#and then I end up losing the energy to draw and then I sit there with all the ideas in my head and do nothing with them :( | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angelbwrry · 2 months

Text

sex for dummies. eren j.

cw 𐙚 kissing, kissing, andddddd more kissing. eren is smart and wants to learn how to fuck, you’re a bimbo cheerleader with experience under your belt who needs help in math!

𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝓃𝑒: 𝓀𝒾𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔

You sit in the stark, colorless classroom, feeling the weight of monotony pressing down on you. The walls are bare, devoid of any inspirational posters or artwork, and the fluorescent lights cast a harsh, uninviting glow over everything. The incessant clicking of a pen behind you riddles you with irritation, each click like a tiny hammer tapping against your skull. You try to focus on the teacher, but his bored voice drones on about the rules of precalculus, and you can't help but tune it out.

Your attention drifts to your pink ringed notebook, its cover already filled with an array of drawings, each one a testament to your boredom. You’ve always been an artist, yet you’ve never had the energy or the opportunity to truly pursue your talents. So here they stay, confined to the pages of this littered notebook. As you sketch, your mind wanders, and you lose yourself in the lines and shapes forming under your pencil.

But the tapping of the pen behind you grows louder, its continuous rhythm grating on your nerves. You try to ignore it, but it becomes impossible, each click pulling you further away from your thoughts. Frustration builds inside you, and you begin to scribble harder, pressing the pencil into the paper with more force than necessary. Suddenly, the lead snaps, breaking the fragile silence you had tried to create.

You whirl around to face the boy behind you, your eyes blazing with anger. "Tap it again and I’ll shove it down your throat," you seethe, your voice low and menacing. The boy looks at you, his eyes wide with terror, and he nods quickly, his hand frozen mid-click. Satisfied, you turn back around.

Mr. Johnson, the math teacher, stands at the front of the classroom, his voice clear as he explained yet another problem. The chalkboard was filled with equations, each symbol meticulously written to illustrate the problems.

"Alright, class," Mr. Johnson said, turning back to face the students, "let's solve this equation together. What do we need to do first?" Hands shot up across the room, but in the back corner, you sat quietly, staring at your notebook. The numbers and letters seemed to blur together, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't make sense of the steps Mr. Johnson was explaining.

"We should rewrite the equation.”

Your ears perked up at the familiar raspy voice. Eren Jaeger, the typical nerd whizz kid. He always wore these rimmed glasses that seemed to be perpetually sliding down his face. You could never get a good look at his face, though, because if his head wasn’t down, his messy raven hair was in his face. He seemed like a shy, reserved nerd.

You’d only spoken to him once or twice, and each time you’d asked to borrow a pencil. Eren effortlessly broke down the problem until it was solved. You envied his brain. Mr. Johnson moved on to the next equation, and your anxiety grew as you found yourself zoning out, probably why your grades were suffering now.

You knew you needed help, but you were too embarrassed to raise your hand and admit you didn't understand. You scribbled in your pink spiraled notebook, trying to make sense of the previous examples, but the more you looked, the more confused you became.

You doodled a picture of Hello Kitty, lip mindlessly caught in your teeth.

The bell rang, signaling the end of class, and you quickly packed your things, hoping to escape unnoticed. But as you reached the door, Mr. Johnson called out, "Y/N, can I speak with you for a moment?"

Shit.

You froze, your heart pounding. You turned slowly and walked back to Mr. Johnson's desk, avoiding eye contact. Your anxiety spiked as you awaited what he was going to say. Would he threaten to call your parents again, threaten to get you taken off the cheer team? Or would he make you stay back for after-hour tutoring again?

"Uh, yeah sure," you stumbled out nervously, fingers pulling at the edge of your uniform skirt as you averted your eyes to him.

"I noticed you drifting off in class. In order for me to help you, I need you to want to be helped," he sighed, pulling his glasses over his tired face. "I know you're on the team and practice can be weighing with classes. I can talk to your coach—"

"No, no. That's not needed, I swear I'll do better, just please don't talk to coach," you pleaded desperately, her last words playing through your head like a broken record.

If your grades drop any lower, I'll have to suspend you.

He gave you a look; you couldn't tell what kind of look seeing as his face was always stoic. After what seemed like an eternity, he nodded, folding his arms over his chest."Fine, I would suggest pairing up with someone to study over the weekend. We'll have a pop quiz come early Monday morning."

Shit, Monday. How the fuck did he expect you to cram an entire semester of math equations into your head in two damn days? You wanted to throw a fit, but you kept your composure, lips curled tightly in disdain as you nodded your head before spinning on your heels and leaving.

You walked out into the hallway, your mind racing. You needed help, and fast. Just then, you spotted Eren Jaeger, the nerdy guy from your class, at his locker.

"Hey, Eren," you called out, trying to sound as casual as possible.

He looked up, surprised to see you. "Oh, hey... Y/N, right?"

"Yeah, that's me," you said, forcing a smile. "Listen, I need a favor."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "What kind of favor?"

"I need help with math. Like, desperately," you admitted, feeling your cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

"Mr. Johnson said I need to study with someone this weekend or I'm screwed. And I know you're really good at it..."

Eren sighed, closing his locker. "So, you want me to help you? Why should I? You never even talk to me unless you need something."

You bit your lip, feeling a pang of guilt. "I know, and I'm sorry. But I really need this, Eren. I'll do anything. I'll even pay you if that's what it takes."

He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "It's not about the money, Y/N. It's about respect. You think just because you're popular, you can use people like me whenever it's convenient for you."

You swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. "I don't think that, I swear. I just... I don't know what else to do. Please, Eren. I'm begging you."

He sighed again, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Fine. I'll help you. But not because of the money. Because everyone deserves a second chance. Just... don't make me regret this.Take my number.”

You felt a wave of relief wash over you as you typed your number in his phone. "Thank you, Eren. You have no idea how much this means to me."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, grabbing his backpack.

"Meet me at the library after school. And be on time."

"I will, I promise," you said, smiling genuinely for the first time that day. "Thanks again, Eren." As you walked away, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, things would turn around after all.

Eren was going to kill you. Not only were you late for your study session, but you were also on babysitting duty. Your parents had dropped it on you at the last minute that they had to attend a dinner for your dad’s boss, seeing as he was trying to get promoted.

"Mom, Dad, I can't babysit tonight! I have a tutoring session with Eren at the library," you protested, your voice rising in frustration.

"Sweetie, this dinner is very important for your father’s career," your mom replied, barely looking up from her phone. "You can miss one study session."

"Are you serious? I can't just cancel on him last minute! And it’s not just one session, it's important," you argued, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

"Enough," your dad said sharply. "We provide everything you need. The least you can do is help out when we ask."

"But you never consider my feelings! You just throw money at me and think it solves everything," you shot back, your voice trembling with anger.

"Watch your tone, young lady," your dad warned, his eyes narrowing. "We expect you to handle this responsibly."

Irritation riddled your body as you watched them pull off in the BMW, leaving you with your hyper eight-year-old sister.

"Fuck," You clenched your fists, feeling the weight of your little sister's expectant eyes on you. It wasn’t just the babysitting; it was everything. The constant disregard for your time, your feelings, your life. They never seemed to care unless it was about them.

All they did was throw money at you, thinking it would make up for their absence, their coldness. They were always so distant, so wrapped up in their own world. It was like you were just an afterthought, a responsibility they had to manage rather than a person they cared about.

Deep down, you resented them for it. For always making you feel like you were second place to their careers, their social lives, their needs.

You were tired of being the one who had to pick up the pieces, who had to be responsible because they couldn’t be bothered. They never listen,you thought bitterly. They never care.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself as you turned around to face your little sister. Her big, innocent eyes were filled with curiosity and concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, her small hand reaching out to touch yours.

You forced a smile, squeezing her hand gently. "Yeah, I'm fine," you lied, not wanting to burden her with your frustrations.

“Come on, it's time for bed."

She nodded, trusting you completely, and you led her upstairs to her room. The soft glow of her pink nightlight cast a warm, comforting light over the room. You helped her into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin and tucking her in snugly.

"Why are you stressed?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It's nothing, really," you reassured her, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "Just some grown-up stuff. You don't need to worry about it."

She looked up at you with those big, trusting eyes, and you felt a pang of guilt for not being completely honest. But you knew she was too young to understand the complexities of your feelings.

You leaned down and kissed her forehead, smoothing the covers over her small frame. "Sweet dreams, little one," you whispered. "I'll be right here if you need anything."

She smiled sleepily, her eyes already beginning to close. "Goodnight," she murmured.

You watched her for a moment, making sure she was settled before turning off the main light and leaving the room. As you leave the room, you couldn't help but feel a mix of love and frustration. Your sister was so innocent, so unaware of the burdens you carried. But for her sake, you would carry them all.

Your phone buzzes, and you see Eren's name on the screen. You take a deep breath before answering, knowing he's probably annoyed.

"Hey," you say cautiously.

"Where are you?" Eren's voice is sharp. "I'm at the library, and you're not here."

You feel a pang of guilt. "I'm really sorry, Eren. My parents stuck me on babysitting duty last minute. I couldn't leave my little sister alone."

There's a brief silence on the other end, and you can almost feel Eren's frustration through the phone. "Can I come over?" he finally asks.

You hesitate, then offer, "Yes, please. I can even pay you extra for the trouble."

Eren is quiet for a moment, and you hold your breath. "Alright," he says eventually. "I'll be over in twenty."

"Thank you so much, Eren," you say, relief washing over you.

"Yeah, yeah," he replies, trying to sound indifferent but you can sense the concern in his voice. "See you soon."

You hang up, feeling a bit lighter. You glance at your little sister, who's fast asleep, and crack the door to her room slightly, making sure she's still peacefully resting. At least you have someone who understands and is willing to help out.

Twenty minutes later, you hear a knock on the door. You open it to find Eren standing there, looking around in awe. "Wow," he mutters, stepping inside.

“Your house is huge. It looks like a mansion. I think you could fit my house in here three times." Eren says as he steps in, his eyes widen, taking in the high ceilings and elegant decor.Man, this place is massive. He knew you lived well, but this is next level. He shakes his head slightly, trying to hide his amazement. I could probably get lost in here.

You smile sheepishly, a bit embarrassed by the size of your home. "Yeah, it is pretty big. Thanks for coming over, Eren."

Eren nods, still looking around. This is like something out of a movie. I bet she has her own bathroom too.

“No problem," he says, shaking his head as if trying to process the grandeur of your house. You can’t help but stare at him, you’ve never seen him outside of school uniform and it’s hard not to gawk at the tight red compression shirt he’s wearing. His muscles flex underneath it enticingly, your eyes catching ink under his sleeves.His long hair is pulled back and you’re in awe, he’s beautiful.He’s not wearing his glasses tonight, you wonder why,but decide not to pester him.

You notice you’re staring and pull your eyes away,”we’ll study in my room.”

Eren nods,”lead the way.”

Eren tried to fight the way his erection grew as he walked behind you, your round ass in his face. Damn, you look gorgeous. You always looked gorgeous, but like this? It's almost too much.Your hair was pulled into a ponytail, edges laid neatly. The compression shorts you wore had his mind swirling with unholy thoughts, and your shirt was short enough to see your boobs peeking out. God, control yourself, Eren. This is not the time.

And then there was your scent—a perfect mix of cinnamon and vanilla. It was intoxicating, pulling him deeper into his thoughts. You smell so good. He was pulled from his reverie as you pushed open the door to your room. It was just as luxurious as the rest of your house, pink and white themed. Cozy, with pristine tan carpet. The room smelled amazing, and Eren figured you were probably a clean freak, given how spotless everything was. This place is incredible. How do you keep it so perfect?

Eren took a moment to steady himself, trying to focus on anything other than the way you looked and smelled. Get it together, Eren. You're here to help, not to get distracted.But it was easier said than done, and he couldn't help but silently admire you, hoping you wouldn't notice the effect you had on him.

“Geez, is there anything small in this house.” Eren jokes, taking a seat on the bed.You giggle, shutting the door closed before plopping down beside him, ignoring the way your stomach churns when those green eyes look at you.

“My parents are the materialistic type, as you can see.”

He scoffs, yeah no shit.

“I figured out how you can pay me,” Eren finally speaks up, you quip an eyebrow at him.

“Teach me how to have sex,”

You nearly choke on your spit.

“W-what?”

“Like how to kiss a girl and finger her, y’know.Each time we study you’ll teach me a new thing.” He trails off, his olive skin is bright red.

You cross your arms over your shoulder,”what makes you think I’m not a virgin?”

He bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing,”Just the schools drama page has a photo of you folded in the back of Connie’s truck.”

You roll your eyes, God, how embarrassing.Connie was your ex, typical football player, dumber than a damn rock.You really need to pass, and Eren is really cute, you don’t mind taking his virginity. You sigh after a few minutes,”Fine.but don’t go around running your mouth about this.”

You take a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. He's sitting right in front of you, looking a bit unsure but eager to learn. You smile softly, wanting to make this moment as sweet and memorable as possible.

"Alright, first things first," you say gently, placing your hands on his shoulders. "It's important to relax and just be in the moment. Kissing should feel natural and comfortable." You look into his eyes, trying to convey your confidence and warmth. "Let's start with something simple. Just lean in slowly."

He mirrors your actions, leaning in slightly. You can feel his breath on your lips, and it makes your heart race a little.

"Close your eyes," you whisper, and he does. You do the same, letting the moment envelop you both. The world around you fades, and it's just the two of you, sharing this intimate space.

"Now, just a gentle touch," you instruct, your voice barely above a whisper. You press your lips softly against his, just a light, tender kiss. It's sweet and innocent, and you can feel him relax a bit. You pull back slightly, your eyes fluttering open to meet his.

"See? That's not so hard," you giggle, a playful smile dancing on your lips. He smiles back, looking more confident now.

"Let's try it again, but this time, add a little more pressure," you say, leaning in once more.

As your lips meet again, you guide him with gentle pressure, showing him how to move in sync with you. "Tilt your head a bit," you murmur against his lips, and he follows your lead. The kiss deepens, becoming more natural and fluid. You can feel the connection growing, the rhythm of your movements syncing perfectly.

"Perfect," you say, breaking the kiss and smiling up at him.

"You're a quick learner."

He chuckles, looking both relieved and happy. "Just remember, it's all about the connection. Feel the moment and let it guide you."

You decide to show him a bit more. "Now, let's try something a little different," you say, your voice soft and encouraging.

"When you kiss, you can also use your hands to express how you feel." You gently take his hand and place it on your waist. "See? This can make the kiss feel more intimate."

He nods, his touch tentative but growing bolder. You lean in again, this time letting your hands slide up to his neck, your fingers gently playing with the hair at the nape. The kiss is deeper now, more passionate, yet still tender. You can feel his confidence building with each moment.

"That's it," you whisper as you pull away for a breath. "You're doing amazing." He smiles, his eyes sparkling with newfound assurance.

"One last thing," you add, your tone playful. "Don't be afraid to explore a bit. Kissing can be fun and playful too."

