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yieldtotemptation · 6 months ago

Text

WISH ft. Giselle

giselle x male reader smut

8k words

"It's a Christmas miracle!" —is how Giselle chooses to make her grand entrance, swinging open the door to your bar, a fresh powder of snow dusting her shoulders. She shrugs it off. "My favourite person in all of Seoul."

You deadpan, "That's very concerning."

She laughs off your quip with the same ease that she does everything else. Sways her hips, saunters over to you, fire engine-red heels clacking against wood as she rushes to take her usual stool. Not like she'd have to fight anyone for it, there's no one else here.

Besides, even if there were—it's always been hers.

You're sliding over her drink before she can even open her mouth to order, because that's what you do for her. Anticipate. Your job in a nutshell, really. Knowing what she wants.

Her thanks is in the blush colouring her cheeks, flushing them a rosy pink, matching her hair in hue.

Just so immediately pretty.

She raises the drink, grinning at you through the glass. Gets a little too dramatic with her gasp.

"Exactly what I wished for! How did you know?"

"Made a list, checked it twice."

That earns you a giggle, has Giselle leaning forward, propping an elbow on the bar, chin in her palm. Her usual routine—just sitting there, all beautiful and flirty and really, really fucking out of place amongst the dim lighting and worn-out leather.

And yeah, you’ve committed it all to memory, seen it in every light and shadow; the smoky liner ringing around her eyes, the gloss that makes her lips look shiny and sweet and oh so soft. The absolutely devastating smile that never seems to leave her—only gets wider, warmer, parting when she laughs and slaps a hand on the table, or lands it on your forearm.

Accidentally, of course.

"Does that mean I get to sit on your lap later?"

It’s a touch early for her to throw out bait so blatantly. That’s more of a three-drinks-in kind of thing.

Still, your mouth answers for you before your brain can catch up, “Depends if you've been naughty or nice.”

“I think we both know the answer to that one,” she says, far too casually for you to handle, daring you to let that thought linger. Let it rattle around your head with all the other loaded thoughts involving her in various states of undress and in all sorts of compromising positions—underneath, on-top, kneeling. Thoughts that are better kept on a tight leash.

Because you know what would happen if you were to give in to them.

How you’d reach over the bar separating the two of you, pull her onto the counter. Send all the glasses, the bottles, crashing to the floor, and just kiss that smile right off her face, right here, right now. Tear off her clothes and leave her bare and exposed to the cold December air, make her yours, fuck her absolutely senseless. Render her nothing but a victim to your fingers, your lips, your cock, to all the need that’s been boiling inside you over the past months and—fuck.

She's got you good.

There's no point in pretending like it hasn't been this way since the first time she found you—at the end of an alley that's at the end of another alley, down the stairs and into the underground proper. Waltzing her way into the hovel that is your whiskey bar; all for reasons that you’re yet to fully untangle.

Months of performing this same dance—it's late, she walks in, typically perfect and bouncy, like some half-remembered fantasy or a libido-driven hallucination. Only, she must be real, because there’s no way you could ever conjure up someone like her.

It's embarrassing, you really should be far more used to it now, built up at least a partial immunity to her brand of charm. But somehow, she still finds a way under your skin. You’re only human, after all. And she’s… she’s Giselle.

Undeniably, in-your-face gorgeous, Giselle.

Dead-set and determined to throw herself at you until you break.

"Perfect," is her evaluation when she's taken her first sip. It plays out like it’s been choreographed: she licks her lips, flashes that million-dollar smile, lets loose a sigh of pure joy. Looks at you all wide-eyed and impressed; like you're the only person in the world who's ever given her exactly what she wants. Like she doesn't already live in a reality where everyone else falls flat on their faces to ensure that the needs of Aeri Uchinaga are met. “Always perfect.”

And you have your own steps to follow. You're glued to the pulse in the curve of her neck, the gentle slope of her shoulders, the naked collarbone when she shirks off her coat to reveal tits that are much too ample for her dress to contain. All these little things that make her so fucking distracting.

She says, surreptitiously, "You know, I didn't think you'd be open today."

"And yet you came anyway."

"And yet I did."

There's the loaded insinuation stacked on top of her words like a teasing question mark:

('I came looking for you.'

'I was waiting.')

"Like I said, a Christmas miracle," Giselle repeats, softly this time. Barely audible over the Christmas tunes you’ve got on a loop, some self-inflicted torture you’re wreaking on yourself for purposes unknown. Maybe to get into the spirit of things. Maybe to keep the silence at bay. Maybe to make Giselle's efforts feel less effective.

It doesn't work.

It does, however, have you leaning in just to hear her better, and that's a mistake right there. Getting too close that you can follow the lines of the dress she's picked out for the night. A sheer black, strapless number that hugs her figure close, dipping at her chest, giving you just enough of a glimpse to send the alarm bells ringing.

Ending short of the tops of her thighs, because of course she's wearing stockings, and of course they have tiny little bows holding them up, and you're already thinking about how easy it would be to get your teeth in them and pull them apart, and the walls are starting to feel closer and closer with each passing second.

But you don't say anything. You just try to remember to breathe. You chance a look back at her face, aiming for unaffected.

Her eyes instantly undo you.

Giselle uncrosses and crosses her legs. The stockings stretch.

"Like what you see?"

Now seems like an optimal time to pour yourself a drink. Something strong to fortify the weakness in your knees, to maybe bolster the resolve that's threatening to crack like the ice frosting over the windows outside.

You grab a glass, pour a good measure of whiskey and throw it back without even bothering with the usual ritual. You need it. The burn is a good distraction.

You turn her question back on her. Shame on her for asking something so obvious. "What do you think?"

"I think," Giselle smiles, tilts her head, that curtain of bubblegum-pink cascading over her collarbone and down onto the bar, "That it appears that all the effort I put getting into this tight fucking dress was worth it."

You're unable to stop yourself from saying, "Don’t need the dress if that was the intention." It slips out of you, like an idiot, and you decide to busy yourself by pouring two more drinks, because you really don't know what the fuck else to do at this point.

“Duly noted,” she says, likely adding it to some mental file she keeps on you. Ways to get you to drop your guard. Ways to get under your skin. “But don’t you think unwrapping presents are half the fun?”

You’re rolling your eyes, it’s too much, but Giselle’s too good at this whole thing. Got the two of you sliding deep into the easy rhythm of conversation you've found yourselves in many, many times before; when it's just you and her in the waning hours of the night and you're finding excuses not to close up and she's finding excuses to stay.

And the drinks just compound on it even more. All the alcohol really seems to do is blunt her filter and dull your better instincts, bringing you both to that tipsy point where everything that comes out of your mouths can’t help but sound like shameless innuendos; all terrible ideas that you both absolutely must indulge in.

Talking and flirting and drinking until you’re finally crossing that invisible line drawn over the counter of your bar, forgetting about that ethereal wall of separation that keeps you on the straight and narrow; that would normally stop you from doing things like reaching over and brushing a strand of pink out of her face and over her ear.

You keep your hand there, your thumb padding the soft skin of her cheek. She leans into your palm.

“So,” she says, and it’s accompanied by the kind of pause that holds a whole universe of possibility. She takes a sip of her third drink of the night, her eyes fixated on you, studying the lines on your face. Trying to find the cracks.

“So.”

“Why haven’t you made a move on me?”

She might as well have gathered snow from outside your door and thrown it right at your face. You blink, the warmth of the whiskey in your cheeks fading fast. “Very confident of you to think that I would want to.”

“Don’t dodge,” she chides. “We both know you didn’t open tonight for the amazing business rush. So. Spill. Why?"

You’re about to spout off an excuse—something about a Hippocratic oath, or bartender-customer privilege, but Giselle cuts your lie short before it can even leave your throat.

“You’ve been staring at me like you want to eat me alive every night I’ve been here, and you expect me to believe you’re not interested?” Giselle leans closer, her breath warm on your hand. Her eyes piercing through, stripping away every defence you’ve ever had. “You’re barely hiding it you know? How badly you want me.”

There’s an implicit challenge underneath her words. You get the message loud and clear:

Don’t you know how badly I want you too?

"It's—" you start, before course correcting when you catch the smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. You swirl the whiskey around in your own glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light and dance. "Complicated."

"Oh really?" Giselle's eyes light up at that, and you're beginning to feel like you're falling into some trap she's set up. It just hasn’t revealed itself to you yet. "I like complicated. I live off complicated."

"I'll bet," you reply, not missing the fact that she's now taken your hand into hers, threading her fingers through yours. "Probably why you're here so often."

Giselle clicks her tongue, runs it across her lips. You'd die for a taste. "I thought I asked you to stop dodging. But, if you really want to know, I come here because I like the company," she explains, before ending her thought with, "and the attention."

"Because being an idol doesn't give you enough?"

"Not in the way I want it."

"And I do?"

"Not yet," she says, with an air of finality. "But give it time."

The silence stretches between you, thick with the weight of the unspoken. The air in the bar feels charged, like the moment before a storm hits. You're reading her, acutely aware of the things running through her mind, because you can see it in her eyes, because they're the exact same thoughts that’s never left yours.

You want her.

You need her.

She’ll give herself to you.

Giselle’s the first to break the pause. “Ask me.”

“Ask you what?”

The corners of eyes crinkle ever so slightly, and that's about where you realise your fate's been sealed from the start. She takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. You’re aching already. "What I really want for Christmas."

You don't need a map to know where this is headed. But you still ask anyway. "And what is that?"

"You."

You set down your glass with a clink. "Look, Giselle—"

"Let me finish," she interrupts, and now her hand's sliding up your arm, leaving a trail of static wherever she touches. "For Christmas this year, all I want is for you to do whatever you want to me."

A second attempt, "Giselle—"

"I know you want to. You know I want you to. We've danced around this for too long and I'm running out of ways to subtly tell you that if I don’t get my hands on that perfect cock that I know you're hiding, I just might burn this place to the ground. So," she says carefully, intentionally. Making sure you feel each word coursing through your every nerve ending, winding their way down to your cock, until you’re throbbing in your pants.

Giselle bats her eyelashes. Bites her lip. Leans even closer. Her tits get very close to winning the war against her dress.

"Don't you want to make my Christmas wish come true?"

You never stood a chance. "I do quite like my bar in one piece."

"I do too." Giselle's smile turns devilish. “But I like the idea of having your cum inside me more.”

"Then we better get you out of your clothes."

Only, a slight amendment.

"But keep the stockings on."

—

Giselle kisses you like a woman starved. Messy, sloppy crashes that has her nose bumping into yours and her teeth finding purchase in your lip. She seems determined to leave her mark. You’re more than happy to let her.

It’s a far cry from what you’re used to—the build-up, the slow crescendo where you both pretend that you don’t immediately want to jump to the inevitable—but Giselle clearly doesn’t give a fuck about any of that.

The moment you’ve dragged her over the bar, fulfilled your fantasy and cleared the countertop so the only thing standing between you and her body is the crumpled mess of her dress, she's on you. Moaning, whining into your mouth, desperate. Tongue hunting down yours, pressing into it, trying to wrestle it into submission.

Taking your cheeks into her hands, holding firm, the only thing keeping her steady as you match her hunger, heat against heat. Her taste is everything you've ever wanted—sweet and sharp, like the whiskey burning through your veins, warming you from the inside out.

"God, I needed this," she whispers in the breaths between your kisses, as your hands get adventurous and run down the length of her spine, pulling her closer into you.

You make good on your promise, finding the zip, peeling it down, leaving the fabric to sag off her shoulders. Her skin is cold underneath your fingertips, the curve of her back breaking out in goosebumps. Your touch makes her arch, her back bow, her breasts push up against her dress until it can't hang on any longer and the whole thing pools around her waist.

“Merry Christmas to me,” comes tumbling out of your mouth when you finally get to appreciate Giselle.

The full, round tits, naked and begging for your hands. The smooth curve of her waist, the dip of her stomach. The way her hips flare out, giving way to thighs that you know, just know, will be the perfect grip. And the stockings. Holding up the suspension of your disbelief—she’s so ridiculously out of your league and yet so, so needy for you.

“Fucking gorgeous, Giselle,” you’re telling her, making her sigh, her eyes closing shut as you reach out to fill your hand with her chest. Your touch makes her nipples pebble, stiffen underneath your thumb. She leans back, pushing her chest out even more, giving you as much of herself as she can for you to touch, to tweak, to worship.

And she’s so much smaller than you, so much softer than you’ve ever allowed yourself to believe. The reality of her in your arms is far more intense than any fantasy you’ve ever concocted in the quiet of the night after she’s long gone and left you with nothing but her memory. But she’s giving herself to you now, wanting you to do it all.

Letting you push into her, kiss the skin between her neck and her clavicle, press into her a brand that will linger long after you’ve both unwinded and unraveled each other.

“Just like that,” Giselle whispers in your ear, hands finding your neck, needing you even closer still. “Don’t stop, just keep touching me. You can do whatever you want—tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Just don’t stop.”

Nothing else to do but oblige, to give in to your baser instincts, to bring every fantasy, every lurid thought to life. Giselle’s been living in your mind rent-free. Filled it with thoughts of fucking her into oblivion again and again—so you already know exactly where to go, what to do next.

You know to trace the edge of her stocking with your thumb, pressing down on the bow, watching as the skin around it flushes from your touch.

You know to drag your hand up, higher up her thighs, push the hem of her dress to her waist, slip under the elastic of her panties and hold itself there. Leave her trembling in anticipation of your touch.

“Please,” you’ve barely started and she’s already begging, breathless. Needing for you to explore her.

But first, you need to tell her how.

“I’m going to touch you,” you say, voice gruff, and she shudders, her hands tightening around your neck. “I’m going to get my fingers into your cunt, I’m going to squeeze your tits, I’m going to make you scream my name, and you will, because you’re going to be such a good girl for me. Understood?”

Her eyes flash open, meeting yours. Not an ounce of doubt. Just pure need.

“Yes,” she says. A single word that’s more a plea than a response. “Please. Do whatever you want. Make me feel good.”

She just about collapses when you yank her panties down and push your hands between her thighs.

“God—fuck—” and she’s sobbing already.

“You’re so drenched,” you’re remarking, sliding your fingers higher, feeling the wetness that’s been gathering there for who knows how long.

“For you,” she’s gasping, repeating herself, “For you.”

It’s so easy to find the heat of her, to push in and down on the top her mound. Give just the right amount of pressure on her clit that makes her jerk. Makes the muscles in her face twitch, her mouth open wide and moan. It’s a melody in your ears, and you press down harder, swirling now, and you’re beginning to think you’ve found your true calling.

Fuck making her drinks; making her fall apart is why you were put on this planet in the first place.

Her breasts jiggle with every tremble that runs through her, flickering in reach of you, taunting you with their bounce. You can’t help but lean down. Not when they’re calling to you like that.

You lick a path from the base of her neck to her collarbone, and then lower, to one of those perfect peaks that’s been begging for your attention.

Giselle inhales sharp through her teeth, her chest heaving as you start to suck on her nipple. You work your tongue around it, roll it in your mouth until her knuckles turn white against the edge of the bar, her nails digging into surface. The sounds she’s making, these choked gasps that are so raw, so needy.

Showing how good she feels with every part of her body—pushing her breasts up and into your face, her hands tangling in your hair, legs spreading wider, thighs shaking at the effort of staying upright.

You don’t let up, keep going—tongue swirling, fingers moving at double-time over her cunt, her other tit.

Listening to her turn your name into something filthy, something that sounds like a curse.

You pull back off her, cool air kissing the wetness you leave behind, making her quiver, her high, fuck-me heels knocking against wood.

“Giselle,” you say, taking in this look of bliss on her face. The teary eyes, the trembling lip, her cheeks now so very red. “Gonna make you cum now.”

You don’t wait for permission. You already have it. You step forward, lifting her legs up and trapping her atop the bar, spreading her wide open.

Two fingers at first, all at once, no hesitation. Giselle’s pupils blow wide, shocked, teeth bite down on her bottom lip, muffling a cry that you feel in the pit of your stomach. She’s so soaked that you slide right in with ease, a slow push that makes her whine, the slickness making the sounds of your fucking echo over the din of the empty bar.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” Giselle stutters, all breathy and desperate. Hands flying to your shoulders, nails digging in. Holding on for dear life, writhing as your fingers curl upwards, pushing up against that magical spot inside that has her clenching.

“Such a good girl,” you say, the words slipping out of your mouth like they’ve always been there, just waiting for her to hear them.

The whimper that she makes—the noise alone should be illegal.

“So tight around me,” you tell her, pushing on, focusing entirely on pulling more of these noises from her, doing your best to ignore how hard you already are, how unbearable it is to not be inside her. “So good for me.”

It’s the praise that makes her keen, makes her whine. Pushes herself onto your fingers, trying to get more, trying to get all of you. Just so fucking hot for you.

