#something nice and soft for them bc they deserve it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

First off I LOVE your writing, I’m so happy you’re taking requests again so, may I please request something with Ghost? Like the reader is part of the 141 and Ghost has a soft spot for her and is very protective of her and both having feelings for each other but not saying anything bc both think the other one deserves better or just something like that🥹😮‍💨💖🙏🏻 feel free to keep practicing smut for this one!👀✨

You’re awesome 🥰💞

Blood Was Its Avatar

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Getting close to you was never his plan, but when he can't stop his self-protective instincts from pushing you away, will he be able to repair your strange friendship? Or will his body have to speak for him? (18+)

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, wounds, stitches, death, smut, p in v, throat f-ing, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, implied pain kink, hair pulling, hate sex? but not really?, semi-clothed sex, vulgar language, fluff at the end, etc. just pure filth.

A/N: This is sub-par because I was up until 4 in the morning today and didn't have the energy to edit in-depth lmfao, but enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

All of Ghost’s problems started and ended with you. He was impressed with that fact, actually.

They call you ‘Masque’ on account of the mission from years back, ‘07 Ghost recalls easily. When you’d been pinned down and surrounded, the dead bodies of your unit all around your feet. You’d chosen to act while the others had been yelling orders over the radio—rooting around the pooling blood on the ground and slathering your face with it; your body.

You pretended to be dead.

Quick thinking, Ghost had told you with a glint in his eye when you’d gotten back, those whites of your eyes ten times more noticeable. Like the moon hanging around a crimson-drowned sky.

You’d cursed him out and said of course it was, quoting some poem from Edgar Allen Poe as a joke.

“Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood.” The Masque of the Red Death. Your claim to survival apparently, as you had just read it a day before.

Ghost said you were bloody fucking crazy and found his eyes darkly watching the way you smirked at him. How the dried blood on your lips would splinter at your loud chuckle as you both entered the C17.

As he knew—all of his problems started and ended with you. Today was no different.

“Damn! Lookin’ good today Ghost, are those new gloves I spy?” You were always so…bubbly.

“Masque,” the masked-man greats blandly, not even sparing you a look as you enter the meeting room. The screen on the far wall was hooked up to Price’s computer—broadcasting its news out into the dim lighting with images of mayhem and a loop of a video containing the bombing of an embassy building in the Netherlands.

Profile pictures stain the screen of wanted subjects; captured or killed in the crossfire made no difference here, anyone could see it.

You drop down into the seat beside his own with a huff, body shed of your usual black gear, and wearing casual fatigues instead—your tags jump on your chest and Ghost sees them glint in the light.

Your face shifts into a smile, prodding with a bump of your elbow. The Lieutenant turns and glares dryly while you carry on, “I asked if you got new gloves; they’re nice.”

“Needed ‘em.” Ghost drawls, seeing no way out of this as he glances around at the multitude of other free seats. No one else was here yet, and Price had needed to step out for a moment to grab another report from his office one floor up.

A small grunt echoes from his throat before his eyes dart back to yours. Shifting in his seat, his lax posture tenses before loosening.

Raising a brow at Ghost, you stifle a laugh.

“That’s it?” He blinks at you slowly, those bright blues trapping you as they shine out from his skeletal visage; his great body hidden under layers of Kevlar and thick canvas cloth. Like some weird and deadly present. You tease him, “No attempt at a conversation, Ghosty? That hurts.”

You sarcastically put a hand to your chest.

“Then suffer.” Ghost states like he’s reading the newspaper, stretching out one of his wrists by rolling it until it cracks the joints. Where was everyone else? “I’m not fuckin’ talking about bloody gloves, Masque.”

“It’s called a conversation starter!” Under the mask, he raises a dull eyebrow. You glower at him, but the smirk on your lips shows how much you enjoy this.

“For who? Could have jus’ stayed quiet, then.” Scoffing, you roll your eyes and indulge him—pointedly going silent. Almost immediately an awkward nothingness covers the room with its metaphorical blanket and Ghost’s muscles slowly go stiff as he crosses his arms slowly over his chest. You bite your lip and stamp down a snort.

A minute spreads like molasses. Two. Three. Five.

“Alright,” Ghost growls, breaking as you pick at your cuticles, humming horribly off-tune to a point where the Lieutenant’s ears were ringing and annoyance faired. “Fucking hell stop it, just say something already to shut up that noise. Sounds like my damn brakes squealin’.”

You stop and laugh loudly, elbowing him again as he jerks away with a low grunt. Blue flashes, and his heart pounds.

“Jeez, Lieutenant, is my humming that bad for you?” The air rolls with tension.

“More effective than torture.” Ghost utters, his Manchester drawl violent and thick as it coats your ears. You take no offense—you’d been doing it on purpose, anyways; always the one to exploit cracks in the concrete. You'd found out a lot through your studies of the man beside you. Mostly, all of the small tics and unique qualities that made Ghost such a strange character.

On the battlefield, the large man was resilient and patient. He could wait in one spot for days if he had to, sitting for a perfect shot. Nothing could break the line of purpose and authority he had over the units he was placed in or his fighting spirit. Gunbattles, torture, you name it he’d survived it.

But he disliked anything below scalding hot tea, detested his objects and packs being messed with…and clenched his hidden jaw at small, repetitive, noises.

Low, horrible, humming, tapping fingers, tongues clicking over and over. You had no idea why, but the sight of making this experienced and handsome man glare at you with annoyance made your face heat up.

You chuckle in the meeting room, eyes crinkling up at him before you reach for one of the pens and notepads on the table. Clicking the bottom, you shrug and start to scribble nothing into the side margins as blue ink bleeds like foreign blood.

“What’s Price got for us today, then?” Your voice echoes, “We shipping out with the others or going Black again?”

The Captain usually paired the two of you up for Black Ops for a reason—Ghost the strategic mastermind to your reckless bloodlust. Push and pull.

Missions were rarely a failure.

Ghost sighs, finally getting the sensation of control back into him. “Black,” he begins, “least for us. Old Man’s sending Garrick and Johnny out in hopes of drawin’ a few bastards out first. Netherlands. We slip in the back—off the books, ‘course.”

He watches you from the side of his eye, gaze following your pen as you sketch out a small stick figure with a skull for a face. Ghost stifles a huff as he scratches at the side of his face.

“Well, of course,” you slyly tease, glancing at him before looking back to your pad. “Are we getting any soldiers?”

“None. Just us.”

“Ooo,” Ghost watches your lips curl and feels his body slowly still. “Sounds like fun.”

“It sounds like I’m going to have to babysit again,” you laugh again and dark blue seems to spark with some strange emotion. Ghost clears his throat and takes down a breath.

“Oh, please,” you chuckle, “I’ve saved your hide a few times before, Ghosty, be nice to me.”

“Nice isn’t in the job description, Masque.”

“Well, it isn’t for you, grumpy. I think Johnny and Gaz are lovely.” Your nose tilts up teasingly as Ghost grumbles like a cat. “But that’s alright, I like you anyways.” Winking, you go back to your pointless scribbling as footsteps echo from the hallway.

Ghost stares, his hands on the armrests slowly clenching into fists as he studies your expression. His eyes slid over scars and blemishes he’d already looked at a million times over, seeing in his mind’s eye the stains of blood and that every present smile—the burn of your presence beside him like a brand in his stomach. You never seemed to let him get too far away from you on Ops, but it wasn’t some form of obsession. It was worry; he’d seen it.

You didn’t like it when you couldn’t see his back ahead of yours. Ghost guessed it had to do with your lost unit. He never pressed it.

In fact, he’d noticed himself not eager to see you off himself. Had spent many a night in the onsite gym after missions because of it, where he’d given you the cold shoulder after. He didn’t like that feeling. That hesitation.

Ghost knew only to trust people as much as he had to…so why did he like when you said nice things to him? His jaw clenches, shoulders rolling to dispel tension as he rips his eyes away from your body as if you were fire incarnate. Your head perks up at the sound of talking voices getting closer to the meeting room.

Soap and Gaz enter a few moments later and Price shuffles in behind them. You smile warmly and greet them, shifting the notepad closer to yourself nonchalantly.

Ghost grunts and stays stationary, straightening up when he realizes he's slightly leaned toward you during your conversation. His new gloves pull taunt over his knuckles and he suddenly wants to rip them off.

—

You begin to wonder when you’ll be free from blood coating your fingers but know deep down you never will be. At least, not if this was how you’d be getting covered in it.

Sitting inside the hotel bedroom, you slowly extract a blood-coated bullet from Ghost's large thigh, grimacing when he grunts from over you. You’re in between his legs, kneeling, as the metal finally breaks free from the skin barrier—the entry wound is small but nonetheless dangerous. His pants were cut from thigh to knee, a long spit that showed pale, scarred skin.

Keeping a tight grip on the forceps, you hum under your breath in satisfaction.

“No bullet fragments—lucky you.”

Ghost forces out, “Yeah, feelin’ proper lucky.” You chuckle, moving back and dropping the bullet to a food plate you’d put on the floor. Shuffling, you take up the rag placed over your upper arm and bring it back up. Patting the gushing wound, you frown and think back on the events that got you here as the Lieutenant shifts and bites his tongue.

The intensity in his blue eyes burns into you, lungs deeply inhaling with a silent breath. Your fingers tingle, but you diligently press the fabric to the wound and try to ignore the heat from Ghost’s flesh or how his legs flinch with every trail of your nails. His muscles are pure iron around you, and you’re suddenly very aware of the position you’re in.

Swallowing stiffly, you sigh and notice him slightly shiver when your breath caresses his upper leg. You stop immediately, lips going tight.

It had been fifteen minutes earlier when Soap and Gaz had set up in a far more open and less secluded hotel three blocks away—directly across from the base location for your gaggle of targets. As planned, you and Ghost would be off the books and go in when they were too distracted by the Sergeants’ in plain sight.

Fire was supposed to be the cover story. Go in, take care of business, and set the place alight after the area was clear of civilians. But no one was counting on the targets being surrounded by three more friends.

Of course, guns lead to bullets and bullets to flesh. You can still hear the ringing in your head when Ghost had jerked you to the slide and shoved you behind the far wall—skull snapping back to look in horror as his leg exploded with gore.

Fucking bastard had been distracted by you and hadn’t had time to dodge. That wasn’t Ghost, but then again, Ghosty wasn’t quite the same, was he? Least, not to you.

“You’re a fool, you know that?” You huff, something swirling in your chest as your gloves peel the layer of cut pants farther down to see better. “You should have looked after yourself.”

“And what?” Ghost grumbles, letting you do what you wanted to him. “Let you get fuckin’ shot, Masque—you have a bloody death wish?” His last word comes off with a growl as you press tighter into his thigh.

His hand instantaneously snaps out to grasp the back of your hair tightly with an instinctual low groan. Naturally, a small whine exits your lips in retaliation.

You both freeze and the room jumps up to a hundred degrees; your lower body flips as your skin burns a million degrees. Fingers still, you feel your breath hitch when his calloused fingers scrape your scalp, your hair in his expansive palm. It was a pure reaction you knew, and when you’d asked him to let you help out with this problem you had thought this might happen—he’s a soldier after all, just like you.

But he hadn’t denied you. If anything, since six missions back, you were the only person who he wanted to work on him. He’d never said why.

You look up at him from the side, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment. Ghost’s heart skips beats before he clears his throat, snapping his hand back immediately and slamming it to the mattress. A second of strained silence settles where you both try to forget what the fuck just happened.

“Keep bloody going then,” He says, deep and grating to a point where you shove down a shiver. Your head feels light off of his scent, and you have to ask yourself why you’re feeling so feverish all of a sudden.

You bite your lip and nod, hand moving away to grab at the sanitized needle and thread with your forceps—dropping the rag back onto your forearm to let it hang. For once in your life you’re left mute by his actions.

Mute to the fact that you’d liked them.

Your face burns like a hidden fire; epidermis alight with the strength to rival the flames the two of you had started fifteen minutes ago. Lungs stutter and hands inside the gloves go clammy. It’s only after you were halfway done with the stitches that you mutter words.

“Shouldn’t have taken that bullet, Ghost.” He had been stone still the entire time, hands clenched beside him and his thighs like rocks. Feet firmly planted. It was like he was barely breathing, too.

Ghost blankly stares, staying quiet as you continue.

“You were distracted. That never happens.” His form was almost entirely shadowing you; great spanning shoulders from above tight like a looming statue. You dig the needle deeper with a push of the forceps, threading through yielding skin with quick punctures. He doesn’t even flinch.

Ever since ‘07, there was an obvious aversion to partners stemming from you. You distanced yourself from forming close bonds with those who you hadn’t already known. In many ways, Ghost and the others of One-Four-One were the closest you could get to people now.

Ghost, you admit, was far closer than all the others combined.

But this sentiment was known—both the aversion and the care you held. The Lieutenant wasn’t good with words, but he knew how to read you better than anyone; the way you carried yourself. He knew you didn’t like it when he got hurt in front of you.