You lean in for one more kiss, this time letting it linger a bit longer. Your lips move together in a dance, sometimes slow and sweet, other times more eager and passionate. It's a perfect blend of emotions, and you can feel the bond between you.

As you pull away, you see the sparkle in his eyes, and you know he's got it. "Thank you," he says softly, his voice filled with gratitude. You smile, feeling a warm glow inside.

"Anytime," you reply, knowing that this is just the beginning.

His face is bright red, dick pressing uncomfortably in his pants.You’d be lying if you said the heat between your legs wasn’t there.He scratches his eyebrow nervously,”we should probably get studying.”

reblogs, comments and likes are highly appreciated! bye🫧

part 2

538 notes · View notes

fourmoony · 4 months

Note

oh my god. eating the chocolate that makes you really horny with james!!! plslsllslss

thank you for requesting! this is 2.2k words of pure smut. i guess it got away from me? f!reader, mdni

cw: drug use, unprotected sex, cock warming, p in v, cream pie

Your body feels like it's thrumming with energy. Skin tingling, a static in your veins that's making it impossible to sit still. But you try. You really, really try because you refuse to lose. Even if it feels like every minute you're not doing anything about the burning in your veins is a minute closer to death.

It's Sirius' fault, really. He and Remus had thought it was a wholly hilarious idea to bring back a 'special' bar of chocolate from their trip to Amsterdam. Lo and behold, it hadn't been a typical special chocolate bar, but an aphrodisiac one, instead. Ensue a bet about whether or not it actually works and now. Well, now you're eating your entirely too confident words about it being a load of bullshit. You could give in. You could admit defeat because it's not like Sirius and Remus stuck around for long after theirs kicked in.

But it's just you and James in your tiny shared flat and you really don't feel like announcing departure to your room and having him know what you're up to in there. Especially when it doesn't seem to be affecting James the way it's affecting you. His eyes are trained on the television, feet kicked up on the coffee table. He looks normal, unfazed. You try to remember if he even ate any of the chocolate but your brain is too clouded. Too foggy with the feeling of need.

You try to settle, press your thighs together and chance another look at the clock. It's not late enough to claim fatigue. You sigh, resigned to your fate.

James shifts, burrows further into the couch as his head tilts over to look at you. "You okay?" He asks.

His voice sends jolts like pure electricity down your spine. He and the boys had smoked, too, before taking the chocolate. The lazy tilt to his voice reverberates through you until you feel yourself throbbing. "Yeah, all good." You bite out.

You're the furthest thing from all good, in actuality. Sure, you've thought about screwing James before. In passing. He's your roommate, it only takes walking into the bathroom at an inopportune time to supply a weeks worth of seedy dreams that leave you feeling guilty, after. But this is different. You're genuinely concerned that if you don't get James out of your line of sight, now, you're going to proposition him and then you're going to have to move out and never show face again.

Fuck Sirius and his chocolate.

James doesn't say anything for a while. You're not sure if he believes you, by the way his eyes flick over every now and then. His gaze is burning hot, your limbs screaming out for you to move. Everything is too much; the ache, the throbbing, the wetness you can feel pressing against your panties. It only intensifies when, finally, James reaches out. Slowly, softly, fingers encircling the skin of your ankle. He holds for a while, draws lazy circles against the bone until you're practically writhing in your seat. You don'd doubt for a second that he can't hear your shallow breathing, that he doesn't know exactly what he's doing.

Or, maybe, he doesn't. Maybe he's as worked up as you and needs the touch like you do.

The desire grows, the burning grows, angry and unavoidable until you feel the welling of tears in your eyes. It should be embarrassing, should be absolutely mortifying to be crying from James' touch. A touch he gives you so often and never means anything. A touch that usually soothes you.

His eyes flick over once more, catch the tears that slip freely down your cheeks, even as your eyes focus solely on the television. James calls on you, his face soft and filled with pity. He beckons you towards him with a tug on your ankle and you go. No questions. Because it's all too much and you just need it to end.

"Hey," James shushes, ushering you to sit in his lap, warm hands cupping your head as his thumb swipes at your tears. "Whats wrong, angel?"

"It's too much, Jamie." Your voice is weak, shaky. You feel pathetic and needy and the feeling of James' strong thighs underneath you aren't helping.

He brushes the hair from your face gently, runs the pads of his fingers down your bare arms, the skin of your thighs. You shiver under his touch, eyes closing. "Okay, okay," James' voice comes barely above a placating whisper, "I'm gonna make it better, angel. Okay?"

You whine, falling face first into his shoulder, "Please."

He doesn't say anything else as he cants his hips upward. You feel the warmth of his skin against your thighs as he pulls his pyjama bottoms down, the hardness of him when he settles you both back down. The chocolate has clearly affected him, too. It feels better to know, less overwhelming that you're not having some kind of terrible reaction to it.

You clench around nothing at the mere idea of his cock against your thigh. James can't seem to help the way he bucks a few times against your skin, breaths shallow and throaty. His hands on your ass cheeks encourage you up onto your knees, your face still buried in the warmth of his shoulder. You do as he urges, practically scream when you feel James run his head along your soaked slit.

"Shh," James coos, "It's okay. You're okay."

He urges you down his cock slowly, the pressure like nothing you've ever felt before. It keeps going and going until you feel so full you can't breathe, can't move, can't do anything but fist the material of James' sleep shirt and moan brokenly into his shoulder. When you're at the hilt, James' hips cant upwards, the feeling like being hit with a blast of lightening straight from the sky. You cry out, lifting James' shirt until your hands slip underneath, warm skin meeting the blunt edges of your nails. James groans when they dig in.

You try to move your hips, breaths evening out now that the worst of your need is gone. You feel satiated, pacified. You feel stuffed full and deliriously happy. James stops you from moving, though, hands firmly fisted in the material of your sleep shorts. "Just stay like this a minute." He murmurs.

You nod, allow yourself to relax fully into him. He lifts your shirt over your head, exposes your overheated skin to the cool air and you sigh. His own shirt follows a minute later, your nipples brushing against his chest. It sends jolts through your entire body, simultaneously flatlines your heart and brings it back to life. You moan and whine, feel your own wetness seeping between you both as James runs the pads of his fingers up and down the plane of your back.

You're not sure how long you lie like that, lost in the fullness of him, the static of his touch. It feels like seconds and hours, and when the credits of whatever movie start to roll, James ushers you out of his shoulder. The shift makes you both whine, James' grip tightening on your ass. "You doing okay?" He asks.

His face is so earnest, even in his own pleasure. Gentle hazel eyes that meet yours with so much respect and care. His glasses are slanted on his face and you reach up to fix them, hands trembling. "Never better." You tell him, honestly.

James smiles softly, "How do you want it?"

You clench around him at the question, breathy sounds coming from you. James' hands reach up until he's holding one of your tits in each hand, thumb nail grazing your nipples with each pass. It's dizzying, maddening. "Fuck," You tilt your head back, can't help the tiny lift and drop of your hips that has James squeezing your tits and groaning, "Hard, Jamie. Please."

He doesn't waste any time. James pulls you forwards, taking one of your nipples in his mouth. Uses his free hand to hold your hips in place as he snaps up and into you. The scream that leaves your throat is animalistic, it's pleasure-filled and filthy, like the wet sounds of skin meeting skin that fill the living room as James sets a relentless pace.

The drag of him against your walls is overstimulating, mixed with the chocolate. His thrusts are harsh and deep, his teeth clenched firmly against your nipple. "Fuck, James, I'm gonna come." You grit out, breathy and half moaned.

James releases your nipple, burrows you closer to his shoulder and focusses all his attention on thrusting. It's hard and animalistic and messy and loud and when he hits that one, perfect spot, he has you screaming into the pillows of the couch. You feel yourself gushing until your sleep shorts are soaked, are far too gone to notice fully when James flips you, pulls the sleep shorts down your legs and removes his own pyjama bottoms.

"You okay?" He asks, hands running a soothing path up your legs.

He waits for your nod, your promise that you've never, ever, been better, before he turns you onto your stomach, pulls your hips until you're face down on the couch.

His tongue licks the slick from your centre, a guttural sob escaping you at the feeling of him. It's a sex crazed daze when he slams back into you, hands bruising on your hips. It's deeper, fuller, from this angle and you feel like you might combust. It's deliciously perfect, the mix of want and need from the chocolate, and the way that James slams against your ass cheeks over and over and over.

His cock drags against your walls, squeezing and teasing until he's a moaning mess against your back. He leans over you, warm and body rock solid, pressing you into the couch. Your head tilts sideways to meet him, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, body jutting against yours. Desperate hands grab at the side of your face, prying your mouth open until his fingers can slip inside. He presses harsh against your tongue, cock jamming against every part of you that needs him most and your body seizes again, clenching and gushing all over James as you light on fire. It's euphoric, and James doesn't stop. Fingers slick with your spit, James pulls back, pulls your hips impossibly higher and reaches around until he has two fingers drawing tight circles on your clit.

You see stars, crying and moaning and babbling nonsense and James keeps going. His fingers draw tight circles, his cock slams into every inch of you and suddenly it all doesn't feel enough.

"More, Jamie. Need more." You pant, gripping senselessly at the couch cushions.

James presses a kiss to your tail bone, slows his pace, "So greedy. You've already came three times and you want more?"

You whine, limbs mush when James pulls out and turns you to face him. Your legs wrap around his back on instinct, pulling him closer and he goes. His head juts against your clit, heavy and sensual.

"Please, Jamie."

James has never not given you whatever you wanted and so he complies, thrusts forward so slowly you think you might implode. His hand grips the back of your thigh, pushes until it's resting firmly on his shoulder before pulling almost all the way out. You both watch as he slides slowly back in, revelling in the way your cunt pulls all of him in, swallows him whole. You whine, hips canting upwards and James smiles. "So, so needy."

He slams in and out in one quick motion, steals the very breath from your lungs. Your back arches, the burn of your thigh a delightful pain. James is somehow more relentless, like this, fast and hard and bruising as he meets every single spot you need him to. He uses his free hand to press firmly against your clit, messy and with barely any rhythm but its maddening, still.

It all feels too much, like this. The beads of sweat that fall from him and onto you, his groans and his relentless pace. The feeling of his muscles against you, the darkness of his eyes. It sends you spiralling once again, louder and harder than before, clenching around James until you're trembling uncontrollably.

He lets go of your thigh, falls until he's on top of you, hips jutting once, twice, more, until he's spilling into you. Hot and warm and by the load. He doesn't stop spilling for what feels like forever, the warm spurts a welcomed comfort. It's dirty and hot and you never want to leave this moment.

You lift your hands to trail across James' back and he shudders, pressing kisses to the skin of your tits, tongue darting out to take claim of a nipple that has you whining. "Two minutes. I need two minutes and then I'm going to lick my cum out of you," James whispers, teeth nipping at the skin of your tit, his hips cant upwards and you whine, legs widening so you can feel the slip of his seed down your ass cheeks, "Every last drop. And then we're going to do that again."

You press against him, needy and uncaring. "Please."

You feel his grin, feel the twitch of his cock, still inside you as it starts to ready itself. "And then I'm going to call Sirius and tell him how well his chocolate works."

You can't even bring yourself to protest, not when you can feel James' fingers start to collect his spilled seed from around your hole. So what if Sirius was right? You feel like you've been compensated enough for your troubles.

#james potter #james potter imagine #james potter fic #james potter smut #james potter fluff #marauders #marauders fic #marauders smut #fourmoonys asks

796 notes · View notes

avtrbee · 1 year

Text

safe

✢ summary: just like everyone else, sometimes megumi just wants his mom.

✢ tags: mentions of the death of a pet, implied satoru x reader

✢ a/n: my friend has psychoanalyzed me with a diagnosis of mommy issues and i have always denied them. then i caught myself reflecting on what type of fanfics i write. especially this one.

Ever since Megumi had started school in Tokyo, he was barely home. Of course, he comes home every now and then, and living within the school's dormitories is part of the high school experience- hell, even you stayed in the school when you were a student- but the house is quiet without him, too quiet, which is probably why he does not go home as often as you'd like- that, among other things.

Everyone in your household knew that Tsumiki was what made your house into a home. Your girl always greeted you with a smile and volunteered to make hot meals for the family when you and Satoru didn't feel like cooking. She was warmth, she was energy, she was life. Until she wasn't.

The house became cold without its fire. You couldn't blame Megumi for wanting an escape from the halls that still echo her memory. Which was why you were surprised to see him sitting on the couch with his arms resting on his thighs, hands buried in his face.

"Megumi?" You call. "I didn't hear you come in."

His head lifts up and looks at you. "Liar," he accuses. "You can sense my cursed energy miles away. You knew I was coming home as soon as you felt it ."

His words were harsh but his tone was not off of his usual deadpan manner of speaking. You can't help but smile. He is still the same child who refused to sleep unless he clung to his divine dogs, Tsumiki, you, or Satoru (reluctantly, of course) in some way. He claimed it was for "warmth."

But he knows you as much as you know him. As he made his way to the house, you noticed something- his cursed energy was off. It was more powerful than usual. Of course, it could be a good thing- perhaps he was doing really well in school, but his downcast eyes and even broodier vibe are telling you otherwise. "What's wrong?"

Megumi leans back on the couch, sighs, and contemplates. He stares at your wall that is decorated with framed pictures and pictures you memories from his childhood. You've even framed pictures of his drawings- usually doodles of his shikigami.

He stands abruptly. "Never mind," he dismisses. "I don't wanna- I don't want to talk about it. It's childish and stupid-"

"Stupid enough to make you retreat back home?" You ask. You watch as your question sinks in through Megumi. Slowly, he sits back down. You sit on the other end of the couch.

"What's wrong, 'Gumi?" You ask again. "Tell me." I can fix it. Whatever it is, if I can fix it, I will shouts your inner thoughts.

"I lost one of them," Megumi whispers.

“Oh, Megumi, I-” you say, racking your brain for something to say. Deaths in the jujutsu world is so common that when you’re within the industry for too long you get used to it. “Losing a colleague- this won’t be the first time, baby. Nor will it be the last.”

“No,” Megumi groans out frustrated. There are tears streaming down his cheeks that he angrily wipes away. “My dogs. I lost one. I- Yuki died.”

Your heart breaks at Megumi’s childhood name for his white demon dog. “‘Gumi, I’m so sorry-”

You move to his side of the couch, wide arms open. Megumi falls in, just like he did when he was small. Megumi feels himself melt in your hold, his walls and defenses crumbling away like ash.

Megumi refuses to cry at all times but when you have his arms wrapped around him he finds himself not caring at all. It was like his heart recognized you too.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck and you pretend not to feel his tears.

You hold him until he lets you. Megumi is the one to pull away, and you never do. This boy js fickle with touch, and you always leave the duration of your hugs to his discretion.

You cup his face in your hands, thumbs swiping away the tear tracks. You’ve never seen Megumi this heartbroken before.

“I told him to scout the area and I just left him for a second- and he-” Megumi hiccups. “His head was on the wall. The curse threw his head so hard it made the pavement crack.”