You can see it playing out across her body, the way she’s losing herself to the pleasure, giving up control of her own functions to you. So helpless, so beautiful. So fucking delighted to finally have you using her in ways she’s only dreamt of.

You’ve never seen anything like it. You’re addicted before you’ve even had her.

“This cunt is going to feel so good around my cock.”

Giselle's nodding, slurring together a string of yeses and thank yous in response.

Her pussy’s pulsing around your fingers, juices soaking your hand, she’s already so close. So close that you can almost taste the orgasm on her skin.

“You want it so fucking bad, don’t you, Giselle? Want me to fuck you senseless.”

Her eyes are glazed over, barely there. Just stunningly beautiful even in the midst of her desire, and you’re not even sure she’s heard you at all until she’s panting out, “I want it. Need it. So much. Oh, God, please, fuck me with your cock. Make me cum. Make me scream.”

But you get in close, lips to her cheek, a command for only her to hear. “You’re going to cum all over my hand. You’re going to show me how badly you want it. Understand?”

“Yes—yes, please—” is the most she can manage, a harsh whisper that barely gets through. You feel it more than hear it, a shiver running through her, down her spine and up yours. “Do it. Give me more, I need it.”

She’s nothing short of incredible. Writhing under your touch, losing herself to your fingers—there’s never been anything—anyone—like this. Anyone that runs this hot, that pleads this much, that is so eager for nothing but you, as much of you as you can give.

There’s no excuse for why it's taken so long to get here, why you let every other opportunity skate by. But now’s not the time for regrets. This is all just catch-up. Getting to this moment that’s been burning a hole in your mind. Making up for all the times when you should’ve been bringing her to her knees, should've been marking her up as yours.

“Mine,” you’re claiming, taking her lips once more, feeling the tremble in her chin. “You’re going to be mine, aren’t you?”

“Yours,” her voice quavers back into your mouth.

She kisses you back like she’s drowning, like you’re the very air she needs to breathe. And it’s all you can do to finger-fuck her faster, pressing deeper into her wetness. It’s filthy, borderline disrespectful the way that you’re owning her now. But it’s all necessary, if that’s what it’s going to take to get to feel her shatter in your arms.

But just as you can feel her hips bucking up off the counter and into your wrist, as she’s about to tip over the edge, you pull back, breaking the kiss, leaving her choking for air.

“Look at me,” you tell her, forcing her glassy eyes to refocus, to snap to yours. “I’m going to make you feel so good. You’re going to cum so hard for me. You’re going to look at me when you do.”

Giselle opens her mouth answer, but all that comes out is a whiny mewl when you slide your other hand from her tits to the back of her neck, pulling her into you, hard enough that you can feel her pulse drumming against your palm.

“That’s it, such a good girl,” you say to her, adorning her with all these sweet words that absolutely wreck her. And it’s so easy to because all of them fit. Your good girl, your slut, your baby, your whore. She deserves to hear them all. “Take it, take it all for me.”

“Fuck, please, I’m almost—” She tries and fails to put the syllables together—your fingers are too good, too precise in their frenzy. Playing her body, hitting every key, every beat, rushing to that final chorus.

And then it hits her, without warning, just a sigh and then she’s—

“I'm—I'm—cumming!”

Eyes trying to stay on yours, losing focus, turning wild, until she’s barely even there anymore.

Giselle cums.

Locking her in place, rippling across her body. Every muscle tensing, cunt quivering, hips lifting off the bar as her juices paint your hand.

“Thank you, thank you, fucking thank you—"

Her voice dies out, trapped in her throat, her words becoming nonsense as your fingers have her riding waves. You’re utterly transfixed, watching the orgasm rip across her face, melting her down to a messy puddle. Barely hanging on to you, mouth lolling open, eyes screwed shut, breaths coming in sharp and fast.

She’s limbless, her body goes slack, and you debate giving her the space, or even just a second to catch her breath, to come back to reality.

But you just don’t.

You don’t stop moving, don’t stop working her, because something tells you that the last thing she’d want is for you to stop. Something tells you that she’s one of those girls—the ones who love to chase the high. Who love to be pushed, who love to be told that they’re doing so well, that they’re perfect.

And Giselle is.

“Again,” you press into her neck, and she gives you the closest approximation to a nod that she can muster. “Again and again, I’ll make you cum until you can’t walk straight. Until you forget what it was ever like to not have my cock inside you.”

The nods come faster, insistent, following a whine as your fingers slide out of her cunt, all sticky with her juices. You bring it up to her, hold it in front of her face so she can see the mess she’s made of your hand.

Her breath hitches when she opens her eyes, catching sight of your glistening digits. You don’t even need to prompt her; she takes the initiative—she’s sucking your fingers without a second thought.

Moans when she tastes herself, sucking them clean, tongue flicking across your knuckles, pulling them into her mouth, relishing her own flavour.

“So fucking needy for it, aren’t you?”

You withdraw your fingers, enjoying the cry of protest at the loss, but you’ve got better plans for her. Pressing a kiss to her temple, before backing off completely, leaving Giselle empty, her legs wobbly.

You're quick to lose your clothes, stripping yourself off without much ceremony, tossing them aside with little care for where they end up.

And yet Giselle’s eyes rake over you, following your every move—she’s seen you before, you’ve caught her staring at your arms, your biceps, making no secret of assaulting you with her gaze at any chance she can get.

But now it’s the unbuckling of your belt, the vanishing of your jeans, the reveal of your cock. Springing free, hard and heavy.

Giselle wants it. Mouth salivating, pussy leaking at the sight of it. Oh, how she wants it.

It gives her energy, has her reaching out for a touch, a stroke. But you stop her, gently taking her wrist into your hand before she can make her Christmas wish come true.

She even has the audacity to pout. “Haven’t I been good?”

“Good?” You repeat, and you’re laughing. “You’ve been downright angelic.”

The pout quirks into a smirk, and there’s that familiar mischievous spark returning. “Then don't I deserve a little reward?” Giselle’s fingers go to her folds, spreading them apart. Putting her cunt on display, proud to show off how ready she is to be filled. “Like that big, beautiful cock of yours in my perfect little pussy?”

You don’t bother with the usual finesse, there’s no need for that. This doesn’t land anywhere on the normal spectrum of casual hook-ups to making love. This is about fucking. About need, raw and unfiltered.

“So, would you please—"

You’re yanking her by the waist before she can get started, lifting her off the bar and setting her down in front of you. There’s that thrill rushing through her, at being so easily handled, so effortlessly claimed.

She’s panting, breaths fogging up the air between you, waiting for your instruction.

“Get rid of the dress.”

Her compliance is instant—she steps out of her outfit, her panties. Until she’s just standing before you; the charm, the sex appeal, the big beautiful eyes all in view, so full of hope and desperation for the special kind of bliss only you can provide her.

Just Giselle, her fucking gift of a body in a pair of tight black stockings and high stiletto heels.

“Now,” you say, tilting your hips forward, your cock jabbing into her stomach, pressing a stamp of need into her skin. Giselle preens at the contact, practically vibrating at your touch. One more thing— “Beg.”

“Fuck me,” she says. Simply, honestly. With every ounce of her soul. “Fuck me good. Take me. Please. I need it. I need to feel you inside me. I’ve been dreaming of this, of you fucking me just like this, so—please, make it real.”

“Begging’s a good look on you, Giselle,” you murmur, finishing the rest of the thought in your head. ‘You're going to be doing a lot more of it tonight.’

She yelps when you flip her over, force her to brace herself against the bar. Her lovely ass high up in the air, her pussy drooling onto the floor.

You don't bother warning her.

You stuff your cock into her.

She fucking screams.

So wet, so slippery. Sliding in and out of her, forcing her cunt to mould itself too you. So fucking tight that you have to bite back a groan, have to fight the urge to just pound into her, to fuck her into the counter.

But there's still a pace you're setting, a rhythm that’s not quite as frantic as her needy cries. You’re in no hurry, not yet. You want to savour this. The feel of her clenching around you, the way her back arches with every thrust, her palms slapping against the bar top, leaving little smudges of sweat behind.

“God, this—” Giselle tries, but finds herself lost for words, unable to properly articulate just how good it feels to have you inside her. But the noises she makes—whimpers and gasps and moans and groans—speak volumes.

You complete the thought for her— “You fucking love this, don’t you?” You’re grunting, pressing your body to hers, nipping at her ear. Slurring these dirty thoughts like they're sweet nothings, these words of pure filth into her neck. “Love being fucked like this. Been waiting for it for so long. So goddamn desperate for it that you can’t even fucking talk.”

She’s fucking amazing. Not just the feeling—hot and tight and perfect—it’s the way she moves with you. Pure pleasure ricocheting through her, the slap of her ass against your hips, the sway of her tits underneath her, her cunt desperately trying to swallow you whole.

It’s her, her body, so alive and responsive and sensitive underneath yours. Taking your cock so deliciously, her cunt fluttering around like it’s trying to hold onto it, like it’s never going to let go.

“So, so fucking hard,” she’s found her voice, clawing back some level of composure. Enough to tense her cunt, squeeze her walls around you. Needing you to know every inch of her body, every inch of her pussy, needing you to know that it’s all yours for the taking. “God, it feels so good—doesn’t it? Fucking me here. Tell me. Tell me how good I am. Tell me I’m a good girl. Tell me you’re never going to be able to spend another second here without thinking of my pussy.”

You know she’s right, she’s leaving a part of herself here, branded into the very fabric of this bar that’s been your sanctuary. It has you pushing in deeper, a violent thrust of your hips, a little punctuation to drive her point home.

She swallows as you pick up speed, chokes on a half-formed moan—so, so fucking close. But you’ve only just begun.

Grabbing her hair, winding your fist in pink, pulling her up so she's forced to listen. The details on her face are all hazy, her makeups smudged from tears, from where she’s rubbed at her face, trying to keep the pleasure at bay. But that’s not how this goes. That’s not how any of this goes.

“You want to hear how good you’re being for me?” A harsh whisper for her, and it takes so much effort for her to just nod in response. “You want me to tell you all the filthy things I’m thinking? Everything that I’ve been dying to do to you?”

“Yes,” she pleads back. “Tell me, please—I need to hear it all.”

So you do. You lay it all on her. Every unfiltered, explicit thought you’ve had—every depraved fantasy that’s on the tip of your tongue whenever she’s around. You tell her all of it, how much of a whore you’re going to turn her into; how much of a slut you want to make her.

How this isn’t the last time. No, there’s going to be hours, days, weeks of this after. Of you fucking her here, of her coming to you just to have another taste of your cock. It’s a revelation, a promise, and it fucking ruins her.

“Every single time you've walked into here, every single time you've sat across form me, I've thought about this," you're grunting now, giving in to the urgency that’s been building up in your chest, the pressure that’s been weighing on you for what feels like an eternity. “I’ve thought about bending you over this very bar. Making you beg for it, making you scream out my name when I fuck my cum into you. Making sure every single person out there knows that this cunt is mine to take whenever I fucking want.”

It’s so fucked, the effect that hearing all this has on her. The sound of your voice, your darkest desires, the harshness of your words, it’s all too much for her, it’s everything she’s ever wanted to be told.

You’re unlocking something in her, something she’s never admitted to anyone, not her closest friends, not her bandmates, not even herself. The way you speak to her, the way you’re treating her like a perfect little fuck doll—and you’re realising that maybe, just maybe, it’s because no one’s ever fucked her well enough to find out.

There’s no room here to be gentle, there’s no way in hell she’d ever want you to be. You tighten your grip in your hair, slam into her harder, skin slapping against skin, mixing with the wet sounds of her pussy taking all of you. Each cry you fuck out of her is music, each one a little higher pitched, a little more desperate than the last.

“This is what you want isn’t it?” You’re demanding of her, even when she’s blubbering, barely able to breathe let alone respond. Just trying to hold on.

But you’re not letting her.

You’re taking her to that place that’s beyond words, that’s beyond thought. The place where all she can do is feel and react. And she’s doing that so beautifully, her body shaking, her cunt quivering around your cock. It’s building and building, the things you’re doing to her, saying to her, making her choke on her own spit, making her eyes roll back and her mouth drop open, until all she can repeat, over and over again is your name.

“Again,” she shapes another word, another plea. She’s a total disaster of need. “Please, again, make me cum again.”

“You'll cum when I say you can,” you growl, forcing her to choke on another whine. The strangled noise goes straight to your cock; makes it throb harder inside her, drive deeper into her. You let go of her hair, only to palm her tit, squeezing into the flesh hard. Giselle jolts, a squeal escaping her lips. “But since you’ve been so good, I’ll let you cum before me again. Just this once. Just because it’s Christmas.”

You’re being evil, you know it, she loves it, but it's the best part. She clearly wouldn't want it any other way.

”Yes.” Giselle’s beaming, shivering with excitement. Getting fucked into utter ruins and thanking you for the privilege. “Thank you, use my pussy, do whatever you want, just let me cum.”

That sparks an idea, “Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want,” Giselle pants, not a single idea of what she’s agreeing to. But maybe that's the whole point. “Anything.”

There’s a grin that splits your face that you can’t help, that you don’t bother suppressing. “I’m not going to ask for permission anymore, Giselle. I’m just going to fuck you the way I want. Make you addicted to my cock. Take you how I want, cum in all your holes, fill you up over and over again.”

Giselle’s eyes go wide, nearly stops breathing entirely. So close. Knowing that the next words out of your mouth are going to decimate her completely.

“Gonna make you start the New Year knocked up.”

She freezes.

“God—” Giselle’s a fucking wreck, on the verge of something explosive, something else entirely. “Oh my God.”

She just needs you to give her that push.

“You love it, don’t you? Being made nothing more than a fucking cumdump for me? That’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”

You’re fucking her too hard, hammering into her too roughly, it’s a wonder that she can even manage a stuttered, “I—I—”

“Fucking say it, Giselle,” you say, “Spit it out.”

It’s too difficult for her to fit the words together, to form her reply, so it means all that more when she manages to tell you. “I want it.”

“Want what?”

“Your cum in me. All of it. Until I’m, until I’m—” She’s there, lost in it, in the idea of you ruining her in such a permanent, irreversible way. Or maybe completing her, making her whole, making her perfect for you and only you.

But you’re so close too. Right fucking behind her. All she has to do is say it.

“Until you breed me. Fill me with your cum, give it to me. I need it. Make me your permanent cocksleeve and never let me go. Make me yours—completely, forever yours. Make me your fucking whore.”

“Good girl.”

And with that, she’s gone.

Hits her like a fucking meteor. Leaping right off the most intense high she’s ever climbed. Bucking and quaking against your bar, your cock still impaled inside her, mercilessly undoing her. It’s nothing short of fucking pornographic, fucking depraved the way it’s destroying her.

Seizing her entire body in pleasure, her nails digging into the wood, scraping up marks that will prove to be a sweet, everlasting reminder of the exact moment she became yours. Fracturing her, breaking her apart into a million tiny pieces and then remaking her all over again as something purely sexual—something that only exists for your satisfaction.

“So fucking good, your cock, God it’s you, just you—” Giselle’s words dissolve into a keening cry that shatters the remaining silence of the bar. “Breeding me so good—”

Nothing short of a miracle that she’s still on her feet, that she can still do anything at all. One last thing she needs to do in the dying embers of her lucidity, one final goal—choke your cock with her cunt, wring you dry, make you flood her with your cum.

“Cum, cum, fill me, breed me, give me your—”

“Take it,” you exhale, “Take it all.”

And it’s Giselle in her entirety that overcomes you, overloading your senses with the pure, distilled feeling of just her. The smell of her sex, her perfume, the feel of her curves, her softness, the perfection that is her pussy, enveloping your cock, drenching it in her wetness. These things that you’ll never, ever be able to forget.

But it's her words that make you erupt.

“Breed me, Daddy!”

You cum deep into Giselle’s pussy.

Buried inside her, rushing white hot, thick and heavy. Ropes and ropes of it, spurting inside her, painting her insides, coating her walls until it’s just sheer heat and you making her whole.

Her cunt’s clenching around you, she’s begging, slurring moans and whimpers that there’s no fucking chance you have of comprehending—just basking in the knowledge that they’re desperate, needy sounds that are all for you.

She can’t keep it all in. But she needs to.

Something knocks the architecture out of her legs, but you’re quick enough to wrap your arms around her, holding her tight, keep her on her feet. Keeping her from collapsing entirely, just letting her pulse around you, clench and quiver.

You’re kissing her into the shoulder, cooing these affirmations, keeping her with you, telling her the truth of it all, “Such a good girl, Giselle. Taking my cum so well.”

Giselle can’t say anything. She sobs. Face buried in her hands. Not from pain, not even close. You’ve never seen pleasure look so much like agony. So much like release.

It’s overwhelming.

You try to make a move, take a step back. But Giselle flexes her cunt, clutching you tighter. Reaches back with her hand for your thigh to stop you.

“Wait,” she whispers. "Not yet. Don't move. Keep your cock inside me. Don't let a single drop get out."

