching around Leto. Both men feverishly scratch up and down your limp body, but you’re so enraptured by the chorus of angels happening outside. You have no sense of time, it’s minutes or it’s hours before their cum spills inside of you. There’s too much to possibly keep it all inside, a good amount of it leaks from your cunt and your throat. Leto feels like Christ incarnate when you squirt all over him and yourself with the dumbest expression on your face. Multicolored pieces of glass fall down around you with the loud chime of an invisible bell.

276 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month

Text

Cool for the Summer 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After finishing your degree, you return home only to find things aren’t as you left them.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: Humping it up on hump day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You taste the cocktail and make a face. As sweet as it is, the alcohol is stringent in your throat. You set the glass down as Bucky’s fingers tap on his pint. You glance up, surprised to find him watching you.

"Don't like it?" He asks.

"Mm, no, I mean yes. No." You stutter out. "It's good, I just... don't drink much."

"She's a good girl." Your mom teases. "I always had to push her out the door. Oh, don't even ask about prom." She grabs his forearm and cackles. "You would think buying a dress would be fun. Nope. I think she'd have rather gone to the dentist."

Your cheeks turn hot. Four years past and you still cringe at the fitting room torture. You look down and fiddle with the cutlery wrapped in a red napkin. You really wish she wouldn't treat you like a child. You suppose at times you might act like one.

"Those things can be tough. I barely remember mine. Only went so my buddy didn't feel like such a loser," Bucky shrugs. "But look at how far you've come. I'm sure high school is like a blip on the radar. Now the real fun begins, huh?"

You know he's trying to help and you appreciate. But it only makes your chest tighten. The dread throbs in your temples. Life, it's all ahead of you but you have no idea where to start.

"Yeah, I... I barely remember." You talk to the table.

"She's a smart one," your mom praises. "I really lucked out. No teenage angst, no rebellion."

You chew your lip and pick at the trim of the table. You sound lame. You are and you never minded the safety of that trait. Still, you'd like to be known as more than a boring little bookworm.

"Okay, here we are." The server rescues you from further humiliation. "Chicken caesar."

She puts your salad in front of you, "cheese steak sammy and macaroni salad." She lays a plate in front of Bucky, "and the sizzling fajitas."

Another server appears with a wooden plank, set with a cast iron pan atop it and fixings; tortillas, salsa, guac. It smells delicious but you know it's too early for all that. You'd be even sleepier and you still have to get unpacked.

"Enjoy," the waitress smiles and struts away.

You unwrap your cutlery and use the knife and fork to shred the lettuce. You should've known better than to order salad. It's always so awkward to eat with others around to see.

"Mm, pretty good," Bucky says. "Lauren, how's that extravaganza? Really went all out."

"Wasn't expecting all this." Your mother scoops grilled peppers into a tortilla, daintily with her fork as her nails shine in the light. You remember when you asked to get a manicure and she said they were impractical...

She's changed but you don’t feel all that different than when you left for college. Maybe you should have tried harder. Well, it's not like your life is over. Far from.

"How about you?" Bucky prompts and once more you meet his gaze with a startled blink. You nod and swallow.

"Good. Just boring old salad." You say.

"Always chicken caesar," your mother chirps. "Creature of habit. Don't worry. You'll hardly be surprised. By tonight, she'll have one of her books and you won't hear another peep."

You bite down on your tongue. You're not sure anymore if she's bragging or she's chiding you. Her life is so exciting now. Her hair is highlighted, her nails are filled, and her makeup... she's actually wearing makeup.

"Didn't think you could work with those." You say as she catches her nail on her napkin.

"Oh, yeah, I'm not in the ward anymore. Sweetie, didn't I tell you? I do clinicals now. I just show the new ones what to do. Not much hands-on stuff."

"Uh, I remember. Sorry."

"Too sharp," Bucky chuckles. "Can't even hold her hand without getting clawed."

She jabs him with her shaped tip and he grunts. They laugh together and you look around. You're the sore thumb sticking out. Ever the third wheel. Even when you had 'friends', you sat on the sidelines, confused by their inside jokes.

"It's very good. Thank you." You sit forward and focus on the salad. The sooner this is over, the sooner you can do exactly what your mom expects. Hide with a book. Alone.

🩵

Home is always a comforting sight but not as much as you expect. A flicker of guilt sparks in your chest. Bucky just bought you lunch, you shouldn’t be so negative. Still, you just want to unwind after a long day of traveling.

As much as you want him to just go, you would never say as much. Your mom seems happy with him. She even seems healthier. It’s nice to see her taking care of herself, she’s done enough of that for others for too long.

You get out of the car but Bucky’s too fast. He has you bag in his hand before you can react to the trunk opening. He smiles and insists, “I got it. You lead the way.”

“Mm, I could nap about now,” your mother calls over the car roof.

You agree internally. The whole train ride, you looked forward to burying yourself in blankets and leaving the world behind. It would be rude to do so with company around, even if they aren’t yours.

You follow your mom to the front door and she unlocks it with a yawn. You enter and slip your shoes off on the mat. Things are different. Not too different, you can’t quite place everything. Yet you notice that the coat rack has been replaced with mounted hooks across the wall and the rug at the bottom of the stairs is new.

“Oh!” Your mom spins, surprising you before you can sneak past her. “I forgot about your surprise!”

You look at her then over your shoulder at Bucky as he plunks down your bag. You wait for him to respond. He just offers a small curve of his lips. You turn back.

“You,” your mom taps your nose. “Come on. Ah,” she waves around you at Bucky, “bring her bag with you.”

Your mom grabs your arm and ushers you upstairs. You can’t resist, too swept up in fatigue and confusion. He follows behind you. What’s happening?

“Okay. I hope you like it,” she goes to your door and your stomach flips. Oh no, what did they do? She swings the door open and backs up, waving inside, “tada!”