You do not pretend to know his pain for you will never feel it. Megumi’s divine dogs were his first achievement. He smiled the first time he summoned them, even as Satoru threw him in the air in joy. Those dogs would trail after him in the house, obeying his command. You would turn a blind eye to the spare pieces of meat Megumi throws under the table just so they could taste cooked beef.

Megumi would refuse to let them go even when he slept, and was upset that they would disappear when he rested or lowered his guard. As a present, Satoru gifted him customized stuffed animals of the dogs that he never slept without. You were sure he packed those toys with him in the dorm.

When Tsumiki volunteers to run errands, Megumi would summon a dog and follow her. Just in case. They both always came back safe.

“He just did what I commanded, he was good, he was a good boy.” Megumi said, in a quieter voice.

“The best,” you agreed. “But didn’t Yuki merge with the other one? Isn’t that how your technique works when one of them dies?”

“It’s stupid-” A glare from you was all it took. “It’s not the same,” he admits. “I just want my dogs back.”

You give him a sad smile. You pull him close for another hug, and he melts in your arms once again but this time, he does not pull away. You hold him until his tears have dried, until his breaths slowed down, and until his eyes closed for a well deserved rest.

extra note: yuki apparently means snow in japanese. get it? snow=white demon dog (im not creative at all yall)

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru #jjk #parental megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro

1K notes · View notes

cordeliawhohung · 16 days

Text

Touch Me 'Till I Vomit (pet!au) [12]

pet!au | ghoap x fem!reader | tag list

gentle

cw: angst, non-con touching, dub-con sex, smut, hate fucking if you squint

Click. Click. Click.

Johnny won’t stop messing with his pen. Repetitive clicks echo in the small space in his art room as he hunches over his journal, shading away at some image just beyond your view. It’s distracting. That slip of plastic against plastic. It’s not as acidulous as a firing pin striking metal — nor is it nearly as dangerous — but it’s enough to get the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. Enough to make you remember the weight of an empty gun biting into the palm of your hand. It’s unforgiving, like a bad dog.

Brain too perforated to properly concentrate, you tap the eraser of your pencil against the notebook in your lap. The scrawlings of a madwoman taint the paper between its faded blue lines. It’s a gift from Johnny. Shoved it into your hands the other day because he said you looked bored. Told you that you fidget too much without something to busy yourself with, and he needs you to sit still in order to draw you properly. It was unusually astute of him to notice something so small about you. You’ve descried something more than just a lowering haze over the sapphire of his eyes, but you’re unable to put it into words.

He’s different these days. You don’t know why.

Either way, you are grateful for the escape. You’ve repurposed this old, fading notebook into a diary of sorts. Some place to pour your thoughts out to something that has no other choice than to listen — something that cannot bite you. For so long you have carried so much inside of you; not just the pain and fear, but the little things, too. You nearly cried when you realized you finally had a place to put it — that weight — down.

It wasn’t until you flipped to the first page that you realized you don’t know what the date is. Your passage of time has been warped again and again. A tablet dissolving in your drink made you lose days. Johnny taking you on the floor while a football game droned in the background made you lose years. You try to count the time in other ways. The length adding to your hair. Golden leaves catching fire on the fringes of the forest. An algid whisper on the wind dancing through the open window. The way summer dies with a sputtering pule.

These days, you measure the turn of the earth by feel. Months. Hours. It doesn’t matter to you how long you have been trapped here; you only care about how much life you have left to live when you escape.

Johnny. John? Soap. Like the bar. Never feels clean. Never makes me feel clean. Scottish. Tattoo on forearm. Coat of arms? Military? Wannabe? Scar on head. Shot? Simon said so. When? Who? Matching scar. No. Never.

Simon. Simon. Just Simon. English. Manchester? Guns. Hunter. Big guns. Fucked up nose. Fucked up everything. Scars. One on ribs. Butcher? Smells like blood. Hate him. Animal. Lots of tattoos. Took me as a pet for Johnny. Mad man. Bad man.

Me. Not Bonnie. Something else. Someone else. Bartender. How old am I? Need haircut.

Miss my jumper.

Miss my mum.

Miss ice cream.

Had an interview before I was taken. What day? Missing since… June. June. Summer. Hot. Did they ever call back? Needed better job. Wonder if they’re looking for me. Is anyone looking for me? Always called mum on Sundays.

Does her phone ring now that I’m gone?

No. Not gone. Not yet. Not ever.

I hope her phone rings.

Scribbles muddle the margins between fractured words and thoughts. You can conjure nothing more than empty, uneven eyes and dried flies lining burnt window sills. What creativity lingers in the fringes of your mind stays in the mess of grey matter; never something to brand the off white paper in your hands. Masterpieces cannot be created in a cage. You save what little energy you have for dreaming. You dream of a day when your teeth grow long enough they don’t whittle down to sand when you try to sharpen them.

“Bonnie?”

Johnny moves quietly. Or, your ears are growing old. Too busy trying to recall sounds you used to love; unable to make sense of the cacophony that constantly surrounds you in this tomb. He’s already eye level with you by the time you look up. Crouched next to your plushy chair, a wide hand sits on the armrest that props your elbow. He’s got his journal in hand, and you are very aware of the way he curiously eyes your own. You slam it shut with the pencil between the pages before setting it aside.

His eyes follow your hands with question, but he says nothing as he turns his journal for you to see. Truly, Johnny has a talent you’ve rarely seen others show off. Meticulously crafted sketches brand the paper, etching your likeness in grey graphite. He captures every curve of your body as you lean in the recliner, eyes narrow with concentration. You’re drawn with a smile on your face, but those muscles in your cheeks have been dormant for so long you’re not sure you could conjure the expression if you tried.

“That looks lovely,” you compliment. It’s not a lie, but it rolls off of your tongue like it is.

“You’re lovely,” he fires back. Playful. Light.

There it is again. That look. Heavy lids threaten to smother the blue hue of his eyes — heavy with a concupiscence so thick it’s palpable in the air that separates you from him. You hope one day it solidifies — turns into some protective barrier — but it never will.

It starts like it always does. The slicing of the threshold, brittle like eggshells and bones. You don’t think about it as he presses his lips to yours. You keep your mind full of other thoughts because if it’s empty, there’s more room for worse things. Bitter things. A man can only stare at a meal for so long before his hunger consumes him. You are liquid. A flowing being molding into the shape of his body as his torso pinches your legs against the recliner. It’s easier to give in. Hurts less. Angers Simon less. Even with that monster gone you behave because the walls have eyes. Dark brown irises that do nothing but stare and smirk.

“Ow!”

But you still have your limits, and your body aches more often than it is numb these days, and Johnny’s hands haven’t grown any softer. He paws at you with claws that can’t retract and you wince. Your breasts are sore from weeks — no, months — of abuse. They’re silent wounds that will not heal and always, always scream.

Then, it stops.

Johnny’s hands retract from your body at the same time as his lips do, leaving you breathlessly dumbfounded. Blinking away the confusion, your eyes settle on Johnny who retreats back to sitting on his haunches. Blue eyes shimmer in the late summer sun as he shifts. For once, you are the one above him instead of the other way around. He looks up at you as if you’re an angel—

—as if he’s begging for forgiveness.

“Did Ah hurt you?” he asks.

“Uh… a-a little bit,” you admit stiffly.

“A’m sorry.”

There’s something in his eyes that unsettle you. You think back to that night when his body thrashed and squirmed next to you on the bed, fear reverberating through the mattress. Panicked and screaming; unable to rip himself from some nightmare. How he screamed about wanting to go home. Your stomach twists at the very thought, and it only gets worse when you realize that — for once — he looks more human than mutt.

“It’s okay. I… I know you didn’t mean it,” you whisper.

“Never. Ah would never hurt you,” he concurs. A breadth of stillness freezes the room and for the longest time you hear nothing but the chatter of birds. Johnny reaches for you with a singular hand, and rests it on top of your leg, heavy and warm. “Bonnie, are ye afraid of me?”

Vocal chords turning to stone, your throat seizes as you attempt to answer. “No,” you lie. Cautious eyes flicker to the walls around you like they’ll crumble at any moment. Something slices through the prostration in your chest, and a strange cogitation flickers in the back of your mind. It’s as strong as it is terrifying, but you find your body executing it before you’re able to stop it. “But… Simon does. He terrifies me.”

Johnny’s mouth fills with well meaning mirth. “He’s scary alright, but he won’t hurt ye. Simon’s not like that.”

“I’m still worried he might,” you admit. A hesitant hand reaches out and rests over Johnny’s. The smile on his face quickly melts away into surprise as he stares up at you with parted lips. “But you wouldn’t let that happen. Right?”

“Never.” His response is quick. Sharp and eager as he leans closer. His other hand comes up to rest upon yours, sandwiching you into a small embrace. “Cannae ever let anythin’ bad happen to ye.”

Something shudders in your chest. Your diaphragm, maybe. It quivers and quakes as if you hold a bird’s nest within yourself. Foreign words begin to scratch at the back of your tongue, tickling your throat. You know well enough to bite them back, but as you stare at Johnny’s smile — lips pulled wide — someone stronger chokes the words out for you.

“You’re so good to me, Johnny,” you whisper, voice whiny as you scoot forward in the recliner. Slipping your hand out of his grasp, your palms instead reach up to cup his face. His smile fades into parted lips and bated breath as your thumbs rub against abrasive stubble. You don’t think you’ve ever seen his eyes dilate so wide before. “Such a good boy, aren’t you?”

“Ah try tae be,” he swallows.

“I know you do.”

It takes an eternity for your lips to meet his. Just when you think you’ve halved the distance, it only grows, and you’re unsure if it’s because of the scream of betrayal in your chest, or something worse. He groans when your bodies finally reunite, and you play into the fantasy his sick brain is infested with. Precious Bonnie. So supple and pliant in his hands. If only he knew you were this soft because muscles cannot properly tense around broken bones.

You pull Johnny onto the recliner by his collar, but you ensure you’re the one to land on top. Legs spreading wide to accommodate his thighs, your knees squish into the sides of the arm rests, sending journals and pencils flying to the ground. When he paws at your chest again, you bite back the urge to push him away. To slice your nails through the back of his hand. Fingers pressing into tender flesh, he stares up at you like he’s finally able to feel the heart beating beneath his palms.

��You wanna fuck me?” Those words sting on the way out, but you attempt to distract yourself from the pain as you grind down onto Johnny’s lap. He nods, hips pathetically bucking up. “Yeah? Ask me, then.”

Thick brows pinch together as he parts his lips. It’s as if his request is on the tip of his tongue, but his hands have a mind of their own. Wandering. Grabbing. Pinching.

“No,” you chastise. “Use your words, Johnny.”

“Please. Please, Bonnie.” It’s pathetic. He says the words like he’s speaking to Simon.

“Good boy,” you coo. “Gentle now. Gentle, Johnny.”

He fumbles with the fly of his jeans, all too eager. His cock hardly has time to spring free before he’s already making a mess. Precum drips everywhere, staining the band of your shorts as his reddened tip slaps against you. Too worried about keeping your power, you don’t bother to properly remove your clothes. Instead, you move the gusset of your shorts and panties to the side before sinking down onto him. This has to be quick. You promise yourself it will be.

All the while, you remind Johnny to be gentle, gentle, gentle.

Even when you’re in control, it still hurts. There’s that stretch and sting as you split yourself open, but you take it slow. Steady. Unlike Johnny, you allow yourself to adjust. He’s panting beneath you by the time you fully take him. You feel so full of rot it upsets your stomach, but you try to mask your trembling with a gentle rock of your hips. His moan is cacophonous, and your fingers itch to dig into his throat and render his vocal chords useless, but you relent.

Always, always relenting.

There is an intense appetency for blood that itches in the back of your mind. Even as you fake your moans and rock your hips, you want to take your hands and dig. Fingers piercing through flesh, cutting through bone; you wouldn’t stop until Johnny’s heart is in the palm of your hands. Still beating. Still fresh. You could squeeze it for an eternity and it still would only be a fraction of the pain you’ve been made to endure.

You hate him. You hate him like a mother hates her daughter. Like how eyes hate mirrors. How the sun hates flesh.

“Johnny?” you choke out. “Do you love me?”

It takes him a moment to catch his breath, mouth stuck open as he stares up at you. “Aye. So much, Bonnie.”

“Yeah? So you’d do anything for me?” you challenge. You try not to wince as he butts up against your cervix, but you know you can’t afford to stop.

“Aye.”

“Anything I ask?”

“Anythin’ ye ask. Fuck, Bonnie A’m-”

“I love you, Johnny.” It’s acid. Pure bile on your tongue. You nearly choke on the words, but you repeat them again. “I love you so much.”

You hide your face in the crook of his neck when he comes. Thick fingers dig into your hips as you hold still, allowing him to spill his seed inside of you like he always does. His pulse throbs against your lips and you restrain the urge to take the artery into your maw and bite down. There’s nothing in your mouth but pathetic, brittle teeth. You don’t even think you could break through his skin. Still, you dream of it. Running the tips of your fingers along Johnny’s jaw, you yearn for a day when you have the weapons and tools to free yourself. It’s a long, agonizing process. One you’re not sure you have the patience for.

And so, when you lean back to look at him, you stare at his lips. Soak up the way the delicate skin parts as he smiles up at you, allowing you to catch sight of his teeth. You might not have sharp canines, but he does. You know first hand the way they can dig into your lip and draw blood from skin. Fingers twitching, you yearn to pull the canines from his mouth, to wield them for yourself, but you know you’re not strong enough.

But maybe, someday, you can be the guiding hand. Point a finger and say go fetch and have Simon’s head delivered to you. That day is too far over the horizon for you to view, but the vision of it is so clear in your mind that it’s enough for now. Right now, you’ve taken the first step.

“Good boy,” you croon as you thumb over his bottom lip. “Good boy, Johnny.”

You’ll just have to keep walking.

#ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #soap x reader #pet!au #tmtiv #f!reader #dead dove

354 notes · View notes

enden-agolor · 4 months

Note

i fucking LOVE the way you draw/write jesse, as someone with a chubby/buff build i kind of struggle with insecurities about my size but the way you draw him makes me feel very good. idk im describing it badly but i wanted to ask if your design for him is more chubby or muscly?

Dude thank you 🥺🩵 You described it very well.

It really depends on which time frame I'm drawing Jesse in actually.

In the beginning, I imagine Jesse is quite scrawny. I mean did you see his work out routine in the beginning? He was was doing sit ups and punching flowers. He was definitely lacking muscle (but had enough to be able to lift Reuben up and down that ladder) and as the first couple episodes progress, he stays scrawny but progressively becomes more scarred up until the Portal Hallway episodes.