You give her the time, because she’s just so perfect like this. So unfathomably gorgeous, all fucked up and cum-drunk. In ways no one should ever be. Like you’ve torn the wings off an angel, brought her down to Earth and made her yours.

You revel in it.

“Take your time,” you breathe; the exhaustion, the strain, the adrenaline pumping through your veins all coming to a head at once. Keeping your cock plugging up her cunt. Leaving all your cum inside.

Neither of you are moving anywhere. Not until she says so.

Giselle laughs.

“Perfect,” she sighs, voice hoarse and shaky. “I knew it would be perfect. I knew you would ruin me like this. God, I don’t ever want to go back.”

You’re laughing too, harsh, airless chuckles that feel like they’re being torn out of your chest. You twitch your cock inside her. “You think you have a say in the matter?”

“I guess I don’t,” she giggles.

You look around at the scene of the crime, the evidence you've left on her. The marks on her skin, her shoulder, her neck. The ruins of her dress, her panties. The tearing of her stockings. Her tear-filled eyes, her smeared mascara, her drooling lips.

And her cunt, so full of you, so very yours.

It’s barely believable. She may not have burned down the bar, but there’s certainly a fire that’s been set. One that’s not likely to die down anytime soon.

It has you swelling inside her all over again.

Gisele feels it.

“Say,” she starts, wriggling her hips against you, making you groan. “You didn’t have any Christmas plans, right?”

Your hands slip down to her hips, idly massaging into the small of her back. “None at all.”

A contented exhale escapes Giselle's lips. She looks up, lashes fluttering, a soft, sweet smile. Her hand reaches back, caressing the side of your face. “And the rest of the year?”

“Nothing that can’t be cancelled.”

“Good,” she says, her breath sweet against your cheek. “Cancel them all. Close up for the holidays. Shut all the doors. Stay inside with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And do what?”

“Get to work,” Giselle answers, pulling you into a last kiss, threatening to undo you all over again. “You did promise to knock me up by New Years.”

#kpop smut #giselle smut #aespa smut #male reader

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ky-tumbles · 1 month ago

Text

Home is where the heart is

I’ve got a new obsession… so here’s a lil Ghost blurb.

Summary: Simon comes home from a mission, eager for his wife to give him some love

cw: pregnancy, mentions of children, lots of fluff

The house is unusually quiet. It’s the first thing that strikes him as he sweeps through the door.

He’s expecting the sound of the television, rummaging in the kitchen with the something boiling on the stove, maybe even your soft humming to some song he can’t quite name but could recite the lyrics to should you ask him.

He toes his boots off carefully, moving among the shadows still. He hasn’t quite shed the persona he dons in the field. Simon’s boots sit abandoned next to a pair of beat up sneakers, so he knows you’re home.

He’s not yet worried about your lack of presence though. He still has a routine to run through. His bag is unceremoniously dropped to the ground. He’ll take care to sort it away later but he’s eager to get to you.

The cabinet by the door beeps as Simon punches in the numbers that make out his password. The removal of his weapons is something he does diligently. It helps him slough off the Ghost that hasn’t quite left his stature.

He wants his Lieutenant persona to stay on base where it belongs. Home is for his wife. Home is for Simon. Ghost is not welcome.

The last thing to enter the cabinet is the balaclava. It’s the one thing that hides that Ghost has the same physiognomy as Simon. It allows him to separate the two into seemingly different entities.

Simon closes and locks the cabinet with a small sigh, his shoulders rolling back trying to remove the knots that have settled.

His face is blank as he enters the living room. It’s dark, your favourite throw blanket is still folded neatly over the back of the couch. His eyebrow raises as he approaches the couch.

Simon’s knees pop as he crouches down to feel the cushions. Cold to the touch, absent of any warmth there would be had you spent your usual reading time there.

He fishes his phone out of his jean pocket, device dwarfed in his large palm. He unlocks the Home Screen with a grunt, a pretty picture of you and him smiles back at him.

His large fingers dance across the screen, dismissing a text notification from Johnny. Instead he opens your text thread to triple check his earlier message had sent.

18:37 - Simon Riley: be home soon luv

No reply. Simon lets out a huff. Large hand stuffing his phone back into his pocket, the other runs across his face. There’s stubble on his chin, he didn’t get time to shave while holed up in whatever safe house he’d waited for extraction in.

“Luv?” He calls, voice shaking from disuse. He moves towards the stairs, thinking you must be sleeping or showering or something.

Simon is trying not to panic, he’s trying to rationalize why you wouldn’t be waiting for him at the door like routine.

His heart rate finally settles as he notices the light peaking out from under the master bedroom door. Simon lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

His stride is light as he moves towards the door, his salvation sits behind the door and he’s ready to run into it.

The door to your bedroom rushes open, startling you from your sleepy daze. You’d been on the edge of slumber, the reality show drama unfolding on the television has lulled your senses slowly into dream land. The mattress underneath you feels like a cloud, and you’d been happy to surrender to repose.

“Simon?” You squeak out, hand rushing over your swollen stomach to press against your chest. You will your heart to slow.

“‘Ello luv,” he smirks, his fondness evident in his eyes. “Suppose you didn’t get m’ text.”

Your heads lifts from the pillow slightly, neck craning to check the bed for your phone. “I’m sorry baby, I don’t even know where my phone is.”

The smile on your face is sheepish and adorable, Simon wants nothing more than to squish your cheeks but he refrains.

He leans against the door frame, arms crossing against his chest as he takes you in fully. You’re sat up against a bunch of pillows, a large u-shaped one is wrapped around your body. You’re wearing one of his shirts, a common sight since you’ve entered your third trimester.

“Was hopin’ m’ pretty lil wife would be waitin f’ me, like olways,” Simon moves closer to the bed, lowering himself onto the edge by your side. His hand quickly cups your bump. He presses a kiss to your forehead, basking in the way you lean into his warmth.

You suddenly push away from him though, causing him to look at your startled.

“I’m actually mad at you,” your finger points at his chest, poking him firmly.

“Oi?” He squints, leaning forward to brush his lips against yours. He then presses his lips against the furrow in your eyebrows.

“Yes! Stupid big man,” it comes out playful, and Simon knows not to take you too seriously.

“Ya’ think the opposite when I’m b’tween y’r legs,” the glimmer in his eyes causes you to push him away playfully. His hand slips under Meath the shirt you wear, fingers ghosting over your underwear.

“Hands where I can see them, that’s what got us here to begin with.” You cross your arms around your chest, tenderly as your breasts are still sensitive. “Doctor says your son is measuring bigger than average.”

Simon hums, attention drawn to your belly. His large palm rests against the skin, thumb quickly moving in circles against the fabric of your shirt. You hum at the feeling.

“M’ son?” He teases, leaning over to press kisses to the fabric covering your unborn son.

“Well he certainly is taking after you. This is what I get for letting you knock me up.”

Simon’s eyes roll. “Y’re b’ing a tad dramatic, angel.”

“I’m being dramatic? Your giant ass pet sperm has me on bed rest until he decides to push his way out of my vagina, Simon Riley. I think I get to be dramatic.” You huff, lips pouting.

Simon chuckles as he looks up at you, moving like a cat as he sweeps up to pull you into his arms. He quickly pulls the pregnancy pillow from below you, chucking it to the floor aggressively. His hatred of the stupid pillow seeping through his pores.

His lips are against yours before you can even blink. A hand moves to your lower back, adjusting you underneath him. His lips part and his tongue slips out against yours. He pulls away for a second, running his tongue over his lips before he pushes forward again. His lips are soft and plump. He’s been using the chapstick you snuck in his bag before he left.

You’re breathless when he pulls away. “It’s going to take a lot more of that to get me to forgive you.”

His voice is gruff as he gazes down at you, chocolate eyes melting in the lamp light. “Didn’t realize had t’ be sorry,” he’s cheeky, tongue in cheek.

He moves back down the bed, settling his head next to your belly, his hands make quick work of lifting the shirt you wear to your chest. He clears his throat, eyes shooting up to peek at you, ensuring you’re watching with rapt attention.

“Oi, i’s y’r dad. Need ya t’ lay off y’r mum. She’s doin’ all t’ hard work ‘ere, growing ya and shit,” he’s cut off by your hand pulling his hair to look at you. He smirks, purposely trying to irk you.

“Do not swear in front of my son,” you accost, hormones getting the better of you. You’re touched by the way he’s defending you, even if it’s just to your unborn baby but how dare he swear in front of your little angel.

“Oh? Y’r son? Though’ he was m’ son?” Simon teases, his other hand cupping the other side of your belly, he doesn’t leave you time to respond before he kissing against your skin.

You let a sweet sigh out at the touch, your man is home. You’re not the only one excited about it, your son kicks against where Simon’s head rest.

“Oi! Y’ lil bugger,” Simon laughs, moving back up to pull you into his chest. “Miss’d ya,”

“I missed you too.”

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley

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rosierin · 3 months ago

Text

double trouble | atsumu, osamu, suna

synopsis; the twins are doing some manual labour under the hot sun and (y/n) can't help but catch a sneaky glance or two or three when they eventually take off their shirts.

a/n; what can i say guys? im in france and the sun's got me feeling all silly

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

In her defence, (y/n) hadn’t meant to stare.

It just… sort of happened. Like blinking. Or breathing. One moment she was sitting in the kitchen sipping iced tea, gloriously unbothered. The next—

Well.

The twins had taken their shirts off.

And really, there should’ve been a warning. A government-issued alert. Maybe a health advisory. Something to prepare the public. Because this? This was just cruel.

They were scattered across their tiny backyard, moving a bunch of supplies from the car to the shed—lumber, bags of soil, some mystery item Osamu had bought for his garden project that weighed roughly the same as a baby elephant.

And okay, yeah, she could have offered to help.

But someone had to supervise. For... For safety reasons.

And hydration. Since she was already sipping tea.

It was boiling out—sun glaring, air thick, the kind of summer heat that made everything sticky and slightly unbearable. It made sense that they’d stripped their shirts off. Necessary, if you asked her.

Now, here’s the thing about the Miya twins: sure, they were genetically identical. But when it came to thirst?

Very different flavours.

Atsumu was golden and obnoxiously pretty, all tan skin and arrogant smirks. Every time he flexed his biceps lifting something heavy—grunting like an Olympic athlete, on purpose, she was sure—she could've sworn she'd seen God. His hair clung to his forehead with sweat, and every time he reached for something overhead, his whole torso flexed—showcasing toned abs and the kind of sinful V-line that made her question her faith.

Meanwhile, Osamu looked like he’d walked out of a home renovation fantasy. Dust on his forearms, jaw tense with focus, sweat beading down his neck. Those forearms. Those shoulders. The way his back flexed when he lifted a bag of gravel? Criminal.

The kind of guy who could build you a deck and then build you a reputation, if you caught her drift.

He grunted once. (Y/n) almost passed out.

She bit her lip so hard she nearly bruised it.

"I’m not better than a man," she whispered to herself, staring through the window like a Victorian widow at sea.

Double the muscles.

Double the sweat.

Double the hotness.

She was dizzy. Delirious. Probably dehydrated from the sheer amount of drool she was swallowing.

“You’re disgusting,” came a voice to her left.

She jumped.

Suna.

Of course it was Suna.

He was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, staring at her like a disappointed parent.

“Do I even wanna know what’s going through your filthy little mind right now?”

“No,” she said quickly. “And also, yes. But mostly no.”

He snorted. “Why don’t you just go up to them and tell them they’re hot?”

“No way,” she said, aghast. “That’s like walking up to a fire and saying, ‘hi, I’m flammable.’”

He raised a brow. “So you’re gonna keep ogling from the shadows like a little perv?”

“Correct.”

Suna poured himself a drink. Took a sip. Didn't argue. “Respect.”

She thought the worst of it was over.

She thought, I’ll survive this. I’ll just finish my tea, cool off, pretend I didn’t spend the last ten minutes mentally objectifying my friends.

She thought wrong.

Because a few minutes later, the screen door slid open with a bang, and in walked Atsumu—shirtless, sweaty, pressing a water bottle to the side of his neck.

Condensation trickled down his shoulder. His collarbone. His chest...

(Y/n) choked on her peach tea.

Suna snickered into his glass. “Karma’s so efficient these days.”

Atsumu didn’t seem to notice her state of physical and spiritual collapse—at first. He crossed the kitchen with casual swagger, cracked open the fridge, and stood there like he didn’t just set the room on fire.

That’s when it happened.

He looked over his shoulder—right at her. His eyes flicked across her face, clocking the flushed cheeks, the guilty stillness.

Then he grinned.

“Ya been watchin’ me, angel?”

(Y/n) froze, mid-sip, brain absolutely blank.

No thoughts. Just panic. And lust. And more panic.

“I—what—no,” she said, like someone who had absolutely been watching him. “No, I was looking at… the shed.”

Atsumu turned fully, eyebrow raised, lips twitching like he just knew. “Oh yeah? …The shed," he deadpanned.

“Yeah,” she said, defensive. “Very… shed-y. Strong architectural presence.”

He tilted his head, slow and smug. “Right.”

Suna, from behind his drink, drawled, “She almost passed out when Osamu grunted.”

“RIN.”

Atsumu burst into laughter, clutching his glorious sixpack stomach. “Shit, you were watchin’ us!”

(Y/n) dragged her hands down her burning face. “I hate this house.”

“Aw, don’t be shy,” Atsumu cooed, leaning against the counter with full, blinding confidence. “If ya wanted a private show, all ya had to do was ask.”

She groaned into her palms. “I’m gonna combust."

“‘Cause of the heat?” Atsumu asked innocently.

“Because of you,” she snapped, glaring like this was all his fault. "And your stupid brother."

"You guys talkin' shit about me?"

(Y/n) nearly fainted on the spot.

Osamu had just walked in from the yard—towel around his neck, water bottle in hand, faintly furrowed brow and a voice that somehow always sounded like it was five minutes from dragging someone by the collar.

“She’s been oglin’ us,” Atsumu said gleefully.

(Y/n) bristled. “I HAVE NOT—”

Suna twirled his glass between his fingers like a fine wine. “She has. She's a closeted pervert."

Osamu raised a brow, turning to glance at her—really glance. His eyes flicked from the way she was half-curled on the chair, to her burning cheeks, to her wildly defensive expression. His mouth quirked.

“Ah,” he said mildly. “So that’s why I felt eyes burnin’ into my back. Or was it my chest? Abs?”

“I hate all of you,” she muttered.

That was when it happened. The unholy alliance.

Atsumu and Osamu exchanged a glance—brief, wordless, deadly.

Twin telepathy.

And just like that, they moved in. One on each side. Like predators scenting blood.

(Y/n) blinked. “What—?"

Atsumu leaned down on her left, arm braced behind her chair, golden skin still glistening from the sun.

Osamu mirrored him on the right, towel draped lazily around his shoulders, bottle of water dangling from his fingers.

“Ya like this, sweetheart?” Atsumu murmured.

“Yer lookin’ a little flushed,” Osamu added smoothly.

(Y/n) was actively dying. Palms sweaty. Heart racing. Brain spiralling. She could barely breathe—and she was no longer even outside.

This was a coordinated attack. A planned execution.

It was rare for the twins to agree on anything. They thrived on bickering, on chaos, on contradicting each other at every turn.

But when they did team up?

It was borderline lethal.

“Don’t you two have something heavy to go lift?” she managed to croak.

Atsumu smirked. “Thought you liked watchin’.”

“I’ll throw this tea at you,” she warned.

Osamu tilted his head. “Seems like a waste of good tea.”

(Y/n) groaned and dropped her face into her hands again. “I prefer it when you guys are arguing.”

Suna snickered under his breath, but everyone caught his next words:

"Bet you'd prefer it if they did something else."

Atsumu barked a laugh at the insinuation.

Osamu groaned and swatted at him with the towel. “Don’t make it weird."

(Y/n) didn’t dare look at any of them. She folded her arms on the table and buried her face like a horny ostrich.

Did that stop her from feeling Atsumu’s hot breath at the back of her neck?

No. No it did not.

“Maybe if ya ask nicely…” he murmured.

Her mind went rampant.

Curse Suna for throwing her under the bus.

Curse the twins and their stupid muscles and their criminally good genes.

Curse this house for being the most cursed and blessed thing to have ever happened to her.

And curse her, most of all—for loving every second of it.

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xjulixred45x · 2 months ago

Note

I think in the Parent Yuu and Baby au, i imagined that Yuu would leave/entrust the baby in the care of the students with experience with (younger) siblings and relatives or kids: Trey, Jack, Epel (maybe he has a big family), Jamil, Kamil, Lilia (having heard he helped take care of Malleus when young and maybe Malleus, Silver, and Sebek pitch in to wonder how was it like when Lilia took care of all of them in the past), Rook (yes he has siblings), and Idia plus Ortho. Maybe a scenario(s) of their day and experiences in babysitting.