You hesitate but make yourself step into the doorway. You glance around and your mouth slowly falls open. You blink at the room. Wow.

It’s not awful, just another change you’re not ready for. Instead of your old rectangle bookcases, new circle ones have been built into the walls; white instead of brown. Your bed is the same but the wood is newly re-stained and the bedding is shade of pink you wouldn’t necessarily choose. A heart shaped rug is spread across the floor and your previous desk has been replaced with one that folds into the wall.

There is an entirely new piece that stands out. A vanity in the corner. The mirror is the same shape as the carpet and the stool has a fluffy seat.

“Oh, wow...” you utter as you step further inside.

“Bucky is so handy! I always wanted to do this but I didn’t know where to start. Oh, just wait until you see his place,” she rambles as she trails you. “He built the whole thing himself.”

“I had help,” he tuts and sets your bag down. “Tried not to do too much but just added a fresh coat to everything.”

You’re silent.

“Sweetie?” Your mom touches your arm.

“I’m... surprised. That’s all.”

“She’s speechless, Bucky!” She squeals and claps her hands. “I knew she’d love it.”

“Heh, yeah. Well, I hope it isn’t too much.” He rubs his neck as he looks around. “You can let me know. I can change whatever you need.”

“No, no, it’s really nice. Like really. I...” you wring a finger in your other hand. “Thank you.”

“Lauren,” he sidles past you and nudges your mother gently. “Why don’t we let her get settled in? I’m sure she’s beat from the road.”

“Right, right,” she beams around the room before she faces him. “Of course.” She glances over at you, “sweetie, let us know if you need anything, okay?”

“Mom, I’m fine.” You show your teeth sheepishly and hover around the wall.

Bucky leaves first, your mom following as she cranes to stare at the room. She leaves you with an excited wiggle and you go to close the door behind her. Once it’s shut, you sigh. You weren’t ready for any of this. Somehow coming home has proven even more disjointing than going away to college.

You plod to the bed and flop onto it. You roll onto your back and let your eyes rove. It is so cute. You would have killed for a room like this in high school, even on campus. Yet it does seem a lot. You’re sure once you get a job, your mom doesn’t expect you to stay too long.

Maybe this is a good thing. A little less pressure on you to get out but not exactly. With Bucky hanging around, you can’t help but be in the way. You’re not the only one who needs to adjust to your return.

You can worry about it all later. For now, you need to close your eyes and stop thinking.

🩵

The afternoon wears on as you dawdle away on your phone. You can barely keep your eyes open as the screen glares back at you. It’s almost six when you make yourself stop the addictive word game.

You lay listless, trying to urge yourself to get up and do something. You lose the battles as your eyes close and you drift off without realising it. In your subconscious, you’re just as you are in reality. Just lying there, motionless and mindless.

You wake slowly as pressure squeezes in your pelvis. Your bladder forces you to action. Even with the painful weight throbbing inside, you move without urgency. You sit up slowly, dizzy from the unexpected doze. You stand and shuffle to the door.

You leave it open as you go into the hall and let your feet guide you. Habit takes down to the bathroom door and you reach for the handle. It turns from the other side and you recoil in surprise. Bucky stops short as he emerges and apologises.

You stammer as you gape back at him. Somehow after the whirlwind morning, you forgot all that change. In your grogginess, you didn’t see the new walls or the white bookcases or think.

“S...Sorry...” you murmur.

You’re consumed in radiating heat as you stare at the stubble along his neck. Any lower and he might be embarrassed. He is shirtless after all. You’ve never been the best at looking people in the face but you have no choice. You examine his silver-streaked hair, slightly tussled, and his grizzly beard with its dusting of white along his chin.

You step back as he raises a palm and dips his head. “No problem. Gotta get used to each other, I guess. Bad timing, is all.”

“Right,” you agree dully.

He looks back at you and his forehead creases. “You okay?”

You wince. “Yeah, why?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just... you look... a little out of it.”

“I fell asleep,” you run your fingers along your throat nervously. The motion catches his eyes. Their startling blue hue gleam in the light.

“Right. I figured you needed it. Long ride...home.” His gaze flicks up to meet yours. “Sorry you’re stuck here with us boring old people. You probably miss it already.”

You shrug, “not really.”

“Not really? What about your friends?” He rests his hand on the door frame and leans.

“Didn’t... just study buddies. Classmates.” You look away and shift as your bladder aches.

He clears his throat and stands straight. He steps out of the frame and you jump at his sudden movement. He touches your hip to keep from colliding with you and sidles by.

“I’ll just get out of your way, baby girl,” He squeezes, his hand lingering for a moment. “Welcome home.”

He lets go and turns, strutting down the hall as you stand frozen. You hurry forward and shut yourself in the bathroom as you scramble with the sudden agonizing pang. You don’t have time to think, you have to go!

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #winter soldier #captain america #mcu #marvel #avengers #cool for the summer

153 notes · View notes

sister-lucifer · 1 year

Text

Genre: Smut

Summary: Reader finds an antique Jack-In-The-Box at a yard sale, unaware that by purchasing it they would also be taking home an unwanted guest.

Content/Warnings: Dubcon elements, horror elements, LJ being a stalker creep (so some non con voyeurism), LJ is just fucking weird in this one, clown fucking shenanigans, big stripey clown dick and also long stripey clown tongue, comically large clown penis, LJ eats ass, LJ is massive so big size difference, tummy bulge, that dick should NOT be able to fit in you but it’s my story i can bend the laws of anatomy however i wish, LJ is very mean in this one and doesn’t really care if he hurts you, some degradation, unprotected sex, creampie, reader is kind of a slut boy (same), there’s a lot of build up but please it’s worth it i prommy (but also feel free to skip to the porn that’s totally fair)

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

A/N: Jack is british just fyi so if you’re like me and you read with accents there you go!