The Portal Hallway episodes, it takes place many months after the events of the Witherstorm. Jesse and his friends are going on many more adventures, really honing their skills that they acquired over the past few months. Jesse is much more built now. He's buff and tough with the true heart of a hero. Although, once he and his friends get stuck in the Portal Hall, that's when things take a really devastating turn for him. Feeling hopeless and lost for weeks on end, he begins to feel withdrawn from the positivity he was feeling before he ended up stuck here. Traumatic events keep occuring, and with these events, Jesse is of course drawn to remember and replay the events of Reuben's death in his head. He keeps the most of these feelings to himself because his group is already feeling so disheartened about their current situation that the last thing he'd want for them is to know that he's breaking emotionally, so he ends up taking less care of himself. He starts eating with the idea that he has to stay strong for his friends, but even those moments are rare. Food is scarce depending on what portal they are in, so when he finds food, he'll take anything that will keep his energy and strengths up.

By the end of it all, he's actually put on a significant amount of muscle. But it's kind of like a 'at what cost?' scenario.

Things get a bit better for him between then and Season 2 where he's eating better again and keeping all that muscle, but once Season 2 comes and goes, and with everything that happens in the Sunshine Institute and the Underneath, he loses a lot of weight.

It's only after Season 2, where he stays in BeaconTown and eventually finds a love life with Lukas when he really begins putting on weight once again. He's done with hero work. He's done with going on crazy life threatening adventures. Now he just wants to live life for himself rather than putting others first. Lukas helps him a lot through this, with body positivity and lots of love and affectionate touch, it's all the reassurance Jesse has ever needed to feel okay with being himself again. So he ends up putting on that happy weight that couples typically adopt over time when they're in a healthy relationship. Lukas treats him so, so unbelievably well. Finally Jesse gets to eat food for himself without the idea of needing to keep himself strong and powerful once he's finally retired. He indulges himself in his sweet tooth and loves to eat cookies, cakes, and other baked goods that Lukas will bake or bring home. He also really enjoys the fact that he doesn't have to eat alone anymore. He loves sitting at the table and enjoying a meal with his hubby. And the best part, which is something Jesse was horribly self conscious about, is that Lukas loves and adores his pudge. He is so supportive of Jesse's eating habits, but he doesn't hesitate to sneak veggies and fruits into Jesse's lunch box for work.

So yeah uh Jesse is chubby, buff and loved at the end of it all 😍

Here's some lil doodles of him I have lying around. The first one is pretty old and could probably use a touch up since now I don't see much of a difference, but you get the point ☠️

#mcsm #ask #my art #mcsm jesse #minecraft story mode #mcsm fanart #mcsm radar #jesskas

259 notes · View notes

interstyx · 1 month

Text

People really don't know what they got with this episode I feel.

Just from a purely stylistic point of view -- the pool of 2010s energy this series draws from never ever ever crystallized in such a cohesive way and it might never again. Just Tessyn took a year to model and months and months to animate & VA, and it's all done with such sincere swagger. If you grew up before 2016 you SAW the pieces of this stuff pop up all over, individual writers, animators, musicians, voice actors with their separate projects that never coalesced but suggested that something like this could happen, and it did, with more competency and passion than we'd ever imagined a story of this type could get back then.

We'll have forever to vulture over the specifics of where arcs go and don't but it's worth it to take a moment, think, and realize that this stuff was monumentally ambitious and pulled off what it set out to magnificently (namely the protag trio) while balancing discordant tonal extremes.

Earlier episodes weren't as good as these things but by 7 and 8 you can see and appreciate the way the tone flows from end to end of the emotional spectrum, scene to scene of the episode, in such a way that it looks effortless, all the while keeping a solid thematic throughline. And criticize as we may the excesses of subtlety, if you sit down and consider the pacing constraints it'll click that the show's handle on the flow of information can be exceptional.

This is stuff you'll never see again in your lives. It's a type of creative energy that doesn't exist anymore put in service of an extraordinarily competent production that never loses its sincerity. Think what you may of the writing, you should appreciate this, because this is the kind of earnest creative project the world needs so badly.

#murder drones spoilers #murder drones #murder drones episode 8

163 notes · View notes

alwayscorvus · 1 month

Text

Your little things... - Part 1 - WuWa Characters (separated)

Your little things... - Part 1 - WuWa Characters

malereader x Jiyan/male!Rover/Baizhi (separated), fluff; just some things that you often do to your partner and they are high over heels for it. Habits. Mainly related to their appearance; mxm or mxg; Part 2 (Calcharo, Mortefi, YangYang, ...); warning! not 100% family-friendly;

Jiyan

Being Jiyan's boyfriend, you couldn't ignore his earrings. Those tassels were so tempting… You just had to touch them. Even though you were afraid of his reaction.

And when you did it once, you couldn't stop afterwards. You were enjoying yourself like a little kid who just found a new toy.

Most often it happens, when Jiyan (whether sitting or lying down) lays his head on your chest and his jewelry is within reach of your hands. Theoretically, Jiyan should feel calm and completely safe in your presence, but it's not really the case with his earrings. I mean, after many times he got used to your "harassment", but at least not at the beginning of your journey.

At first, without any drastic movements, you slowly bring your hand closer. Your fingertips gently brush his neck, triggering a wave of shivers as he closes his eyes tighter. You wrap your free hand around his body and start to softly caress his exposed cheek. Drawing great attention to his sharpened jaw.

When Jiyan loses his guard and starts to drift off, you firmly grasp his earring. Teal tassels tickle your hand nicely. And your playing has no end.

At the beginning, Jiyan wasn't happy with your idea. Especially when you made a joke and compared his earrings to decorations that tie up the curtains. He even furrowed his eyebrows in a fake offense. Maybe because their meaning was deeper than you thought.

But, in the end, you didn't mean any harm and your behavior was purely out of admiration. When he saw how much fun you were having with such a simple activity, he couldn't take it away from you.

When you're stressed, bored, or your head is busy with too many thoughts, Jiyan purposely leans towards you. He angles his head so it falls into your field of vision, which allows you to involuntarily raise your hand and engage yourself in play.

During your first encounter with his green dragon you were truly mesmerized. Jiyan saw that too.

Therefore, from then on, when he releases his energy, that wraps around his arm, he intertwines his hands with you and passes his impulse on. Little dragon begins to joyfully surround your body. In close contact teasing you with a tiny warm sparks, as if conveying Jiyan's deep feelings.

Man looks at it embarrassed, unable to quite control it, especially with the increasing distance. At that time, he often turns his face away, unable to look at it, as his cheeks cover themselves with a slight raspberry blush.

Whole process leaves a hint of refreshment. In the end, this dragon's path ultimately involves feeling of a gentle, cool and oh-so-pleasant breeze of wind.

Rover

When making a stop, you often crouch down. Whether it's for a little rest or tying your shoelaces. You then glance at your company from below. For them, this sight isn't too surprising. They are used to your lazy approach. However, it's only what you do at the very end which brings them into pure awe.

When it's time to resume your walk, you grab your boyfriend's right hand with a great confidence. Stopping him in his tracks and causing him to turn towards you once again. You change your position and get down on one knee. Bring his hand closer to your lips and, while standing up, with a steady movement, place a tender kiss on his tacet mark.

It doesn't matter if you are alone or have an audience. You do it all the time. It's almost like your little routine.

At the first time, Rover was truly shocked. His eyes widened and his mouth slightly opened. He didn't even know what to say. But nowadays he always looks at you with a smile and slight blush, appreciating your gesture that symbolizes love and devotion.

Not gonna lie. You are down bad for this straps on his thigh that hold a bag on his leg. The longer you know each other the more your gaze drops downward. You do this in passing time when attention of others is occupied with some activity. You try not to show it, but you can't help it. Your boyfriend is just so hot and you are really proud to be able to call him yours. Sometimes you have to bite your lower lip to stop yourself from thinking further. Thankfully, you quickly shake off from your trance and come back to reality.

Especially when Rover turns towards you and calls your name with an innocent voice, wanting to ask for your opinion.

At the mere sight of this you melt. He is just so adorable. You immediately beat yourself up for all of your previous wrong thoughts.

But when you are alone, in a closed room, situation takes a completely different turn.

In split seconds you find yourself between his legs. Rover leans against the wall or clings to a desk top, tilting his head back with his eyes closed.

He throws his right leg over your shoulder as you slide your fingers under his straps. Pulling them even tighter and pressing them even further into his thigh.

Baizhi

When you first saw the creature that accompanies Baizhi you were slightly startled. After all, it's not every day that some unknown creature, almost twice of your partner size, jumps out at you in the middle of town.

At some point, your concerns turned into appreciation. Fact, that Baizhi always has someone with her to help and rescue her, even when you can't be around, is soothing for your nerves.

Besides, thanks to You'tan, you could even call yourself a father. Both you and Baizhi take care of this (not so little) creature. And it repays you with the same. Healing you in time of need. It took You'tan a long time to accept you and trust you. Even longer than Baizhi. But now, You'tan seeks help from you by itself and lets you know when Baizhi is in trouble.

In addition, You'tan often lets you pet them. That is, not only "let" you. Rather demands it. You'tan starts playing with you on its own, puts its head under your hand and starts poking. Even when you have better things to do or are too tired to pamper the creature. You'tan won't give up until you get to the point. And if you ever decide to not obey its commands it will happily complain about you to Baizhi, striking an offended pose in front of her.

You are really ashamed about your… not so pure actions, but what can you do about them?

And considering that they don't intend to lead to anything more, then there's probably nothing wrong with them..., right?

Baizhi's tacet mark is just begging to be touched. After all, cut in her dress reveals it perfectly.

It's as if your girlfriend is sending you a silent invitation. Especially when she activates her power and brushes her thigh on her own. You can't help yourself.

You don't know if you can call yourself possesive. But you really enjoy showing others that Baizhi is yours. Just like you are hers. And that's why, her tacet mark is a permanent location of your hand. Especially when you sit next to each other.

Baizhi never particularly reacts to this. She is now quite an older woman that developed a rather calm approach to life over many years of living. And she definitely isn't someone who would openly share her feelings in public.

In reality, however, she has a pack of butterflies joyfully dancing in her stomach. Your hand just radiates such a pleasant warmth…

after I saw Jiyan's earings I just had to write that ngl and when doing so I only looked at them as fashion choice. although i also did some internet research after. just to be safe. and... lesson time! it turns out that tassel earrings by some people can be interpreted as "amulet against evil" or religious symbol or they can also represent social status of a person. so maybe one of that is also a case in jiyan's life

149 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

Text

Drabble Roulette: Andy - Public Sex

Hey hey! This weekend (July 6 -7) I’m going to be playing drabble roulette! I’ve curated a list of characters, tropes, AUs, and kinks and I’m spinning the wheel! Hopefully I can do this once a month as a little writing exercise.

Character: Andy Barber

Warnings: this drabble includes noncon, cheating, public sex. Please mind these warnings and take care.

Explicit, 18+.

You yawn as you hang your towel over the bar. Work trips are exhausting. You have even less time yourself and with it goes all your energy. In those few hours you have, you try to enjoy them.

You’re over reading. Too stagnant. So, you finally decide to venture down to the hotel pool and swim a few laps. They’ll tire you out enough to fall asleep and get some of the kinks out from those uncomfortable conference room chairs.

Thankfully, you’re the only one who got the idea. It’s offseason for most hotels. Kids are in school, parents are stuck in offices, and only those on the road take up the vacancies. You bask in the solace as you sit on the edge and dangle your legs into the water.

You slide down slowly, adjusting to the temperature little by little. You walk deeper into the pool, dipping down so your shoulders are beneath the surface. You spread your arms and take a breath. You put your head under and pull through the water with your arms, kicking to propel yourself further.

You lose yourself in the familiar motions. You touch one end, bob up, take a breath, and turn back the other direction. Back and forth, back and forth.

You latch onto the lip of the pool to steady yourself. You cling to it to keep from sinking under as you paddle at the deep end. The chlorine dries your nose hotly.

“Long day?” A voice echoes in the airy empty space.

You didn’t notice the man. He’s still dry as he stands at the other end of the pool. Your fun is spoiled. You won’t go, you’ll just have to share.

“Mmhm,” you hum back.

He walks along the edge, eyeing the water. You think you recognise him. He might be one of the faces you passed at the continental breakfast bar that morning. You see so many it’s hard to remember.

He’s tall and his shoulders and arms are rounded with muscles. He wears black shorts and turns to face you, showing off a lined stomach and buff chest. You plunge back under and start another set of laps. When you take another break, he’s doing the same, arms cutting up and under. He’s faster than you.

He passes so close you feel the water move. You quickly make distance as you fall into another cycle; shallow to deep, shallow to deep. When you come again, you can’t spot him. You don’t look very hard. He doesn’t matter.

You veer off to the side of the pool and hook your arms over the edge, crossing them as you hang from the tile. You lower your head and even out your breathing. You are suitably tired.

Before you can lift yourself up and over, the water splashes behind you. The man grips the slightly raised lip on either side of you and raises himself up. He crushes you against the side as he does.

“Woah, what the--”

“Work trips are lonely, huh?” He grits as he nuzzles your crown. “Nice to unwind?”

“What are you doing, you creep?”

“Shh,” he hushes you and surprises you as he loops his thick arm around your neck, “don’t wanna draw too much attention.”

“Hey, you--” He flexes until you can’t speak.

“Come on. Two strangers, passing in the night...”

You pull on his forearm and kick your legs. He pushes into you, grinding his pelvis against yours. Where your toes barely touch, he has his feet planted flat.

“No rules on the road,” he purrs along your ear.

You tug on his arm harder, “get off--”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he pulls his other hand from the pool, the glint of gold on his finger flashing in your vision. He feels along your side as he crowds you against the tile. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

You whimper as his hand tickles along your stomach and his fingers creep along the top of your bikini. You push your elbow back and he grunts. He's not deterred. You dig your nails into his wrist.

“I’ll scream--”

He tightens his arm again and tuts, “you’ll be begging for more."

He snarls and shoves his hand down your bikini. You puff out desperately and wriggle, unable to free yourself of his grasp. You should have just stayed in your room and finished the damn book.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #drabble #drabble roulette #defending jacob

188 notes · View notes

the-boy-meets-evil · 3 months

Text

34.6037° S, 58.3816° W | teaser | jww

(your latest assignment has you jetting off to argentina hoping to finally catch the infamous art thief that's escaped your agency one too many times already. you know what's at stake if you lose your focus. enter the beautiful stranger that has you questioning everything you know.)

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f.reader genre: strangers to lovers, (kinda) enemies to lovers | smut, fluff, angst rating: explicit, minors DNI (for the full fic) word count: ~1k for the teaser (full fic here) warnings (for the full fic, teaser has none): art thief!wonwoo, secret agent!reader, very brief mentions of death & bloody past (again, reader is a secret agent), mentions of past violence, mentions of weapons, food, drinking, ambiguous ending, smut warnings on the full fic

a/n: this fic is for the amazing world tour collab for @svthub. i'm excited that i got to be part of it! the full fic will be posted on june 28th. if you'd like to be tagged, leave a comment, send an ask, or fill out my permanent tag form here

taglist: @aaniag, @crepecakeu, @tinyelfperson, @dokyeomkyeom, @amoryeonjun, @miriamxsworld, @hongrizoon, @gyuminusone, @naajaeminsgf, @straykidswhoo789, @kimseokgen, @beomesbabe, @haolistic, @vanishingboots, @babybae-shisui, @harry-the-pottypus, @pyeonghongrie-main, @nuttywastelandmentality

Reluctantly, you move to sit down with him. It’s kind of insane the way he’s thrown you off your game by just existing. Usually, you’re the one that’s disarming strangers with your charm, not the other way around. As soon as you sit down, he looks back at the book he has open in front of him. It gives you a chance to figure out if he’s actually that attractive that it’s thrown you off or if you’re still just jet-lagged.