Babysitting Yuu's Baby

This would happen when Yuu has to go to an event where she can't take her daughter (such as Glorious Masquerade, PlayfullLand, or Coral Sea), specifically asking the characters not involved in the story to babysit the baby while she's away.

There are certain characters who directly offer without hesitation, either because of their good relationship with Yuu or because of their experience caring for siblings/young children, such as Lilia, Kalim, and Rook. The others have to be formally asked to see if they can and WANT to do it.

Lilia is by far the calmest, despite all his babysitting experience vven in pressure or crisis situations, he remains calm and cheerful, even trying to make others laugh about the situation (such as when something catches fire while he tries to warm up milk for the baby). But don't worry, he still has out-of-this-world reflexes and parental instincts; he can catch the baby before it hits the ground or almost telepathically sense that it's about to do something she shouldn't (e.g., putting a fork in an electrical outlet).

Rook is another one who constantly and "discreetly" watches over the baby, and he narrates everything she does as if the baby were the protagonist of a fairy tale. He's definitely the best at reading stories or making them up at nap time; his voice seems to relax the baby quite a bit (it also helps stop her from crying or distract her when she gets fussy). Another one with incredible reflexes, and he's definitely avoided several incidents caused by the deteriorating bedroom (seriously consider talking to Yuu about it...).

Trey definitely does the thing of putting the baby in a baby carrier (either on his chest or on his back) while he cooks and hums, which puts the baby to sleep pretty quickly (to everyone's amazement). He has practically infinite patience, even if the baby is a picky eater (I mean, he's been dealing with Riddle for years), and he has the muscle memory to deal with babies, which Yuu's baby is nothing compared to what he has faced.

Epel is the secret weapon for when the baby won't eat what Trey makes for her. All it takes is a couple of apples, a knife, and BOOM! The baby is devouring different animals in apple shapes. Epel is the kind of babysitter who likes to play a little rough with the baby, whether it's pretend wrestling, being the knight who slays the dragon (with lots of gory details), and generally likes to indulge her in things other kids wouldn't normally let her.

Jamil is another one who helps in the kitchen, and he's the strictest about maintaining some sort of routine for the baby (whether she has one or not, he believes it's important and good for her development). He makes sure Trey doesn't cook only sweet things (or at least alternate them with nutritious and healthy ones) or sneaks candy to the baby. They both keep Lilia away from the stove or anything that produces fire. He's a bit tense when it comes to holding the baby, but he lets her play with his braids when he's tired.

Kalim is the one in charge of keeping the baby occupied most of the time while the others take care of Ramshackle. They both have a lot of energy, so Kalim is the only one on her level. They do everything: Kalim acts like he's a horse and the baby ride him, lifts her up in the air (NO MAGIC CARPET, Jamil almost has a heart attack), Kalim picks her up and pretends the baby is dancing, even sings her a few songs from The Boiling Sands (he's definitely given the baby crackers when no one's looking, don't worry! The baby actually likes them).

Jack is by far the one who takes babysitting duties most seriously, maybe too seriously. He's probably the one who handles the most tedious baby-related tasks, things like getting her up in the morning, feeding her at night, bathing her, cleaning her up after she's eaten (and dirtying most of the table and her clothes in the process), changing her diapers, etc. He's surprisingly good at these tasks despite his sensitive nose, but that's because his younger siblings are still young, so he probably still has the muscle memory for these things fresh. The others have to force him to take a break or alternate with another of their own.

Idia is definitely the least suitable and at the same time the most suitable to leave with a baby. Again, he has no problem leaving supplies or bringing things to make things easier, but interacting with the baby? No, he's going to ruin it somehow. He can interact with the baby through the screen and even put on some cartoon series that's good for her, but when they put her on his lap (the few times he goes to ramshackle) he freezes, but at the same time he accepts his fate and doesn't move when the baby falls asleep (even if she drools on his sweatshirt; he didn't even like that one anyway).

Ortho, bless him, is the one who usually takes over to do the chores no one else wants to do when babysitting, basically a second Jack, but happier. Every time the baby wakes up in the middle of the night, he does a general check-in to make sure everything's okay. I imagine he can manually warm the milk himself, or play lullabies when the baby can't sleep, so he ends up being a very practical babysitter, lol.

In short, the baby is in good hands. I'd just be worried that the kids don't kill each other or that Lilia burns down the house trying to cook something.

________

(ESPAÑOL)

Esto pasaría cuando Yuu tiene que ir a algún evento en el cual no puede llevar a su hija (como el de Glorious Masquerade, PlayfullLand o Coral Sea, justamente pidiéndole a los personajes que no participen en la historia que cuidaran de la beba mientras ella no estaba.

Hay ciertos personajes que directamente se ofrecen sin dudarlo, ya sea por su buena relación con Yuu o por la experiencia que tienen con cuidar hermanitos/niños pequeños, como Lilia, Kalim y Rook. Los demás hay que preguntarles formalmente para saber si pueden y QUIEREN hacerlo.

Lilia es de por lejos es más tranquilo con toda la experiencia de niñero, incluso en situaciones de presión o crisis se mantiene tranquilo y alegre, incluso trata de hacer reír a los demás de la situación (como, por ejemplo, cuando algo se incendia cuando el intenta calentar la leche para la beba). Pero no te preocupes, sigue teniendo reflejos fuera de este mundo e instintos de padre, puede atrapar al bebe antes de que toque el suelo o sentir casi telepáticamente que está a punto de hacer algo que no debería (ejemplo; poner un tenedor en el tomacorriente).

Rook es otro que está constantemente vigilando a la beba de forma “discreta”, aparte de que narra absolutamente todo lo que hace como si la bebe fuera la protagonista de un cuento de hadas. Definitivamente el mejor a la hora de leerle cuentos o inventarlos a la hora de la siesta, parece que su voz relaja bastante al bebe (también funciona para que deje de llorar o distraerla cuando se pone quisquillosa). Otro con reflejos increíbles y definitivamente ha evitado varios incidentes causados por lo deteriorado que esta el dormitorio (considera seriamente hablar con Yuu al respecto...)

Trey definitivamente hace lo de poner a la beba en un porta-bebes (ya sea en su pecho o en su espalda) mientras cocina y tararea, lo cual pone a la beba a dormir bastante rápido (para el asombro de todos). Tiene una paciencia prácticamente infinita incluso si la beba es quisquillosa con la comida(digo, lidio con Riddle por años--) y tiene memoria muscular para lidiar con bebes, la bebe de Yuu no es nada.

Epel es el arma secreta para cuando la beba no quiere comer lo que le hace Trey, solo necesita un par de manzanas, un cuchillo y BOOM, la beba está devorando diferentes animales o formitas de manzana. Epel es el tipo de niñero que le gusta jugar de forma un poco más “ruda” con la beba, ya sea pretendiendo jugar a la lucha libre, ser el caballero que mata al dragon (con muchos detalles sangrientos) y en general le gusta consentirla en cosas que normalmente el resto de chicos no le dejarían.

Jamil es otro que ayuda en la cocina, y es el más estricto en mantener una especie de rutina para la beba (ya sea que la tenga o no, cree que es importante y bueno para su desarrollo), se asegura que Trey no cocine solo cosas dulces (o que al menos se intercalen con cosas nutritivas y sanas) o le pase caramelos a escondidas al bebe. Ambos alejan a Lilia de la estufa o cualquier cosa que produzca fuego. Es algo tenso a la hora de cargar a la beba, pero deja que juegue con sus trenzas cuando está cansado.

Kalim es quien se encarga de mantener distraída a la bebe la mayoría del tiempo mientras los demás se encargan de cuidar ramshackle, ambos tienen mucha energía, por lo que Kalim es el único a su nivel. Hacen de todo, Kalim actúa como si fuera un caballo, la alza por los aires (SIN ALFOMBRA MAGICA, a Jamil casi le da un infarto), Kalim la levanta y pretende que la bebe baila, incluso le canta algunas canciones de Las Arenas Hirvientes (definitivamente le ha dado a la beba crackers cuando nadie está viendo ¡tranquilos! Al bebe en realidad le gustan).

Jack es de por lejos el que se toma la tarea de niñero más enserio, talvez demasiado en serio. Probablemente es quien se encarga de las tareas más engorrosas relacionadas a la beba, cosas como levantarla en la mañana, darle de comer en la noche, bañarla, limpiarla después de que comió (y ensucio la mayor parte de la mesa y su ropa en el proceso), cambiarle los pañales, etc. Es sorprendentemente bueno en esas tareas pese a su nariz sensible, pero se debe a que sus hermanos menores siguen siendo pequeños, por lo que probablemente sigue teniendo fresca la memoria muscular de estas cosas. Los demás tienen que forzarlo a darse un descanso o intercalar con otro de ellos.

Idia definitivamente es el menos adecuado y al mismo tiempo el más adecuado para dejar con un bebe. De nuevo, él no tiene problema en dejar suministros o traer cosas para hacer todo más fácil ¿pero interactuar con la beba? No, va a arruinarlo de alguna forma. Él puede interactuar con la beba a través de la pantalla e incluso poner alguna serie de caricaturas que sea buena para ella, pero cuando la ponen en su regazo (en las pocas veces que va a ramshackle) él se congela, pero al mismo tiempo acepta su destino y no se mueve cuando la bebe se duerme (incluso si babea en su sudadera, ni siquiera le gustaba esa de todos modos).

Ortho, bendito sea, es quien suelen relevar para que haga las tareas que nadie quiere hacer cuando cuidan a la beba, básicamente un segundo Jack pero más alegre. Cada vez que la bebe se despierta en medio de la noche, el hace un chequeo general para asegurarse de que todo esté bien. Me imagino que puede calentar manualmente la leche el mismo, o poniendo canciones de cuna cuando la beba no puede dormir, por lo que termina siendo un niñero muy práctico lol.

En conclusión, la beba esta en buenas manos, solo me preocuparía que los chicos no se maten entre si o que Lilia incendie la casa tratando de cocinar algo.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

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bombuni · 5 months ago

Note

a super whiny reader with seonghwa that lovessssss someone who whiny. i think he could have like voice kink? if thats makes sense

lose your breath

summary: seonghwa knows every square inch of your body and understands the detailed map of your mind. he just thinks it’s fun to toy with you, his perfect doll. genre/pairing: bf!seonghwa x fem!sub!reader, soft smut. warnings: smut 18+ mdni, mommy!seonghwa, bratty reader, sort of humiliation kink & dacryphilia, hwa is a munch bom note: im sorry this took so long :( but i hope this exceeds your expectations! also fuck drugs u ever been addicted to mommy!hwa that shit will kill u 💔

It’s been 2 days without a single touch.

There’s a look in Seonghwa’s eyes, a telltale twitch in the upper corner of his lips every time he moves towards your lips, leaning over you so gently but so oppressively it’s as if he’s trying to melt into you. As soon as you move an inch towards him, he backs away again, smirking and pretending as if there’s not a tent in his pants with the way your eyes well up and your breaths shake.

He loves this. Hearing how you’re broken down to your senses with just the thought of getting to kiss him. He especially loves hearing your complaints, your shaky and meek voice calling his name timidly. You quietly beg for something, anything, but it takes you another bit to realize the game he’s playing.

It’s a slow morning. Seonghwa has the day off, and you’ve both decided to use it to watch the Star Wars prequels (per his request.) The marathon is just about to start as you both prepare snacks in the kitchen, moving around each other like you’ve been programmed to move in a certain pattern.

“Hmm, do we have popcorn, Hwa?”

He unwittingly smiles at the way you say his name, “There should be a bag in the cabinet above you, pretty.”

You reach for the cabinet, but find that it’s impossible to even touch the handle, “Hwa, I need your help…”

“Ah, you do? Whatever for?” The teasing lilt in his voice tells you he knows exactly what you’re asking for, but he just wants to hear you ask. Maybe even make you beg a little.

You pout at him which only makes him smirk and cross his arms. You’re stuck in a stand off now, with both of you refusing to give in to the others wants. Seonghwa knows that eventually you’ll give in. He likes waiting until you can’t take it anymore. Until it’s bubbled up to the boiling point inside you and there’s nothing left to do but let it spill out.

“Agh, you’re so annoying, Hwa! You won’t even kiss me unless I beg and now you’re making me-“

Ah, there it is. He just enjoys torturing you. A glare of your eyes grants you a chuckle from him.

He raises a brow, smiling devilishly as he cocks his head to the side, “You’re cute when you’re being a whiny baby, ya know?”

“I’m not being whiny, you’re just mean…”

“Cute, cute, cute,” he mumbles mostly to himself. Seonghwa’s hands land on your cheeks as he moves closer to you, squishing them together until you feel like you’re gonna pop.

You grumble, but finally feeling his hands on you (in the most innocent of places) sends you into overdrive. Your knees buckle, catching yourself against Seonghwa’s strong chest. The feeling of him against you, hearts beating and pressed together, his bulge standing at attention, and his sparkling eyes watching you like you’re the only one he needs is…overwhelming.

After he’s staved you off of him for days, he’s so full of ecstasy and a certain buzz only you can give him when you finally, finally beg in the adorably pitiful way he loves so much.

There’s already tears in your eyes, “Mommy…”

Your voice sends chills down his spine, “Sweet, sweet thing, tell me what you need exactly. Use your words.”

“Need to-“ you pause to emphasize your words with a drag of your hips against his, “feel you,”

He chuckles at you to disguise the moan that threatens to slip out, “Really? Already? Couldn’t go any longer without Mommy inside you?”

You blush at his harsh words, “Hwa-“

Seonghwa gives you a certain look, one that tells you you’re in a world of trouble if you continue your bratty, combative attitude. It’s enough to remind you to be good for him.

“Sorry, mommy…”

Your meek voice and the way you shrink into him makes him swoon. A drive to destroy that sweetness and leave you a broken, moaning mess takes over him.

“Hmm. I think you’ve waited long enough. Do you want your reward?”

The prospect of getting anything from him fills you with an overwhelming need to obey his every command. He is your owner, and he’s made that very clear so far with the feelings he manages to evoke in you.

“Please, mommy, just need anything-“

Seonghwa thinks it’s cute how your chest rises and your breath quickens as he pushes you onto the counter. His arms squeeze you as they lift you, burning where your skin meets his, sending that trail of warmth down to your core. He throws you around like a doll and undresses you like it’s nothing to either of you. He gets so careless when he’s like this, only fueled by your pathetic nature and reaping the rewards he’s been waiting for this entire time.

Just his bratty, needy, doll ready to take what he decides to give.

He runs his cold hands down your sides, watching you shiver at his touch. His slender fingers reach under the waistband of your panties, teasingly snapping the elastic against your skin and watching as you twitch at the feeling. You whine impatiently as he teases you like this, massaging your tits while he gently kisses down your jawline as if he had all the time in the world. His soft lips reach down to your collarbone as he pulls the collar of your shirt to ensure every part of your skin feels his lips. He chuckles when he feels the vibrations of your moans against his mouth.

“Ok, enough teasing then,” you exhale as if finally relieved of a great weight on your shoulders before spotting that same perverted smirk, “…But can you beg for mommy again? Just one more time?”

He encourages you with a wet kiss on your pulse point, nuzzling your skin to fog your brain with him, “Hah-it’s- embarrassing, mommy,”

You feel his smile against your neck, “But you know I love it, right, pretty? You just sound so cute when you do,”

Seonghwa finally drags his lips down to where you want him the most. His hot breath fans against your core, taking in the hypnotizing sound of your eager and aching whines, as he finally drags your panties down to be greeted with the sight of your pretty pussy.

He can’t resist himself, pressing a kiss to your clit and chuckling as your body jolts just like he knew it would, “My pretty doll. So behaved for me, so perfect. You always listen to Mommy, don’t you?”

He punctuates his sentence by licking a long stripe along your slit, “Hah-Yes! Yes, Mommy, I’m always good for you-“

Seonghwa talks to you in between licks of your slick, enjoying the taste of you and the sound of your unashamed submission. Finally getting you like this, with you so sex-crazed and clouded by his touch that you don’t even realize how pathetic you sound, is his favorite thing in the world.

His mouth explores the parts inside you he knows overwhelm your senses. His lips swallow you whole, tongue darting all over and inside you to drag out those sounds he loves. His left hand comes up to rub your clit, following what he knows your body likes. It’s like a ritual to him. The blatant way he follows your body’s signals and your whines is just another testament of his love to you.

He feels your body tighten, your hands coming down to his hair to pull and urge him to let you off that cliff. His eyes roll at the harsh tugs you give, your raw desperation to reach that high rubbing off onto him.

Your trembling, breathless voice sounds out, “Mommy, c-can I cum?”

“Yes, baby. Come on, you wanna be good, don’t you? My pretty doll, so behaved, don’t disappoint me now…”

Seonghwa’s words reach towards your insides, pulling at the strings of your soul and releasing that knot he’s built. Your body shakes against his mouth, which still eagerly clings onto you and cleaning up the mess he caused. He caresses you through your aftershocks, adoring the little twitches your body gives as you come down to Earth.