Ghost had to ask why he even bothered to shove you out of the way, regardless. You would have been fine. So why had his eyes gone wide and his iris flared with a dead glow when he’d seen the gun swivel in your direction? The man grunts at a deep dig from your sutures but you continue to mutter to yourself as he glares at the far wall, venom-like.

His sin was that he had grown to care about you. His burden and his curse.

This couldn’t continue.

Ghost looks down at you with a sheen of distanced nonchalant-ness and when you lent back with a sigh of your lips, his body moved. You blink in surprise as you feel his muscles bunch and before you know it you’re being grabbed harshly by the arms and lightly shoved to the side.

“Ghost!” You snap, eyes narrowing dangerously as he stands to his feet—blood training down his thigh and kneecap before disappearing back under the stained cargos. “What the fuck?! I’m not done with it.”

Attempting to stomp closer, he swivels his head to you as his spine goes formal. Your feet stall from under you and your veins pump faster, forceps and slick gloves freezing mid-air.

You blink. He’d only ever looked at you like that when you’d first met.

Blue is a silent sheen of ice and cold death; black sockets behind his mask are more like voids holding chilled sapphires.

Why was he looking at you like he didn’t know you? Once more you say, confused and suddenly small, “Ghost?”

“Enough.” His voice was monotone and barky, the tone final. Your fingers tense at the sound. What…what was this? “You need to get your head back on, Masque. I can’t watch over you like a bloody Private every time you get stiff-legged, copy?”

Your jaw slackens. Inside, your heart smashes itself into your ribs in a violent pang. There’s a moment of complete and utter silence in which Ghost remains standing with concrete tied to his feet. He sees the flash of confused hurt in your eyes, the way your muscles jump for a moment.

A suffocating wave of regret strikes him, but he felt like he had to do this—keep up boundaries. Even if his throat was closing in an attempt to make him shut up.

Ghost’s accent makes him sound harsh and unforgiving. “Price’ll need us back in fifteen. Get your shit together.”

He bends down and snatches bandages with a quick hand, beelining to the bathroom and closing the door with a firm hand. Blankly, you stare at the barrier as the wall rattles; face burning—unable to speak beyond a small sound in the back of your mouth.

The two of you stay separated for the remainder of the time, not speaking, and not moving from your respective areas.

When Ghost finally leaves ten minutes after he’d pushed back the self-loathing and guilt, freshly bandaged, he finds your stuff already gone. He glances around the area slowly, taking in the wails of the fire trucks from blocks away and the neighboring rooms of the hotel as residents speak in mutters from behind walls. The air is cold and lifeless.

He grabs his things in total silence, swallowing down saliva paired with long breaths. Ghost’s eyes remain tight. Body wound and coated in rigidity that could rival a rhino’s armored plates.

Mind whirling, but still ever mute, he leaves the hotel and heads to the coordinates Price had given the two of you alone. The absence of your warm body beside his was more jarring than anything he’d expected to experience.

Ghost didn’t want to admit how many times his eyes trailed to the empty concrete at his left.

—

When you lose something in someone, you tend to lose it hard. Thus still, that was the case here. Ghost and you always jabbed at each other—it was in your nature to do so—but this was different. The Lieutenant could be cold, but…never to the extent to shove you away from helping him with his wounds.

Both of you always did that with the other, if that be physically or just being in the same room, while getting fixed up.

If Ghost didn’t want you around for whatever rage-inducing reason, you weren't going to grovel or beg. The sudden switch-up still stabbed you in the heart though.

On the second week, it got easier.

You passed by Ghost without a single comment, shifting into the meeting room once more. He grunts as you shimmy through the door right before him, his feet halting before he runs into you.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Masque, you lost your bloody eyes or something?” You don’t answer, blankly walking to the end of the table and taking the single chair with steady steps; sitting down and dragging a notepad to your general area.

Blinking, you look up at the projection and skim the small details they give over.

Ghost stares from the doorway, clenching his jaw. After a moment, he slips inside and slowly strides to the table.

The days had been difficult for him, struggling to re-situate himself to his isolation after you’d been with him for years. Sure he had Johnny, Gaz, and Price, but you were…

Ghost places a veiny hand on the back of a chair about four down from yours, knuckles white as he’d shed his gloves not five minutes ago. His eyes stay stuck to the tabletop, hips shifting. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to push you out. Not only physically but mentally.

He found himself thinking of your face at night. Like a phantom, it would snap into his consciousness when the lights went out and the shadows got long. Your smile and your skin. How your fingers would gently press into his flesh when you were threading a needle through him—shivers of pleasure and pain intertwined by the scrape of your nails.

Ghost’s hand tightens on the chair, and you spare him a tense glance as he seemingly fights within his mind.

The Lieutenant wonders at your willpower and your drive. He spent the weeks hating that he had gotten what he wanted, and then he hated himself more because of that fact. It was good to keep you away from him. Not only for himself but for you.

You both were becoming too….attached. Ghost would have none of it. It had bled over into him using his own body to protect yours that was just…was just…

“...Those new tags, then?” You look away from the screen and shift your gaze to him as his voice bounces.

Around your neck, the new reflective metal of your new dog tags glint. Your heart skips when he speaks to you, but he still doesn’t look your way.

“That an apology?” Deadpanning, your unimpressed gaze glares into his face as his hand strangles the chair.

The room returns to strained silence. You huff.

“Pretty shitty one there, asshat.” Ghost’s shoulders roll under his gear, a great sigh quickly exiting him. Everyone had noticed the tension over time—it was becoming a detriment to the team.

The Lieutenant’s blue eyes darken, and in his body, a great heat was beginning to burn. Just looking at you provoked lucid and vulgar thoughts, and as the dim light from the projector makes shadows on your face, Ghost traces them with a chained desire. Being away from you was a physical pain to him, but he also knew that being around you was worse.

All of Ghost’s problems may have started and ended with you, but they also grew in his own head. They’d been there in the back corners ever since he’d given you your nickname; found out he liked the way your face was wet with spilled blood and sweat. Your body. Your hands on the hard flesh of his upper thigh…trailing up...

Ghost’s pants get tight as he stares without saying anything. Watching you scribble on your notepad. Glaring.

“Why can’t I get you out of my fucking head?” Your ears twitch at the low growl as if coming from a beast; seconds later, your brain catches up to process the words. Your pen stops its pointless scrawling just as your breath does. Ghost spits out, seeing your form straighten in the chair, “Every bloody thought, you’re right there!”

His boots stomp to the floor, and before you know it a hand is trapping the back of your head, fingers carding through hair to angle your chin up. Your breath gasps out as your wide eyes lock on Ghost’s, his hold tight but not uncomfortable; as if he knows the perfect amount of pressure to make your blood surge and your pupils expand.

You stare into volatile blue with silver flecks, a skeletal mask stained from dirt and blood. Ghost’s thumb digs into your scalp.

“Answer me, Masque,” he grunts, accent so thick you momentarily struggle to string the words together in your stupor.

Ghost’s nose is close to yours; breathing in each other’s air as the temperature rises. Your throat bobs with a swallow. Below you, you feel your legs clench together as the Lieutenant's fingers lightly pull on your roots when you don’t respond—small sparks of electricity run down your spine that make it straighten instinctually. A soft purr flies from your lips; face on fire as your lashes flutter. Your hands clench at the dull pulse in your lower body.

The Brit’s dead eyes stare down at you, glinting; studying you deeply with growing satisfaction in his heart and tension in his boxers.

You both glare half-lidded, panting, and flesh heated.

“Is this your apology?” He tightens his hand and you bite your lip, small whine meeting his ears as he represses a groan at the sound. Your voice was breathy but smug.

“You fucking wanted this, you naughty little beast,” Ghost growls, moving even closer to tower over you. “You’re playin’ me.” You mold into him as you still sit in your chair, your chin set onto his upper abdomen as the midsection of your breasts presses into his crotch; brushing against his hardened bulge firmly.

You shiver at the feeling, your core leaking out slippery fluids to stain through your pants one second at a time. Every twitch of his fingers leaves you wanting to arch into him. Feel him.

Ghost feels your hands go to wrap his open thighs, nails digging into the back of his pants as his mouth opens under the mask to force out air.

“You liked me in between your legs, didn’t you?” Your tiny, teasing, voice serenades him as he quickly begins to lose control of his composure.

“Shut it,” Ghost grunts, mind yelling at him to move away, “Shut your damn mouth.”

Those pupils were so wide his eyes were almost entirely black, feral chest moving quickly.

“I already know why you snapped at me…” One of your hands travels back to the Lieutenant’s front, skin tingling at the scratch of a belt and the rough fabric of his cargos. You leave it over his crotch and add a tight amount of pressure; mouth lightly opening at the weight and size of him as Ghost grunts deeply, thighs jerking forward.

Blinking at his glassy eyes you breathe out into thick air and the veiled threat of something more. His hand in your hair is so tight that you feel your pulse under the tendrils—you enjoy every second of this cat-and-mouse game.

After all, no one knew who the mouse was yet.

You rub your hand up and down and watch Ghost’s clothed dick, feeling his muscles straining to keep himself in control. He lets you continue as he watches with a clenched jaw, his pants getting gradually wet with precum; hips twitching.

“...You can’t get enough of me touching you, can you?” Your statement ignites something immediately, and you’re being grabbed by your shoulders and forced to your feet.

Staring wildly, you cringe at the soaking patch under your clothes but let Ghost place your backside on the table. He presses into your hips to keep you there—legs opened and feet planted to the floor below on their tip-toes.

The man breathes like a lion, nose in front of yours. You slightly smirk at the far-off haze in his eyes, lust and pleasure blending and bleeding into the almost bruising hold he uses to press you down.

He watches you for a minute or two—taking in your scent and the rabid instinct that infects the both of you now that everything was on the table.

You knew you were right; he knew you were right. Licking your lips you look down and stare at his blatant hard-on hungrily. Your brow raises slowly.

“You going to let me take care of that, Ghosty?” He’s up and locking the door after he slims it shut.

“This is it,” Ghost grunts, “one time, Masque. That’s fucking it, you hear?”

“Awe,” You cue, swishing your legs as he stomps back over, hand grasping his belt and whipping it off with a flex of his forearm. Your core tightens, hips trying to press back into the table. “That's so cute. You think once is enough.”

A hand captures your jaw, “I said,” he breathes, the other hand going to shift up the bottom of his mask up to his nose. You gasp at the sight of blond stubble and milky scars. A strong jaw wound like a spring. Ghost’s musk invades your nose and you feel your palms so clammy. “...Shut it.”

Hard lips slam into yours.

Like some game between the two of you, your mouths fight one another with aggressive grunts stuck in your throats, sharp inhales of air between partings. Ghost’s lips mold and conform to yours, clinging around the supple flesh—there’s a deep-rooted intensity, a hunger, and a desire mixed with sweet stubbornness. The tang of metal and old canvas opens to you just as your mouth does when his teeth bite down at your skin.

Quickly sucking down breaths, you feel his tongue push past layers and slip into your awaiting clutch; Ghost groans lowly and explores as his hands bare down into your hips, one making its way to grip at your hair again. Your own dig into his waist as he leans over you.

He latches onto your hair and peels you back from him, tongue sliding out of your mouth as he moves to nip at your chin—angling your head whichever way he wants to. Your skin burns as the man bites down at your neck, hot saliva stuck to your lips as your chest pants fast with a low whine at the mixture of pain and bliss.

Below you, your legs are wide to allow Ghost to stand between you, his firmness leaving your hips canting at every hickey he leaves behind and how he shivers into you as you move against him. It was addicting to him—your taste and how your flesh yields to him as he clamps down on it ruthlessly and rapidly. In no time he’d traveled the length of the area behind your ear and down the swell of your shoulder; shirt pushed back by his nose.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, eyes glassy as you blankly stare into the far wall over the Lieutenant’s shoulder; your panties are soaked through and the evidence can be felt. A long whine exits your chest when Ghost licks at the deep marks he left behind, blown eyes coming back to stare at you head-on as if in a trance.

His lips are red and swollen, mouth open with silent, fast, breaths. His large chest moves quickly over yours. He orders you in a hoarse voice; strained, “Get on your knees.”

Licking your lips your widened gaze stays locked on his, the hand in your hair tight and keeping you away from slamming your mouth back to his. The air is electric, both of your bodies yielding to one another's even if you don’t realize it.

As much as you wanted to scoff and roll your eyes at the comment, to make him apologize to you for what he’s done, you realize that your body has already complied with the request. Slipping off the table, Ghost watches like a hawk and backs up two steps—feet splayed as you move for him. Your knees slowly lower you down to the floor, connecting with the carpet as you sag, fists clenched and shaking.

There’s a small, heart-pounding, pause. “...Good girl.”

Your jaw drops at the smirk on Ghost’s face and those flashing dead eyes of his, blood thumping with a newly ingrained need. You swallow and feel your throat bob; legs shifting to push back the inner-body itch that grows by the second.