His glasses slide down a nearly too perfect nose and he pushes them up without missing a beat. His black hair is a little messy and a little long, falling carelessly around his face as he gets lost in whatever book he has open in front of him. His clothes make him look a little too fancy to be sitting in a cafe overrun with tourists like this. Somehow, he makes a cardigan over a dress shirt with nice, pressed slacks work without looking like he’s trying too hard. Everything about him just exudes calm, confident energy. Like the kind of person you would assume comes from old money. Unassuming, yet standing out without even meaning to. It reminds you of some of the landmarks you saw that morning, like rich history perfectly combined with modern needs.

Thankfully, at least some of your training kicks back in and you manage to keep it from being too obvious that you’re one step away from fully checking him out. Your new tablemate seems content to sit in silence, though, so you pick at your food while going through some of the pictures on your camera. Today is about getting the lay of the land as much as anything else. It’s not like you can just find your infamous art thief without knowing where to look.

“I’m sure you got some great shots,” he says, drawing your attention again. When you look up, his eyes are on your camera.

“Oh, yeah, it’s so hard to really capture the feeling of something through a camera, but I definitely try,” you say.

“I saw you at The Obelisk and I thought, I’ve never seen someone so focused in my entire life,” he says, except now he’s looking at you.

“There must have been thousands of people there. How did you pick me out?” you ask with a laugh.

The mystery man shrugs. “Like I said, you were focused. And not in the way a lot of influencers who travel for the perfect picture are. I knew that it was more than that for you.”

“It is,” you agree. “I’m studying the history and the culture down here. Just got in last night.”

“Can I see the picture you landed on?” he ventures.

You hesitate. Your pictures are good, sure, but you’re not actually doing anything that serious when you’re down here. Since it’s supposed to be part of your cover, you should feel confident. After a moment, you hand your camera over to him with your favorite picture in the display window.

“Be kind. My focus is language and history first, not photography,” you toss out. Another layer to the cover.

“This is amazing,” he says and seems earnest. “Can I look through the rest?”

Again, you pretend to consider. This time it’s for the sake of the persona you’re committing to. It’s not like there’s anything on there from before today since it’s a fresh SD card.

“I promise to be kind,” he presses and you roll your eyes.

“Fine,” you say and he smiles.

It’s hard not to notice the amount of care he uses while handling your camera. Maybe he knows something about photography and realizes it’s an expensive model. Or maybe he’s just gentle with something that clearly means a lot to someone else. It’s also easier to feel like you can appreciate things about him when his attention is somewhere else. Like he won’t notice the way your eyes map his features, noting the furrow in his brows or how smooth his skin is. Or the way his hair seems absolutely perfect without any product in it. None of it seems fair that he should just get to walk around looking like that.

“I’m surprised not to find a picture of myself on here,” he starts and it pulls you from your thoughts. There’s a moment where you wonder if he’s secretly self-centered, until you meet his eyes and see the glint there. “You know, with how you’ve been studying me.”

“I appreciate beauty wherever I see it,” you answer, trying to channel more boldness than you feel.

“Are you saying I’m beautiful?” he questions, entirely too at-ease.

“I don’t think you need confirmation on that,” you scoff and look out the window. “It wasn’t me that noticed you earlier.”

“A shame for me,” he muses. “I appreciate beautiful things as well.”

He hands your camera back with his eyes locked on you. It makes your skin feel a little flushed and you hate it. Hate that you’re always able to keep your cool in any situation and still so completely disarmed by this man. Hate that it’s him that breaks the moment, too, when he looks down at the expensive watch on his wrist with a sigh.

“Late for something?” you venture.

“Something like that,” he agrees and puts his book away in a bag you hadn’t noticed. “I’m glad you sat down though.”

“Me too,” you admit a little too quickly as he’s standing up.

“Enjoy your afternoon, beautiful stranger,” he says and you twist around.

“Wait, I didn’t get your name,” you call and he stops by the door. The smile he throws your way sends a tingle down your spine.

“I hope we’ll run into each other again, then,” he says.

i hope you enjoyed this little snippet!

384 notes · View notes

savannahsdeath · 1 year

Note

haiiiiii, this is my first time requesting 😖😖😖😖😖 what ab boxer ellie and boxer reader fucking ts out of each other 😖😖😖😖😖

BOXER!ELLIE WILLIAMS X BOXER!READER

mdni please<3

warnings: 18+!! just.. smut

writers note: im so proud you trusted me with your first request??!!?!! omg also idk im no boxer so.. but i tried !! also this is some short drabble or whatever buut im posting it anyway because.. yes

you always admired ellie at the gym, what usually made your workout session worthless. you were a boxer, just like her. you knew every punch or kick you saw her do, it wasn't anything new nor special. yet, the way she did them brought your attention. her movements were fluid, quick, and precise. there was no hesitation or wasted energy. everything was a perfectly timed, deliberate attack. the way she moved was like liquid, weaving through the air with ease. she was art in motion, each strike a beautifully crafted, deadly dance.

and then, she saw you looking at her. her determinated expression got replaced by the playful smirk that made you lose your mind.

"hey!" she chuckled. "anything interesting?"

her green shirt was clinging to her body, exposing every curve and muscle. it was difficult not to keep staring at her.

you tried to compose yourself, to play it cool and not let her get to you. "just watching you, and thinking about all the ways i could beat you." you gave her a cheeky grin, and raised your eyebrow to let her know you're not one to be messed with.

she laughed and approached you. "care to show me on a practice session later?" she asked playfully.

"of course!" you smiled back at her, your heart racing as her body draws nearer to yours with each step. still, you played along, pretending to be confident and totally-not-impressed. "who knows, maybe i can show you a thing or two that you haven't seen before." you added with a smirk on your own face.

as she got close, you could feel the heat from her body and see how her shirt clings to her curves like second skin. your face flushed with blood and you had to look away, unable to keep a steady gaze as she drew your eyes back to her with that inviting smirk.

that's how you ended up between her legs, showing her 'a thing or two she haven't seen before'. your tongue dipped inside her cunt, collecting everything in your mouth. then, you moved to lick her folds sleek, carefully moving up and down, stopping at her clit to suck on it. she was trying her best to stay quiet and keep her 'unbothered' facade, but you thought it's useless after she failed once. oh, how oblivious she was to the fact that you could feel how her hips moved closer to your face.

"are we- fuck, do we practice the same boxing?" she mumbled, trying to sit up and look at you but ending up squirming even more.

the air, disturbed by the vibration of your laugh, hit her inner thighs. she squeezed them around your head, but your hands quickly parted them back to their previous position.

"i don't know about you, but that's what i practiced." you replaced your tongue with your fingers, rubbing her clit while you pulled away and sat up, letting her see you. "is that something... new for you?"

she whined and moaned out a; 'fuck you', before regaining her composure and adding a more confident; "i can do just as much."

not long after that, your places swapped. you admired how full of energy she was, even though she struggled to speak not long ago.

"what happened to the 'no fucking before an important fight'?" you taunted - your breathless state wasn't enough to stop you from teasing her.

after that, she pushed two of her fingers into your puffy cunt. you gasped as your ability to speak went missing, your cheeks shining with not even bright red as an uncontrollable groan in form of her name escaped your mouth.

"i was just about to ask you 'what happened to you stuttering and blushing everytime you talk to me?'" she made a dramatic pause, letting her fingers pump in and out of you, closely watching your reaction to every move so she would figure out where your sensitive spot was. it took her about two times, or more but really fast ones, your sense of time got ruined and you weren't sure. "but there you are."

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie tlou #reqs open #ellie the last of us #wlw smut #ellie williams smut #ellie smut #boxer!ellie #boxer!ellie williams x reader #boxer!ellie williams #boxer!ellie x reader #boxer!ellie x boxer!reader #boxer!ellie williams x boxer!reader #boxer!reader

797 notes · View notes

thesensteawitch · 10 days

Text

Fortune Reading 🔮 FORTUNATE READING

🔮🤎🔮🤎🔮🤎🔮🤎

Pick A Pile

(Left to Right- Pile 1, Pile 2, Pile 3)

Little Things--- leading to BIG things

A fortunate shake up is happening in everyone's life as this lunar eclipse is approaching.

Hello, senstea souls!💜

Welcome to my blog! I am back with another pick a pile reading that is going to reveal to you how fortunate you are!

This is a timeless tarot reading. So remember you find something when you're meant to find it. Sit calmly, grab a snack and take a few breaths before beginning to read.

AND if you end up resonating with the reading and if it touches your heart then do let me know!💜🔮✨

Also, if you wish to know more about you or your life then feel free to DM me and book a reading with me.💟

I am looking forward to your response to this blog.🪄🤍 (Because it took me a lot of energy to do this reading!🥹)

TAROT BOOKING FORM 🍀 • MY RATE CARD✨

Here you go!🌈

Pile 1

Tarot Cards- Two of Cups, Page of Wands, Wheel of Fortune, Judgement, The Hangedman, Knight of Wands

Pile 1!!!!! You leave traces of wisdom behind you. How fortunate! Isn't it? For the people who will find the marks left behind by you and will call it a treasure. Your existence is fortunate for others. The card says, “No matter what has caused your unique point of view to come about—it has come about. ALL-THAT-IS is benefiting from YOUR existence and your point of view.” How fortunate it is to be a source of fortune for others (I write this at 1:11). You're not meant to draw conclusions. You're meant to allude! Allow your mind to flow into the infinite chemistry of this universe. You're reminding me of the temperature card. You embody the essence of the creator, creating life on the outskirts of the well-established towns. But be careful; you're always on the edges, hence prone to confusion and losing balance. How many times have you lived your days on DIYs? Always find a way to do what you are being called to do. HUGE fortune is coming due to your shrewdness and resourcefulness. When you create something from nothing, you show the universe that you deserve everything your heart desires and may seem too far-fetched of a dream. I see, “A beetle and a boat. A dog and a fox.” If you ever had a pet or a friend who is on the other side or is no longer a part of your life (whom you had to let go), then know they are your fortunate blessing in this lifetime because they protect you from the other side and will always be on your side even in separation. I also feel very strongly that the space that once belonged to someone is now empty, and the universe is about to send someone in your life to fill that space. The month of November is shown in the cards. Perhaps, by the month of November, the spaces in your life will be filled. Till then, hold these spaces and keep weaving magic. Your intuition has been guiding you to trust that the universe is about to shower you with an abundance of love and fortune. Prosperity and abundance are very, very strong in your cards. Like I'm literally going to scream out of the intensity of energies. But I can't! Because at the same time your energy makes me feel so calm. It seems someone in your energy wants to scream out of frustration because they want to LOVE YOU. But something is keeping them away. And when it comes to loving yourself, you too have felt like screaming but quickly went back to being gentle with yourself. AND the word FORTUNE has literally appeared in your reading TWICE.

You have swallowed so much of what you could have said when it pinched you to be in a state always trying to make your ends meet. Though undeniably you do it with so much grace and like a witch or wizard, you still deserve the world! 😭 Don't you worry, darling, the door to your bright future has to open now. There's nothing left in this phase for you to learn or grow. AND YET!!! YET???? Yet you've been filling this phase of your life with love. It's like you're on the last page of this book and it's the blank page because the story ended on the page previous to this one, but YOU are even finding so much beauty in the blankness. HOW??? I hear, “It's the end of a decade but the start of a new age.” You're seriously in your power! The way you're dancing on this blank white page is something only highly wise and mature people can do. Bravo! Fate stepped in and forced you to say goodbye. The book that just ended was beautiful, wasn't it? Though it had a sad ending. I hear, “Long, long live the walls we crashed through. Long live the magic we made and the mountains we moved. I had a time of my life fighting dragons with you. Bring all the pretenders; I'm not afraid. We'll be remembered.” You've been fortunate, my dear, pile 1, and you'll always be fortunate. If THAT BOOK and MANY CHAPTERS in it were so beautiful that the ending made you cry for months, then imagine what fate would have in store for you next?????? Have you ever thought of that? This magic that you walk with is what made you exceptional enough to have another beautiful and abundant story of your life. You changed your destiny. YOU GREW! Not everyone has the capability to come out of adverse situations this strong. You're ready. The new book is launching soon. It's time for an upgrade. Expect LOVE AND MIRACLES.

(DM me if you wish to book a reading with me! Thank you!💌)

Tip my blog if you love this message! 🤍

Pile 2

Tarot Cards- Four of Wands, The Magician, Nine of Cups, Nine of Swords, Seven of Wands, Five of Wands

Were you attracted to pile 1 as well? (Or maybe you're attracted to someone whose life is like that of pile 1, lol.) The first card kind of said the same message I just wrote above. So if you were drawn to pile 1, then by all means read it too. I feel some of you feel so okay being a villain in someone's story. You just try to laugh off certain events that have hurt you quite deeply. Have you been having intense dreams lately? You feel fortunate to be able to have control over your emotional set points. You thought you would be alone in this journey, but the universe keeps talking to you no matter where you are! And you feel so mesmerized and fortunate to be on the receiving end of the divine guidance. I can see you smirk, lol. You're so much up in the sky thinking and thinking that you literally have to walk barefoot on Earth to ground yourself. Tell me how blessed you would feel if you were living in the mountains or somewhere where there were trees all around. You LOVE NATURE. Currently, you feel so blessed to be on Earth and experience the natural beauty. It's healing, and it has healed you. And flowers? You love flowers! You're a flower. Maybe someone related you to a particular flower. Or you may often buy flowers for some reason. It seems this pile has been through a lot when it comes to their health. Have you? There's a lot you need to take care of, like what you eat, how much you eat, your supplements, your skin, etc. Every day you're following one or the other self-care practice, and the moment after you finish it, you feel rejuvenated and healthier. Sometimes you fight a lot with yourself to maintain discipline. Be gentle with yourself because it seems you've come a long way and that too alone. You learned all alone what your body needs and what works for you. And yes, keep spending time in nature. It's healing you. Your cards say that very clearly. You're doing it right. Maybe since last December you started taking more care of yourself, and this coming December or 2.5 months from now you'll see huge improvement in your health. You may not have been fortunate in having the support of your loved ones, but you have always been supported by God, and for that, I feel you're really grateful.

Your energy seems like that of the movie ‘Little Forest'. You know how to make yourself feel warm in cold weather. You also remind me of this K-drama named “When the weather is fine.”.