Your watery eyes meet his fervent ones as he wipes his mouth clean, looking all too joyful to stew in your embarrassment at this sight.

Seonghwa decides that just a little more teasing won’t hurt, “You got through the The Phantom Menace. Think you can make it through Attack of the Clones?”

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fic #ateez oneshot #ateez scenarios #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez fanfic #park seonghwa #park seonghwa imagines #park seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa smut

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siddyyyyyyyy · 8 months ago

Text

Unhinged

Jason Todd x Reader

MDNI wc: 0.7K summary: your roommate finds your messages you send your friend about him. warnings: suggestive themes, no y/n used, actually kind of cringe a/n: my dear friend accidently gave me this idea while spamming me with delicious Red Hood edits (@dollyure), evidence will be shared at the end. enjoy!!

You never thought this could happen. You were so careful to leave your own thoughts to yourself and never let Jason see the things you tell your friend. But of course, nothing really goes your way for some reason.

It took one thing for you to end up in this situation. One thing. And that was leaving your phone unattented on the sofa for a minute. Unlocked.

It was a typical evening as any other, just getting to relax and wind down at the end of the week on your favourite spot at the couch with your roommate. Jason was always pretty quiet but respectful of the shared space, a good friend if you want to wind down together. You rarely get to see him in the evenings but on days like this, when he stays in, it feels like a small reward for you.

Of course he doesn‘t know about any of this. Doesn‘t know anything about what your silly texts between you and your friends. You keep it a secret pretty well, so he won‘t think you are a complete weirdo.

Well, until that evening. Setting your phone quickly aside to get to your boiling tea kettle, you forgot to lock it. Jason sits at the other end of the fluffy couch and watches how you scurry away to get the boiling water to a stop. With an amused grin he gets back to his book but keeps getting distracted by the bright phonescreen just a little away from him. Glancing over, he sees the outlines of text bubbles but he can‘t see what‘s written in there yet.

He isn‘t trying to pry or get into your privacy, but the way the other person spams you non-stop is making him more curious. Whatever this conversation is about, he wants to know if it‘s a conflict or some sort of gossip.

Jason checks if you are still in the kitchen and sees you preparing your tea and some sweets. He technically has enough time to snatch your phone while it‘s still open and gets to have a look over the texts. Who knows, maybe he will find out some interesting things on there. So, with these weak excuses, he grabs your phone and starts reading through them.

UNTIL YOUR TONGUE FADES COLOUR??? I mean every word I say. Wow. Just…

His brows furrow. What does this even mean? Are tongues even capable of fading colour? With a quick glance to the kitchen, he scrolls up, reading through the older messages.

From the couch, to the shower, to the bed, from the wall to the floor from missionary to cowgirl, straddled on top JUST LET ME HITTT

His jaw drops. Jason quickly composes himself and sits up, clearing his throat. He is sure he will need extra therapy after this. Ignoring the unfamiliar, warm feeling in his lower abdomen, he continues to read through them. Unsurprisingly, he finds a picture of himself in the chat. His profile picture, some random pictures he didn‘t even you had in the first place.

Until my throat memorises every vein.

That‘s the last message he sees from you before you appear in his sight again. Tea in hand, some cookies in the other. But most importantly, your flushed cheeks and regretful expression. His hand drops your phone and his cheeks also flush.

You can‘t look into his eyes anymore. This is the next worst thing that‘s ever happened to you so far. There is no way you can talk yourself out of this situation at all. He knows basically everything now. From the fact that you crush on him to the fact that you literally want to devour him whole.

Silently, he sets your phone back to its original spot and gets off the couch to stand up. Again, he clears his throat and speaks up first.

»I‘m gonna pretend I didn‘t see all this...«

And before you could apologise or say something to your defense, he is gone, retreating himself into his own room. Maybe even for the better, you can‘t imagine how awkward it would‘ve been if you were to sit next to him for the next few hours.

here is the so called evidence ( from my friends perspective)

and this was the final message that made me do this:

hope you enjoyed it somehow(★‿★)

part two

←MASTERLIST

#x reader #drabble #one shot #jason todd #jason todd drabble #jason todd x reader #jason todd fic #batfamily #dc comics #batfam #dc red hood #dc characters #dcu #jason todd fanfic

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hollow-writing-place · 1 month ago

Text

Dead on Mayn

Day 1 Prompts: Bones, Ghost culture is weird, "You can see me??", Jason meets Danny as a ghost.

Word Count: 1805

Pretty proud of this one!! Enjoy!

Quick Summary: Danny misplaces like all his bones after a GiW run-in and needs them all back to get out of ghost form. Jason finds a human spine that somehow makes the pit rage fade. Oddness ensues.

=================

Jason feels just slightly lost. Just a bit.

He's feeling slightly lost because he is 100% sure that he is seeing a real human spine on his apartment's fire escape.

It's perfectly isolated and polished, smoother than if it had been picked clean by a Gotham vulture. It may also be glowing slightly, which is a whole different issue.

If Jason knows anything, it's that he most certainly should not pick it up. That's the dumbest possible thing he could do.

But, as he looks at it, he gets this lonely sort of feeling twisting in his gut.

Okay, bad sign number two. The mysterious glowing spine is messing with his head. Even still, his mouth turns down in a frown, eyebrows furrowing.

He sits, still fully geared up in his window after a long night of patrol, and contemplates the situation for a moment. Finally, he sighs and brings it all back to the question it always boils down to.

What Would Batman Do?

Batman would call a magic user to identify the object. Batman would quarantine it and study it, take samples and test it. Batman would certainly not bring the object around his personal belongings.

Jason nods, acknowledging the inner Batman voice's opinion.

Mind made up, he scoops the bone into his arms and brings it inside. He gingerly lays it on his coffee table and promptly leaves to start up dinner.

—

Danny just needs one more piece.

The GiW did a number on him. I mean, dissection is par for the course, but dissection and then losing the parts they stole? Rookie moves.

Furthermore, Danny can’t get out of ghost form until he finds it. He’s collected most everything else, but it's taken weeks.

His ribs came from different places in the ocean, his femur from atop a news building in Metropolis, etc. He even had to venture up to that one Justice League space station to get his skull! Some idiot was using it like a paperweight in the room with all the cameras and whatnot. Danny scoffs at the memory.

He’s been flying all over the place, searching high and low for where his bones disappeared to.

This must be a ghost thing he didn’t know about. Or, more likely, a halfa thing no one knew anything about. All he knew was he didn’t want anyone he didn't trust getting their hands on his stuff, (the stuff being him), and somehow that translated to all his bones teleporting away from the GiW.

All he needed now was his spine.

All the other pieces of himself he found either somewhere secluded or somewhere he would deem safe. (Explaining to Jazz he was visiting her at college for his hand bones was awkward. Even worse, she’d already found all of them and had them organized by the time he got to her.)

This is why Danny is confused.

The last tether in his chest seems to be leading to… Gotham.

Gotham? The biggest, most dangerous city in the US? Not only home to a boatload of people, but also to a veritable menagerie of rogues and vigilantes?

Floating high over the city, Danny just sighs.

He needs his spine back. He needs it so he can be human again. The GiW is still after him. Hell, his parents are hunting him probably as he floats here. He’s safer if he’s human.

He tries to center himself, settles his core with the frigid air and thoughts of comfort and safety after this mess is over, before he begins his descent into the city of crime.

—

Jason is exhausted. Patrol was long. It's been a long few weeks, honestly.

He settles, fresh out of the shower, armor piled on the floor nearby, on the couch in his living room. The TV has a rerun of Pride and Prejudice on, and Jason sighs softly.

The spine on his coffee table glows as faintly as it had since he picked it up weeks ago.

Jason can’t explain why he finds this comforting.

It casts the room in cool blue-green at night, low and rippling like water in a fishtank.

It seems morbid to have it, but Jason, (heads in a duffle bag guy) really doesn’t mind. He finds himself spending more time in the living room, more time in the proximity of the bone.

Jason hasn’t taken the time to analyze this, but as he spends more and more time in the living room, the sickly green of the Lazarus Pits seems to fade. It sits in the corners of his vision, as always, but its presence in his mind feels… dull. Cowed, like a rambunctious dog by its exasperated owner.

He may not fully, consciously, recognize this change, but he does know the glowing spine makes him feel better. He falls asleep easy in this room now, even if the couch is far from comfortable.

Even now, his eyelids droop with exhaustion. He’s warm and safe and home.

He sighs again, tipping his head back onto the cushions and beginning to doze.

His half-sleep-half-wake state is broken pretty quickly though by the feeling of something shifting. Something in the air maybe, changing and moving.

Jason’s mind registers it as a wrong sort of feeling, but something in his chest, not his heart or anything cheesy, but something there in all but a physical sense, registers this change as good. Good and right. Good…

but anticipatory.

Something is coming. Jason sits up and leans forward.

His eyes rove the room for signs of this thing he knows is coming but can’t identify, before his gaze is inexplicably drawn back to the bone.

Oh.

—

Gotham is pretty much what he’s been told it would be. The atmosphere is gloomy, what with the near constant rain/smog combo blanketing the city. Crime is happening literally everywhere, and Danny means literally. The tall, sharp architecture paints the city as a gothic, dark place of high roofs and gargoyles. It’s dank, and it’s honestly kinda intimidating.

…Danny kinda loves it.

It’s got its own charm and beauty. Danny is enamored by the vibes it gives off, but maybe that’s his ghost half speaking.

Anyway, Danny is still following the pull in his chest down. He zips through buildings, skates along vertical walls, and still seems just as far away as he had been when he got here.

The streets get dirtier, the air gets grittier, and suddenly, Danny jerks to a stop. He knows, abruptly, like he’s been slammed into a wall, that he’s crossed a line into somewhere he shouldn’t be.

The oppressive feeling of trespassing weighs his shoulders down.

He’s entered someone’s haunt.

Danny stretches his own senses out, and feels like staggering at the sheer size of this thing. Hell, this haunt must span a whole chunk of Gotham. That means it belongs to someone powerful.

Or, at least, some nearly as powerful as Danny. (His haunt is currently the entirety of Amity. The power boost that allowed that is courtesy of being Ghost King.)

The tether Danny has guiding him to his spine pings softly again, resting deep in the heart of this haunt and just like that, the oppressive weight lifts.

It’s still there, ready and waiting, but it seems… friendlier somehow. Welcoming.

Danny shakes himself out, trying to throw off the nervous buzz in his ecto. He needs his spine, and it’s somewhere here.

—

Danny finds his spine easily. The house it resides in lights up in his senses like a beacon.

It’s drenched in bad energy, but gaps in the miasma show through, like light breaking through the clouds. Green-blue tinged light. Yeah, this guy has his spine for sure.

And, if Danny’s passing thoughts are to be believed, they may be feeding Danny’s remains with whatever evil shit is clogging up his house. He feels stronger just getting within a block of it.

…He doesn’t know how to feel about that.

Danny floats closer, going so far as to rest his ghostly form on the fire escape outside the window. He peers through the window before reeling back.

There’s a man inside, leaning towards a table where Danny’s spine sits, calm as you please. That weird black and neon green goop seems to not just be around the house, but rather, it was centered on the man’s form. It looked…

Ancients.

That can’t be comfortable. It was smothering the man’s fledgling core.

As Danny sat and observed, the light emanating from his spine wavered and rippled, much like water, and a ball of that disgusting goo ripped away from the man and into the bones.

Danny, being as close as he is, feels a rush of power flood his spectral form.

He only realizes his eyes flare green because the man whips around to look at him. Danny flinches and blinks, while the man’s brow furrows and he tilts his head in confusion.

Danny pauses only a moment before drifting into the apartment. It’s homey, he notes, as if this isn’t the oddest situation he’s been in in a bit.

The man straightens up where he sits, clearing his throat.

“Uhm. So. I guess you can see me?” Danny says, his tone much more questioning than he means it to be.

“Am… am I not supposed to?” The man replies, leaning back on his couch and crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Danny shrugs, drifting over to the table. He curls in the air over the table like a cat, still a foot or two above his spine. Protective. “No, you totally should be able to. Just not used to it. I mean, you are-”

Danny squints and inspects the man closely, realization dawning over him slowly. “You are a halfa.” His voice contains notes of awe. Their, ah, species, is pretty rare. (Understatement.)

The man only looks confused. “Is that a word I should know the meaning of?”

Danny blinks. Then he hums thoughtfully. Like always, he comes to a pretty impulsive decision. No thinking, just word vomit. “Listen, buddy-”

“Jason.”

“Right. Listen, Jason. You’ve got a really weird mass of junk around you that really just has to go, and I've just found out that pieces of me can cleanse it, or something-”

“What.”

“So what I think is going to happen, is you get to keep my spine for a bit and-”

"Again, what??”

“AND! And I will come stay with you for a bit. Win-win!” Danny throws his hands out to either side triumphantly.

Danny gets to live somewhere that seems- (feels, like, down in his core feels) safe, somewhere he can heal up and gain his strength, Jason gets that weird crap fixed, and everyone leaves happy!

Jason looks utterly dumbfounded. “I am… wildly confused.” Even as he says this, it looks like the beginnings of a smile are tugging at his lips.

Danny gives him a feral grin back. Oh yeah, this is going to work out just fine.

FIN

#dead on main #deadonmayn2025 #dead on mayn 2025 #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp crossover #jason todd x danny phantom #jason todd x danny fenton #ghost king danny #halfa jason todd #deadonmayn25

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moonstruckme · 8 months ago

Note

Ooh ok, so here are some ideas for vampire!James in case you feel inspired to write any of them! Maybe something where he comes home after going out to feed thinking reader is asleep and he's feeling guilty and reader comforts and reassures him? Or another idea is just reader finding out that James is a vampire now, or maybe just her being there for him through the turning process. Sorry if none of these tickle your fancy!

Thank you for requesting lovely!!

cw: mention of blood, nausea

vampire!James x fem!reader ♡ 906 words

James walks through your door with heavy steps. He’s glad that he can do it—the first time he tried to come home after turning, you’d both wondered at how his feet wouldn’t cross the threshold until you figured it out and invited him in. It had been embarrassing. Now, James all but stumbles into the kitchen, hopefully not leaving any drippings of blood in his wake.

He always feels drunk and sluggish after a feeding. Nauseous, too, though he’s not sure if that’s from the bilious too-full feeling or simply his own disgust with himself and what he’s done. Sirius theorizes that if James fed more often instead of waiting until he’s wasting away every time, he might not feel the effects so keenly, but James doesn’t like to talk about it. He still can’t find it in himself to talk about his condition the way his friends do, like it’s normal.

The water coming out of the tap could be cold or boiling, James wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. All he can think about is getting it all over him, cleansing himself. He’d imagine it as washing away his sins, if such a thing were possible for creatures like him. Still, he wants to be clean to slip into bed beside you. You deserve at least that.

It’s probably his distraction that keeps him from hearing you come down the hall. (James is not a very good vampire, he thinks. Shoddy predatory instincts.) But when you touch his shoulder, coming up beside him, he doesn’t startle.

“Sweetheart.” James has the urge to cover his mouth from your view. These days he’s pretty good at feeding neatly, but tonight had been messier. There’s blood down to his chin. “What are you doing up?”

You give him a little smile, opening a drawer next to the sink for a cloth. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“No, you couldn’t. I’m a creature of the night now, remember?”

Oddly, this has been one of the most difficult parts of the transition for James. There’s the whole living-off-blood thing, of course, and the new ability to hear a fly in the neighbor’s kitchen, but James was always an early-to-rise, early-to-bed sort of bloke. His old schedule was dictated by the sun. Now, all his instincts are in opposition to it.

He stays still as you adjust the temperature of the tap, wetting the cloth and then lifting it to James’ face. You smell like toothpaste, and underneath that the garlicky pasta you had for dinner. (James isn’t actually deterred by garlic, though he can’t eat it just like he can’t eat any regular foods anymore. Maybe that’s where the folklore came from. Only something truly cursed would stop eating garlic.) He can feel the veins pulsing in your wrist like a substitute for the heartbeat he no longer has, but he’s full enough now not to worry about craving you.

Of course, he craves you in various ways, all of the time. Just not in that specific way at the moment.

“You should be in bed,” James murmurs. He touches his thumb to the shadow underneath your left eye. “I can clean myself up.”

“I wish you’d just use the bathroom,” you reply just as softly, dragging the cloth over the line of his jaw. “But anyway, I don’t mind helping.”

You don’t mind much of anything, James has found. You don’t mind watching your boyfriend turn into a vampire, don’t mind letting him feed on you, don’t mind cleaning an animal’s blood off his chin at two in the morning. You’ve adjusted to James’ new lifestyle better than he has. He’s beginning to think there’s nothing about him you won’t accept. You’re a sweetheart to your core, your center soft and sticky sweet like a cinnamon roll’s. (James should know, he’d practically tasted it himself.)

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he says.