The antique jack-in-the-box was certainly an odd find at a garage sale, but there was no denying that it caught your eye the moment you saw it. It was incredibly ornate, clearly hand painted in all black and white and decorated with balloons and candy, not to mention it was preserved wonderfully for a piece that had, presumably, been stored in an attic for who knows how long. You could run your fingers over the edges and feel every detail of the tediously carved borders. You carefully turned the wooden box over in your hands, looking over the large, carefully painted words on the front:

“Laughing Jack In The Box!”, surrounded by all sorts of patterns and shapes.

Your face immediately lit up. Everything about this box screamed one of a kind. You could already see it sitting on your collectors shelf, safe behind the glass for you to keep and observe. You absolutely had to have it.

“Excuse me miss?” You called, looking around for the old woman who was running the garage sale. She got up from her lawn chair and made her way over about as fast as you’d expect from one as antique as some of the items currently being sold.

“Could you tell me about this jack-in-the-box?” You asked, trying to hide your elation.

“Oh, this old thing…” She began, looking at you over her comically oversized glasses. “It belonged to my great, great grandfather, Isaac, and was handmade by his father. It was given to me as a young girl, and I was keeping it in the hopes I could pass it on to my own children.”

You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness at the comment, but it seems the woman had no qualms about selling it.

“Well, it may please you to know that I’m an antique collector,” You explained in an effort to reassure her. “This is a beautiful piece. If you’ll sell it to me, I can promise you it’ll be safe on my shelf.”

“Oh, I have no worries about that. No one would pick this old thing up unless they knew what they were buying. So, what’s your offer young man?”

You thought for a few moments, weighing the box in your hands. You didn’t want to completely rip her off, but a one of a kind antique like this could go for thousands in the right place, and you weren’t looking to break the bank for this thing. Besides, who else would possibly buy it if you didn’t?

You pulled your wallet out and flipped through it, debating with yourself.

“How about…a clean fifty?”

And with that, a deal was made. Before you knew it you were proudly walking back to your car with the box tucked under your arm. You placed it carefully in the front passenger seat where you could watch over it, glancing back one last time to the now empty place on the table where the box once sat before driving away.

Immediately upon getting home you rushed to your room and swung open your shelf, eyes scanning over every row as you tried to find the best place for your newest treasure. It took a bit of rearranging to keep the shelf organized to your liking, but eventually you were able to place the box neatly right in the middle. You carefully closed the glass door and took a few steps back to admire your work. It was absolute perfection, and you couldn’t stop yourself from happily clapping your hands together. You deserved to applaud yourself a bit, after all.

You flopped down on your bed and grabbed your phone, eager to share your find with anyone who would listen, giddy with excitement. You really couldn’t believe how lucky you were! No one else would ever lay hands on a jack-in-the-box like this one, and now it was all yours.

As the hours of the afternoon dissolved into the night, you found yourself peeking into your room just about every time you walked past. You smiled wide whenever you saw the pristine box sitting on your shelf. It was especially beautiful when the sun hit it just right and made it shine. Your chest was still swelling with pride even as you climbed into bed for the night, able to peacefully fall asleep knowing that you’d filled another spot on your shelf today.

Unbeknownst to you, you had just given up the privilege of peaceful sleep.

That night you had one of the worst, most vivid nightmares you could remember.

You were standing in your room late at night, and everything seemed deathly silent, as if all the birds and insects that would normally be chirping outside had up and died off. A shiver ran down your spine as you looked around in confusion. You tried to turn on your lamp, but it wouldn’t come on. Trying the light switch yielded the same distressing result. You moved to open the door, but the moment you reached out for the knob it disappeared as if it had never been there in the first place. When you turned back, your bedroom window was gone too. Both of your escape routes had dissolved into thin air without so much as a sound.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up as your eyes slowly wandered to the jack-in-the-box. It was the only object left on your now open collectors shelf, but it seemed to take up so much more space than before. It had captured your gaze in an iron grip, and no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t look away. A terrible feeling began to bubble in the pit of your stomach, becoming heavier and heavier until you felt as though you may collapse from the weight, but nothing was happening. Something about the box itself felt so…malicious, so threatening, but it was simply sitting dormant on your shelf.

What were you so scared of?

That was the question replaying in your mind when you woke with a start, nearly falling out of your bed in your disoriented state. You shot straight up as you fought to catch your breath, taking a look around just to make sure your window and door were still there. Fortunately, they were. It really was just a nightmare.

A wave of relief washed over you as you slowly laid back down. You took an extra minute to catch your breath, silently scolding yourself for being so easily scared. You turned your head to look out the window, now noticing the very first little shreds of the dawn coming up over the horizon.

However, you noticed something else as well. Something that set off just a bit of unease in you.

The glass door of your shelf was open.

Not wide open, or broken, just slightly cracked as if it hadn’t been closed all the way and was now just barely ajar. You could’ve sworn you shut it all the way, you could even remember hearing the little click.

But we all make mistakes, don’t we?

That seemed enough of an explanation to calm you as you slipped out of bed to close the shelf once more. This time you double checked, just to be sure. When you were satisfied you went back to bed, finding sleep rather easily and this time without incident.

When you awoke some hours later you couldn’t help but question which parts of the night were a dream and which were reality. The memories of when you had woken up the first time were hazy, not to mention you were still shaken up from the nightmare. You tried to push it out of your mind, though, when you found your shelf securely closed and seemingly untouched. That was really all that mattered.

It seems you had the green light to go about your day as usual.

First thing’s first: you need to change out of your nightclothes. The stained band tee and baggy sweats would not cut it for running errands. You decided on something that would be comfortable for the day, but still made you feel confident and happy with yourself.