Someone would feel so fortunate to be around you because they think very highly of you and sometimes even feel that you're not their cup of tea. Very few of you are expecting a child (maybe that's why you are taking care of your health) or are about to get married. Some sort of marriage/union is on the cards. Just know you're not alone. And whatever is around you loves you dearly. You just need to learn to handle criticism well because in the past you've been rejected so much that you've become so comfortable in your own company. This upcoming full moon seems to have something good in store for you. Nevertheless, you have your reasons to have this safe space because you have created this serene energy around you, which you needed after a tough war. Just try to be a little social, keeping your boundaries intact. Do you literally dream of marrying someone or had a dream where you were getting married? Union and celebration are on the cards. It seems that you're fighting yourself when it comes to this wish of yours. Did you confess your love to someone in December? (Very specific) Or that's when you met someone, talked to them, or started weaving this wish of yours. Someone's birthday can be in December. You're definitely enjoying your sovereignty at this point. I hear, “When you're young, they assume you know nothing.” Maybe you've really been criticized for your opinions, and that made you go silent and refrain from expressing them. Hufff...my dear pile 2, there's deafening silence in your reading now. I hear, “Since the love that you left is all that I get, I need you to know that if I can't be close to you, then I'll settle for the ghost of you. Young blood thinks there's always tomorrow. I need more time, but time can't be borrowed. If you can't be next to me, your memory is ecstasy.”

Now, I'll say whatever this dream is, know that you're worthy of having it. Whoever this person is, they really think highly of you. It does seem that you're trying to move toward better days, but your emotions come in between. At one moment you feel so optimistic toward this wish of yours, and in another moment your mind turns against you. I hear you saying to yourself, “Oh, don't be so stupid.” Your emotions go up and down. You felt REALLY FORTUNATE when you stopped pursuing this wish, thinking that it's the right decision you're making for some reason. But it seems it was your ego stopping you. I hear, “I can't save us.” Maybe at times you feel you can't save yourself and your dream. Look how the reading took a u-turn. Your energy isn't balanced, my dear, pile 2. I also hear, “Sometimes I look in her eyes, and that's where I find the glimpse of us.” It seems that fortune lies on the other end of your fear. So go for what you have always dreamed of. And if you think you cannot then just let it go. Don't hold your dreams even in your memories. Choice is yours!

(DM me if you wish to book a reading with me! Thank you!💌)

Tip my blog if you love this message! 🤍

Pile 3

Tarot Cards- Six of Cups, The Star, Justice, Page of Swords, Tower, Eight of Wands

How many of you applied nailpaint or cut your nails recently wondering how would God or an enlightened being respond/would've responded in a certain situation? I feel that there has been pressure from your parents or an authority figure to be a certain way, but you aren't what they have you in their image. You're someone better than their image, someone different, but you don't know how to show that. You put yourself in everyone's shoes (and they are fortunate to have you in their lives), but it seems you don't get that in return. But let me tell you, you won't. Not because life isn't fair but because you start overdoing it; you start walking in other people's shoes and on others's paths. That's how you lost yourself (if you were wondering how you turned into someone you weren't). But now you know better. Better late than never. Maybe something ended or came into light in the month of August (very specific). I hear, “To live for the hope of it all, cancel plans in case you'd call...you weren't mine to lose. But I can see us lost in the memory as August slipped away into a moment of time.” You sacrificed yourself too much for others. Though you are at a stage where you're supposed to rewrite your story and redefine yourself, know that you'll get success in resolving your problems. You're protected from the negative energies beyond your control. I am getting the message that you need to learn to balance your root chakra and keep your feet clean at all times (idk why I channeled that!). Life will naturally bring in opportunities where your best side will come out and people around you will witness it. An advice that is coming for you is to stay clear of any drama from now on.

Because slowly but surely you're moving ahead, so it's important that you keep yourself protected at all times. Don't get yourself involved in others's business as well. It's time for you to have lighthearted days. It seems that you're very fortunate to come out of a situation that was burning your dreams and who you truly are. So at this time it's important you realize your blessings and take care of YOUR needs first. I am channeling the song ‘If we have each other' by Alec Benjamin. “When the world's not perfect, when the world's not kind, if we have each other, we'll both be fine. I am thankful for my sister even though we fight.” Someone—maybe your mother, brother, or sibling—was there for you in difficult times. You're very fortunate to have someone who always looks out for you. The people close to you see you as a star. They KNOW you're amazing! Don't you ever worry about that! You'll be very fortunate to have justice in the area where you gave too much but didn't receive anything in return. Some part of the justice has happened. It's time that you receive the love you deserve, and justice will fully be served. I see you've been cooking lately. Perhaps you should pursue cooking as a side thing. I don't know it may be specific for a very few of you.

You're slowly learning about life and seeing the world from a different perspective. Consistent ideas after ideas are coming. One narrative ends and another emerges, and then that dies too, only for a new one to come to the surface. You're spiritually growing, so keep going, pile 3. New creative ideas are about to come left and right that will pave a way for you to build the life you always wanted to. You'll soon be working toward a dream of yours. The universe is preparing you to receive these ideas well, and soon, brick by brick, you'll be creating a castle of your dreams.

I don't know why cooking and baking are coming again and again. Maybe it's a form of therapy for you. No more staying stuck in your head, my dear pile 3. Your energy seems like that of a stubborn child. Who made mistakes and now is learning from them? But you're a quick learner, so it seems that you're no longer in pain but very glad where you are. I see books. Maybe some of you're bookworms or are being called to read more. I also hear, “I'll never fall in love again until I find THE ONE.” You're keeping your boundaries strong and making yourself mentally stronger. You've been quite naive and trusted people easily. It seems you had wounds that needed to be healed, and now they are healing. You seem like a very young soul who is just learning about the world. If you resonate as an old soul, then this pile isn't for you.

You definitely have great qualities, but you're new here, so you needed some tough lessons. But I truly feel you deserve gentleness more than anything. But such gentleness could have led you to trust everybody. You need gentleness with strong boundaries (writing this at 3:33).

Protect, protect, and protect yourself. Your spirit team is keeping you away from negative energies, but you need to stand up for yourself too. And you do have space and opportunities to protect yourself and live a gentle life filled with laughter. Your own gentleness and the support around you are your fortune, pile 3.

(DM me if you wish to book a reading with me! Thank you!💌)

Tip my blog if you love this message! 🤍

#fortune telling #fortunate #pick a pile reading #pick a card #pick a pile #tarotcommunity #tarot card reader #channeled message #message for the collective #messages from the universe #divine messages #psychic readings #intuitive tarot reader #intuitive guidance #tarot card reading #pick a pile tarot #spirit guidance #tarot readings #collective reading

90 notes · View notes

ravenromanova · 1 year

Text

Nowhere to run

Pairings: Vamp Natasha x Female reader

Warnings: 18+!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Mentions of blood, Blood kink, Biting kink, Smacking, Oral, Fingering, Double ended dildo, Vibrator use, Slight cnc DO NOT READ IF YOUR UNDER 18!!!!

Summary: You hide and she seeks

Kinktober masterlist - Main masterlist - Send me requests!!!

You ran as fast as you could through the trees of the woods you stumbled upon. The wind was harsh against your skin as you sped through. Your breath was short and it was getting harder and harder to breathe but you knew you couldn’t stop. She was close and you could feel it you just didn’t know where she was.

A twig snapped in the distance and your heart dropped at the sound. You couldn’t see very much since the trees blocked the moonlight so you were essentially blind. But luckily for her she was able to see in the dark. She was waiting for you to be at your most vulnerable, she wanted you out of breath, desperate and needy.

She crept around the trees as you try to find shelter behind an oak tree. A smile crosses her face as she watches your movements. You were out of breath hunched over as you gasp for air by the tree. You can hear footsteps crunching leaves behind you but you have no energy to run.

The woman stalks up behind you and puts her hands around you waist firmly. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel her breath on your neck.

“i told you id find you kotenok” She whispered against your ear as she presses your back against the tree. You’re forced to look at her as she grabs your chin and tilts your head back. You knew from the look in her eyes that’s you were fucked. Her eyes went red and you could see the black veins surrounding them, her smile was as devilish as it was wide as she looked at you.

“You have nowhere to run now little one you’re mine” And with that you feel all your resolve leave your body. She smiles once she sees you give into her.

“I’m yours” You whisper to the redhead with a doe eyed look. Natasha loses all control when the words leave your lips. She is quick to take you back to her cabin. The woman picks you up bridal style and uses her vamp speed to get you to the cabin.

You squeal and giggle once you see how eager she is to take full advantage of you. She kicks the cabin door open and rushes you both inside the master bedroom. Once she gets you two to the room she uses all her strength and throws you on the bed. You look at her with lust in your eyes as she gets all the supplies she needs to ruin you.

“You’re my toy tonight. You will do everything i ask of you. Understood?” She asks as she towers over you at the edge of the bed. Not being able to form words you opt to just nod your head and she hums in satisfaction. The next moments are a blur as she rids you both of your clothing and sits in front of you.

Natasha is quick to tie your hands to the headboard along with tying your feet to the ends of the bed. She then slowly crawls up your body and you can see that her once green eyes are fully blown.

“Tell me how much you want me” She commands as she starts to attack your neck and not only leaves hickeys but leaves bite marks. Your breath hitches in your throat as she speaks and even though you know she’s dominant right now you can see her desperation.

“I want you so bad mommy. Please please please ruin me” You beg pulling at your restraints and groaning when you realize you aren’t able to touch her.

She doesn’t waste any time as she quickly takes on of your nipples in her mouth and starts sucking. You moan loudly at the sensation of her mouth on one of your tits and her hand on the other. Natasha moves to the other nipple giving it the same attention as the other as you let out a satisfied groan.

After she has had her fill of your tits she starts slowly kissing and biting down your body drawing a little blood. She licks over the bite marks to soothe them before she came face to face with your pussy. She takes a second to admire your bare body and pussy before giving it a small kiss. Natasha groans as you buck your hips against her lips as she kisses you.

“So desperate” She comments before she spreads your lips and attaches hers to your clit. You buck your hips and moan as she starts sucking on your clit like a woman starved. Natasha shoves her tongue into your pussy and groans once she feels how tight you are. She continues to lick from your hole to your clit in fast motions and you scream in response.

“I-I’m gonna cum p-please can i cum?” You asks desperately as she picks up the pace and starts sucking faster. She doesn’t respond just nods at your question since she’s too wrapped up in how you taste to speak. That’s when you feel the coil in your stomach snap and you cum all over her face and tongue with a scream. The redhead licks you clean with a smile on her face before she continues with her plans for the night.

“Such a good and sweet girl” She praises as she licks her fingers and crawls back up your body. Once she reaches your stomach she straddles your thighs and runs her hands all over your body.

“So perfect, So soft, So sweet, So pretty” She says as she looks at you with nothing but love in her eyes. Who knew a big bad vampire could love someone this much? definitely not you but you relish in her love anyway.

“You know i love you right? You know you’re everything to me right?” She asks before she pecks your lips slightly.

“Yes mommy i know you love me, I love you too” You say bashfully at the woman you love more than anything.

“Good girl” She praises again and decides to untie you so you can finally touch her. And once you’re free your hands quickly make way to her hips and you give them a soft squeeze. You two spend a few moments in a heated make out before Natasha grows eager and needs more of you.

She gets up off of you despite you making grabby hands for her to come back. When she comes back she has your favorite double ended dildo and vibrator in her hand. Your eyes light up and the toys as she walks back over to you and straddles you yet again. She takes her time playing with you by running her hands up and down your soft skin. Her eyes flicker from red to green as her hunger for you grows. You can see her fangs pop out and her tongue run across them in anticipation.

“You can feed on me- it’s okay” You say softly as you run your thumb over the black veins under her eyes. Natasha stares at you with bewilderment for a minute processing what you said. She’s never actually fed on you before, Sure she will bite you here and there nut she’s never fed. The reason being that she doesn’t want to hurt you, She loves you, Your her precious girl and she doesn’t want you to be in pain.

Her eye flicker upwards to yours as if she’s silently asking for more permission.

“I trust you- if anything i’ve kinda been wanting you too” You admit shyly and that’s what sells it for her. She settles herself fully on your hips before leaning down and brushing your hair away from your neck. It takes her a moment before she does anything because she has to reel herself in. She finally decides to let her fangs out and sink them into your neck.

“Oh fuck-“ You moan at the sensation you had expected it to hurt but in reality it feels so fucking good. She takes her time as she slowly drinks the crimson liquid from your veins. Nothing Natasha had ever tasted before had been as good as how you taste. She keeps going for a minute or two and in those moments you are in pure bliss. Your fingers tangle themselves in her hair and you moan loudly as she takes her fangs out.

“You taste better than the finest wine in the world Dekta” She praises before she licks the mark to soothe it. The sensation is enough to make you finish right then and there but you hold out.

“Please fuck me Vladelets” (master) The need in your voice makes the older woman smile. She simply nods and grabs the strap and brings one side to your lips. You immediately know what she wants you to do so you open your mouth and stick your tongue out. She then takes the bright red strap and smacks it against your tongue a few times before you start sucking. You bring it as far as you can in your mouth and start bobbing your head getting it nice and wet for her.

Natasha lets you go at it for a minute before pulling it out of your mouth and replacing it with the other side. You eagerly repeat your previous actions and get the other side wet. Once she’s satisfied with how wet it is she climbs down your body to your pussy. She rubs the tip of one side up and down your pretty folds before she slowly inserts it into you in a swift motion.

You let out a loud moan once the strap is in and the redhead smiles sinfully before she props your knees up. You give her a questioning look as she places herself on top of your pussy. She takes the other side of the dildo and inserts it into herself and grinds her hips against yours.

“Fuck yes-“ Her moan comes out breathy as she feels the tip hit her g-spot. The both of you find your hands on each others hips as you both start grinding against each other. Natashas head falls back as she lets out a guttural moan at the moment unfolding in front of her.

“F-Feels s-so g-good” You stutter out when she picks up her pace and thrusts into you onsite and of grinding against you. Natasha is quick to grab the vibrator and place it in between you two right on your clits.

“OH FUCK!” The both of you scream in unison when she turns it onto the highest setting. She picks up the pace of her thrusts and decides to just ruin you.

“You’re so pretty dekta, look at you a complete mess for me so fucking pretty” She grunts out and her grip on your thigh becomes tighter. She’s so close and she can tell you are to by the way you’re breathing.

“Fuck i’m gonna cum baby-please please make me cum-Oh fuck!” You scream as your orgasm comes ripping through you and you squirt all over the redhead. When she feels your warm juices hit her skin that’s when she comes undone and fucks you both through her orgasm.

“Holy fucking shit” She breathes out as she finally stops thrusting and takes a second to breathe, before turning off the vibrator and taking the toy of of you both. You groan at the loss of the strap but quickly forget about it as Natasha lays down next to you.

“That was amazing” The words barley come out above a whisper as they fall from your lips. The older woman looks at you before pulling you to lay on her chest.

“I told you i could make hide and seek fun” She jokes as she runs her fingers through your hair and smiles.

“Yea i guess you’re right” You chuckle in agreement before you yawn and nuzzle into her chest and listen to her heartbeat.

“I gotta clean you up dekta” She says as she tries to move you but you tell her that you both can just shower tomorrow that you dont wanna move. Natasha lets out a soft laugh at your antics before she pulls the blanket over the both of you and holds you tight.