“Now you can listen to me, yeah? Such a slut for it.” Ghost’s hands slowly trail to his pant’s zipper, sliding the piece down the teeth with barely audible metal on metal. Your fingers twitch at every small pop; how the zipper itself had to move forward with the strain of his sizable erection. You can’t even look away from it—how his pants are stiff against tense thighs and the sleeves of his shirt are rucked up to show the black ink of tattoos.

Ghost had tattoos.

When the teeth had run out and the man’s hands grappled for the waistband of both his cargo and his boxers, you’d found out you’d been staring the entire time, pupils so wide they matched Ghost’s and the black stain of his face-paint.

“Fuckin’ hell, Masque,” he grunts, knuckles white and going still, “bet your pretty little cunt is soaked and I ‘aven’t even shown you my bloody dick yet, eh? Well, the thing’ll ‘ave to wait, I’m puttin’ that mouth to good use first. Teaching it who to listen to.”

You startle back, blinking away the burning heat on your cheeks that leaves you uncharacteristically stuttering at the vulgar degradation. But Ghost doesn’t notice, doing what he can to move the various straps along his thighs and his upper hips to be able to free himself quickly—eager and dripping to be down your throat.

The throat and mouth he’d fantasized about for ages.

Stiffing down a whiny moan, you finally see the veiny girth of Ghost’s cock as it comes free over the top of the tight white cotton of his boxers; a happy trail extending up his visible abdomen when his wrist snatches it out.

“Put to good use?” You breathe out, “Christ, you’re going to make me fucking mute, Ghosty.”

“Well, Sweetheart,” he breathes a sigh of relief as he plays with the leaking tip with his thumb. Your hands itch to brush against your achy clit, the pressure in your chest almost enough to make you sob at the sheer nothingness. Sweat glistens over your forehead. Eyes glare at you as you watch thighs tense and loosen. “That’ll be fine by me. Don’t need you speaking when I’m paintin’ your damn cunt with my cum, do I?”

Jesus, you both were in the fucking meeting room. Going to fuck in the meeting room.

You lick your lips and stare as Ghost stalks close again, gripping your chin and opening your jaw with his thumb and first finger. His dick was right in front of you, and you can smell sex and sweat like an animalistic aphrodisiac as it coats your brain with lust as you moan out.

Your arms tense with a want to reach and touch it, watch as Ghost falls apart below the twist of your wrist. It was so addictive you feel yourself clench at the visual, your body shivering violently.

“Oi, fucking focus.” Your tongue sneaks out and licks Ghost’s finger and he feels his grip tighten on you with a puff of hot air. “Little brat.”

He stares into your mouth and breathes deeply as a smirk peels the edges of your lip. Blue swirls with anticipation.

“Keep it open, then.” Ghost’s hand drops from you and you easily keep your mouth open as his hand goes back to his cock, grasping it firmly as the other finds the top of your head. You shiver and shift your thighs under you, your body striking like a drum to oxycontin and adrenaline. “That’s a girl…” The Lieutenant growls, and the tip of his dick slips into your saliva-dripping mouth with hidden fever. “Fuck.”

Your eyes flutter at the taste, letting him maneuver your face closer to the base as your hands snap to his thighs—nails digging in and eliciting a sharp inhale as you press into the two-week-old wound under his pants. Ghost curses under his breath but watches in flooding pleasure at the image of his cock disappearing farther and farther into you. Inch by inch you tell yourself to breathe through your nose; feeling the make of his veins and the mushroomed tip traveling farther and farther back.

Moaning in the base of your neck, Ghost instinctually jerks his hips at the sound, feral grunts trapped in his chest. Your eyes go wide with the prickle of tears, not from pain but from the surprise as you gag. His hold on your hair tightens and you mewl as he continues to lose himself to the feeling of your wet heat.

He was so big it was like your throat was ripping new sinews just for him, and you reveled in every moment of the feeling of his predatory gaze.

“So bloody tight for me—can’t wait to be in that cunt of yours…can’t be better than this. Have to test it.” He talks more when he’s horney.

Slightly gagging again at the sheer size, his palming hand presses you deeper and you take him as well as you’re able, still space between your nose and his pelvis as your knees dig harder into the ground. Ghost groans gutturally, head slightly lulling back and panting like a dog, looking down at your red eyes and far-off gaze. Your hands kneed his upper thighs and he smirks slowly.

Without another word and with sweat staining him under his uniform, bits and bobs from his gear start to clink together and dance as his hips set a rough pace; you find your head being puppeteered back and forth with his thrusts as your scalp flames from his hold. Tears burn immediately.

“Yeah, that’s it—such a good little slut for me, Masque. Gettin’ it down, fuck,” Ghost pants, as you hollow your cheeks, back arching into you and leaving your nostrils flaring to take down air for your spasming lungs. The sight above you was sinful.

Your Lieutenant in full gear, pants and skin-tight boxers stretching and shoved down just under the clutch of his crotch. With every back-and-forth motion, the zipper grazes the underside of your engorged throat as every vein can be undoubtedly seared into your esophagus like a brand.

Ghost’s eyes flutter and flinch, but never once does his hazy gaze leave your mouth as he continues to jerk your head back and forth. Saliva drips drown your chin and the nearly painful burn in your navel lets you know how true this was a relief not only for Ghost but for you as well. You wanted to touch yourself, but you can’t stop touching the Brit—not for a second. Shit, you think you could fall apart just by looking at this; you were sure Ghost was thinking the same thing.

“Look at that, makin’ such a fucking mess of you.” His abdomen tightens and rolls with every jerk and rut, and your eyes roll back with a deep whine in the back of your throat when he hits the back of your throat. Sweat splatters down your temple as the air is steeped with animalistic desperation. Ghost whines thickly in answer and seems to speed up as your hands claw at his thighs. “You like that, pet? Huh? Being my little cock-sleeve.”

Your nails dig deeper into his flesh and he shivers wildly; eyes flash at the sight of himself disappearing into you and exiting just after as the slap of wet skin reverberates. The tension in his chest increases and he starts to desperately kneed at your hair.

“If I’d known you’d take it down like this, I’d-I’d have made you hate me sooner, yeah?” Tension fizzles up his jaw and you know he’s close by how he bites down into his lip and tilts his head back.

Instinctual tears travel down your sweat-slick face, the thought of being used like this vulgar and as dirty as the sounds that echo in your throat and strike down your spine.

“Fucking hell,” Ghost gasps, and his pace stutters as he twists your locks. Your teeth graze along his flesh as you dig your thumb into his wound to steady yourself. Whining loudly, the action seems to get to the man using your mouth for his pleasure, as not three rough thrusts later the warm feeling of his cum splatters the back of your throat in thick, hot, spurts.

Choking for a moment, the widening of your eyes meets Ghost’s fluttering lashes from above. His free hand goes behind you to slam onto the tabletop; back curved over you as he shakes and sputters as he rides out his high.

Cum drips out of the seams of your stretched lips, and with a deep breath through your nose, your hand lowers from Ghost’s thighs as you carefully pull your face back from his pelvis. The sensation of his cock leaving your mouth and bringing saliva and his fluids with it was animalistic at best, they spill to the floor and off of your chin like a small river.

Licking your lips, you swallow what you can and try to catch your breath as your chest rages. Blinking rapidly, your eye twitches as you bring a hand up to your sore and ragged throat, Ghost’s heaving body stiff and hunched as he stares at the table blankly. Sweat dribbles down the side of his nose, sneaking out from under the top side of his mask.

There’s a long minute of nothingness as you both try to breathe and understand the gravity of what you’ve both done. And then you both lock eyes and stare.

The air stills over as Ghost’s large pupils stare at the mess on your face—seeing it drip down your throat as you tilt your chin up to him. His chest purrs like a cat and you don’t even think he realizes that he does it.

Two seconds later you’re being manhandled up to the top of the table, backside hitting it as a hand goes to your belt. Lips connect with yours and groan at the taste, the clinking of metal hitting your ears as you submit to his prodding tongue as it licks along your inner flesh.

Your fingers snap to trail around Ghost’s neck, moaning into him as he slips his hands into your pants, pulling back and ordering, “Up.” Eager and filled with lust, you raise your legs and he rips them down to your knees, dragging you closer to the edge.

“Good girl.” He smirks, black-smeared eyes creased. If you could speak you’d tell him to shut up and fuck you already.

Your slick skin meets the air and you gasp, Ghost’s hands waste no time trailing up the flesh of your hips, pitching to make you jump. Glaring, you try to drag him back into you but he’s built like stone, clicking his tongue. When his fingers collect the fluids that drip out of you, you whimper at the stimulation—two calloused fingers getting entranced by that as they stop at your clit. You stare desperately into amused blue eyes as he pressed deep, your thighs tensing as they jerk.

“Any more of this and you’ll stain the table, won’t you, Sweetheart? I get you this worked up, yeah? Bloody hell.” You pant, and lines form on your forehead at the indecent circling of his fingers; not being gentle as he sees your mouth open and your lungs gasp. Sharp spikes form in your thighs, and they move in tandem with Ghost. “Look at that…”

Deep chuckles mock you, but you both know this has to be fast—and with how worked up you were, it would be.

“Alright, then, brat,” Ghost takes his hand away and you whimper before he grunts and grips you by the shoulders. Your lust turns to confusion. “Suppose you did well. Let’s make this quick, eh? Got work to do.”

Flipped around, you squeak as your clothed chest meets the table, ass presented as your feet scramble to connect with the floor. Surprised, you whip your head to the side to stare back at a highly smug Ghost as one of his hands goes to grab onto your supple flesh, massaging it before it sneaks to your hip.

“Easy with it, I’ll take care of you, Masque.” In little to no time he’s lining himself up with your dripping pussy, so wet it’s easy except for the fact that he’s huge enough to make you mute by a blowjob. Your back arches into the table with a long moan as the length slowly spears you open, instinctually widening your legs as best as you’re able.

Closing your eyes, you press one of your hands to your mouth to stifle your noises, thighs spasming as Ghost curses under his breath; gear clinking into each other.

“So bloody tight.” With a swift thrust and a knock of your pelvis to the edge of the table, your eyes burn with the feeling of holding Ghost in your most intimate area and the knowledge that he would completely wreck it for anyone else. Your lungs fight for air, but a long mewl exits your fingers as the man shakes over you with restraint. “Christ.”

Tight wasn’t the way to describe it—you were like a fucking noose. Your sensitive walls know every vein and bulge, the scrape and dig, far more intimately than your throat ever could. Like a carved stamp, they’re reforming to Ghost’s dick every second.

Tapping the side of your forehead to the table, the man can’t help himself anymore and starts to thrust into you; feral squelching and fluids staining the top of his pants. Your face burns, the rocking of the table hypnotic as your toes fight to stay on the ground. The sensation of being so full truthfully made your mind go blank, fingers twitching as Ghost continued to palm at your hip—his other hand going to press into your spine, keeping you stapled to the table.

His gear slammed and rubbed into your ass, bruising it no doubt, but you found you didn’t care at all. Pleasure rocked down with every ruthless intrusion.

“Can feel ya ‘round my cock,” you keen at the words, tears dribbling down the side of your face as you try to hold back sobs of pleasure. Ghost increases his pace, rabid slapping echoing off the walls as he feels his sole focus on your mind-shattering bliss. “Can’t have ‘em hear how loud you are, now, can we? Can’t let ‘em know I’m shagging you in their meeting room like a little fucktoy, eh?”

He angles his hips higher, pushing your farther up the table as his hands only drag you back. Every moment leaves your core tightening even more; molten heat pooling as the edge gets closer.

Footsteps echo down the hall outside, but both of you are too focused on the other and the ache that only increases like a pair of cuffs. Your mouth lets loose insistent gasps and moans while Ghost breathily groans at every other interval of his ravaging cock as it brushes your cervix.

You whine loudly, spine arching and legs desperately trying to close. Ghost chuckles and your reaction spurs him on—hitting that same spot over and over again as you sob.

“Right there, yeah? That it, Masque?” You nod rapidly, and the Lieutenant's grip tightens with a loud grunt, “Fuck, that’s it, bloody slut.”

The coil in your gut gets tighter, shining with desperate shakes of your body and the numb way you try to meet Ghost’s thrusts before you entirely lose the plot of reality.

“You’re close,” he breathes, feeling your pussy trying to keep him in, slick trailing down the insides of your thighs and transferring to the Brit’s clothes. His boxers were soaked. “C’mon, then. Don’t disappoint me, Masque. Lemme see you cum on my cock before I fill you up like the good girl you are, yeah?”

Your body spasms, thighs tensing and toes curling at the floor; fingers scratching down the table as you press over your mouth harder in a last-ditch effort to remain in control of yourself. The coil snaps and suddenly you’re digging your forehead into the wood below you, orgasm ripping through you like a knife as cum paints Ghost’s dick as he continues his relentless chase of his second release.