As you undressed you couldn’t help but take a moment to appreciate yourself in the mirror, standing there in just your boxer briefs. You ran a hand over your sides, turning around halfway as you admired your own figure. It was a silly habit to have, really, but what was it hurting? After all, you were one handsome man. You deserved to be seen.

You weren’t the only one who thought this, and you certainly weren’t the only one who enjoyed admiring you.

Completely hidden out of your view, just how he liked, two achromatic pinwheel eyes spun manically behind the shadows of the jack-in-the-box. He only had to lift the box just slightly, so little that you would never notice, and even if you did you would likely brush it off as your imagination. Jack was skilled like that, able to slowly lure his victims into madness in such a way that they wouldn’t notice until it was too late.

You, though, had caught his attention in a slightly different manner.

You had piqued his interest the moment you picked up his box, handling it with a curious yet careful manner. For generations he had been packed away in dusty attics and grimy basements and long forgotten storage units, completely disgraced by the family line that was supposed to cherish him. But you had plucked him from that miserable cycle, dusted him off, and placed him carefully on your shelf in a secure little spot where you could see each other every day.

This was certainly unusual behavior.

That ache of contempt that he felt for nearly everyone else somehow had yet to creep in. On some level, Jack was just as curious about you has you had been about him, and now he was safe behind the glass to keep and observe you as he saw fit. Human bodies in particular had always been an odd interest of his seeing as they looked so different from his own. Seeing you flaunt yours so proudly with no one else around was honestly a bit amusing.

He watched silently as you slipped on your day clothes, turning around a couple more times in the mirror and adjusting your outfit a bit before finally deciding you were happy. He didn’t slip back down into his box until he heard your car pulling out of the driveway.

He sat there with himself for some few hours while you were gone. He had lost any sense of time at this point, used to spending his days alone in his box. Although, this time, there was one reoccurring theme that all his thoughts seemed to circle back to:

You.

What made exactly you so interesting, hm? He could venture a vague guess, but something was just…different. His affinity for humans had long since waned to nothing nearly two centuries ago, and yet a small part of it was beginning to stir in him once more.

It seemed this would require further observation, which was certainly no issue to him.

You, on the other hand, were blissfully unaware that you were currently sharing your humble abode. There were a few times when the events of the earlier night managed to worm its way back into your mind, but you always managed to push it away. You were simply being silly, that was all. It was a random occurrence with absolutely no significance.

Yeah, sure, that made enough sense.

By the time you were unlocking your front door, you had been lucky enough to truly forget about your nightmare. It seemed that you had finally calmed yourself and managed to stay grounded.

At least you had until you stepped through the door.

The second you had both feet in the doorway, the nightmare came rushing back in vivid flashes. It felt like your grocery bags were filled with cement, your limbs suddenly going weak. Your entire body had gone stiff, paralyzed with an indescribable sense of anxiety, the feeling that something was terribly, deeply wrong in your home.

You swept through the whole house and found not a single thing out of place, though every time you turned a corner you were sure you’d see something you didn’t want to.

No smashed in windows, no kicked in doors, nothing taken or broken, no other sign of an intruder. Nothing that would indicate anything out of the ordinary.

Then why was your stomach churning with the same heavy dread you’d felt in the nightmare?

You wracked your brain as you tried to figure out what could possibly be making you feel so uneasy in your own home, but nothing came to mind. Even as you put away your groceries you were mumbling and muttering to yourself, attempting to fetch any semblance of an explanation.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Jack was more than happy to watch you spin yourself into a tizzy over his little tricks. He giggled to himself when you paced back and forth where he could see you outside the doorway of your room, proud to see he hadn’t lost his mischievous touch.

You felt absolutely exhausted by the time you were trudging your way to your room, the subtle thrum of an oncoming headache already threatening to floor you for the rest of the day. You were so drained, in fact, that you had to do a double take to realize that your collector’s shelf had been completely opened.

Not just creaked open like last time, completely opened. If it had been pushed any farther, the hinges would’ve snapped.

You stared in disbelief, mouth hanging half open. You couldn’t even will yourself to move. It felt someone had just lit a match to the pile of questions that had been accumulating in the back of your mind. As if on autopilot, you walked over numbly and shut the glass door of the shelf. This time, you triple checked that it was shut.

Of course, this time you weren’t satisfied with that.

The first thing you did once you had thrown on sweats and laid down was go to order a lock for the shelf online. You even paid extra to make sure it would be delivered the next day. After all, the last thing you needed was one of your prized possessions falling out and breaking.

Yes, that was the very normal, rational reason why you needed a lock.

You sighed with exhaustion as you struggled to get comfortable in your bed, figuring maybe a nap would help you recharge a bit. By some miracle you actually managed to fall asleep, and by another you slept peacefully for a full hour uninterrupted.

Damn, you needed that. You actually felt better when you woke up, stretching and cracking your back a few times before getting up.

Suddenly your fearful reaction earlier seemed so silly! Why were you so upset anyways? Because of a bad dream and a dingy old shelf? How stupid. Really, you were lucky you lived alone. If anyone had seen you like that they’d think you were crazy, irrational, completely out of your—

The shelf is open again.

The fucking shelf is open again, and the box has moved an entire shelf down on its own.

The box has moved on its own.

You were suddenly feeling light headed.

You sat back down on your bed, your head already beginning to ache once more. You were dizzy, confused, struggling to find your bearings in reality. You held your head in your hands as you tried to take a breather. Part of you hoped that if you simply looked away then back up, maybe the problem would fix itself.

No such luck.

You groaned with frustration, practically stomping over to your shelf. You moved the box back to its original place in a quick and jumpy manner, as if it was burning hot and it would hurt to hold onto it for too long. This time you quadruple checked that it had been closed properly, and even threw a blanket over the shelf to cover it.

It wasn’t a fix, but it could at least give you some semblance of security.

“Stupid broken thing…” You muttered to yourself, speed walking out of your room to head to the kitchen where hopefully a snack could distract you.