You wave a hand. “You didn’t. I was up, I just came when I heard the tap come on.”

So you’d been waiting up for him. James’ heart at once warms with fondness and heavies with guilt.

You give him a searching look. “Does it still make you feel sick, after?”

“Yeah,” James admits.

Your lips pull down. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, lovely.”

“Mm, try and stop me,” you counter teasingly. “Do you think you could handle a sprite?”

James isn’t sure. Solid foods only ever make him sick, but drinks have been hit-or-miss.

“I could try,” he says, mostly for you.

“Only if you want to.” You set the cloth down on the edge of the sink, kissing him softly on the lips. James doesn’t know how you can do it. To open your mouth to one that’s just done something horrid, and to do it so simply.

“I love you,” you murmur.

James’ unbeating heart gives a powerful squeeze. “I love you, too.”

You press a kiss just below his lips, and another to his chin. If you’re trying to prove a point, it’s working.

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep if we go to bed?” you ask softly.

“Mm, definitely. Like the dead.”

A startled giggle spurts out of you. You smile up at him, your eyes sparkling in the dark. James thinks that maybe he could get used to the whole vampire thing, so long as he can keep you looking at him like this.

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solbaby7 · 1 year ago

Text

Still Your Best

pairing: azriel x reader

inspo: Still Your Best - Giveon

warnings: jealous azriel, some teasing, sexual tension, misogyny, this some toxic relationship shit so don’t expect the right decisions to be made here

summary: You’re trying to move on after years of pining over a certain Shadowsinger but he’s not ready to let go

—

Damien was—nice.

A little predictable but he tried to be a gentlemen; held open your doors and pulled out your chairs at every dinner. He remembered the little things, was a decent cook, clean enough and worked hard.

But, you didn’t feel the spark.

Even after weeks of planned lunches and candlelit dinners accompanied with fine wines and good conversation but you couldn’t see yourself falling in love—at least not yet; not without effort. It’s partially why you’d never brought him around the Inner Circle; slightly worried about making your private life public in fears that it was moving things along too soon.

Was it normal to invite someone you didn’t love to meet your family?

There’s not enough time to really figure it out, to work out the kinds and tie lose ends before Damien is asking to meet them. “You’ve met mine.”

It was true; his family was—nice. A kind enough mother and a father who wasn’t exactly present but he was a good provider and Damien insisted that even without his dad around much, he still had a good life. You don’t think much of it until you start noticing little things; condescending responses when you tell him you’re leaving to go train with Cassian. “Enjoy it—a wife of mine will be too busy with our children to be running about playing with swords.”

You bite your tongue, deeming it too soon in the relationship to give him a piece of your mind and falling into a placating role is anything but love inducing. “You’re entitled to your opinion. It’s awfully early to be talking about that sort of thing anyway.”

Damien shrugs it off, already bored with the conversation and moving onto another. “Either way, I’d still like to meet them—your family,” Your eye twitches at the way he says it; like just because it wasn’t by blood that it wasn’t something real. “Get to know the people who’ve been stealing you away from me all week.”

You comply with a strained smile, dread beginning to settle in when you bring it up to Rhysand a few days later. You downplay it, reiterating multiple times that it wasn’t obligatory in hopes that he and the other would be busy for now and the foreseeable future.

Of course, that’s not the case.

“Don’t be silly, we’d love to meet your new boyfriend.”

He doesn’t miss the way you cringe at the title. “Oh, that’s just—that’s just wonderful. Great.”

Your mood is no less sour three days later when you’re getting ready for said gathering, form stuffed in a little black dress you’d been saving for a special occasion and you figured now was a better time than ever. Plus, the confidence boost would help sooth the nerves that wouldn’t stop swarming beneath your skin.

“That’s a little short, Angel.”

You try not to roll your eyes at the pet name—soft and sweet and completely non-threatening. As if you hadn’t spent the entirety of your life beating your knuckles into the bones of men five times your size in a ring meant for close combat.

Still, your hands slide over the fabric, staring at your figure in the mirror when you murmur, “Not too bad though right? I thought it was really pretty.”

“Very pretty, just not for other eyes.” Damien gives you a small smile, warm palms cupping at your arms when he continues as if he’s doing you a favor. “I’ll let it slide though, just this once.”

“How generous.”

It takes everything in you not to scream when he makes a point to throw a long cardigan over his arm before you leave; trying to distract you by asking for a full run down of everyone and you’re quick to skip over the fact that maybe, once upon a time, you and Azriel were more than just friends. But the steaming, boiling anger subsides when you winnow him to the Night Court, his cheeks green as he struggled to keep his breakfast down.

Damien hated winnowing and for some reason that made you love it.

Even as you soothing rub his back, acutely aware of the eyes staring into your back from the entrance doors. Damien composes himself fairly quickly, sparing you a look when you’d promised he’d get used to it after a while. “It happens,” The High Lord of the Night Court greets, a friendly hand patting at Damien’s shoulder and you don’t miss the way Azriel’s eyes roll at the gesture. “Welcome, I’m Rhysand and this is my wife Feyre.”

Damien’s eyes go wide, making a move to bow to his knees but you stop him with a gentle smile. “I apologize, I’ve never really met a High Lord before.”

“He’s just Rhys right now,” You soothe, tugging him along to introduce him to the others and they can tell it’s a little overwhelming so you’re both quickly ushered to the sitting room. “The same Rhys who always splurges on the good shit—“ You cringe at the way Damien clears his throat, a brow raised at the profanity and you have to hide the burn of embarrassment for being checked in front of your friends. “Stuff. He always gets the good stuff.”

Nesta and Mor share a glance, watching you pour up a glass just for it to be swiftly snagged by your date who offers you one too but it’s significantly smaller. “Should take it slow, Angel. It’s not ladylike to get drunk when you’re being hosted.”

Your friends watch you nod with a tight smile, quietly thanking him for looking out before taking a slow sip.

Azriel scoffs in the corner, eyes rolling as he fills a glass of his own and your jaw clenched in response, an arm looping through Damien’s to show him around. You point at art you’ve seen a million times and nod every now and then when he runs off into a winded explanation of a vase he was sure was a prized possession but you were certain Rhys had gotten it from Mor as a gift three Winter Solstice’s ago.

Cassian wanders over, striking up casual conversation that you use as a chance to slip away, re-filling your glass much higher than respectable and took it back in one go with a glance over your shoulder. “Where’d you find this guy?”

“Do you actually care or are you being a prick?”

Rhysand lets out a laugh, hands tucked in his pockets as violet eyes scan the room. “Are you even allowed to say that word?”

You scoff, a hand swatting at his arm but you can’t smack away the embarrassment that appears. “This is exactly why I didn’t want you guys to meet him.” You lower your voice, fingers toying with the stitching on your dress. “We’ve only been seeing each other a few months. I didnt have enough time to—“

“To dump him before we found out about him?”

A pause, your lips purse and your fingers twitch for something stronger than whatever had been filling the decanter. “Fuck off, Rhys. Not everyone gets to have a fairytale ending like you do.”

His voice is softer, more careful and it takes effort to even hear what he’s saying. “Why don’t you just talk to him? I know you’ve seen him brooding in the corners.”

“Azriel made himself perfectly clear,” You hiss, no longer caring who saw when you reached out to grab a whole bottle of wine and all out ripped the cork free. “He can brood in the corners for the rest of our lives for all I care.”

Your form radiates agitation, positivity seething over a nearly overflowing glass before taking hefty gulps to quench the rage but it only seems to fuel it. Taking you back to that night, the cool breeze sifting through a dragging duvet while standing on the balcony with Az. You could still feel the afterglow, body radiating perfect health and contentment when he finally faces you, a grimace on strong features. “I think I have feelings for Elain.”

It hadn’t even amounted to much, grazing fingers and hushed conversations; strolls in the garden and hours hunched over a table putting together puzzles.

But Elain didn’t want more, barely grasping at the strings of her life as she knew it and more anger burns when you’re robbed of the ability to enjoy it. Enjoy him being hurt a fraction of the amount you’d been but the feeling never comes, just breathtakingly aching love—the need to hold and cradle him close and make promises you weren’t positive you’d be able to keep. “I’m sorry,” Rhys rests a hand on your shoulder but you’re quick to shift away from it.

“Forget it, can we just hurry this night along?”

He nods stiffly, lips pursed at your agitation but it doesn’t stop him from swiftly blocking you from sight when Damien begins walking over, offering enough time for you to finish your glass and ditch the bottle. “Anyone hungry?”

Nesta grins beside her mate, a knowing look in her eye when she sits down, tugging Cassian along with her and it takes a moment too long to realize that she’d directed every seat be filled—except the one before you. Teeth grind against each other when the shadowsinger sits down, chair creaking against the hardwood as he scoots in until you felt the tips of his shoes against your own. “Absolutely ravenous.”

Azriel doesn’t play nice, smirking to himself over his mashed potatoes when those familiar shadows creep under the table, licking up your ankles and leaving goosebumps in their wake. You tense, grip slipping on your fork and Damien raises a questioning brow. “You okay?”

You refrain from looking at the dark haired man across from you and force a smile. “Perfect,” You lean in for a kiss, lips millimeters away when Damien’s head turns to the side, choking on nothing but air. It passes rather quickly but your hands curl into fists under the table, swatting away the shadows curling around your knees, teasing at your thighs.

“Damien, do tell us how you two met?”

Mor doesn’t acknowledge your grateful stare but you’re certain she’d noticed it, biding you just enough time to swiftly throw Azriel a look that could kill—but it only seems to spur him on further. “I ran into her in the city, asked her out to apologize.”

“Clumsy, are you?”

Az doesn’t even acknowledge your heels stomping at his foot, smirk growing over the rim of his wine glass and you straighten in your seat. “I try not to be but when in the presence of such beauty,” Damien grazes his knuckles against the curve of your cheek, watching as you pile food on your plate. “She didn’t have such an appetite back then though—slow down it’s not going anywhere.”

A brow raises, hands freezing in their place, serving spoon hovering in midair as his words settle but you’re quick to recover. Offering a smile, you put the spoon back, returning the dish to its place.

A beat of time passes in complete silence.

“Excuse me?”

“Az, don’t.” Maybe it’s the nickname that slips—one Azriel hadn’t heard you use in months—that forces him to clamp his mouth shut but the way golden eyes go dark is unmistakable. The others are staring; more so at your date than you but ever so gracefully you take control of the situation, resting a hand lovingly on Damien’s shoulder, sparing a quick kiss there over the cotton of his shirt. “It’s fine, he’s right, I had a big lunch.”

Rhys takes over, directing small talk and grilling Damien with subtle questions. Where he was from. His parents and their lineage and you wince slightly at the way he describes the relationship between his parents. “I suppose my family is like any other. My father always raised me to be a strong male who provides and instills order within his home and my mother handles the other duties—certainly none of this fighting mess my angel seems intent on participating in.”

Nesta perks up in her seat, fork scraping against her plate. “She’s actually really good—taught me when I first got here.”

“Be that as it may,” Damien doesn’t even seem to notice the displeased looks directed at him, the shared glances and mental conversations about just how fucking awful they thought he was. But, none of them say a thing, intrigued by your lack of irritation. In fact, you looked quite pleased with yourself, sparing the spymaster quick glances after each degrading comment—like you were getting off on his growing anger. “It’s just not how I was raised. Playing with swords isn’t where she belongs.”

“And where exactly do you feel she belongs?” It’s a loaded question and judging by the low growl that laces Azriel’s words you know Damien’s answer will dictate how the rest of the night goes. If he’d be able to leave the house in one piece.

Damien shrugs as if the response is as easy as breathing, not aware in the slightest of the cobalt glow beginning to push through the thickness of Azriel’s leathers. “In the—“

“Dessert?” You sharply interject, standing abruptly and smoothing the wrinkles in your dress. “Come help me carry it out.” You don’t even look back, ears catching on the linen cloth smacking against the table before the gentle scratch of the chair. You don’t make a sound until you’re behind the kitchens double doors, fingers raking through your hair when you spin around.

Damien is not behind you.

Azriel is, and he’s entirely too close, stalking forward with a growing snarl on god-like features. All sharp cheekbones and a dark brow, even darker hair that falls over his forehead and tickles at the nape of his neck but your eyes are caught on the shape of his mouth. The ripple of his nose and the tightly strung cord of his jaw as he cages you to the counter. “Dump him.”

The smell of his cologne nearly knocks you clean off your feet and your body’s reaction to the proximity was steadily becoming the ultimate betrayal. “What?” He watches you shake yourself from the momentary stupor, a hand smacking at his chest but Azriel doesn’t so much as flinch. “Are you crazy?”

“I will go fucking batshit if you keep throwing yourself all over that sorry excuse of a male.”

It’s the promise coating each syllable that has your thighs clenching but it’s the large hand that ghosts over your silhouette that has arousal pooling in your underwear. Azriel tracks the slow swallow you take, the roll of your throat and it’s like you’re catapulted back in time. Back when it would’ve been your right to lean forward and press your mouth to his, to let those hands roam wherever they pleased as long as he was planning on reciprocating the pleasure. Your fingers clench at your sides at the very thought and there’s no hiding your scent in the air. “You don’t get to do this. You wanted her—you chose her.” Your heart slams against your chest so hard you feared an imprint would begin to form. There’s nowhere to run; nowhere to go that wasn’t completely engulfed in everything Azriel and you have to close your eyes as to not get lost in the familiar touch of his shadows on your skin. “We are over.”

“No, we aren’t.” He noses at your cheek, free hand curling at the side of your neck to make room and you swear at yourself for allowing it. For falling victim to his fucked up game and the way he seemed to know exactly where to touch; plush lips pressing the softest of kisses along your racing pulse and he fucking groans. “It isn’t over—we’ll never be over.” So low and deep, hand tightening ever so slightly at your neck in such a claiming gesture that you have to rip yourself from the delusions beginning to set root. “You will always be mine.”

“You’re insane if you really think that’s true.” Hopefully it sounds more sure than it felt coming out and it takes every ounce of strength you have to pull away, to push through the thick cloud of darkness surrounding you until the glow of the lights were visible again. Fluffy cakes and neatly iced cookies rest on elegant trays and you can’t seem to stop yourself from grabbing one and retreating as far away as possible. “Absolutely insane.” A choked yelp escapes when you bump into the wall, mouth stuffed full of sweet dough and light icing to occupy from the grating thought of dropping to your knees and letting him shove his cock as far back as your throat could allow.

“I can be,” He nods, a smile pulling on his handsome features and your gut clenches. “I’ll be nice and ask you one time to break up with him.”

“And if I don’t?”

Shadows slink up the back of your legs, over your ass—higher and higher until they wrap ever so delicately around your neck. “Then, I’ll kill him.”

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar #azriel #acotar azriel #azriel spymaster #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel smut #azriel x reader #azriel fic #azriel angst #az smut #acotar fics #acotar smut #acotar az

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satorusugurugurl · 10 months ago

Text

Teasing JJK Men With a Popsicle

Summary: When the sun is hot, you cool off with a tasty ocy treat! While also teasing your boyfriend.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, Ryomen Sukuna (Modern AU), AFAB!Reader

Warnings: suggestiveness, food play?? language, kissing, teasing, mock blowjobs, smutty-esque

Word Count: 5,5k

A/N: this is another poll prompt I did awhile back! I'm slowly getting back into the swing of things now that my writers block is gone! Enjoy!!

Gojo Satoru:

“Good mornin—ooh—” Shoko held her cigarette between her teeth, watching you boil with anger. “Not a good morning?” she asked, cockimg a brow as you plopped down on the bench next to her.

“It would’ve been if it wasn’t for Gojo.”

“Yikes, using your boyfriend‘s last name. What did he do to piss you off??

“It’s on the lines of what he ‘didn’t do.’” Your best friend took a long drag and blew the smoke above her head.

“I’m going to regret asking this, but what happened?”

The morning has started with the potential of being a great day. Gojo had you on top of him, rocking your hips against his morning wood, getting you all riled up before he broke the kiss. He quickly got out of bed, claiming that he needed to get ready for the meeting, which you knew was a crock of shit, but instead of calling him out, you made the mistake of joining him in the shower. He had you pinned against the wall, pressing between your legs, teasing your pussy before pulling away the second you began grinding down on him. It was painfully clear your asshole of a boyfriend decided to edge you all fucking morning. Once you made this discovery, you did your best to avoid him and his seductive advances.

But avoiding him was easier said than done.

On the ride to school, his fingers teased your inner thighs, rubbing the skin gently. When you finally made it to work, he cornered you in a classroom, rubbing himself over the fat of your ass. Gojo had woken up and chose violence this morning, and you were his victim.

“I’m seriously about to ask Yaga to send me off to supervise a mission or something to get me away from him.”

The only reason you were able to maintain some form of composure was all thanks to the first year’s training session Gojo was instructing. You had an hour to try to calm yourself down to get through the rest of the day, but knowing Gojo, he wouldn’t make the rest of the day easy. No amount of time would prepare you for the relentless torture. That was sure to ensue the second he got back from his lesson.