“There it is, fuck, look at all that, Love. Paintin’ me like a naughty fuckin’ portrait.” Ghost gasps, a hand coming up to connect to the table by your head, feeling you completely flood his pelvis—he doesn’t stop even when you whine in overstimulation, fucked-out eyes wide and mouth dripping drool into a small pool. The milky ring at his root grows and grows. With a loud moan, he looks down and watches the vulgar sight rabidly, pounding into your heat as his own end gets closer and closer.

“Shite,” His forehead hits your spine, taking the skin into his teeth and biting hickeys as his open mouth leaves trails of saliva. “Took me so bloody well, cunt was made just for me.”

His body shakes and with one last shove from his hips, he spills into you with a loud whimper muffled into your flesh. Teeth biting down so hard that you moan in turn, the spent releases dribble out of you like a stuffed bird. You feel his chest atop you as he places his weight slowly down; the fast-panting mirroring your own.

Sweat connects the two of you as it bleeds through your clothes, the smell in the air and the scent of delirious sex staining your bodies.

Your mouth remains open and hoarse, scraped dry. Ghost above you moves delicately as he pulls back up, moving back to peel your messy hair away from your blown eyes. After a moment his small voice hits you—the accent deep.

“All good?” Your eyes slowly rove to him as he kisses your forehead, shivering violently as he slips out of you; the wet drip of cum hits the carpet in the still silence as you whimper at the feeling. “...Masque?”

Dull concern emanates from his tone and you blink back. You clear your throat and utter in a torn voice, “...P-pretty good apology, Ghosty…S…shit.”

Smugness burns in his orbs, but the roll of his eyes hides it quickly. The puff of his chest couldn’t be hidden from you, though.

His hands reach down and hike up your panties and cargos—both items completely wrecked. The large splotch on Ghost’s own clothes showed you that you weren't alone in that aspect.

As he carefully flips your limp form back over and pulls you up by your arms, you groan in annoyance but shut up when his hands go to zip your zipper and clip back your belt.

“Couldn’t have had a revelation in your barracks room?” You huff, itching at your throat. “You’re buying me cough drops, you ass.” The state of your voice was laughable. Anyone would know what happened if they spoke to you.

Ghost sighs and begins with his own clothes, stuffing himself back into his boxers and growling at the chilled fluids on his pants as he pulls them back up. He goes and retrieves his belt before walking back.

“Acting like you weren’t beggin’ for it.” He slides you a smirk before he grabs onto his mask and begins to cover his jaw.

Your hand snaps out and stops him. Ghost startles, eyes flashing before his muscles stiffen. You raise a brow and he slightly calms.

Scoffing, you lean in and place a final kiss on his lips—a tinier and tender kiss. Gaze wide, the man stares off as his heart starts to beat fast again at the firm press. After you’re done your hand goes up and grasps the fabric yourself, carefully re-shrouding the mystery of a man with a smile.

He watches blankly.

“We okay?” You ask, tilting your head as your lower body aches when you shift on the table. “I miss my annoyingly gruff Ghost. This new one’s a jerk.” A small laugh graces your ears, and it makes you beam. “I know why you did it,” you admit, and hold out a hand between your bodies. “But pushing me away will only hurt the both of us. Let's try this, Ghost. Please.”

“...You’re makin’ it seem like a good deal, Love…is it?” He holds out a hand of his own, large and scarred hands that had gripped you so tight before utterly loose and awaiting.

“No clue,” you admit with a smirk, “Wanna figure it out?” Ghost watches as he always does and always will, searching into your eyes for any hint of hesitance or denial.

“Always liked a challenge.” He grunts and encompasses his hand with yours. You squeeze it and nod, chest light as your normal breath comes back.

“You know what a real challenge is? Trying to take down your fucking dic—” The meeting room handle jiggles and you both snap into action.

Ghost tosses you your notepad and you slide a shoved-away chair his way on shaky legs, slipping into a free seat with failing knees. You both sit side by side on the opposite side of the table, shoulders bumping and faces hot not three seconds later. Ears twitch at the sound of a key entering the slot.

You try to act normal and begin messing around with your notepad, stealing a pen from Ghost’s gear as Price opens the door. At the sight of the two of you, he pauses and stands in the doorway.

“Ghost…Masque.” With a squint, Price looks around the room slowly, confused at the rod-straight spine from his Lieutenant and the way you awkwardly scribble nothing onto your pad.

“Price,” Ghost utters as you look up and fake smile, waving as you tighten your hips under the table in an attempt to hide the evidence spilling out of you.

The Captain continues to stare, scrutiny in his eyes, for at least a full minute.

“Problem, then?” The Lieutenant asks. Price’s lips thin and he gains a sheen of deep annoyance. You groan under your breath and knock your head to the table at the next comment.

“In the fucking meeting room?!”

TAGS:

@emerald-valkyrie , @anna-banana27 , @blueoorchid , @cryingnotcrying , @writeforfandoms , @homicidal-slvt , @jade-jax , @frazie99 , @elmoees , @littlemisstrouble , @alpineswinter , @phoenixhalliwell , @idocarealot , @lavalleon , @facelessmemories , @h-leigh, @20forty9 , @glitter-anon-asks , @emily-who-killed-a-man , @neelehksttr, @aeneanc , @escapefromrealitysm , @i-d-1-0-t , @pparcxysm , @hawkscanendme , @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney , @sanfransolomitatm , @maelstrom007 , @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet , @pheobees , @glitterypirateduck , @uselsshuman , @fan-of-encouragement , @halfmoth-halfman , @ghostlythunderbird , @I-inkage, @pukbadger , @kopatych11 , @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop , @knightofsexyness , @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons , @330bpm-whiplash , @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu , @tiredmetalenthusiast

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takes1 · 4 months

Text

final part asahi x feral reader w/ a size k!nk

skip the intro if you want again, (i marked the beginning of actual smut for ease of navigating) couldn't resist adding some kuroo stuff bc i love writing him even if its not sexual/thirst. this has turned a bit more into porn with plot forgive me i'm simple

warnings. heavy nsfw. minors DNI

info. nsfw / soft+rough kissy missionary sex / mentions of personal restraint / multiple orgasms / mentions of masturbation / gentle giant!asahi / asahi keeping your mouth shut / mutual size kink / sweet asahi / dacryphilia if you squint / sex toys (vibrator) / kuroo's sister!reader / kuroo cockblocking / kuroo being protective / 3.6k words / thanks for reading this asahi series!! it's been a delight!

haikyuu collection. more hq here! part one here. part two here. part three here.

more links. my ao3. masterlist. requests open!

You chose some giant clothes to cover the fact that you weren't wearing anything underneath.

Then, with your security chair out of the way, you quietly slipped into the hall.

The familiar sound of Helldivers 2 on the entertainment speakers assaulted your ears. Of course, he got to invite friends over for the weekend.

You padded downstairs, the ache between your legs nearly unmanageable. You clenched your fists at the sight of his lazy ass as you walked behind the couch to get to the front door.

It was funny how quickly he zapped all desire from your body. You did not enjoy sobering up so quickly.

"I thought you said you were staying home!" Tetsurou called as soon as you grabbed the leash off of the rack.

You nearly pulled a muscle rolling your eyes so far back. You shook the thing violently from the doorway so he'd get it through his thick skull that you were literally doing what he texted you to do.

A couple voices muttered something, but your brother spoke volumes above it--

"Wait two seconds, shit-head!"

You clipped the hook into your dog's collar. To Hell with whatever he wanted. You unlocked the door and slipped on a pair of giant, black crocs.

That garbage pile gave you enough grief about your no-plans-plan in the past 12 hours to deserve being stranded on a barrel in the middle of the ocean. He could handle playing games with his friends while you went to walk the dog.

"C'mon, baby," You cooed and closed the door behind you.

It was, thankfully, nice and cold outside. You were glad you opted for some warm clothes.

"Where are my shoes?!" He yelled through the crack in the door. Almost to the end of the driveway, you didn't figure he had the gumption to follow you without them.

You pushed your hood up and pulled the strings.

A stop at the other side of the gate, and you waited for Maru to finish pissing in order to continue the walk. The big, empty street looked a little creepy in the dark.

flip!-flip!-flip!-flip!-flip!

You were glad to not be alone, but still threw your head back when he rounded the corner. His hands were shoved into his basketball shorts and he was shivering.

You both looked down to each other's feet at the same time. He had to put on your flip-flops, so his heels were hanging out the back and his grippers were on the pavement.

A silent exchange went down, one shoe at a time.

Now walking again, you returned to your baseline agitation.

"I don't need a bodyguard to walk the dog."

"Try being a little less stupid, and I'll trust you to not run off with the first guy you see."

You stopped dead in your tracks. "You think this is me sneaking out?"

He didn't respond quickly enough.

You kept walking, glad he was so cold that his teeth were chattering, "You're an idiot--."

He pushed you, unable or unwilling to argue.

"Why would I sneak out with the dog?" You muttered.

Another stop for Maru. It was silent, again, and you were wishing he would just go back by himself already.

"What's that smell?" He sounded ridiculously close to your head.

You looked up and realized that was because he was sniffing your hood. A sudden insecurity of smelling like sex flashed through you.

Pushing hard on his chest, you declared, "Fuck off."

It didn't send him flying the way you wanted it to. It only pissed him off, especially because he knew that smell from somewhere. He just couldn't recall exactly how right now.

You expected him to push or slap you back, so you tensed, but no such move was made.

"One day you'll thank me," He muttered with a grumpy chuckle.

A glance didn't do you any good. It was too dark to see his face.

"For what?" You rolled your eyes again.

It was quiet for so long that you were certain he had just been joking. As if he did anything to help you out, anyway. All he did was piss you off and get in your way.

"For making sure you don't get hurt."

Frustration on the tip of your tongue, you began to retort, "I--," but fell short of the will to say anything back for a minute.

Your glancing around in the dark didn't help you form any thoughts.

Maybe Asahi being so kind was just luck. Not the wise intuition you claimed to be guided by. There were already many times tonight that could've made a turn for the worse, and you hadn't realized until after the fact.

That didn't change how you felt, though, other than some newfound patience for Tetsurou's difficult, demanding nature.

Maru didn't want to go much further than the fifth lamp post, so your small party turned around before you could cross the street.

It was quiet on the way back. Just the jingle of your dog's collar and the flip-flip of these shoes you hated.

You rounded the corner and closed the gate behind you, Tetsurou opting to walk ahead since it was evident to him that there was no danger anymore.

It was just getting to be a comfortable silence when he had to speak up one last time.

"Has this tree always been sideways?"

You genuinely thought it was a joke, so you didn't spare a look when you crossed behind him to get inside. He caught you shoulder the way you hated so much and you swiped your hand to hit him, but saw what he was talking about and froze.

The both of you took a moment, dumbfounded, to stare at your lawn tree. It looked nearly snapped, like a hurricane had come through, but it hadn't rained in weeks. Nothing else was wrecked. Just the tree.

You felt guilty about it for just a second, but rationalized that it had nothing to do with you. You weren't sure what that was from.

"Maybe it was rotted from the inside?" You thought out loud.

He glanced around, suspicion at its full peak, and guided you inside swiftly by your upper back.

Tetsurou locked the door behind you and stayed stock-still, staring through the peephole for so long you didn't bother saying anything to him before heading back upstairs.

At your door, you heard him call to Kenma and Bokuto.

"Did one of you kick that tree in the yard?"

You collapsed against the door with a soft shut and an even softer sigh.

There was no time to deconstruct everything that was discussed, because your eyes followed a sound that nearly made you jump out of your skin.

The man took up so much of your bed. He was on his back, scarred knuckles brushed slowly up and down, a casual pump to quell his impatient cock.

His hand fit much better around it than yours. In his other hand, held closer to his face, he was clicking a small device- the familiar buzz of which inspired a complete takeover of tension between your legs.

Your embarrassment was no secret, and neither was his curiosity.

"I'd love to use this," He grinned and looked you up and down, undressing you with his eyes.

It took some effort to find the lock on the door and make your shaky way over to the bed. Like last time, he met you at the side.

However, you noticed that before you left, he didn't have the same edge in his brow, or the eagerness that defined the way he pulled you into him.

When you stumbled, he caught you and tilted your head for a restless kiss. He was shoving his hands under the waistband of your pants and humming a sort of approval against your cool lips. It sent your stomach back into those fluttery waves of excitement all over again.

"You should take your clothes off," He muttered, fully immersed in his desire since he never had to sober off of it.

"Yeah- I should," You breathed against his rough, needy lips.

You were slipping back in quickly, though, when he took your lips in a chaste, passionate kiss all over again. His hands were slipping over your skin, discarding your hoodie before you could do it yourself.

His whole body was warm, it felt like he was burning through you when you stepped out of your pants and fell against his front. Like a melting ice cube.

When he picked you up this time and set you down, it was less premeditated, more animalistic. You gave a giggling smile when he parted your legs for him.

Any shyness he had before was long-gone after 10 minutes of imagining what he was going to do to you- you squirmed at his spit-slick fingers slipping over your soaking cunt.