“Goodnight my sweet girl” She whispers as she leaves a kiss on your temple.

“Goodnight my little vamp” You mumble as you drift off into one of the best night sleeps of your life.

~the end~

no one has permission to translate or repost my work on other cites

859 notes · View notes

gloomwitchwrites · 7 months

Text

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings: canon-typical swearing, angst, possessive!Simon, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, overstimulation, praise, hand job, dirty talk, aftercare

Word Count: 6k

A/N: Part Eleven of Ink & Needle

An argument becomes a moment of understanding. Certain carnal urges are fulfilled.

Chapter Ten // Chapter Twelve

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

“Tell me why your hands are shaking.”

Are they? Is that what you’re feeling? You didn’t notice.

Bringing them up to waist level, you observe their gentle tremble. Elbows pressing lightly into your sides, arms angled inward, you curl your fingers toward your palms in an attempt to cease the shaking. They continue to quiver as if the signals from your brain to your hands fall off the trail, losing themselves amongst the millions of constantly firing neurons.

What stops the trembling are Simon’s hands.

Your palms face the ceiling and the tops of your hands are aimed toward the wood floor. Simon slides underneath, fingers delicately encasing the stuttering shake. Tattooed and large. Rough, but dry and warm. Like a light switch being flipped, you are suddenly calm. Peaceful.

Simon said he wants to talk. He wants to know. He is asking you for understanding, to allow him in even if what’s inside isn’t all that pretty. There is no obligation you’re holding him to. No standard. Simon draws up his own, presents them, lays them out flat in fan before you like a deck of cards.

It’s your move. Your opportunity to select one.

But the quiet is shattered as Adam’s voice returns, bashing against your brain like waves crashing against rock.

Whore.

Fucking whore.

The trembling begins again and Simon’s hold on your hands tightens, his large frame shifting forward into your space, creating a protective cocoon that you desperately wish to lean against but don’t.

“I’m sorry,” you stammer. The inhale you take is fractured, splitting like an atom, the energy inside you roaring into an explosion that rings loudly in your ears.

Everything is fucked. Everything is torn apart. Ripped to bloody ribbons.

Wrong and twisted and broken and just wrong.

Evie’s in-laws do not forgive easily, and Adam is the worst of the bunch. On the surface, he is ever the gentleman, but underneath is the serpent hiding in the leaves.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. “I shouldn’t have let him touch me. I didn’t want him to. Simon—I promise. I—”

One of his large hands releases you only to grasp the side of your face. He forces you to look at him. Forces you to gaze into those dark eyes that you could drown in.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But—”

“Don’t apologize for someone else’s poor behavior,” interjects Simon. Your wraith’s thumb brushes away the tears staining your cheeks. “He had no right.” Simon’s voice is nearly a growl, as if the memory of Adam placing his hand on your thigh personally hurts him.

Simon doesn’t understand. He has no context to why you were even there to begin with. Seeing you and Adam together wounded him. While sitting in your chair, watching your wraith as he confronted Evie’s brother-in-law with such fury, you knew you made a mistake.

But how do begin to explain everything? How do you start to detail Evie and Archie’s lives together? How do you slot the pieces into a picture that Simon will understand? How do you tell Simon that Archie’s entire family is fucking awful?

How? How?

All Simon witnessed was you and Adam sitting together in a dark pub. All Simon saw was Adam placing his hand upon your thigh. All he heard was that one little sentence at the end. That’s it. Simon knows nothing else.

“Yet he did it anyway,” you exclaim. “And you’re angry.”

“With him,” growls Simon. “Not with you.”

Yet that fails to explain Simon’s behavior after his friends escorted Adam out of the building. As far as you know, they could have taken Adam down a side street and broken his nose. Perhaps punched out a few teeth. You hope that isn’t the case. You hope they only took him to his car.

And you’re still seething about the way Simon treated you after. The shaking in your hands isn’t simply a reaction to Adam’s inappropriate behavior. It is also a response to Simon’s rough protectiveness.

“You’re not angry with me yet you drag me around by my arm. Herd me like a fucking farm animal.” You attempt to remove your hands from his grip, but Simon is having none of it. His fingers only squeeze a bit tighter. “Is that why you were so rough with me? Because you weren’t angry?”

Your voice is rising. The need to defend yourself is insistent. Pulsing. A driving force.

Yes, Adam had no right to touch you. But Simon also had no right to handle you like he did. That too is wrong.

Simon’s shoulders heave, every muscle in his body tensing. He abruptly drops your hands. Withdrawing. Pulling away. Stepping back.

“That was,” he begins, but pauses, gaze dropping in subtle shame. At his sides, his hands form fists. “Wrong of me.” Simon glances up, and the fire returns, your wraith a burning inferno that might combust. “I saw him touch you. Heard what he said. I snapped. And I shouldn’t have.”

The apology is genuine, and while half of you eagerly accepts it, the other isn’t nearly as pleased. Maybe it’s because you’re protective of Evie, and Simon’s interference with your conversation with Adam might have ruined so much for her.

“Yet you did it anyway.”

It’s one last bite. A final sting. You try to keep it in, but you’re so goddamn frustrated.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. Even defeated, Simon is large, a looming figure you’re force to look up at.

While you’re frustrated, you know this isn’t really Simon’s fault. Sure, his behavior after the fact was fucking garbage, but he stood up for you. He defended you, was ready to toss Adam right out of the pub if you had told him to do it.

The grievance isn’t with Simon. It’s with Adam.

“It’s fine,” you sigh. It’s—”

You rub your lips together, running your hands over your face. Breathing is best. Breathing is good. The swirling pit inside your stomach is quickly rising to squeeze your chest. You need to calm down.

“It’s complicated,” you finish, not knowing what else to say.

Simon’s fists unclench. He hangs there, gaze pinned to your face, shifting slightly like he’s studying your features. “I told you to talk. I’ll listen.”

You shake your head. “It’s not that simple.”

Simon takes a step forward, breaching your personal space. One black boot lands between your feet, forcing you to open slightly. You attempt to back up, but Simon is insistent, moving with you.

“Simon—”

His hand goes to the back of your neck, halting your escape. Your own hands go up to push against his chest, using his solidness as a point of support to create space. As if knowing your intention, his other hand quickly snags one wrist and then the other, trapping them in the very spot you intended to place them.

Simon’s voice drops, almost to a whisper. Yet there is heat and a blooded blade beneath it that lends itself to innate instinct. “Does he mean something to you?”

“What?” you gasp, disbelieving.

Is Simon serious? Does he truly believe that?

“Are the two of you—”

“Stop,” you say, flattening both hands against Simon’s chest. “Just stop.” Simon begins to speak again but you’re putting an end to this like tearing out a thorn from your thumb.

“Adam isn’t anything to me,” you snap. “He’s Evie’s brother-in-law.”

Simon goes quiet. The silence stretches and you aren’t sure if you should fill it with more talking or just keep your mouth shut and wait for Simon to say something.

His brow hardens, the middle of it scrunching together. “He’s not—”

“Fuck, Simon. No,” you mutter, leaning forward to rest your forehead above the spot where your hands are joined.

Simon’s hand slides away from your neck and drops to your lower back, his fingers splaying wide, pressing against the slight curve. He releases your wrists too, only to run his fingers down your arm and to your waist. You do not drop your hands nor do you draw back from him.

Simon is warm. He smells of black tea and mint with the faintest hint of smoke. You breathe deep, burrowing closer. It sends you right back into memory. This is how he smelled when you first met him at Riot Room. You liked it then, and you love it now.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs.

It’s not a question. Simon isn’t asking. And it feels right, like a good pair of jeans or perfectly brewed coffee.

You’re mine.

Sounds nice, even if you are still a bit mad at him.

“I met him at the pub instead of Evie going,” you mutter against his chest. “He wanted to talk. I knew it wouldn’t be anything pleasant.”

Simon’s hand at your waist lightly squeezes, urging you to continue talking.

“I lied. Told him that Evie’s supposed to be on bedrest for the reminder of her pregnancy. He believed it.”

“What did he want?” You hear the restraint in Simon’s voice. He’s still upset, still angry.

“That’s the part that’s complicated.”

“Tell me what you can.”

What can you tell him? How do you formulate this in a way for Simon to understand but keeps Evie’s privacy intact?

You’re silent for far too long. Simon arms around you squeeze and then release, his large chest drawing back enough that you’re forced to look up at him.

“Come with me,” he murmurs, and you comply so easily.

It is nothing but your hand in his as he leads you to the couch. Simon removes your coat and gently sets it aside out of the way. Then, he’s guiding the two of you down onto the sofa. He reclines, leaning against the arm, pulling you into his lap. You drape yourself over him on your side, facing the blank television. Resting your head on Simon’s shoulder, you place your hand on his chest. His hand is quick to follow, encasing it, clinging to it. His other arm drapes over waist, creating a bit of support so you don’t sink into the cushions.

The two of you stay like this with Simon not saying anything and you simply thinking. Bravo is in the hallway near the bedroom, head resting on his paws, alert but still at rest. When Simon breathes in, your own chest rises slightly. You close your eyes, sink into the slow expansion and retreat of his lungs, imagining yourself weightless and floating. Fingers slightly digging into the front of his t-shirt, you snuggle into the crook of his neck, leaning into his embrace.

Simon remains neutral like a rock resting in a garden bed. He is simply there, propping you up, awaiting the moment you finally decide to crack open like an egg. In these brief moments, you drift off, the stress of the evening wearing you down like a nail file.

“Evie’s in-laws don’t like her,” you mumble, voice slightly strained with sleepiness. “They’ve never liked her. They’re old money and she isn’t.” You shrug but it’s more a shifting of your shoulders. “Now that her husband is gone, it’s worsened their relationship.”

Your eyelids open slowly. Leaning your head back, you seek out Simon’s eyes. He’s staring ahead, but when you shift, he immediately turns his head as if knowing what you need.

“Her due date is coming up quick. Less than two weeks.” You sigh and rest your chin right below his collarbone. “She’s always crying. Worrying even when she’s happy. I didn’t want them talking.”

This is what you give him. It isn’t nearly enough, but you can’t detail the threats or their constant push of trying to seize Archie’s assets. They want to leave Evie with nothing. They want her out of their life. It’s like they don’t care that she’s carrying Archie’s child. It’s a waste. But it’ll only make it easier for Evie to completely cut them off.

Simon delicately rotates your wrist, presents your palm to the ceiling like an offering. He brings it up to his mouth, tenderly pressing his lips against it through the balaclava. Gently, he guides it away, runs his thumb over the expanse of your palm.

His gaze tracks over every line and dip before flicking over to your face. “You’re smiling,” he observes, voice slightly husky.

“Am I?” and you hear the lightness in it, like fluffy white clouds on a summer day.

Simon brings your hand back to his chest. Releasing it, he guides those fingers to your chin, lightly pressing with intention, drawing your gaze to his. “Call me next time.”

“You don’t—”

“I want to.” Simon nods toward the now snoozing German Shepard. “I’ll even bring Bravo.”

“Bravo is too good a boy to make anyone scared.”

You know Simon is grinning because the balaclava stretches backward, pulling toward his ears. “He’s got bite.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Simon’s fingers still linger on the underside of your chin. They sit there, then slide along the jawbone, trailing up to the ear, and back down again. It’s a gentle caress, a soothing song that causes your eyelids to flutter.

“Simon.”

“Hm?”

Your fingers reach, toying with the edge of the balaclava. The arm he originally draped over your waist curves to your hip, squeezing, grabbing more ass than actual hip. Those fingers of his that so delicately touched you are hungry creatures, creating a necklace around your throat.

“What do you need?” he asks.

“You,” you breathe, the desperation burning like starving embers in your lungs. “I need you.”

Underneath the balaclava your fingers slip. They move in tandem with your body. Together they shift. Legs straddling hips. Chest pressed against chest. Lips finding lips the moment they’re able.

You and Simon are hunger personified, meeting and meeting, melting. Grasping the sides of Simon’s exposed cheeks, you use the leverage to push him against the couch, trapping him beneath you in a perfectly pleasurable illusion. Simon is much stronger than you. With only a quick shift of his muscles, Simon could easily pin you beneath him.

But you’re the one on top. You’re the one whose hips roll against him. His fingers dig and drag up and down your thighs, over the curve of your ass, and to the very top of your hips before he repeats it all.

There isn’t any sweetness to it. It’s not tart like lemon candies or sticky like toffee. This is overindulgence. Decedent. You and Simon are teeth and tongue and lips and endless endless gasps of air between it all.

It is the spaces between, the pause beneath where the two of you linger before coming together again. That’s the perfect part. The brief flash of separation. It is then that your wraith gazes on you with lust and something dipped in ancient longing.

Atoms calling to atoms.

Plants in orbit. A small object giving way to the larger mass.

Simon sucks on your bottom lip, lightly biting. “Mine,” he murmurs, drawing you back into a fierce kiss. “You’re mine.”

His.

Yes.

You like it. You want it.

You want him.

Your wraith.

Ghost.

Simon. Always Simon.

He grabs hold of your thighs, guides your legs further out and up to his waist. In seconds you’re on your back, Simon’s large frame pressing you into the cushions, his mouth on you in moments, tasting lips and tongue, traveling over and down, tracing the line of your jaw and the curve of your ear.

And Simon’s hands never stop. They never stop consuming.

Until they do. Until you’re whimpering for him to return his hands to your body. But Simon resists, keeping you trapped beneath him but not willing to bring your bodies together.

His head dips, lips brushing lightly over yours. “Pick a number between one and ten.”

“What?” you laugh, confused.

“Do it. One to ten. Pick.”

You nibble on the inside of your cheek, thinking. “Three?”

Simon only stares.

“Four?”

Again, he remains impassive.

Is Simon trying to herd you to a specific number?

“Five?” you reply hesitantly.

One eyebrow rises slightly. Finally, a reaction.

“Fine,” you laugh. “Seven.”

“Sure about that, love?”

You cock your head and playfully smack his chest. “Eight. Happy?”

“Final answer?”

“Yes, Simon. That’s my final answer.”

Simon nods, gaze quietly assessing. In the next moment, he’s dragging you up against him, bringing both of you to standing.

“What are you doing?”

Simon starts to back away, placing roughly an arm’s length of space between the two of you.

“Bedroom,” he purrs, the word a singular command.

Reaching down with one hand, Simon grasps the front of his belt. With expert quickness, he unbuckles it and then removes the belt from the loops with a fluid tug.

“No clothes,” he continues. “And on your back.”

“Simon—”

“Now.”

You’re being herded again, but this time you like it. This time it is from a place of desire, or a desperate yearning for another. This isn’t anger driving Simon, and it’s certainly not driving you.

Simon glances over his left shoulder at Bravo. The dog immediately gets up, trudging off somewhere. Stepping to the side, Simon makes space for you to slip through. He is right there, on your heel, entering the dark bedroom with you.

Once inside, Simon shuts the door behind him, cutting of the light from the living room and kitchen. The only source of illumination comes from the windows. The blinds are down, and only slightly cracked. It allows for lines of fractured moonlight.