Jack was giddy with excitement, unable to stop himself from snickering with smug self-satisfaction. It had been so long since he had someone to play with, and you were so fun to scare it almost felt too easy.

He would have to play his next cards perfectly, though, if he wanted to keep this up.

He didn’t mess with you at all the rest of the day, even when he really, really wanted to. You peaked into your room every time you walked by, breathing a sigh of relief when you saw the shelf was exactly as you’d left it every time.

Maybe, you thought for the umpteenth time, you really were just being irrational. You didn’t even have another nightmare that night, and when you awoke the shelf was still closed with the blanket untouched on top of it.

When the lock came in that day you wondered for a bit if you really needed it, but ultimately decided it was better to be over-prepared than under. You could finally remove the blanket cover on the shelf, feeling much better now that you could properly shut and lock it. You stored the key away in the drawer of your nightstand where you knew it would be safe.

For you, it seemed like everything was finally back to normal again.

For Jack, this was the perfect opportunity to increase his antics tenfold. He was becoming more and more impatient, wanting to badly to properly greet you, and with each scare he only felt himself grow stronger. He was feeding on your anguish, allowing it to fuel him until eventually he would be ready to come out and play.

For the next few weeks, Jack made you sure you found absolutely no peace. He was relentless and cruel, even by his standards. He broke your stupid little lock, and the two others you ordered after that. He couldn’t count the amount of times he’d made you shut the glass door to the shelf again. Whenever you tried to cover him with the blanket, he let you know he was particularly upset with you by not only swinging the shelf door wide open, but moving his box right to your bedside table. That way, he got to see your terror up close when you jolted awake, nearly tripping over yourself to get away when you saw the box a mere couple of feet from your face. He made the house creak and jump every time you got a moment of quiet. Hell, he was petty enough to mess with the thermostat when you were out, meaning you got to return home to a freezing cold or blistering heat that was surely running up your bill. Speaking of running up your bills, it wasn’t unusual for Jack to leave the water running either.

The thing that got to you the most, though, was the incessant nightmares.

God, they never stopped.

They were almost all the same:

You’d be trapped somewhere familiar, like your room or a store you’d been at that day. You’d be completely alone and no lights would work, and when you tried to leave all the doors and windows would disappear. And every time, every goddamn time, that jack-in-the-box would be sitting there to greet you when you turned around. That was by far the worst part. Just looking at it would make you weak and nauseous, but you always woke up just before you’d collapse. Whenever you awoke from your nightmares you tried to take comfort in the sunrise beginning to slowly come up over the horizon, but deep down you knew the daylight could no longer save you.

Each day you woke up more exhausted than the last, too tired to go anywhere but not able to stand being in your house with whatever entity was making your life hell.

On the contrary, Jack was merely becoming more and more energetic every day. He hadn’t felt this eager in a long, long time. He was even feeling a bit bold, working up the courage once or twice to open the shelf while you were in the room. That scared you the most, making you jump with fear and scramble out of the room as fast as you could.

He knew you didn’t really have anywhere else to go. You could leave for the day, sure, but sooner or later you’d have to come back home. The stars must’ve aligned for him to find you, the perfect little plaything that could never really escape and gave him endless entertainment. You were certainly a funny one.

Although, there were times he enjoyed simply watching you just as much as tormenting you.

Countless times he’d find himself occupied with quietly observing you as if you were a completely foreign creature. He’d peak out of his box to watch you toss and turn at night, to watch you dress in the morning, and he even got to see you walk back from your showers a few times. You looked so soft, even from this far away, with so many places for him to grab and squeeze and wrap his massive claws around.

It was shameful, really. Or it should’ve been at least. Jack didn’t know the meaning of the word. All he knew was that the urge to reach out and grab you in his claws was growing stronger, and fast. His already minimal patience was beginning to thin, and he knew that soon it would run out completely. Watching you from afar wouldn’t be enough.

But that was okay.

He was finally ready to properly greet you, and he knew exactly how he’d do it.

That night you experienced one of the usual terrors, but this time you couldn’t recognize the room. It looked to be the bedroom of a victorian mansion with tall wooden walls decorated with dusty paintings that seemed to go up forever, closing you in on all sides. A child’s toys were scattered around the room, and the blankets on the bed had been tussled and pushed around. It was clear someone had been living here, but who? And why were you in a room you had never seen before?

And why, God—

Why was that jack-in-the-box still sitting on the shelf? And why was the crank turning on its own, playing the quiet, foreboding tune of “Pop Goes The Weasel?”

The feeling of dread that filled you was nothing new, but what you didn’t expect was to see the box slowly open as the crank continued to turn.

The movement wasn’t sudden, but it was absolutely shocking, so much so that you fell back onto your hands. You tried to scoot backwards, to somehow get away, but you couldn’t move. All you could do was watch as the lid of the box clicked into its open place, and a dark shape began to emerge.

It took a moment for you to figure out what you were looking at. The shape had sharp edges and moved slowly, in a controlled manner. It wrapped around the edge of the box and tapped against it.

It was a hand.

A massive hand with pitch black claws, each nearly as large as your palm, much too big to belong to something that should’ve been able to fit in that box.

A second clawed hand reached up, grabbing onto the opposite side of the box. They looked to be pulling up the rest of the body.

You watched, mouth agape in silent horror as the claws were followed by long striped sleeves, then a head and face covered by long black hair that fell past broad shoulders, until eventually the entire body had dragged itself out of the box. The creature sat there limply with its limbs bent unnaturally as if its own body was too heavy for it to move. There was one thing about it, though, that made your blood run cold:

Above a sharp toothed smile that was stretched impossibly wide were two achromatic pinwheel eyes, spinning manically behind a curtain of dark hair. They pierced your soul with their stare, almost seeming to glow in the dark.