"Still so wet for me," He muttered, pleased, into your hair, while his massive body settled over you.

That intense, near-evolutionary drive kicked in again where you believed you could take whatever he wanted to give you all night. It may have been the smell of his sweat, it may have been his grumbly voice.

"Obviously," You smirked. He grinned at your confidence.

"We can take this slow," He rolled a condom on without wasting any extra time, "I don't wanna hurt you."

The statement floored you for a moment. He didn't notice as he lined himself up with your tightness.

It echoed in your brain during the most contradictory part possible.

He sank into you- it wasn't easy, but after hours of build-up -more if you counted the self-pleasure you couldn't resist before he arrived- it was beyond rewarding to watch all of the stress and worry on his brow melt away in one smooth, slow stroke.

"Fuck- fuck, fuck," You whined, his grasp on your hip reassuring, but still a pen in which you couldn't wriggle from or adjust against, "God-!"

Your thighs twitched on either side of him, forcibly relaxed- you tried to catch your breath, but felt like your lungs were too constricted to do so.

His thumb brushed your cheek.

Patience and gentleness in the midst of it all allowed you to breathe a little easier.

Only kindness, with a hint of pity, remained in his expression as you gasped and struggled to ease up around his cock.

He looked away for a moment, his hand leaving the side of your face, and you heard a saving grace.

Asahi did you the liberty of placing it against your clit. His face lit up at the sight and sound of your newfound gratification.

"I bet that feels better, huh?" He smiled against your parted lips, stealing a few of your moans with an excited kiss.

There was a hard-to-pin inquisitiveness about his attitude surrounding your vibrator. Like he was dying to use it on you, feel you writhe around his still cock.

"Ohh my god-! Ah-Mn!" You cried against his lips.

It was met with chuckle and the slow pump of his hips sinking deeper into you.

It dulled the discomfort of his size, leaving only a feeling of fullness between your legs, a satisfied craving, and the intense waves of pleasure from your clit.

His pretty face and perfect body over you- how could you not just announce your paradise to everyone in the city?

One hand laced in yours, and you took control of your vibrator to swirl it the way you preferred while he picked up his leisurely pace.

He barely caught your high-pitched tone at the combination with an alarmed kiss.

Stalling, he warned, "You gotta be quiet," and leaned to press further kisses against your neck.

He quickly learned that you weren't going to stay that way for him, even if his balls were allegedly on the line.

The feeling of him going deeper, your thighs bouncing from his weight that shifted your entire body, and the building waves over your clit.

"Asahi," Came out in a needy moan.

"Shhh," He cooed, gripping the bottom half of your face to get your focus on him.

The beat of his thighs against the back of yours stole your attention instead- you squeezed against his palm with furrowed brows.

Another noisy cry at his size splitting through you, and he instinctively covered your mouth to shut you up.

He thrust hard into you and stayed there, earning a pitiful whimper, and leaned in close to catch your avoidant eyes.

A mutter against your heated skin, "Do I need to keep you quiet?"

His cock was stretching you beyond your limits- that steely look in his pretty brown eyes was so layered.

You clenched around him, butterflies attacking you now, of all times, at his stern tone, but genuine concern.

A gorgeous smile spread across his features when you nodded, helpless, but honest.

He felt too good- he filled you up better than you had imagined. You were stunned to feel that you were already close. There was just no possible way.

This wasn't how you wanted it to go.

It was too soon- you didn't want it to be over so quickly. But now, of course, you realized you didn't have the physical capacity to take him all night.

You tried moving the overwhelming buzz away from your needy clit, but met the resistance of his hand instead.

He pressed just enough to guide you right to an edge you couldn't pull back from. You whimpered against his palm.

You couldn't tell him you were about to cum. You couldn't move away, or speak, nor did you possess the will to push against him. All you did was claw, weak, across his back.

The look in his eyes responded to your subtle panic-pleasure without a word. A gentle fondness that he shouldn't have been capable of while he gave you his rougher strokes.

He removed his hand from your mouth just to swallow your sounds with a starved kiss, an avid grumble at the back of his throat when you took his tongue so well.

"Mm-!" You squeaked, nails digging deep red trenches into his shoulder.

It was an ultimate submission you never had the insurance to safely experience before.

You got the chance for a gasp before getting cut off -half a second before you could alert the entire house- by his huge palm again.

Asahi groaned as you tightened around him. He quickly shut himself up by flexing away the pleasure and leaning down to pant, warm breath spilling against your ear.

"Shh- I got you," His kindhearted whisper strung you along, crushing you underneath his weight, while he repeated that sweet promise, "I got you, baby."

All your worry of it being too soon dissipated as your orgasm wracked through your entire body and filled you with pure bliss. He fucked you hard and steady through it and didn't even grant you the dignity of looking away from him.

Your chest was tight at the end of it, eyes stinging, and you would've sobbed if he wasn't still keeping you quiet.

He watched your journey the whole time through your eyes, wholly captivated by your big, glossy fixation on him. When you blinked away the burn, he took no time to kiss them away.

Your body naturally relaxed, a twitchy and overstimulating process.

He slowed for you after he sucked the rest of your complicated tears up.

He was so heavy, so adamant on keeping your noise down that you couldn't tell him to stop. You weren't sure that you would try, even if he wasn't hindering your communication. The fact that you trusted him so much right now wasn't necessarily wise, but it felt right.

His growing intensity didn't hurt, but it didn't start to feel good until a raspy voice told you:

"Feels so good," He swallowed the spit gathered in his mouth and seethed, a light chuckle breezing past his lips, "You got no fuckin' clue."

That was just kind of sinful confession that gave you nervous chills even though he was already fucking you senseless.

He studied how your eyes clouded over at his words. A restrained, toothy smile nudged your jaw in a sugary kiss.

"I'm not gonna be able to get enough of you," He finally took his hand off of your lips and you were able to gasp at the impact of his words.

When he readjusted, he swept your legs up to his shoulders and dipped back down.

"A-Ah!" You barely choked out before he moved his hand back to its diligent place over your loud mouth.

He was so deep- you felt like he'd split right through you. Yet, you welcomed the possibility with the blessing of another steady-growing climax.

Yet, only one of you was so careless. He was so tender, so considerate because he could feel it, too. How fragile you really were in this position in regards to his size.

"God," He sighed at your loving stare.

"Gonna- ah, make me cum, lookin' at me like that," He groaned, a bit strained.

He finally dipped his head with closed eyes at the sweet, slick heat he just wanted to bury himself in. He couldn't get too carried away, now that it was starting to get difficult.

Your shitty stamina stroked his ego so much that he forgot he wouldn't be too far behind for a while. He got a bit ahead of himself and was paying for it with the climbing pressure in his stomach.

Your pussy was reason enough to fuck you harder, but that face was what really tested him.

His hand twitched at the compelling desire to hear you scream for him, but again, had to keep his sanity for the two of you. Next time he would make sure that brother of yours wouldn't be in the way.

He tried to keep an edge going, but found it laughably difficult to settle down.

If it wasn't your Fuck-me-harder eyes building up the needing to cum, it was your cute tits squished against your soft, scratched-up thighs, right under his chest.

It was impossible to keep himself from riding that high in the end.

As if to spite him, to completely spend all of his restraint, your watery eyes rolled back again. Your muffled whines filled his ears as you tightened once more around him, weaker this time but still more than enough to send him over the edge.

"G-od,fu-ck," He groaned, hitting just the right spot to fuck out both of your orgasms.

You felt him swell inside of you, his grip on your hand crushed yours back to the point that you couldn't claw him, his hips stuttered to a slow stop, deep inside of you.

A sense of satisfaction beyond the physical softened your face, your resistance between his fingers, and all your aching muscles. You weren't quite sure what it was, but didn't feel rushed to figure it out.

He was trembling when he released the lower half of your face, a beautiful sweaty and out of breath mess on top of you.

Once again, you gasped at the opportunity to breathe better.

He tensed up immediately and you flinched at the twitch of his cock inside of you.

"Shit- was I choking you?" He managed to stay worried right after he came.

You grinned, carefree on the backend of your own, and shook your head, "Mm-mm."

The look of unmatched relief that washed over him was supremely attractive.

He pulled himself out, slowly, and made a face at how much he came before turning to discard the tied-up thing into the trash with a solid toss.

You welcomed his cuddly shuffle up to your side by burrowing into his slippery chest, and sighed at last, "Cute butt."

That, of all things, made him uncomfortable. He cringed when you spared a glance up to his face from his chin. You rolled your eyes at his overthinking.

"You must be an athlete, or something--," You rubbed your face harder into his chest and felt his laugh resonate throughout your body.

It all felt natural. The joking, the cuddling, the winding down. You both forgot that you weren't together, let alone that you had only known each other for less than a week.

It was already warm with him next to you, but you were happy to be under the soft throw he found and pulled over.

"I can't believe you came twice," His soft laugh invited an embarrassed, but sharp look from you.

He clarified, "It's really hot, don't get me wrong--,"

"I'm not usually so easy," You half-joked.

A big, handsome guy that knew how to use his dick, went down on you, listened to you, and didn't shy away from a vibrator? It'd be a challenge to find a girl who wouldn't cum that quick.

You blushed under the cover of darkness at his gentle, comforting hold on your breast and reassuring kiss to the side of your neck.

The ache in your belly was evident when you were flipped over to be little spoon. It burned pretty bad and you couldn't exactly hide it.

"Did I hurt you--?"

"No," You muttered, clearing your throat, "No, I wouldn't say that."

He placed a big hand on your tummy, feather-light, and you looked over your shoulder to meet his perceptive gaze.

You sure as hell couldn't lie to this guy. He saw right through you.

You pouted and gripped your pillow. Of course you couldn't handle his dick the way you wanted to, the way you bragged about or even genuinely thought you could.

"You were so good," You admitted, a little sad in tone.

A warm kiss to the back of your head. He took the weight of his arm off of your sore body, sighing into your hair.

"You were, too."

He decided to drop the subject, since you both had strong opinions that seemed to clash.

You smiled.

You talked about a range of topics for the rest of the night. General information, first, then personal interests that turned into a long conversation about volleyball, then family history, then academics, then personality, goals, and attraction.

Soon it was 4 in the morning. You were eating popsicles from your freezer and discussing the adventure he had to get up to your window.

You both watched, trying your best to stay quiet, a minutes-long video one of his friends sent in the Karasuno volleyball group chat of him falling out of the tree outside.

A hand flew up to your mouth to silence your intense giggle-fit. You had no idea how you were going to keep something like this a secret from Tetsurou.

Before too long, the pain in your tummy was just an ache and the stranger in your bed turned into a lover overnight.

taglist:

ty for all the replies and reblogs and likes!! it means so much. it's really nice seeing all the other asahi appreciators out here!!

@valiantqueengarden @rinheartshyunlix @alpha-mommy69 @yuyunhoo @insertamazingnamehere

@kreishin

@ruu-https @kasai-https

@40unung @deluluforcarlos55 @lili-harg @beyond-your-stars @noyaskneepad

@rinheartshyunlix @vintagevict0ria @am-3-thyst

<3 u are literally asahi mvp @screamin-abt-haikyuu

masterlist.

requests open!

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httpdwaekki · 7 days

Text

cozy | l.f.

summary: cuddlin w lixie <3

wc: 542

warnings: none! gn!reader

a/n: happy lixie day!! tbh i’m exhausted and life has been so busy but i needed to do something for my favorite sunshine on his special day <33. but i will be putting out a longer fic for him because he deserves it :3. i hope you all enjoy, remember to eat, drink water and take your meds, ily <3

p.s. i will be making an extended version of this bc i love it so much, okay love u bye

my library | fundraiser

(pictures are not mine! credit to owners!)

“honey, i’m home!” you hear a familiar voice call out.

you smile instantly, excited your favorite aussie chick was home. “hi bubba! i’m in the bedroom!” you call back, staring at the door in anticipation. you hear him place his things down before breaking into a sprint.

you hear his happy giggles as he makes his way down the hallway. the freckled boy appears in the doorway, slightly out of breath with a bright smile on his face. he takes in your appearance, you’re cuddled up in the middle of all his plushies, a big soft blanket swallowing you whole.

you looked so cozy.

you take your arms from under the fluffy fabric, stretching them

in front of you, making grabby hands towards him. he giggles as he runs to you, leaping on top of you, wrapping his arms around you as best he could.

you wrap your arms around him as he shoves his face into your neck, relaxing into you. “hi sweet boy.” you giggle, placing a kiss to his hair, leaning your head against his.

“hi angel.” he mumbled into your skin. your cheeks warm at the pet name, never getting used to him calling you them. you gently rub his back, softly running your nails against him, the fabric of his shirt acting as a layer between him and you.

he sighs against your skin, “that feels nice.” he mumbles, relaxing further into you. you slip your hands under his shirt, lightly rubbing and scratching his soft skin.

he nuzzles his head, a soft cat-like grin appears on his face, feeling content. “i love you so much.” you smile, wrapping your arms around his torso, pulling him impossibly closer.