Shoko blew out another cloud, cupping some dark hair behind her ear. “Your solution is simple.” You stared blankly at your best friend. “You tease the bastard back.” Part of you jumps eagerly at the idea of switching the playing field. Part of you began cooking up all sorts of plots to invoke your revenge. The other half of you pouts, sinking slowly further down the bench.

“Yeah, and how do you suggest I do that? The last time I checked, he’s a giant who is untouchable. Even if I tried grinding against him, all he needed to do was put up his infinity.”

“You don’t have to grind on him to tease him. I’m a lesbian, and even I know that.”

“Then what do I do?”

Shoko put her cigarette out before gently grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the teacher's lounge. “We just need to make a quick stop at the kitchen.”

Gojo sighed as he watched the first-years brawl with the second-years. This was far less entertaining than teasing you had been. Seeing your pretty skin flush before you sighed in annoyance was his fuel for the day. Teasing you was just too easy. But he fully intended to make all the teasing worthwhile once you got home.

He just wanted to go as fast as he could to get back to said teasing. “Hey.” Never mind the waiting; it seemed as though some other almighty power had answered his prayers. You had been summoned near his side, practically begging to be teased! You were like a moth to the glowing flame that was his stature.

“Hey sweetie, what do you say we blow this popsicle stand and head to the sh-h-he—!!”

Gojo’s flawless Ivory skin flushed a crimson red when he turned his attention to you. Your pretty lips were sealed around a popsicle, sucking it as if it was his dick. Cheeks were hollowed, and your eyes narrowed as you watched his lips quiver under the shock of seeing you in such a promiscuous state. Once you were sure his attention was focused solely on you, your head began bobbing, taking more of (him) the popsicle into your mouth with a fucking moan. That sound alone should be reserved for him and his dick only, not some popsicle. Why the fuck was he getting insanely jealous over a sweet?!

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Cooling off?” You say, finally pulling off the cream-colored icy treat

Satoru scoffed, shifting his weight from one leg to the other to distract himself from his tightening pants. But nothing truly seemed to help because all he could focus on was how pretty your lips looked wrapped around your frozen popsicle. While he was suffering, you reveled in the satisfaction and the sweet taste of revenge.

“Baby, come on, don’t do this to me.” He complained, watching you take the whole length into your mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh?” You swirl your tongue around the tip. “You’re sorry?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry for what, Toru?” You asked, popping the popsicle back into your mouth

“I’m sorry for teasing you, okay?!”

Your lips together, humming thoughtfully as you tapped your index finger against your chin. “I guess you seem like you mean it.” Satoru nodded, fluffy tufts of white hair moving with his every move. “But that still doesn’t make what you did right, so no, I won’t stop.” Your boyfriend let out a pained moan as you returned to enjoying your frozen treat.

“Sweetie, please, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” Your cheeks hollowed as you suck the tip hard.

“Yes, anything!”

You hummed again, pulling off the tip. “You’re going to let me ride you tonight. And I will edge until I see tears in those blue eyes.”

Gojo scoffed, bending down slightly and getting in your face. “You say that as if it’s a punishment.” You focused on his blindfold as you pulled off the popsicle.

“Wanna bet?”

“Oh, please, like you riding me is a punish—” For an instant, Gojo waited, thinking that maybe you were going to have some smart retort to shoot back at him. But instead, you bit the tip of the popsicle off with your teeth with an aggressive snarl.

With pure satisfaction, you watched your boyfriend's hands shoot down his crotch. Where he covered his now soft cock. His jaw went slack as eyebrows twitched from underneath his blindfold, clearly pained by your actions. You smiled before patting him on the shoulder and turning to walk back towards the school with a sway in your hips. One that generally left him eager to get home, but this time, it sent pinpricks down his spine.

“Can’t wait to get home and teach you a thing or two!”

While the strongest sorcerer of the modern age watched, you saunter off. He was beginning to realize just how badly he had fucked up. And he was not looking forward to what you had planned for him. Okay, maybe he was a little excited.

Geto Suguru:

It wasn’t your fault. You had done nothing to deserve the sex ban your boyfriend had put you on. You may have fallen through a second-story window after purposely ignoring his warnings. And it may have been a fall that had resulted in you needing twenty stitches, but that didn’t mean he needed to withhold sex from you.

Normally when shit like this happened, the outcome either resulted and you were getting lectured or getting spanked, which wasn’t ordinarily bad at all. But seeing that this was your fifth injury in three weeks, Suguru decided to take a different approach to teach you a lesson, and it was a lesson that was working, much to your dismay.

This punishment was beginning to eat you alive.

You could live without sex for a week, but two weeks should be considered torture. To make matters worse, any attempts you had made to push Suguru to break the stupid ban himself had gone unnoticed, unbothered, and irritated you beyond all means. You were utterly desperate to get dick down by your fantastic boyfriend, but you still had another four days to go before the ban was up.

But desperate times called for desperate measures.

You hummed as you stood at the end of an alley, looking back at your boyfriend, who used his curse technique on the curse you had been fighting into a ball. Suguru rubbed the back of his hand over his forehead, wiping away the sweat that coated his brow. It was a hot one in downtown Tokyo, but you had the perfect way to cool off! One that was sure to ignite the flames of passion deep inside Suguru’s chest.

“Okay,” Suguru said softly as walking towards the entrance of the alley where you were waiting for him, “I just need to swallow, and then we can get back to Jujutsu High. I was thinking maybe we could—” your boyfriend, paused, looking up from the cursed spirit in his palm, watching as you slowly run your tongue along the underside of a popsicle. “When did you have time to grab that?”

“Right when you started working your magic!” Your tongue stained a fluorescent red as the taste of cherry washed over your taste buds. “This cute little shop had them right by the door! Works out perfectly in that summertime Tokyo heat.”

Suguru hummed, eyeing the curse sphere in his hand, bracing himself for what he knew he had to do next. “Would you mind—” he stopped talking as you pushed yourself off the wall, turning to stand before him. You sucked on the cherry popsicle as if it were your boyfriend’s cock. Your cheeks bobbing your head over the sweet, tangy treat, all while maintaining eye contact with your boyfriend. “Princess.”

“Ah~!” you moaned out happily, popping your mouth off the tip of the popsicle. You made sure to lick your lips ever so slowly, hoping they were slightly swollen with all the sucking you had done. “Yes, Suguru~?”

This was it. He would finally break after all of your efforts in the three days! You couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say! Maybe it would be, ‘I can't take this any longer. I need to feel you!’ Or better yet, he might not say anything at all! He might drag you down the dark and take you right there against the brick wall. It would be an adrenaline rush with the prospect of getting caught doing some naughty things in public!

You could feel yourself vibrating with excitement and need. A look that didn’t go unnoticed by your incredibly observant boyfriend. He could see the way that you were pressing your thighs together. Your lips slightly parted at the sound of his voice. And the telltale sign was the fact that your eyes so bluntly focused on his crotch as if you were willing him to get erect. It was almost cute seeing you so eager.

“Make sure there’s no one coming.” The disappointment that flashed across your features like lightning was as clear as a crystal lake. “Go on.”

Your eyebrow twitched with visible anger, and you practically stormed to the end of the alley, looking both ways and ensuring no pedestrians were walking by. “It’s clear.” There was a sour tone to your voice, fully capable of cuddling milk.

“Thank you, darling,” Suguru responded before tilting his head back and popping the curse into his mouth.

The horrendous taste of a rag that was used to wipe up vomit coated his tongue before he was able to swallow the curse down. Once he absorbed the curse, he focused his attention on you to draw away from the horrendous taste that coated his mouth like a film. He usually found himself drawn towards you after he swallowed a curse. You were his anchor, in a way—something to ground himself to without losing himself in the disgusting taste that would drive anyone mad.

Typically, when his dark eyes met yours, he was met with a warm and gentle smile. Only this time, he was met with the burning, lustful gaze as you practically deep-throated a popsicle. Seeing you suck on it before hadn’t been all that distracting, but now that you were getting into it, it was a different story. Your eyes had a far-off gaze as you focused on him. Your head moved up and down over the popsicle, coding it in your saliva as you sucked on it hard.

Seeing you in such a state left Suguru swallowing harder than he had when he swallowed the curse. With each inch you took further into your mouth, you could see a flicker of need in his eyes. This was it—your boyfriend‘s breaking point. Suguru was going to be the one to crash; he was going to be the one to break his ban!

In the blink of an eye, Suguru snarled, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you deeper down the alley. The sudden jerky movement caused you to drop your popsicle, tumbling to the ground and breaking into several uneven pieces. But you didn’t give a fuck about the popsicle! You were more eager to get to be with your boyfriend again finally!

Suguru grabbed both your wrists, pinning them above your head. His lips met yours in a crash of pure, unfiltered need. The man didn’t even give you a chance to fully understand what was happening or try to match his pace. One, his lips were slanted against yours, and the next, he was showing his tongue into your mouth without even asking for permission by the tip of his tongue slowly over your bottom lip. You moaned, eyes fluttering shut as you kissed him back, his knee darting between your legs, pressing up against your clothed core.

He pulled away for a moment before slamming his lips back against yours, nearly causing your teeth to clash against each other.his tongue, massage yours, wrapping around the muscle, as you found yourself melting against him, hips, slowly, moving as the taste of cherry slowly enveloped his mouth. His feverish kisses began to cool down as your hips slowly began rocking against his thigh, eager For what else he had to offer you in his alleyway.

But as quickly as the kiss came, it ended. He pulled away, panting heavily as he released his grip on your wrists. You fell forward against his chest, gripping his jacket for support as he removed his knee from between your legs. You were shaking slightly at the arousal that burned through your veins like boiling water. Peering up at your boyfriend, you watched as he licked at the smeared cherry syrup on his lips.

“S-Sugu—what was?!”

“I just had to get the taste of the curse out of my mouth. And since you were so rudely didn’t even offer to get me a popsicle, I decided to make do with what I had. It’s not like Satoru is around to offer me candy. So I decided to taste your popsicle firsthand.”

You felt as though the world was crashing down on you. “I-I—!” Suguru shut his eyes as he tilted his head to the side, smiling softly, which was sinister with what he had just done to you.

“Did you honestly think that was going to break me? Oh, my sweet Princess, you’d have to do a lot more than that.” he wrapped his arm around your waist, leading you down the alleyway back to the bustling streets. “You have four days to go, then we can make up for lost time. But by all means, keep up your technique by sucking more popsicles, it may not break me, but I do enjoy the sight of you sucking on it.”

Needless to say you had learned your lesson. You found that out by yourself right then there, standing in an alley after being twat-blocked your boyfriend who was right. You needed to be more careful on your missions, and you definitely would be more careful from now on. Because your boyfriend was not going to ever break a sex ban.

Nanami Kento:

It was hot, and you felt even hotter in every part of your body. You were sitting on your porch watching your husband mow the grass in your backyard. You had offered to do it earlier this week, but he insisted on taking care of it because of how hot it was. The last thing he wanted was for his beautiful wife to get overheated and possibly suffer the consequences of heat stroke.

At first, you weren’t sure if you were insulted or relieved by his request. You wanted to help with the yard work; you had no problem doing that. But Nanami made you a deal: if you did the laundry, he would ensure the yardwork was done, which didn’t seem that fair of a deal to you. Your washing machine and dryer were inside the comfort of your air-conditioned house while your husband was stuck outside in the heat doing yard work.

After you finished the laundry, you changed into a pair of booty shorts and a tank top, fully motivated to get outside and help him finish the yardwork so the two of you could shower and relax for the evening. But the second Nanami spotted you walking down the steps of the porch, heading towards him, he stopped what he was doing and pointed to the chair that was under the shade.

“My love, it’s too hot for you to be out here. I'm almost done. Take a seat. I can handle it.”

“Kento, if you stop being so stubborn, we could get it done faster!” you pleaded with your husband, crossing your arms over your chest.“Just let me help you with weeding the garden!”

Your husband turned the lawnmower off, using the short brake to wipe the sweat Office face with his dirty shirt. “Sweetpea, I already finished picking the weeds; I watered all the plants; all I need to do now is just mow the lawn. So please take a seat and relax. It won’t take me very long.” You wanted to argue with him to tell him that he was being asinine about the whole situation; that stubborn look in his eyes, however, told you there was no persuading him to stop.

With a side of defeat, you back up the stairs of the porch, flopping your ass down in the lounge chair, looking out at him. Nanami smiled, readjusting his baseball hat with a wink before turning the lawn mower back on. Your husband often called you stubborn, but perhaps he needed to take the time to look in the mirror because he was just as stubborn, if not more stubborn than you.

Was it that bad that you wanted to help him out? It wasn’t as though you were some fragile flower incapable of doing yardwork. If you weren't so angry, you would’ve been able to take the time to enjoy the view in front of you. Your sweaty husband roamed around the yard, ensuring it was pristine. Sweat ran down his neck, biceps, and face, making him look as though he was some sort of Greek god.

But he was being childish at the current moment.

Clearly, trying to be an adult and offer your assistance to him wasn’t going to help, and talking to him about trying to persuade him to let you help wasn’t going to work either. There wasn’t much more you could do. Once your husband has made a decision, he typically sticks with it.

But there was one thing even the Nanami Kento couldn't resist on a hot day like this! You hopped out of your chair and rushed back into the house, heading straight for the freezer. You snickered to yourself as you pulled out your secret weapon before returning to the backyard.

Nanami had just turned the lawnmower off again and moved to discard the lawn clippings in the trash bag. He fully set it off to the side, intending to add it to the other compost by the shed you used for your flowers. Sweat ran down his chiseled cheeks, and he was looking forward to getting this done so he could take a very long shower with you. But just as he was about to connect the basket back to the lawnmower, he looked up at you and dropped it to the ground.

You were sitting back in the lounge chair, legs propped up on the porch railing, as you slowly licked around the frozen treat in the waffle cone in your hand. You are pretty tongue-lapped at your favorite frozen flavor, your eyes transfixed on him as you swirled your tongue expertly around the tip of the treat. Watching you do something so lewd on a dessert had Nanami swallowing hard. He suddenly found his basketball shorts were way too tight for comfort.

You had not intended for it to be like this. Your mind was nowhere even close to being in the gutter. Instead, your intentions were innocent. In the long run, your plan had been to entice him with ice cream to take a break in the shade with you. Maybe once he got out of the blazing heat, you would be able to convince him to allow you to help him. Your poor husband thought you were doing something completely different; fortunately, it worked.

His eyes were towards the grass that was cut evenly, aside from the small patches near the back wall that were practically unnoticeable to anyone who didn’t know the yard like you or Kento did; it wouldn’t be that big of a deal if he didn’t mow it just this once. The lawn society would come and arrest him for missing a minuscule part of the lawn. Besides, it was too damn hot to be out in the yard working in heat like this. Not when you sat on the porch looking at him with narrowed eyes as you lapped seductively at your treat.

A look you hadn’t realized you had even been giving the man. Your intentions had been pure. So you knew you had won when you watched Nanami quickly move across the yard, picking up his yard tools and throwing them in the shed without a care in the world. You silently fist-pumped the aias. Nanami came bounding across the yard with a purpose. There was a look in those honey-brown eyes as he ran up the stairs.

“How sweet of you to join m—mmphm!”

Your frozen dessert falls onto your lap as Nanami tosses his baseball cap off to the side, his hands gripping your face as he kisses you deeply. Your eyes rolled back, your mind completely ignoring the fact that your frozen treat was melting in your lap. All your brain could focus on was kissing Nanami back; everything else fizzled into the background as he lifted you out of the chair, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Mhmm—my love.” the moan that left Nanami’s mouth caused the little hairs on your arms to stand as goosebumps rose. “If you wanted me, all you had to do was ask.”

“H-Huh—?” you drunkenly asked as he opened the backdoor, expertly shutting and locking it as his lips moved over your neck. He chucked warm and deep, his face buried in your neck.

You inhaled sharply, whimpering as his teeth grazed over your pulse. “If you wanted me to ravish you this badly, all you needed to do was say so instead of teasing me.” Your mind raced as you suddenly became aware of what he had been talking about.

The ice cream. Your intention to innocently persuade him to join you on the porch to cool off had been misconstrued as a beg for him to stop what he was doing so you could suck him off, maybe even do more. So, the way you saw it, you had two options. Be honest with your husband and tell him you just wanted the home to cool off on the porch as a ploy to convince him to let you help with the yard. Or, go with what he was saying and have steamy, hot shower sex.

“Oh shoot! You caught me! Here, I thought I was being so aloof with my plans!”

Your husband kicks the door to your bedroom open, heading into the bathroom. “Luckily for me, I can read you like a book.” Your fingers run through his slightly damp, sweat-ridden hair, scratching at the undercut as you pull yourself in and kiss him deeply.

“That you do.”