There was a split second where you knew you were about to wake up, but the sight before you when you forced your eyes open was so similar to your nightmare that you weren’t sure it had worked.

That…thing from your dream was hovering over you.

Its visage was completely clear to you now, hair falling around its face and on either side of your head as it peered down at you. A single glance towards its body showed it was even bigger up close, easily twice your size. It resembled some sort of clown, in line with the theme of the jack-in-the-box, but nothing about it seemed comforting or humorous.

Your first instinct was to thrash, but you couldn’t move. The clown had pinned your arms down with its massive claws, not even flinching when you tried to fight it off. It took no effort to hold you down.

Its razor-toothed mouth began to crack open, and for a second you expected it to lunge forward and end it all with one fatal snap of its jaws.

But that didn’t happen.

No, instead…

It laughed.

The laugh itself didn’t even sound malicious or evil. In any other context it could easily be mistaken as an innocent giggle, a sound you might make when you saw something particularly cute.

That was what you were to Jack:

Cute.

But not in the way you’d think.

You were cute in the way a helpless, injured animal is cute.

Cute in the way that something you could hold in the palm of your hand is cute.

Cute in the way that something you knew you had complete control over is cute.

Cute in a pathetic, pitiful way that Jack loved.

He had waited so long to have his fun with you, he was trembling with excitement.

“Oooh, there you are!” Jack spoke in a lighthearted tone, drawing out his words in a playful manner. You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to sound like, but it definitely wasn’t that. You couldn’t decide if his oddly happy demeanor and sing-song tone with the cartoonish lilt of his accent was more or less frightening than the classic demonic voice of a supernatural killer.

Suddenly something uncomfortably wet slid from your shoulder to your cheek, and it wasn’t until he pulled back that you realized it was his tongue.

It was impossibly long and had the same striped pattern as his sleeves, moving in a much too articulated manner, as if it was another limb. You watched with wide eyes at it slowly retracted back into his mouth with a sickening wet sound. You could imagine it coiled up in there like a snake; after all, that was the only feasible way it should’ve been able to fit back in his mouth.

“You taste even better than I imagined…” The clown continued, taking no notice of (or at least not caring about) your discomfort. “You’ve been teasing ol’ Jack, haven’t you?”

“J…Jack?” You echoed in a whisper. You could hardly hear your own meek voice.

He only chuckled in response, taking great delight in hearing you say his name.

One of his hands released your arm, though you didn’t dare move either way. It slowly slid its way under your oversized nightshirt, pushing it above your chest and exposing your entire midriff. Both of his hands ran along your sides slowly, two claw-tipped thumbs barely scraping over your skin. Just a bit more pressure could’ve drawn blood, and it wouldn’t even take much effort on Jack’s part.

You tried not to move, to not even breathe, terrified that one wrong move would get you torn to shreds. You could imagine one razor sharp talon digging into your chest and dragging to your stomach, slicing you open in a mess of gore and intestines and oh, God—

You winced when Jack’s tongue unfurled once more, this time running from your navel all the way to your chest. It left a cold trail of saliva that made you shiver. You had to turn your head away, unable to look at Jack any longer, only to yelp in pain when you felt the sharp sting of a bite.

When you looked down again you were greeted with Jack’s smug grin.

“Pay attention to me and I won’t have to do that again.” He ordered, unblinking stare piercing through you. The tone of the demand was almost whiny, like he would throw a tantrum if he didn’t get his way.

“Wh…What the hell do you want?” You choked out.

Jack didn’t answer. It would be more fun to watch you figure it out on your own.

He adjusted you in his hold, allowing him to sit up as he moved to grasp your thighs. It was then you realized you’d neglected to put on any actual pants before bed, your lower half clad only in your boxer briefs which were doing very little to keep you modest, especially as Jack lifted your clothed bulge closer to his eager mouth.

“W-Wait—!”

But your plea came a moment too late, and any other attempt at words died in your throat when you felt Jack’s tongue run over your cock through your boxers.

“Shit—! Jesus Christ…” You huffed, “What the fuck…are you doing…?”

You dug your teeth into your bottom lip and watched helplessly as Jack’s tongue ran over you once more, making you tense as you felt your cock twitch. Damn, that felt good…

You really shouldn’t have been enjoying this. Especially not this much. You expected to be much more disgusted, and yet you weren’t. In fact, there was a little voice in the back of your head that was eager to take much more.

But what choice did you have, really?

Jack certainly had no intention of stopping, and you certainly weren’t going anywhere. Besides, for all you knew you’d wake up tomorrow and realize this was all a shameful wet dream.

You tried to relax a bit in his grip, which proved difficult when he was staring at you like he wanted to eat you alive.

Before you could blink Jack had suddenly flipped you onto your stomach, making quick work of your boxers with one swipe of his claws. The sound of ripping fabric caught you off guard, and everything happened so fast you weren’t sure what had happened until you felt Jack’s tongue run over the bare back of your thighs.

“Oh my God—!” You cried out, barely managing to muffle yourself with a pillow. You held it tight against your face, and even had to bite down on it in an attempt to stop yourself from screaming when Jack slipped his tongue inside of you.

It felt even longer than it looked, squirming inside of you and leaving absolutely no spot untouched. Every time you thought he couldn’t possibly go any deeper, he somehow did, filling you with his tongue until you couldn’t fit anymore. A shame, really; he had lots more to offer, but he couldn’t expect much from such a little human.

His hands were easily large enough to grasp your waist and hold you against his mouth. You had no way of knowing, but Jack was more than aware of his own strength, even taking care to make sure he didn’t pierce you with his nails. You’d be much for fun alive, after all. Although, this didn’t mean he didn’t have a bit of fun scaring you, occasionally giving a rough squeeze just to feel you flinch. He was thoroughly invested in tasting every inch of you, but that didn’t mean he’d stop toying with you at every opportunity.