“i love you too, more than you know.” you kiss the side of his head before giving him a soft pat on his butt. “alright come pretty boy, let’s get you washed up.” he whines, tighten his arms around you.

“nooo i wanna cuddle.” you could practically hear the pout in his voice. you chuckle before patting it again, “and we can cuddle after, come on, let’s get you comfy. “fine.” he huffs, pushing himself up to straddle your hips before he stops and looks at you suspiciously.

“what?” you ask, tilting your head slightly, placing your hands on his thighs. “where’s bbokari?” he huffs, folding his arms, pouting. you smile at him before you reach into your blanket, pulling out the (now flatten) yellow plushie.

“i was laying on her!!??” he exclaimed, grabbing the flat bbokari, fixing her. “what did you think you were laying?” you giggled at his frantic movements. “i just assumed it was the blanket!” he finally fixed the small chick, letting out a sigh of relief.

“see! look she looks good as new!” he gives you a side eye before giving the plush a kiss, moving off your lap. “yah! what am i getting the side eye for? i didn’t lay on her!” you sit up and watch as he squints, walking to the bathroom.

“yah! what the hell! felix!” you yell hearing his giggles from the other room. you get up to chase after him before helping him get comfy, spending the rest of the night, cuddled in bed watching his favorite show.

do not copy or repost

#felix #lee felix #felix fluff #lee felix imagine #lee felix x reader #lee felix fluff #felix oneshot #felix imagine #felix x reader #stray kids #stray kids drabble #stray kids oneshot #stray kids one shot #stray kids fic #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #ash's archive ‧₊˚✩彡

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glossysoap · 6 months

Text

mic work ; soap mactavish | soap it up!

summary: soap with an audio erotica career on the side.

18+, afab & fem reader, implied roommates, fwb to lovers, pining. insp from my convos with @loveyhoneydovey but i know @konigsblog just posted something similar to this so i’m tagging to give her creds regardless <33 feel free to request a part 2 featuring reader who coincidentally listens to an artist with a familiar scottish voice 👀

this is also including some soapitup prompts from @glitterypirateduck’s challenge bc i just couldn’t resist, it fit so well. so technically this acts as my third albeit late submission into the challenge, after “dirty talk” and “thigh fixation”.

“I won't let anything happen to you.”

“You deserve so much more.”

“I’ll take care of you.”

Erotic audio artist Soap, whose audios garner at least 15k listens and 4k upvotes, with certain kinks receiving higher attention. His deep, husky Scottish accent that sent shivers down the listeners spine didn’t hurt his ratings either.

Erotic audio artist Soap, whose repertoire is full of different kinks and scripts, enough to appease a variety of listeners. Brat taming, body worship, hard or soft dom, male submissive, bondage, breeding kink, size kink/difference, daddy kink, cnc, and the list goes on and on.

Erotic audio artist Soap, whose favorite category of scripts to fill is best friends to lovers. He enjoyed every aspect of recording them, especially because he imagined you while he recorded them. You, his best friend.

He loved murmuring sweet nothings and compliments into the mic, all directed at the listener. All dripping with underlying praise and affection. All things he imagines saying to you, whether they’re said in an not-safe-for-work fashion or otherwise.

Some quotes from his audios, ones he imagines himself saying to you the entire time, include:

“Nice work,” He reads off the script with his voice all honeyed, imagining himself praising the listener for a job well done. Usually the script involved the listener coming home to their shared apartment from a long day of work, all exhausted and in need of cheering up. He imagines that exact scenario with you. He imagines himself saying that to you as you come home, him walking to the door to pull you into his awaiting arms.

“Yer doin’ so good, lass.” He reads off the script, imagining himself purring that into your ear as you stand in the kitchen, cooking away. He imagines himself burying his face in your neck as he snakes his arms around your middle, inhaling your sweet scent as it mixes with the savory aroma of your cooking.

“You deserve so much more, love.”He reads off the script, mind fully focused on you with every word. He remembers every shitty ex boyfriend, every failed tinder date, everything that took your confidence down a peg. He hated every bit of it. He imagines himself saying that to you as he stares into your eyes. Scanning your face for any reaction as he begins closing the distance between you, his breath fanning across your face. His forehead pressed up against yours as his eyes dart down to your lips.

“I won't let anything happen to you.” He reads off the script, heart pounding in his ears as he imagines himself murmuring that against your lips. Just barely caressing your soft skin. A heated promise filled with years of affection bubbled to the surface. He conveys the severity of his promise by closing that small distance between you, smashing his lips against yours. His scarred and slightly chapped lips against your plump and soft lips, a perfect contrast between rough and delicate. His large, calloused hands cupping your cheeks to hold you steady, thumb caressing your soft skin.

“I am yours.” He reads off the script, panting into the mic as he reaches into his boxers to pull out his throbbing cock. He imagines himself kissing down your body, tasting your soft skin. Starting from your jaw where he nips at your pulse point, then moving down the span of your neck and leaving marks with every bite and suck. He imagines what little whines and gasps you would let out as his mouth moves down the valley between your breasts, licking and sucking at your soft skin. He imagines your hand burying itself in his mohawk as he murmurs, “I am yours,” against your breast as he takes a nipple in his mouth.

“Yer so fuckin’ pretty. Could look at ye’ all day.” He reads off the script, huffing as he strokes his hard cock, all slick and covered in lube to get the best wet sounds. He imagines you laid out all bare and perfect in front of him on his bed, skin shiny with sweat and chest heaving in anticipation. Pussy all slick and shiny as your juices dripped down your slit. He imagines himself pushing your legs up to your chest so you were all spread out for him, before taking his cock in his hand and tapping it on your wet entrance. He can almost imagine that cute little gasp as the head of his cock taps against your swollen clit. He imagines that you whine out his name, not Soap, but Johnny, needing him to stop teasing you.

“Dinnae worry, love. I'll take care of you.” He chuckles, all husky and warm against the mic as he keeps stroking his cock. He imagines himself whispering that against your lips as he finally guides the head of his cock into your cunt. He closes his hand around his weeping tip right as he imagines that, and he gasps just like he knows you would. He tries to use his hand to mimic the feel of your cunt gripping his cock, but he knows his hand could never come close. Nevertheless, he just keeps thinking of how you would gasp and claw at his broad shoulders as he pushes in inch by inch, your hungry cunt clenching around him so fucking good.

“That’s it, cream around my cock, baby.” He groans into the mic as he feels himself growing dangerously close to coming. All it takes for him to spurt rope after rope onto his chest is the thought of your cunt clenching around his cock with a cry of his name.

Imagining everything with you would have to be good enough. For now.

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

🏷️: @violet-phantoms @ghastlybirdie @lordlydragon @loveyhoneydovey @vgilantee @viylikescats @cassiecasluciluce @lilpothoscuttings @jumbojazzcats93 @krakenbabe @bunnyreaper @blackrose4242 @ansaturn @luvecarson @luvmeijii @kenqki @zittles3000 @theloneshadow24 @moonriseoverkyoto @stargirlrchive @itzzjxlyn @blissful-bunny @damnirina @claymorexpunisher @mandalover2023 @kiroshang @ivymarquis (let me know if i forgot you as this was done at 4am so,, it’s very likely lol. also let me know if you want to be added or removed)

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chilschuck · 6 months

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Chilchuck but we are his pretty wife, and we didn't abandon him this time.

Not only that, but we are also very caring and nice, and it's practically a surprise how we are with someone like Chilchuck.

I can picture him standing with a serious face and all gloomy, and then we are next to him beaming rays of sunshine (bonus if we are also blonde and a hafling)

They are literally the "sunshine x grumpy" trope

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ ohhhhhhh my god. so……..i was so happy with this cute request that i kind of ran with it LOL. this is such a good concept and i can picture this so well in my brain. i wrote a domestic lil drabble that i hope is okay, as my thoughts just went insane over this. WAHHHH i hope you enjoy and that this is okay!! thank you so much for your idea, anon!! <3

— SUNSHINE: chilchuck x wife!reader.

꒰ rating: ꒱ sfw and soooo fluffy. reader is also a half-foot!

꒰ wc: ꒱ 675

✦ please i need more domestic bliss with this man. he deserves to feel so loved and happy. i tried to keep this light and sweet and playful bc i think he’d be grumpy but also. give this man the love he needs and he’ll thrive please chilchuck just one chance please pleas—

“Chil?” Your voice was so soft and sweet, it’s honey-like tone melting him to his core. You had decided to surprise him with breakfast this morning, something you loved to do when you had him here with you.

If the smell didn’t rouse him, your presence certainly did. It was an understatement to say that you were his weak spot, a point within him that he tried not to dwell on too much. Especially when the sun hit you in that halo of light at just the right angle, seeping through the windows and making his eyes flutter. Waking up to you was an experience he felt he couldn’t get enough of, drunk off of your velvet words as you brushed the bangs out of his face.

“Mm?” Was his only response, leaning subconsciously into your touch with a gruff sigh. You only laughed, that twinkle in your voice causing his heart to stutter within his chest. Why must he be married to the human form of sunshine? Surely his constant grumpiness would deter you, but much to his amusement, it only made you grin.

“Do you want breakfast, love?” Gods, when you called him that, he could feel his ears burn hot. Finally fully opening his eyes, his gaze found yours, softening instantly. How he managed to find someone like you, he would never understand. Regardless, he sat up, pawing at his eyes to dust the sleep from them. “I’d rather have you.” You heard him grumble, cheeks rosy. Another one of those addicting laughs left you. He didn’t think it was amusing. “Fine, I’ll get up…”

You practically bounced in place, rocking on your feet in excitement. It wasn’t hard to see that you adored your husband, his sleep shirt wrinkled and hair messy from sleep making you bite your lip in glee. Chilchuck gave you a skeptical look, scratching the back of his head before stretching. The action reminded you that he did have a little height on you, your own size as a half-foot causing you to feel small in any context. His shirt rode up to expose the tummy there, causing you to leave your gaze locked at that spot for a moment.

“Are you really this excited for me to get out of bed?” He mused, grumpiness slowly ebbing away at the warmth completely radiating off of you. You felt yourself nod, wrapping your arms around his waist and peering up at him with that expression that always made him weak in the knees. “I’m always excited for my husband to wake up and join the living again.”

“Is that so?” Chilchuck grinned, his voice rumbling in his chest and tingling against your skin. “You want a grump like me awake at this hour?” You couldn’t help but feed into him, continuing to nod your head cheerfully. “Really? Then it would be a shame if…”

Before he finished his sentence, you felt yourself pulled down to the bed as he fell backwards, a yelp leaving you in shock. He held you in his embrace, nuzzling into your neck and yawning. “...I took you down with me. Oh well.” Obnoxiously fake snores followed his teasing reply, causing you to laugh in bewilderment.

“Chilchuck, are you serious? I had finally gotten you up! Everything that I made is gonna get cold!” Although you spoke with mock frustration, the longer you found yourself in his embrace, the more you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Huffing, you relented. “Not my fault that your breakfast is going to be freezing by the time you finally get moving.” Your own grumbling, voice muffled against his shirt, caused him to chuckle. Your head buzzed.

His playfulness this morning made you feel a little giddy, studying his face as the light filtered in. A few gray hairs were illuminated in the sea of auburn, something you found pleasure in. You had to remind yourself that you both weren’t as young as you used to be, but if you were able to continue spending this life with him, well… Maybe it wasn’t so bad.