Simon is mostly in shadow. Just an outline in the dark.

“What are the numbers for?” you ask, your eyes adjusting to the dimness.

“Get those clothes off, love. Then I’ll tell you.”

He moves closer, your wraith one with the darkness, silently slinking into your radius. Simon is near enough to touch you, to assist in the undressing, but he doesn’t. He only watches, his chest rising and falling, an imperceptible change in the shadows.

The outer layers are easy. It’s when you’re down to your underwear, bra, and top that you hesitate.

“Everything,” he repeats.

“What do the numbers mean?”

Again, Simon doesn’t answer. Instead, his hands rise, hovering just shy of your upper arms. They pause there before shifting down to slide underneath your top, to seek out the back of your bra. With ease, Simon unhooks it. Now he helps. Now he guides your top over your head, tossing it to the side. Straps loose against your shoulders, it takes Simon no effort to guide them down your arms.

You don’t resist. His touch is gentle but purposeful.

What do those numbers mean? What does he have planned. Is the number the amount of times he’s about to fuck you? The very thought of submitting to him like that makes your pussy clench.

You’re standing in just your underwear. Simon is fully clothed.

It doesn’t seem fair.

One large hand lightly brushes over your stomach, lingers right above the delicate, thin cotton. It’s nothing fancy. Nothing flashy. Simple and comfortable. And yet you’re not embarrassed by it because Simon clearly doesn’t seem to care either.

“These can stay,” he murmurs, fingertips lightly brushing against the cotton before withdrawing.

With his other hand, Simon reaches up and grasps the top of his balaclava. He tugs. Pulls. Removing it from his head.

But your wraith is in the shadows. You do not see his features. What you can see it just the soft sweep of his hair, and a brief flash of bone structure.

“The numbers,” he says. “They’re the orgasms I’m giving you.”

“You—what?”

“You’re going to count each one, love.” Simon stands so close your bodies are nearly touching. “Mess up. I start over.”

“Simon—”

“Are you mine?” Simon is gripping your throat against, pulling you taut against him, faces close, lips closer, but not touching.

Are you his?

Yes. Always yes.

“I’m yours.”

That hungry mouth of his lightly caress the corner of your mouth. “I want to mark my territory. I want to relearn your taste. Hear those gorgeous moans I’ve been missing.”

Greedy. Simon is greedy.

The possessively primal tone sends a delicious tingle through your limbs. It remembers him. It is your body crying out again, wanting to call him back home.

“On your back, love.”

You promptly fall, butt landing on the edge of the bed.

Your wraith still stands. Is still a looming shadow.

As he takes one step closer, you lean back onto your elbows. Simon’s fingers brush against the tops of knees before sliding between, easing your legs apart, guiding them wide for him to move between.

His rough hands are soft brands against your inner thighs. They slide further toward your sex, only to purposefully pass over it instead to grasp waist and stomach, seeking other tender spots that ache for his touch.

Simon places his knee on the bed, forcing you to scoot back a bit. It also forces your legs to stay open as Simon’s hands fall to either side of you. He adjusts, leaning onto one elbow, his other hand roaming across your skin.

He studies the curve of your hip, the softness of your belly, the places where you think there is too much and not enough. Simon worships it all, leaving nothing untouched. This room is a church. You are the alter. And Simon is one of the starving flock seeking salvation.

Hovering at your breasts, his tongue passes over a nipple. It promptly hardens, reaching toward him. Simon meets it, nipping lightly, teasing the bud until it’s aching. Moving to the other, he gives it the same attention. Your fingers dig into the bedding beneath you, and your head falls back as Simon’s lips press a kiss to the valley between.

One hand returns to your hips, slides over inner thigh, hooks a finger at the edge of your underwear, pulling it to the side. The air feels oddly cold against the warmth. A shiver passes through you and Simon’s sharp inhale is enough to draw forth a bit of danger.

“First one. Ready?”

The moment your mouth forms the agreement, Simon’s thumb hovers at your entrance where your slickness pools. He draws it up to your clit, presses, swirls. It’s a sharp tug. A sudden burst. You gasp, back arching slightly as Simon continues to play with that sensitive bump. His fingers aren’t even inside you. It’s just his thumb teasing. But you’re wired, strung out from the conversation with Adam, the argument and subsequent discussion with Simon, and now this.

You are Orpheus seeing the Sun again, giving into the joy, turning back to rejoice with Eurydice. And this time there is no punishment. Eurydice doesn’t disappear. Simon, your wraith, is still here.

And you are falling apart, fingers clawing at his shoulders, hips flexing into his touch as your body clenches. The moan is choked, suppressed. Simon knows, and grins against your throat.

“Count.”

“One,” you croak, knowing you’re not going to make it seven more times.

“Good,” he purrs, wrist rotating, his middle finger sliding through your new slickness.

Simon adds a finger, begins fucking you with it while he shifts up to press his lips to yours. You open for him, and Simon slides his tongue inside the moment he inserts a second finger. Using the knee already resting on the bed between your legs, Simon guides your legs wider to completely settle between them.

Spread wide, all you can do is cling to him. You have little control, but it’s good. It’s nice. It’s fucking perfect.

Simon releases your mouth and roughly kisses down the length of your neck only to run his tongue over your left nipple. Your hips buck, and Simon meets with a thrust of his hand. His thumb on your clit is relentless and it isn’t long before you’re clenching again, this time mewling softly, trying hard to relax but failing completely.

“Two,” you gasp as Simon’s teeth lightly trap your nipple between them.

He tugs softly. Releases the nipple. Kisses it.

Fingers slipping from your body, the loss comes instantly. It is momentary. A length of a breath. Simon is already moving down your body leaving nothing untasted. The knee between your legs disappears as Simon moves onto his knees in front of the bed. His arms slide under your thighs and curve up to lock onto them. With a sharp tug, you’re dragged to the very edge of the bed.

Simon turns his head and nips his way down the inside of your thigh. His breath is warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your legs to the tips of your toes. You float in coiled anticipation. Fingers drag up and down your thighs. Simon’s mouth hovers close, but not enough to make actual contact.

You don’t dare break any of it. You don’t dare make the first move.

You are the frozen mouse staring down the cat.

Simon sighs heavily, but as it tapers out, it becomes a growl. Drawing back, Simon’s fingers curl around the edges of your underwear, bringing it into his fist. It takes only two quick tugs for Simon to tug them down your legs. They disappear into the dark as Simon guides one leg over his shoulder while the other is pushed even wider.

You’re presented to him. A gift.

Communion offered by a holy hand.

Starved like a sinner seeking confession, Simon descends, parting your pussy with a slow swipe of his tongue. With the afterglow of two orgasms in your system, your body responds to Simon’s tongue like a gunshot. Like the crack of a whip, Simon swirls up, teasing your clit with just the tip, and that is enough to make your shake, for your back to come off the bed.

Without thought, your hands seek him. One slides through his hair, tangling, twisting, anchoring yourself as your hips roll against his mouth, riding his face. The other claws, gripping his shirt, snarling the fabric in your fist.

Simon sucks your clit into his mouth and it’s over. The leg not over Simon’s shoulder snaps up, wanting to trap his head between your thighs. But Simon is strong and insistent, pushing it back down, forcing you wide again to take his tongue without resistance.

“What number is that?” asks Simon.

Your lips part to answer, but Simon returns his tongue to your clit, swirling just the tip against it. It steals your clarity.

Crying out, the hoarse noise becomes a whimper as he continues.

“Number,” he growls.

“Three!” you gasp.

His smile is brief and so is your moment of peace. Simon returns, tasting and tasting until you come off the bed, your own strength and Simon’s arms keeping you in place. Everything in wiggling, itching to escape and yet desiring more.

You won’t make it to eight.

Simon places a kiss against your pussy before he guides your leg off his shoulder. It is not for rest or to give you a break. Instead, Simon’s hands begin at your knees, sliding down to your inner thighs. He finds a solid grip, guides them wide, and returns to eating you out.

That tongue of his is a viper, and you are unable to avoid its bite.

Your thighs quiver, and your legs jerk, attempting to close yet again. Meeting resting, the muscles quiver, unable to do anything else. Like your legs, your arms are at your sides, palms pressing into the bedding, fingers digging into the bedding as if you’re trying to crush fruit.

“Fuck,” you groan. “Oh—fuck. Simon. Si—”

Small death. A burst of light. So cliché and yet so true.

“How many is that, love?” purrs Simon.

Though your eyes have adjusted to the dark, it is not enough to glimpse his features in any detail. Frustrated, you focus on what you can see in the dark: his eyes.

Moonlight cuts through the room like silver steel. Sometimes when Simon moves, you see the faintest hint of brown. Fleeting. But important.

Simon is staring you down, mouth poised just shy of the curve of your pelvis.

“F—four.”

“Sure about that?”

“Yes.”

Simon nods. “That’s my good girl.” His mouth returns. “My good fucking girl.”

No return. No reversal. You are forever Simon’s.

This is not a simple exchange. This is a claiming. A “marking of territory” as he put it.

Your wraith isn’t fucking you. He’s not asked anything for himself. This is about you, and his control over you. In this, you will submit. In this, you will allow him to take the lead. Because, with everything going on in your life, letting go for a bit is a cleansing.

“Five” eventually leaves your mouth but it is fractured and shaky. Simon has to prompt you three times before it falls from your lips.

When his mouth returns for another round, Simon brings his fingers with him. You remember saying “seven” but “six” is lost like a rock thrown into a lake. Simon doesn’t correct you, but keeps going, returning to his task with just as much enthusiasm as all the rest.

On this one, Simon gently eases your thighs toward your chest, keeping them close but not touching. Using some of his body weight, Simon keeps you locked into position. His tongue runs lazy trails up and down your pussy, dipping inside before trailing upward again. You cannot reach him and you opt to hold onto the backs of your legs, your fingers layering over his own that hold you in place.

Overstimulation has been your companion since number three. You don’t know where you are. You are beyond that. Lost. Gone. Adrift.

The eighth and final orgasm brings tears to your eyes. They are clawed from your sockets, ripped from you in wet lines that leave you trembling and sensitive. Simon does not ask for the count right away. He guides your legs away from your chest, bringing them to rest against the bed.

Around you, the bed sinks as Simon shifts forward, pushing off his knees, crawling over you until the two of you are face to face. Your chest heaves and Simon’s lips are slightly parted. In the small slashes of moonlight, you glimpse the glossy shine on his lips.

Without speaking, without signaling to the other, the two of you meet. You taste yourself on him, and you hardly care. Your hands might be shaking but you reach out for him, touching him like he did you. One large hand comes to rest next to your head. The other slides up the bed.

Your hands go lower, pushing open the front of his pants.

Simon has to be aching. You want to give him some relief. You want to please him. It’s not a feeling of obligation but a deep desire to show him how much you crave him too.

“What are you doing?” he asks, breaking the kiss. As your fingers reach for him, Simon’s hips flex backward, retreating from your touch. “You can’t handle that, love. Not right now.”

“Simon,” you beg. “I want to.”

He shakes his head, lips returning to yours momentarily before leaving again. “When I fuck you, it won’t be like this. I can fucking promise you that.”

Simon’s forehead presses against your temple and you slightly turn into him, noses brushing. “Can I touch you. Just touch. That’s all.” With extreme care, your fingers find him, wrapping lightly in case he says no.

His breathing hitches, and you see that as sign to keep going. Your grip on him isn’t great, but Simon helps, easing his pants down enough that there isn’t any clothing creating an obstacle. Simon is hot and hard in your hand. It’s clear that he needs release, and though everything in you fucking aches, you want to give him this.

It’s not pretty, but you start to pump him in short strokes. Simon groans, leans into the movement, his hips thrusting shallowly to meet your hand. Softly smiling in victory, you shift your legs a little wider, sliding them up to hook over the backs of his knees. The sound Simon makes is feral and deep.

His thrusts lengthen, and you keep your hand in place, allowing him to use it as he needs. Somehow, this is so much more intimate than if he were inside you. Simon is draped over you, trapping you against the bed, and yet your legs are locked over his, keeping him in your own web. His forehead is still pressed against your temple.

You know he’s near because his grunts are slowly tapering off at the end into short moans. It’s your turn to talk to him, to guide him toward that finish line.

“Where do you want to finish?” you ask softly.

“My hand?” You lightly squeeze his cock as he thrusts and this snaps a guttural groan from out his throat.

“My tummy?” you offer.

“My thighs?”

You lick your lips. “Do you want to finish in my mouth?”

Simon’s hips stutter.

“Or inside me?” You emphasize your meaning by pressing your heels into the back of his calves, urging him closer to your pussy.

The move is so sudden, it startles you. Simon’s hand around your throat is a vice but he doesn’t squeeze. Doesn’t cut off your air.

He still thrusts into your hand as he speaks. “I want your cunt dripping with me.” He shakes his head. “Not there. Not yet.” Simon keeps his hand around your throat but his hold eases.

Every thrust is stuttering and slightly off.

“Fuck,” he growls. “Your thighs.”

Though your muscles cry out in protest, you release him, dropping your legs back to the bed. Simon shifts into position, his hand falling away from your neck to draw your legs closer together. Watching is the most pleasurable part, seeing his release coat the tops and insides of your thighs. You imagine it inside you, filling you up, marking you as his.

That thought lingers, even as Simon retreats, going to the bathroom. The door is slightly ajar and the light inside only gives you a brief glimpse. There isn’t skin or a face reveal. You glimpse Simon’s hair, and seeing it almost feels wrong, like you’re witnessing something you shouldn’t.

It’s…blond.

No.

Brown?

That’s not right. Maybe it’s both or just a trick of the light. It’s hard to tell.

But the light shuts off, and Simon returns with a warm, damp cloth to clean you up. He is so careful, so delicate and gentle with the way he takes care of you. There isn’t conversation and you’re deeply thankful for that. You probably couldn’t talk even if you wanted to. The exhaustion is setting in, and with Simon’s return to the bathroom, you start to drift.

When he returns, Simon reaches up with one arm, pulling off his shirt in one go. His pants go next, and it isn’t until he’s dragging you into his arms and tossing the top sheet and comforter over your bodies that you realize Simon’s nakedness.

The two of you are on equal ground here.

Yes, there is the dark. But Simon is just as bare as you, and there is no balaclava.

Leaning forward, Simon kisses the curve of your shoulder once…twice…three times. You curl into his touch and Simon drags you even closer.

You hear it, even though it’s so quiet that you don’t think Simon intended you to hear it.

“Mine.”

Mine.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @spicyspicyliving @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth @lialacleaf @theshrikeandcanary @coffeecaketornado @wren5650 @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @creamwhxre @pearljamislife @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @cinnabeanz @berarenado @rogerrhqpsody @c0pernicus @josephquinnschesthair @corvusmorte @saoirse06 @therealbloom @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @knight4xmas @jupiternighties @darling006 @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @carma-fanficaddict @beebeechaos @enarien @xxkay15xx @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @mudisgranapat @heeheehoohoohahahihi @miss-mistinguett

253 notes · View notes