Despite his hold on you, you couldn’t stop yourself from writhing desperately in his hands. You weren’t trying to fight him, but the sensation of his tongue wriggling around so deep inside of you was certainly an odd one. Your cock was already throbbing between your legs and dripping precum onto your sheets. There was a nagging urge to reach down and give your needy member some much needed attention, but you couldn’t force yourself to release your painful grip on your blanket. It was the only thing providing you any sort of purchase.

Jack was making quite the show of eating you out as well, moaning and slurping in a rather dramatic manner. He certainly wasn’t afraid of being noisy, though he made sure to stay quiet enough to listen to your encouraging noises. You sounded so desperate and needy, he just couldn’t get enough. You became especially loud when he began to slowly move his tongue in and out. He could even feel you squeeze around it, and it made his cock ache as he imagined what it would feel like to finally be inside of you.

You shuddered when Jack finally retracted his tongue, his saliva completely soaking your hole and beginning to run down your legs, leaving you now feeling thoroughly stretched but unpleasantly empty. He only let you rest as long as it took for him to close and wipe his mouth before he was manhandling you once more, this time flipping you into your previous position on your back. It happened so fast that just the impact of your head on the pillow made you dizzy.

When you looked up again Jack had leaned back a bit, looking down at his hands as he unbuckled his suspenders and soon after his pants. You followed his gaze just in time to see his own massive length spring free from his trousers.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

It was bigger than anything you’d ever even imagined, and suddenly you felt embarrassingly inadequate. It too was striped, and shaped in such a way that you could easily tell it was a cock but definitely not a human one. He laid it over your stomach and you couldn’t help but gasp at the sheer size. It was thick and heavy too, throbbing eagerly against your skin.

“W-Woah, wait, no way—“ You stuttered, attempting to crawl backwards and away from Jack. “That’s fucking giant, holy shit…You can’t— T-That won’t—“

“Shhhhh!” Jack interrupted as he roughly pulled you back to him, “Calm down, you whiny little thing. You’ll be fine.”

You only whimpered in reply, watching with bated breath as he spread your legs wide to make room for his cock. He groaned with delight when his leaking tip brushed against your waiting hole.

“A-At least be careful…!” You pleaded in a last-ditch effort to earn yourself some mercy.

“I make no promises.” Jack replied shortly, as if he was annoyed with your request. Maybe it was a bit cruel to be so careless, but surely you were being dramatic. Humans were meant to stretch, right? Surely you weren’t that fragile.

The noise that struggled out of your mouth when he forced himself into you was downright inhuman, followed by a string of curses and other equally nasty exclamations of the sort that could’ve barred you from getting you into heaven all on their own. Not that you were going either way at this point.

When Jack had finally filled you as much as he could, only about two thirds of his cock had managed to disappear inside of you. That was still rather impressive, all things considered, and it’s not like he could complain. Your tight hole squeezed around him in all the right places.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” You repeated under your breath as you tried to adjust to Jack’s size, a borderline impossible task.

“Foul mouthed one, aren’t you?” He scolded, grabbing your chin roughly. “Behave, or I’ll have to wash your mouth out.”

He seemed to find that hilarious, laughing to himself as if he’d never heard a funnier joke in his life.

“You…fuckin’ freak…” You spat back at him half-heartedly. It was hard to sound angry when you were trying to catch your breath after being filled to your limit. Jack feigned a gasp of disbelief at your lackluster insult.

“Naughty, naughty thing you are! Someone simply must teach you to behave!”

He squeezed you in his grip, testing his hold one last time before he began to pull back. You thought he’d stop halfway or at least start slow, but you were left speechless as he pulled out nearly all the way, leaving just the tip still nestled inside of you. You grabbed his shoulders in an attempt to brace yourself for what was sure to be a brutal impact.

“Brutal” was an understatement.

Shit, it felt like he fucking impaled you. You choked on what would’ve been a shriek when he pushed into you again, nails digging into his shoulder so hard it would’ve drawn blood if he had any. You felt unbearably full as his cock bullied its way back inside of you until it was laying heavy in your stomach.

Jack let out a shuddering moan that dissolved into a breathy laugh as he watched you struggle to keep it together. Your mouth hanging open in a silent scream and eyes going wide with panic was exactly what he wanted to see.

“Aww, did that hurt?” He asked, and honestly the condescending tone stung a bit. You only glared in reply.

He pulled back again, slamming into you with even more force than the first time. You could feel the bed swaying beneath you from the sheer strength. You could only hope he didn’t wind up breaking it after he broke you.

Jack was never one to take things slow, and as soon as he had gotten the hang of his thrusts he set a brutal pace. Each movement made your head spin with the impact. You really weren’t built to take something so massive, you shouldn’t have been able to, but you were taking it despite your body’s protests. You didn’t want to look down, unable to even stand the thought of seeing his gigantic cock disappear inside of you.

Desperate, animalistic noises spilled through your gritted teeth and out of your mouth. Each thrust hit deeper than the last and there were times you swore he was literally rearranging your guts. Of course you would eventually adjust to Jack’s size and strength, but that didn’t shake the fear that this encounter could land you in the hospital. This fear would fade as he continued though, the overwhelming fullness and ache soon melting into a pleasure like you’d never felt before. You grasped at anything you could, whether it be your sheets or Jack’s sleeves or hair, hopelessly clawing at anything you could get your shaky hands on.

Jack’s tongue laid limp out of his mouth as he panted, shamelessly rutting into you like a toy. You were nothing but a rag doll in his clutches for him to hold and use to his black heart’s content, and then some. While you couldn’t bring yourself to look down, he was more than happy to watch his cock thrust in and out of you. The wet squelching sounds made by each little movement were like music to his ears.

He knew he must’ve been hitting deep when he noticed the bulge he was making in your stomach.

Oh, you simply had to see this!