#⟡ lilia writes! 🌿#୨ chilchuck my beloved ୧ #i hope this is okay!!!#dividers by cafekitsune #i actually kinda like this one….#maybe bc it’s so self-indulgent like everything i seem to write #welp. LOL #chilchuck tims x reader #chilchuck x reader #delicious in dungeon x reader #dunmeshi x reader #dungeon meshi x reader #x reader

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a-dauntless-daffodil · 6 months

Text

imagining Charlie having an Oh moment when she finds Vaggie napping in a chair one day, early on, with Razzle and Dazzle sprawled out over Vaggie like they're trying to cover as much of her small body as they can with their own even smaller ones-

Charlie pulls out her phone and stealthily inches closer for a picture (she's doesn't' wanna wake them she swears) (she's just never seen something so cuuuuute-)

but a floor board squeaks and Razzle cracks an eye open to glower while Dazzle shushes her

and Charlie stops

There's another Oh... moment, because they've never shushed her before. They were brought to life to keep her safe and they've always only cared about that one thing- it took months for them to stop following Vaggie around the house suspiciously, like they always did with anyone Charlie tried having a relationship with, like a pair of silent, plush guard dogs-

(glaring at Vaggie from shadows, from across the table at breakfast and dinner, from the pillows directly over her head when Charlie finally convinced her maybe sharing a bed would help with the night terrors)

-but that'd all changed, at some point. Only, Charlie hadn't noticed until now

now she does. Now suddenly, she wonders

Charlie creeping over on silent, careful hooves, to gently stroke between the tiny wings of her childhood friends, looking from them to Vaggie's relaxed and sleeping face (getting a little lost watching her, for moment) (reaching out to tuck back a strand of the hair Vaggie is growing out long, accidently stroking Vaggie's cheek, forgetting to take her hand away afterwards) (the longer hair is hard not to play with, she excuses)

Charlie leaning in and asking Razzle and Dazzle, in the softest whisper-

"....are you keeping her safe for me?"

a pair of soft little churrs rising up in answer. Two little plush demons, snuggling closer to Vaggie as Vaggie frowns in her sleep, shifting restlessly, stirring-

Charlie freezing bc she has NO idea what to say if Vaggie wakes up and finds her- well. looming kinda?? while Vaggie SLEEPS???

it feels different than just already being there when Vaggie wakes up in the night, different in how waking up like that was normal when they'd gone to bed together, but crouching down to STARE at someone like this, with your hand still on her cheek, scared to move it in case that REALLY wakes her up when she DIDN'T get much sleep last night and DIDN'T wake you up that time for some reason so you couldn't snuggle her or make her feel better and now you might startle her instead or make her feel awkward which you hate- you don't want her to ever feel awkward around you-

it doesn't matter though

because Vaggie settles down again, as Dazzle croons quietly and Razzle reaches out a little paw to gently press her arm

she used to jump and flinch a little every time she saw them

when did that change?

these days she flicks little snacks at them from off her plate, no matter how many times Charlie reminds her they have their OWN plates and their OWN donuts and are just begging to get ATTENTION, the little show-stealers-

(not like Charlie's doing that too by complaining) (noooooo) (not like she grins like an idiot when Vaggie smiles and says cute things deserve a little extra attention, while looking over at Charlie instead)

these days any annoying demon who comes looking to curry favor with Lucifer (or trying pulling one over Morningstar's "naïve" daughter) gets pinned by THREE dangerous glares while waiting at the door for Charlie to hurry downstairs and meet them

(or rather shoo them away before they say something too not nice and Vaggie grabs her spear while Razzle and Dazzle get within ankle biting range)

when she thinks about it, things have been different for a while now

better. They've been better, and Charlie still doesn't know when or how it happened, and maybe that part doesn't matter so much anyway

in the present, Charlie takes the chance to retrieve her hand (reluctantly..) so she can slip off her jacket and tuck it around the three of them- Razzle, Dazzle. Vaggie- her two old friends and one new but very important one-

important enough to be considered part of her, by them as were created to protect her

and that's a new idea too. but she likes it a lot, she thinks

she likes being part of a family again

Vaggie wakes up a good solid two hours of nap time later with Razzle and Dazzle draped over her like furry boas and Charlie's head in her lap, a former Exorcist absolutely COVERED in cuddly demons-

she stays completely still for another hour more afterwards, stiff neck be damned, watching the three of them sleep. Smiling.

.... (it's only the three of them, later)

(when vaggie flutters up and finds razzle curled up on dazzle's memorial, the night after the battle. when she tucks him into her shoulder and heads back to her and charlie's rebuilt room. as a relieved and teary eyed charlie scoops him up and the three up them huddle together under vaggie's reformed wings)

(it's only three of them... but part of why charlie cries that night is knowing dazzle did his job- vaggie is still here)

(dazzle did his best. and for everything charlie lost, the old hotel, too many of the cannibals who followed her, almost all the egg bois, sir pentious, dazzle himself, the faith that she could solve all this without anyone getting hurt...)

(she didn't lose the part of herself that'd held her together the night before the battle, held so many other times, through family calls and failed meetings with heaven) (she didn't lose vaggie-)

(and some of charlie's tears that night, for dazzle, are grateful)

(he died trying to keep charlie safe. and he did. he did)

#hazbin hotel #razzle and dazzle hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #chaggie #vaggie #silly headcanons #ah it turned a little sad at the end...#hm #we'll thats fair i guess #its been too sad to talk about razzle and dazzle knowing what happens #but i think them and vaggie would've been good friends #and trusted each other with charlie #the Most Important thing #to all of them

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anton-luvr · 10 months

Note

You just took a shower with seunghan. He gets between your legs so you could dry his hair, your neck catching his attention. (Suggestive in a way but only bc they are in towels + soft pants and moaning??)

# 10:06pm ; HONG SEUNGHAN.

⚝ bf!seunghan x fem!reader | fluff & HEAVILY suggestive | bf au ⚝ note ; this is so... (mouth waters) UGH thank u for requesting!! thank u for waiting and for ur support on all my works too mwah <3 + take care briizes!! hani will come back to us soon, i'm sure <3

Six weeks.

That's how long the doctor told Seunghan his broken arm would be casted for.

"Six weeks?" he echoed in despair, mind flooding with the realization of all the things he wouldn't be able to do.

He wouldn't be able to play his games, wouldn't be able to eat his favorite instant noodles by himself every day, wouldn't be able to properly cuddle you at night - he wouldn't be able to do almost anything.

He really shouldn't have tried that stupid parkour trick with Sohee.

But thankfully, he had you by his side to help him out.

And maybe, not being able to do anything was quite nice after all.

He's sat on the edge of the bathtub, both of you fresh out of a shower and only in warm towels while you ran a hair-dryer over his damp hair.

"Ah, be gentle with the tangles." he whines, wincing when you accidentally tug at one.

You're quick to apologize with a cheery 'Sorry!', and you lean down to kiss him on the cheek.

All grumpiness fades once he feels your soft lips against his warm skin, a smile appearing on his lips.

Seunghan sighs happily as you continue drying his hair, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your fingers running through his hair, and he can't help but feel like the luckiest person in the world to have you.

You've been taking care of him ever since his fall, absolutely spoiling him with princess treatment.

He's really so lucky to have you.

He opens his eyes to tell you just that, but something else distracts him immediately.

Your bare neck was right in front of him, droplets of water falling from your wet hair and landing gracefully on your collarbone. He gulps as he watches them slowly slip downwards and behind your wrapped towel.

It was embarrassing how easily and simply turned on he gets, and all just from your neck.

"You look so pretty." he mumbles, leaning forward to press soft kisses all over the exposed skin.

You giggle at the ticklish feeling, but it's quick to turn into a quiet whine as the kisses start to get more aggressive.

Seunghan spares absolutely no mercy, warm tongue and sharp teeth grazing against that one sensitive part of your neck that sends shudders throughout your body.

"My pretty girl," he mutters, grinning as he pulls you into his lap and continuing his work of art.

Soft moans and whines reverberate across the bathroom as his hands start to travel across your body, your own ones busy tugging at Seunghan's hair.

"You're driving me insane." he pants, his eyes dark with desperate need and pretty lips swollen when he pulls away to catch his breath. "Taking care of me so well, gotta thank you."

The desperation only grows as he crashes his lips against yours, the towel being the only barrier between the both of your bodies heightening the desperation.

You felt so close and yet so far, and Seunghan needed more.

"W-Wait," you stutter, gently pushing him away from you. "Let's move to the bedroom, I'm scared you'll slip or something and get hurt."

Seunghan can't help but chuckle at your sweet and caring comment in the midst of his sinful actions, kissing over one of the hickeys he had left earlier.

"My baby is so cute," he coos, hot breath fanning against your ear. "But don't worry for now. I'll take care of you the way you deserve, hm?"

Your head spins at what he's hinting at, nodding while hiding your red face on his shoulder.

Without another word, Seunghan carries you up with his other arm and takes you into your bedroom - where he was going to thank you for taking care of him in the best way possible.

taglist: @wonbons @mxlly143 @keehobaldboy @shawyle @yenart @lycheecheeseyogurt

#sarah's 400 ! ☆#riize #riize fics #riize fluff #riize smut #riize drabbles #riize imagines #riize scenarios #riize seunghan #seunghan #riize x reader #seunghan x reader

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aithusarosekiller · 3 months

Text

~Nicknames everyone gave to Regulus~

Because you know damm well he would hate them and that's hilarious

Pandora- Reg. Casual and sweet, he doesn't mind it and she uses it in most conversations. No matter who she's taking to, he's called reg. she doesn't like Reggie too much because she thinks it sounds a bit soft and silly

Evan- Reg and Reggie. Reggie winds him up a little but he pretends it doesn't so he doesn't give Evan what he wants. Only uses his full name if he's disappointed or trying to get something out of him.

Dorcas- Reggie. The only person other than Sirius that can SOMETIMES call him regs but it depends on mood

Barty- Reggie. He's almost ALWAYS Reggie and it's always said with a flirtatious undertone even if it's a joke.

Narcissa- Reggie and Lus. Used to hate nicknames but when he started calling her Cissa she chose to nickname him with the last half of his name too (most people say Cissy which she doesn't like as much) and now it's stuck

Andromeda- Usually uses his full name.

Bellatrix- Reggie. In a condescending way ofc, she usually uses his full name when talking to him because it's proper and because she thinks it's a sign of respect to him so it's the least he deserves

Sirius- Regs and Lulu. Lulu because he HATES it and it makes him angry, Regs bc it's a nice easy nickname. He gets uncomfortable when someone else says Regs bc he thinks they're mocking him but it's fine with Sirius bc if he was mocking him, he'd already know. Therefore Sirius is the only one who can always say regs. Regs is also what he uses when he's trying to convince him of something or soften his mood. Similarly- reg is the only one allowed to call him 'Ris' and uses it to get stuff all the time

James- Reg and Reggie, both initially against his will before he gives in. (Sorry I'm a huge starchaser fan) Later on: Angel/ange, lovely, and gorgeous. He's so sappy that it's painful but we love him for it

Remus- does not have nickname privileges but sometimes manages to slip in a 'Reg' bc it's easier to say

Peter- also does not have nickname privileges but has tried to call him Regaroo, Gulus, Archie, Arctu, baby black, and Egg before anyway. Regulus did not find it funny. Peter found it hilarious

Lily- starlight. She's the only one allowed to say it. Also Reggie.

Mary- no nickname privileges but calls him reg behind his back

Marlene- no nickname privileges and calls him his full name (first middle last) all the time bc she finds it funny

#regulus black #marauders era #jegulus #regulily #the black cousins #the black brothers

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pupyuj · 5 months

Note

Mean dom wonnie and yujin/ OR MAYBE REI being the mean girl duo, top at their class and just happens to get interested in you, maybe g!p🗣️✨🎀 with an unnie kink✨

gonna do mean girls wony and rei bcs ehehe i don’t write enuff rei 🥺🥺😢💓 plus ya’ll do NOT want me to yap about mean girl yuj or else we’ll end up with a ycs-long rant about me wanting mean girl yuj to make up a horrible rumor about me and ridicule me in front of the entire student body and then break my glasses and laugh in my face about it… THE VOICESSSS 👹👹👹👹

anyways, pardon for the long author’s note but omg i rlly enjoyed this ask for some reason LIKE I HAD SO MUCH FUN WHILE WRITING IT 😵‍💫😵‍💫🤭 i couldn’t incorporate unnie kink at all bcs i completely forgot about it MY APOLOGIES I HOPE YOU DON’T MIND ANON 🥺🙏

mean girls wony and rei who scares everyone except you bcs you always end up being third best at the class bcs of them and so you absolutely hate their guts 😡 never receiving the praises you deserve bcs they hog all the spotlight as well as the top marks.. mean girls wony and rei who took an interest for the feisty academic overachiever you, (y/n), bcs they finally noticed you glaring daggers at them from the top of your book from across the courtyard benches one summer afternoon in the campus… mean girls wony and rei who take it to themselves to teach you a thing or two about respecting your betters 🤭✨✨

them somehow catching you studying alone in an empty classroom.. talking to you with fake smiles with an even faker tone of speaking, offering to help you review for the next week’s assessments which you refused quite rudely… and ofc wony wasn’t going to let that slide! 👿👿 here they were, offering you a nice way to finally beat them in the class and yet reject them?? in such a tone too?? you were just asking to be punished!

wony grabbing your chin harshly.. digging her nails in your skin before she stuffs your mouth with her fingers, daring you to speak to them like that again.. while rei’s off to the side recording all of this with her phone… ykw maybe you were shitting your pants bcs what the fuck??? “well?? you were so brave just a few minutes ago..” wony says, laughing as you gagged and choked on her long fingers 😵‍💫 rei spotting you eyeing down wonyoung’s hard-on.. “wony, i think there’s something else (y/n) would rather have in her mouth.”