Ryomen Sukuna (Modern AU)

The door to the apartment flew open, and you snarled, eyes searching for any sign of your boyfriend. “Kuna!” screamed at the top of your lungs. There was no response, but that didn’t stop you from searching the empty apartment for your teasing boyfriend.

Intentions of making him pay for the relentless teasing he had put you through your workday. It started as an innocent text that said good morning and to have a good day. That innocent message progressed to him saying he missed you, followed by a picture of him lying in bed, his ripped abdomen muscles on full display. The photo in itself is something you were used to, but the images that followed were out of nowhere.

Pictures of his bulge in his basketball shorts came up on your screen. With each picture that showed up, they became more scandalous. The bulge turned into photos of him, groping himself through his pants, the erection clearest day to shots of his tattooed, happy trail all the way up to the base of his cock. Your face flushed as you shielded your phone from the prying eyes of your coworkers. You texted him to knock it off, but that was not easily persuaded. He did what he wanted, and he didn’t give a fuck.

Those scandalous photos turned into Voice Memos that had your panties soaked and your lip raw from how hard you bid it to hold the back whimpers. The man was torturing you, and you had planned to make him suffer as much as he had made you. But now that you were finally off the clock, in the safety of your own home, and the bastard was nowhere to be found!? Typical teasing dick move.

You stormed into the kitchen, searching for something to distract yourself with. Finding a popsicle in the freezer, you unwrapped it just as the front door opened and shut. In a second, you watched as your boyfriend around the corner, dropping his keys on the counter.

“Kitten!” shouted around with hungry desire. “I'm home!”

“Hm.” Instead of responding with the normally warm, enthusiastic welcome, he was greeted with the coldness of a winter storm.

“Oh, don't hm me. What do you say I ma—” His words traveled off as he fixed his gaze on you, witnessing you pushing the pink popsicle into your mouth, sucking on the tip as he blinked before focusing on you.

Teasing wasn’t as fun now that he was the one on the receiving end of it. That’s what you thought. You had been eager to watch his face contort with need. Longing to make him suffer the same way he had made you suffer throughout the entirety of your day. Shortly as you found yourself lost in thoughts, you were met with the dark, almost void look in his crimson eyes.

That almost emotionless look in his eyes, and he didn’t seem bothered by your actions. Instead, you’ve leaned further over the counter, not breaking the eye contact. There was a lot you had been expecting your boyfriend to do in response to your teasing. So you continued to deep-throat the icy treat. But when Soukouna reached into the fruit bowl on the counter, picking up a peach, your eyebrows twitched as you tried to figure out what he intended to do.

A split second passed before Sukuna reached for the knife block. He pulled out the pairing knife, still maintaining icon contact. You walked, and your boyfriend sliced into the fruit. Its sweet juices beat against the fuzzy skin. The second peach was split in half. Sukuna grabbed the pit of the peach, throwing it into the sink.

You cocked an eyebrow at him, continuing to suck on the popsicle in a very messy manner. Was he seriously going to sit there and eat a peach without saying anything? Before you could even continue to question his intentions, you came to the shocking realization that he wasn’t going to eat the peach.

Your big buff boyfriend leaned over the counter himself, holding the peach in one hand while the other gripped the counter with his other. You watched as his pierced tongue slid out of his mouth slowly, lapping at the inside of the peach; in a way, he typically ate you out. He ran his piercing over the indent of the peach where Sukuna re the tip of the pit was, where your clit would be. He ran his tongue over that spot over and over before his tongue slid back down, lapping over the juicy peach.

Watching him lapping at the peach in such a seductive manner made you choke at first. Your boyfriend snickered as he kept his burning gaze focused solely on you. What the fuck? Why was this so erotic?! Watching him eating out a peach, you were suddenly jealous.

“What’s wrong, Kitten?” He purred out cocking an eyebrow. The juices from the peach smeared over his mouth as he pulled away. “You can dish it out but can’t take it?”

“Mhmm~!” You hummed out aggressively, swirling your tongue over the top of the popsicle. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” You whispered, running the tip of your tongue over what you pretended was the slit of your boyfriend's cock.

“Ah, okay, I see. You can pretend you’re not imagining that popsicle as my thick cock, but I’m pretending this.” He held the peach up. “Is your sweet cunt.”

His words sent fire to pool in your abdomen. “O-oh yeah?” You questioned as if you didn’t know that’s what he was doing.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t compare to you.” He growled as he flicked his tongue over the peach. “You’re so much wetter, sweeter, and make the prettiest sounds. I’d much rather bury my head between your thighs.”

“Yet you’re still licking the peach.”

“And you're still deepthroating a fucking popsicle.”

You weren’t going to break down first! You refused to when he had started the teasing this morning while you were at work. Even if the popsicle melted you had a freezer full of them to continue this stupid game.

“Mmm~haaah~” Sukuna moaned softly, flicking his tongue over the peach in strategic swipes, ones you were familiar with. “S,” Sukuna hummed before you watched his tongue quickly dip down, “U,” the pink tongue darted down before two quick flicks followed, “K—”

You were a liar.

You threw the popsicle to the floor before snatching the peach away from your boyfriend and throwing it into the sink. Your boyfriend's smirk didn’t even have a chance to tug at the corner of his mouth as you yanked him closer to you by the straps of his tank top. Not expecting you to falter so quickly, Sukuna barely had time to process what was happening before he was dragged around the kitchen island, where your lips slammed against his.

All cocky attitudes joined the discarded peach pit in the sink as you both threw yourselves at each other. The sweet, sticky taste of peaches and strawberries collapsed in a kaleidoscope of flavors as your tongues massaged each other as you fell to the tile floor, wrapping your limbs around your boyfriend. Clothes were tugged off, and belts were unbuckled before moans flooded the apartment, and neither of you intended to stop until you were a sticky, sweaty mess.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @luvsymai

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spearsillustration · 3 months ago

Text

°[Younger Cecil Stedman X Secret Wife/Hero Reader]°

Summary - This takes place immediately after Cecil gets hurt, following all the intense surgery and necessary medical procedures to patch him up. The wounds are still fresh, and the lingering ache from the ordeal is a constant reminder of how close things came to going horribly wrong.

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Notes - Okay since this is my first time writing for him it might be ooc, but I’m trying my best. Though after reading all the other fanfics about him (which isn’t enough) I think I did enough research. Plus rewating every scene he’s in I think I’m ready. Alright, enough ranting I hope you enjoy.

P.S. I rushed to finish this after work so there might be some small mistakes here and there. I'll edit it in due time.

Word count: 2,510

Page number: 7

It had been two weeks since I’d heard anything from Cecil. I called and texted him till my fingers went numb. We might go weeks without seeing each other due to work but he’d always try to call or message me so we knew the other was alright. Last I knew he went on a solo mission when they got a tip, but I was sure he would be fine. If it was something life-threatening they would have sent me in to assist as his partner.

After I hadn’t heard back from him I knew something was wrong. I had to keep our marriage a secret for both our safety, but It was hard to keep a level head not knowing if my husband was okay. I made calls asking about his whereabouts in a way that didn’t scream desperately worried.

It was another week before I got any information and…It wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I was told the entire mission was confidential information. But was told that Celil got hurt pretty badly. They reassured me of his excellent care, and their voices receded to a faint hum in the back of my mind, the shock numbing my senses. He had been in the medical facility for the past two weeks and I hadn’t been told a single thing. I had to control myself as my blood felt like it was boiling. But the anger quickly passed and despair followed. I thanked them for finally getting back with me.

I asked if I could see him. I joked that I needed to make sure my favorite partner wasn’t dead yet. I worked with most of the higher ranked agents but I worked with him the most. Noone needed to know the real reason, to any if them we just worked well together. It was hard to put on the fake smile and laughter that followed.

They weren't sure if he was ready for visitors. I have to ask someone higher up to get anything done around here. I rubbed my temple in frustration and with a deep sigh thanked them before hanging up the phone.

I had to make an appointment with the medical facility desk the following day and fill out paperwork explaining why I was visiting and so forth. The process was excruciating as it was time-consuming. Guess being a hero who works for the GDA doesn’t get you ahead of anyone else around here. I rushed through everything making my handwriting sloppy as all hell but I got it finished and quickly gave it back so I could see him as soon as possible.

“In a hurry (Y/N).” The person working at the desk joked with a smile.

“Y-Yeah plenty of work to get done, people to save all that,” I responded as normal as possible.

“I understand that. I’ll get these sorted out as quickly as I can for you. But for now, I’ll need you to wait over there for me.” She said gesturing to the seats where I just was.

I held back an annoyed sigh as I thanked her. I returned to my seat in the corner. Every minute dragged on making me worry even more. After a while, I pulled out my phone looking for a distraction so my mind didn’t wander too much. But that made it worse when I ended up opening my gallery and looking at the few pictures I had of Cecil and me. I had some cute selfies of us together, a picture I took when he fell asleep at his desk that he thinks I deleted, date photos, and things he sent me from work.

“(Y/N),” She called from the desk.

My head quickly shot up as I heard my name.

“You can see him now. The doctor says he’s well enough for visitors”

“Thank you,” I quickly responded and I calmly walked to his room, well until I was out of sight then I practically ran.

Once I got to his room I froze unable to move for a moment. It took me a good minute before I brought my hand up to knock on the door. I heard a strained voice.

“Come in,” Cecil said voice sounding deeper than the last time I heard him.

I slowly opened the door expecting the worst.

When I opened his door his face was inflamed and raw from previous reconstructive surgery, marred by a prominent scar that ran across half of his face. Despite the shock and pain, a surge of relief washed over me—Cecil was alive, albeit heavily sedated.

"Cecil..." I mumbled as my eyes watered in relief.

A hoarse, gravelly whisper escaped his lips, his voice cracked and rough. "(Y/N)...?"

I slowly walked over the the hospital bed he was lying in and sat down on the chain that was beside his bed. I gripped his hand with both of mine lovingly as if I was gonna lose him now.

“Yes, I'm here,” I said with a smile as tears fell down my face.

His fingers trembled ever so slightly, but he managed to squeeze my hand. "Don't...cry." he rasped, his expression tightening with effort. "Look...at me."

I looked into his eyes weakly unable to stop the tears from streaming down my face.

His gaze softened as he noticed my tears, a pang of anguish flashed across his eyes. He slowly raised his hand, movement restricted by lingering pain. He gently swiped his thumb against my cheek, attempting to comfort me.

"I'm okay," he whispered, his voice hoarse and laced with weakness. "I'm... here, (Y/N)."

I leaned into his touch and caressed his hand. “I-I could have lost you. I don’t even know what happened to you for two weeks I’ve been driving myself insane not even knowing if you were alive.” I said between weak whimpers almost unable to stop myself from sobbing.

The sound of my voice, trembling and filled with sobs, pierced him deeply. He squeezed my hand again, a silent act of reassurance. Even in his pain-muddled state, he loathed seeing me this distraught.

His gaze bore into me, unflinching and intense. "You...didn't lose me." His voice, though rough, held a steely resolve. "I'm here...I'm not going anywhere."

“I should have been there. You might not be stuck in this damn hospital bed if I went with you.” I said sorrowfully, deeply regretting my absence. “It's never safe to go on missions alone, why were you alone?” I wined out painfully.

His grip tightened on my hand, a mix of annoyance and concern crossing his expression. "Stop." His voice held a touch of firmness. "Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault."

He sighed, looking away momentarily, his gaze fixated on the sterile, blank hospital wall. "I...went...alone because...it was supposed to be...low risk. The intelligence was wrong."

I looked away in shame. “I still wish I was there for you.”

"Stop," he repeated, his voice stern but not without a note of vulnerability. "You...can't always be there."

He shifted his gaze back to me. "I don't want you...risking your life...just for me. I need you...safe."

“I know, but I was so scared. They didn’t even tell me you were hurt till the other day. I was worried to death.”

He winced at my words, his expression etched with pain both physical and emotional. The intensity in his eyes softened as he realized the depth of my concern.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I...didn't consider...how scared you would be...waiting for me."

“Of course, I was worried. I’m not just your partner Cecil, I'm your wife. It's my job to worry about you. On and off work.”

The corner of his lip lifted in a small, tired smirk.

"Worrying isn’t on the list of your marital duties," he retorted weakly, trying to infuse a hint of humor into the situation.

“Well with you it's at the top of the list.”

His smirk broadened ever so slightly, his eyes softening with affection.

"You're hardly the stereotypical doting housewife," he pointed out.

“Well, a stereotypical wife couldn't handle you.”

A chuckle, low and rumbling, escaped him, though it was followed by a wince of pain. "Ain't that...the truth," he agreed, his eyes gleaming with affection.

Seeing him wince in pain made my smile fall. “How are you feeling... really?”

His expression sobered, the amusement in his eyes fading as he sighed heavily. "Like... I got hit by a goddamn truck," he admitted. "Whole body feels like it's on fire. And my head hurts like a sonofabitch."

“Even with all the painkillers they most likely got you on?”

He nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Painkillers...take the edge off," he muttered, his gaze distant. "But they don't...fix everything." He shifted uncomfortably, wincing again as the movement aggravated his already sore body.

I scooted the chair I was sitting in even closer to his bed. I’d be in the hospital bed with him if I didn’t have any self-control.

“Are you gonna tell me what happened or is it to confidential?” I asked turning to look him in the eyes.

“Look you know I can’t tell you, and…you don’t want to know.” He answered the way I expected him too.

“Then it’s probably for the best then,” I responded meekly but pushed past that feeling. “How much longer till you can leave the medical facility and I can get you some real food?”

“Probably another week before they finally let me go.” He sighed in annoyance.

“Well guess I’ll have to come visit you every day till they finally release you.” I teased knowing he hated sitting around doing nothing in a bed all day.

His gaze fixed on me, and a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "I know you will," he murmured, his voice gruff but lacking any hint of annoyance. "Can't get rid of... you that easy."

“Oh, so you thought getting hurt and almost dying would get rid of me. That some facial scar would bother me. Hell, you married me, and it's gonna take far more than that to run me off. Till death do us part is literal with me sweetheart.”

He rolled his eyes with a smile as I continued. “You’re too stubborn.”

“Well, I have to be when It comes to you or you’d never listen,” I said with a smile before gently kissing the new scar on his face.

He flinched at the touch of my lips against his sensitive scar, though his expression softened as he felt the love in that tender gesture making his cheeks turn a light shade of pink that was almost too light to notice.

"Careful," he murmured gently "It's still a bit tender."

I bit my lip playfully with a wink, “It's kind of attractive.”

He let out a huff of amusement, his smirk returning. "You always did...have peculiar tastes," he said, a slight edge of teasing in his voice.

“Well, I married you if that tells you anything.”

"You must've...lost your damn mind,"

“Maybe a little,” I responded before hearing a knock at the door. I quickly shot up and made myself presentable since our marriage was a secret to almost everyone else.

His attention shifted to the knock on the door, his expression slightly alarmed. Despite his injured state, there was a guarded wariness in his gaze. He discreetly gestured for me to step back, not wanting outsiders to witness the intimacy of your relationship.

I moved the chair back and stood up to answer the door. A GDA nurse entered, her expression professional and her voice courteous.

"Good evening, ma'am. I just need to check on Mr. Stedman's vitals." She briskly moved to the side of his bed, affixing the blood pressure cuff to his arm without sparing either of us a second glance.

"Of course." I stepped back so I wasn't in her way and continued speaking to Cecil but only about the stuff he missed at work while he was gone so we wouldn't give away our relationship.

He nodded, shifting slightly to allow the nurse access to his arm. As the nurse proceeded to take his vitals, he engaged in the conversation with you, keeping up the pretense of a casual work update. His gaze flickered between you and the nurse, aware of the need to maintain discretion.

Once the nurse was finished and left us alone I let out a sigh. As the nurse departed, closing the door behind her, the room fell silent once again. He relaxed slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing now that she was gone.

"Close call," he murmured, his gaze flickering from the door to me.

"It not like we were making passionate love to each other." I teased.

"That's not the point," he retorted gruffly, trying to maintain a stern demeanor. "We're trying to keep things... under wraps."

"Trust me I know more than anyone," I responded before my watch started beeping alerting me of trouble. I sighed in annoyance and looked up at Cecil painfully.

He noticed the beeping of your watch and the expression of annoyance on your face. A frown creased his brow as he recognized the sound.

"Duty calls?" he murmured, his voice tinged with resignation.

"At the worst times, as usual, People always need saving at the most inconvenient times I swear," I mumbled. "But I'll be back as soon as I can. And don't almost die on me again while I'm gone please."

His expression softened, his gaze fixed on you intently. "No promises," he said with a hint of a smirk, though his words held a note of sincere concern. "Be careful out there."

“Always am. But let's not forget something.” I quickly remarked before walking back over and leaning in for a loving goodbye kiss.

He leaned into the kiss, his hand gently cupping my chin. When I pulled back, a ghost of a smile played on his lips.

"Don't do anything reckless," he murmured, his gaze locking with mine.

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