He grabbed your hair roughly and forced you to look down.

“Ahah! Do you see that? Do you?” He asked eagerly. He took your choked noise as a ‘yes.’

“You’re so small, ahah…I wonder how deep I can go before you break in two!”

He tugged on your hair once more, this time pulling it back to expose your neck. You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning as he dragged his tongue slowly up your neck before pulling you into a messy kiss. It only took one second of your surprise to allow him to slip his tongue into your mouth, and it quickly found its way down your throat. You were caught off guard and nearly choked, which only made Jack laugh against your lips. You could feel every little twitch or jerk it made as it explored your throat with no regard for your comfort.

Jack didn’t pull away until he could tell you were struggling for air, retracting his tongue incredibly quickly. You were coughing and heaving to catch your breath, which he apparently found very amusing. It seemed to send him into a giggling fit every time he scared you half to death.

Suddenly Jack came to an abrupt stop. You looked up at him in confusion, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was focused on something else. You felt yourself being jostled around as he shifted his position, sitting up on his knees and lifting you from the bed with one hand still around your waist and the other under your back. You were entirely supported by his hands now.

What the hell is he thinking?!

You felt him retracting once more, but this time he wasn’t moving his hips. He was moving you.

He showed no signs of struggle or even the slightest strain as he began to thrust into you again, your weight practically nothing to him. He was using you like a goddamn fleshlight, nothing more than a sleeve for his cock.

And honestly…It wasn’t so bad.

That seemed to be your breaking point, any sense of dignity you had before completely going out the window as you gave into him fully. If he was going to use you like a toy, you could at least put in the effort to be a good one.

“F-Fuck! Ah—! Jack, m-more…!” You begged, and for a moment a look of surprise flashed across his face. The last thing he was expecting was to hear you pleading for him so shamelessly, but it was a welcome surprise. His signature grin returned quickly, stretching from one pointed ear to the other.

“Oh, more he says?!” He replied, “More, more! What happened to ‘wait, Jack!’ and ‘you can’t, Jack!’, huh? Sudden change of heart?”

He was mocking your voice, degrading you so blatantly that he expected you to recoil at his nasty words, but instead you tightened around him.

Oh…you liked that.

He was more than happy to keep going.

“What is it then, hm? Or have you already gone too stupid to answer me? Aha, you really do love this!”

You nodded quickly in response, managing to push out a slurred reply that sounded vaguely like an agreement.

“Fine then,” he conceded, “I can give you more…”

And just when you thought he couldn’t possibly go any faster or shove in any deeper or make you cry out for him even more.

He fucked you like his current life and the next depended on it, each thrust slamming the headboard into the wall so hard it left a mark. Your legs trembled as you began to get lost in the pleasure. It all felt like a blur, a wonderful blur only broken up by the realization that you were much closer to your orgasm than you realized.

“Jack, J-Jack—! I’m close, I…I’m…” You couldn’t even choke out a single sentence of warning. Jack was more than aware of what you were trying to tell him, but he was content to let you pathetically struggle for words.

“Go on, why don’t you? If you need it so bad I won’t stop you.”

His attempt at an impartial tone was greatly hindered by his obvious excitement, a result of how close he was to his own peak and how much he desired to see you cum. He wanted so badly to see you make a mess for him, to feel you spasm around him and know that he was the one who brought you to that.

“Oh, please—!” You whined, “Please, please, please…”

You had no idea what you were begging for. You didn’t have to, though, because it seems like your pleas worked anyways. Every muscle in your body tensed on instinct, your back arching up into Jack and one last high pitched cry managing to leave your throat as you came. The force of your orgasm hit you like a truck, more intense and prolonged than any other you’d had, helpfully hastened by Jack’s increasingly erratic thrusts.

“Ahah, you squeezed so tight!” He gushed, “You feel so, so good…”

Faster, faster, faster, he had to go faster. He was so close, so close. He had to fill you, he had to. He had to see his cum dripping out of you and to know that he’d filled you with all he had and you had to be filled.

He went silent for a split second, and you knew what you were in for when his hips stuttered before going still, but you weren’t ready for the sheer amount of cum he pumped into you. He held you on his cock until he was completely done, continuing to make small ruts with his hips until he’d ridden out his orgasm to the end. There simply wasn’t room for it all inside of you, but even as it flowed out of you and down your legs and onto your sheets he continued to spill into you. You’d gone limp in his hands by the time he was done.

You barely processed the feeling of being laid back down on your bed, but you definitely winced when Jack pulled out of you. Damn, you were already sore. Not to mention your forehead was drenched with a thick layer of sweat and your thighs were soaked with a multitude of bodily fluids that you were trying not to think about right now.

You managed to crack an eye open when you heard Jack snickering.

“Tired already? A shame. I had fun.” He said casually, as if the both of you had just returned from an outing and he hadn’t practically jumped you in your own home. Your only answer was an exhausted sigh.

Jack cocked his head to the side as he stared down at you. Were you really so worn out already? He wasn’t tired at all! Then again, “tired” wasn’t really something he felt…

Humans are so strange.

He laid down beside you and draped an arm over you. When he leaned in you expected him to lick you again, but instead he brought you into a kiss. An actual kiss, the first real gesture of affection he’d given you, even if it was rather brief. He pulled away to nestle his face into the crook of your neck, and you could feel his laughter against your skin.

“You’re a funny one, do you know that? I hope I get to play with you a lot more…”

Oh, fuck.

He wasn’t leaving, was he?

mdni & reblog banners by cafekitsune

#creepypasta #creepypasta smut #creepypasta x reader #male reader #laughing jack #laughing jack x reader #laughing jack smut #clown fucker #creepypasta x male reader #laughing jack x male reader #laughing jack x you #creepypasta x reader smut #laughing jack x reader smut #tw dubcon #tw dubious consent

2K notes · View notes