“of course! fucking slut. come on, rei-yah. let’s give her what she wants and fill her up.”

ughhfhfhschcbcj rei occupying your mouth while wonyoung keeps one of your hands busy.. you completely forgetting that rei is recording bcs all of a sudden you were their little whore and all you wanted to was to please them?? sucking off rei so good that her normally soft moans are louder, her head thrown back while she uses her free hand to keep your head still, thrusting her cock into your mouth at a comfortable pace… “o-only learning how to.. ahh… cooperate with us when it comes to this, hm? we should’ve fucked you earlier. right, wonyoung?” rei grabbing a fistful of your hair from the back and forcing you to look at her while you sucked her off.. smiling as she looks at your pathetic face back and forth between on her phone and behind the camera 😵‍💫😵‍💫

meanwhile, wonyoung was burning hot—she wants to cum so bad!! she was rock-hard and throbbing, she must’ve wanted this for a while.. ugh she doesn’t know how the fuck you did it but even when you were mostly preoccupied with rei fucking your mouth, you still found ways to please wonyoung with your hand 🫣 more and more of her precum leaking and coating her length as you jerked her off.. toying with the head and making wonyoung whine, nearly making her cum even! and she does merely a few minutes later bcs poor baby couldn’t hold it! 😣 her cum spilling all over your hand and the side of your face.. a much, much better look on you than makeup if you ask wony 🤭 and rei adds to it too! cumming right after wonyoung and making sure to pull out just to decorate your face with her cum…

and then! surprising the two girls with a barrage of questions that they didn’t expect from your mostly polite mouth at all 🫣

“is.. is that it..?”

“y-you’ll.. fuck me, right? i want you both inside me…”

“please..? i-i’m good.. i promise, i am..!”

what the fuck?! who knew you can be such an obedient cockslut! and why would rei and wony say no to that cute face? best believe that they’d fuck you in turns and together for as long as you can take in that classroom! mean girls know how to fuck a good girl’s brains out after all 🤭🤭

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amymbona · 2 months

Note

WAAAAAAIT AMY !!!!!

what about you, tashi, art and patrick having drinks in her dorm before some party ur going to and you’re sitting in a circle. then patrick OF COURSE suggests truth or dare, and everyone is admitting stupid shit like the last time they masturbated, what they porn they watch, clothes are coming off too bc art is taking this only chance to see ur tits.

u answer that u prefer lesbian porn and patrick is like 🚨 🚨 🚨 and ofc kicks it up a gear by daring you and tashi to touch each other and he’s like cmon guys ur best friends you’ve probably seen everything already, so u do it and before u know it he’s daring tashi to lick you. and he’s like, no, lower. it’s a dare. are you a pussy or what? and tashi will NOT back down from a dare.

ur literally having the best orgasm of your life while patrick and art are drooling, so fucking hard, begging for you guys to now give them attention too !!!! but it’s literally their fault.

Blueberrycig you deserve a big fat kiss for this one. I believe Tashi could eat pussy better than any man.

The sight of Tashi's head buried between your bare thighs is something so beautiful and arousing to the boys, both of them growing impossibly hard in their pants. They can't even speak, not when your moans fill the room, not when you way Tashi's name like that, begging her to go further and deeper and harder.

And Tashi's not backing away, no, no, no, her fingers are digging into the plush skin of your thighs, holding you nice and open for her while she literally devours your cunt. You're just laying on the carpet, completely oblivious to the stunned faces of Art and Patrick, only focusing on the feeling Tashi's lips sliding through your wet folds.

Patrick can't take it. He's the first one to reach into his own boxers, fisting his rock hard dick at the pornographic sight in front of him, while poor Art is struggling not to choke on his own spit. His mouth is hanging agape, lips glossy and he's literally drooling, not sure which one of you girls he'd like to be in this situation.

A series of fuck's and hell's is heard from both sides of you but you're unable to respond in any way, palms planted over your own eyes to block out everything around you, to fully embrace what Tashi is giving you. She's calling you a good girl too, saying that you're nice and soft and wet and all for her.

The boys feel like they're in a dream, living out one of their dirtiest fantasies. Patrick squeezes his cock, rubbing a thumb over the burning tip and Art starts having issues as well. Where he's sitting, he begins rocking his hips against the floor, swearing not to touch himself, because you two are not just some porn stars. You are real people, real people experiencing the most intimate of moments in front of them, and it would be fucking nasty to fist his dick to this, he thinks.

And when you finally cum on Tashi's tongue, back arching as the tip of her nose rubs over your puffy clit, both of the boys burst into their boxers. At that point, shame is a long forgotten word. All that exists is your beautiful body, Tashi's words of praise and three orgasms interlaced between the four walls of the dorm room.

#challengers #tashi duncan #tashi duncan x reader #tashi duncan blurb #patrick zweig #art donaldson #ask

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luveline · 1 year

Note

What about Steve with a cry baby reader? Like she cries at everything and May be Steve is telling her about something hard but also not that deep like a fight with his parents or they r discussing exes and she starts crying bc Steve didn’t deserve heartbreak

thank you for your request! —steve tells you about his relationship with his parents and gets the comfort he deserves a few years late. fem!reader. hurt/comfort ♡ 1.7k CW mentioned child neglect

Steve indulges you every now and then with old movies. You're obsessed with those musical movies from the fifties, soft colours, cool cat leading men and blunt heroines. Your very favourite are the ones with love triangles, though Steve hasn't ever thought you'd like to be entangled in one yourself.

Entangled in him, absolutely. "That is ridiculous," you say softly, sitting entirely in his lap, an arm around his neck and another his waist. "She loves him."

"She does." When the heroine of Young At Heart realised one of her love interests didn't have a present for the birthday party they were going to attend together, she bought one for him so he wouldn't feel embarrassed —yet she's planning on marrying the other man. "Poor Frank. He looks shocked."

"I'd be shocked. Lucky me, you've never sprung a sudden engagement on me," you say, your fingers rubbing mindlessly into his side. Your affection is often thoughtless. You care for him like another must-do, in time and rhythm with your breathing.

"To another girl, you mean?" he asks warmly.

You fluster and rub your cheek against the collar of his shirt, rolled and worn from an endless day on the couch together. He should go up and shower soon before bed, only you feel right in his lap, in no way light but a weight he's happy to bear.

You're skewed sideways, your legs laying across the rest of the couch, his legs kicked up on the coffee table. He keeps trying to force himself up for a shower and you keep leaning into his front or scratching your nails from his ribs to his hip, convincing him otherwise.

"If we ever… got engaged," you begin unsurely, eyes on the television to avoid his gaze, he's sure, "would we have a nice party like that?"

"When we get engaged we'll do whatever you want. We can have a party, send out ivory invitations with eleven point four Times New Roman font. All the trimmings."

"Eleven point four." Your eyes soften with your smile. "What do you know about invitations?"

"My mom had tons of stupid parties. She didn't always send out invitations, but when she did, she'd have them done right. I got to lick the envelopes."

"Lucky Stevie."

You shift backwards so your weight is on the couch rather than Steve, your back to the armrest and your thighs over his legs rather than on top of him. He can see your face better in this new position, and it's fitting: the love interest on TV starts spouting about how beautiful the heroine is, how her face is a tribute to the heavens if there ever were one. Smiling as you are, Steve has to agree.

"What were they like, the parties?"

Steve bites the tip of his tongue. "Fine," he says eventually. "They were fine. They'd set up buffet tables covered in hors d'oeuvres and everyone would walk around in their cocktail dresses and tailored suits drinking champagne and whiskey." His tone lightens toward the end, a put upon theatric for you to make it sound less snotty.

"Did you wear a suit?" you ask.

"Button down, usually."

"Nice! I bet you looked adorable. Do you have any photos?"

"Honestly, baby?" Steve squeezes your leg. "I was miserable, then. You don't wanna see any photographs. I was never smiling."

"What?"

"I hated my life. All my mom cared about was making us look like a perfect family, and all my dad cared about was work. I was happier when they started taking months-long business trips to Missouri."

"What do you mean?" you ask, putting your hand against his face. It's smaller than his but still big, still encompassing as you stroke his cheek and scratchy stubble. "You… what?"

He tells you because he knows you love him. It makes a hard thing easier, being loved. "Nothing, just, things were bad. My parents didn't even really like me, you know? They bounced me between little league and swim team and basketball when I was old enough. Track, cross country running, everything. Killer sun tan every summer."

Any trace of a smile is gone from your face. "They didn't like you? What are you talking about?"

"I was an annoying kid," he says. "You know how I was when we first met? Imagine that and worse."

"There was nothing wrong with you when we first met." Your lip trembles.

"Baby," he says quickly, on an exhale, the word half love and half apology, "don't be upset. I'm sorry, it wasn't as bad as it sounds. I'm making it sound worse than it was."

Your eyes turn glassy. It's awful, being so close he can see the tears well, collecting in the corners of your eyes. You stroke his cheek tentatively and ignore them.

"It was fine, sweetheart, really, I had everything. They'd leave me a fucking credit card when they went away, I never had to ask for anything. They gave me a car for my fifteenth birthday… I think they thought it was my sweet sixteen."

Your face crumples like a wet paper towel. You try to fight it but you're a heavy crier and you always have been. It shocked Steve when you first met, how quickly you can fall into tears, but it doesn't necessarily mean you're extremely upset. He can maybe fix it before you give yourself a headache if he tries.

"I'm sorry," he says again, dotting a kiss on the meat of your thumb. "I didn't tell you so you'd feel sorry for me."

"I do feel sorry. I feel so sorry," you say quietly.

"Don't cry…" Steve shifts into a better sitting position as the first tear trips over your waterline. Your hand falls to his collar. Your fingertips rub his collarbone. "I was lucky, I had everything I needed."

"You just told me your parents didn't like you, Stevie, I wouldn't call you lucky. That they went away for months– How old were you?"

He winces. "Fifteen?"

"You were still a kid."

"I was old before my time."

"No, you weren't." You sniffle. "I didn't know about that, Stevie. I didn't know about any of this, I'm so sorry."

"Why are you sorry? I never told you."

You bring both hands up now, placed gently against his chest, talking to him with a tenderness that makes his body ache, "If you think that it didn't matter, I'm really sorry. Imagining you that young, sitting there thinking they didn't like you? That breaks my heart." You're not overly dramatic despite the tears, but you say it with conviction. "You're not supposed to feel that way."

Steve laughs quietly. "I know that, dummy. Why're you this upset about this? It was years ago."

"Because it happened to you," you say, pouting at him sympathetically. "I don't know. I guess I figure how heavy that must be carrying around this whole time, thinking they didn't like you and that it was your fault."

Steve tries to say something, his mouth dry as sand, but he supposes he had said that, in a way. It is what he thought, what he thinks. If he were better, if he were more interesting, more attractive, more talented, they'd stick around. He pushed himself in every sport they'd let him play hoping he'd see his dad standing in the bleachers one day.

"You're not annoying," you say, wiping your tears. You square your expression into a steadier set. "You're amazing. If they couldn't see it then and if they refuse to see it now, that isn't something you did, Stevie. Maybe they gave you a car and an Amex card, but what you deserved most was–" Your determination to calm down wanes as your voice turns airy and scratchy, like you're trying not to sob. "You deserved to feel cared about. 'N' I'm sorry you didn't, because I love you more than anything."

Steve pulls you in for a hug. Mostly because you need one, but it doesn't hurt to hide his face from you know. His eyes burn, his heart pounding in his throat and between his ears as his arms climb up the length of your back. He focuses on that, the feeling of his hands and his bare forearms against your soft shirt. His chin goes over your shoulder and he presses the side of his head to yours with more force than he intends.

"Don't wind yourself up over it," he murmurs. "I know it sucks, I promise I get it, and I love that you're sorry, I love you, but it's not worth crying over. They're not worth it."

You tuck your arms behind his shoulder. Steve indulges in your smell, the warmth of your closeness. Talking about his parents is like poking at a purple scar. It's healed for the most part, but it's far from invisible. He usually ignores it all.

"Is it weird that I'm kind of vindicated by your, uh, reaction?" he asks under his breath, as though someone might hear him and call him out for it. "I don't want you to cry, but…"

"I'm in your corner." You pull him impossibly closer. "I'll always be upset for you. Even if you don't think it matters anymore, that's the kind of stuff that stays with you, you know?" You kiss his hair. Twice. A third time. "Sorry, I know I always make stuff about me, crying 'n' all."

"That's not true," he murmurs, rubbing your back.

He hates that you're crying, but he's glad, too. Glad all that pain isn't made up. Your reaction is proof he didn't just imagine how much it hurt to always want something he couldn't quite grasp.

"You didn't deserve that," you say.

"I know."

"I love you."

He knows that too. "I love you. You gotta stop crying, okay? You need your tears for the end of the movie when he crashes his car. How are you gonna bawl your eyes out for Sinatra if you've wasted them all on me?"

You laugh wetly. "I think I've made a wet patch in your hair."

Steve relaxes, reassured at the sound of your laugh, precious as spun silver even doused in waterworks. "That's cool. I needed a shower anyway."

—

thank you for reading!

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

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frogchiro · 1 year

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first of all, let me say that I love love love your blog!!

your writting style is so perfect i just want to eat it up yumyum

here's a non-hybrid ask!! feel free to make it nsfw if your heart so desires <3

the rest of the 141 reacting to one of them bringing along their super cute partner with them to meet them. (we're talking bakery owner soft cutie who lives for flowers and animals type of cute partner)

also feel free to make it a f!reader if its easier for you!!

please take care of yourself, remember that there's tons of people that adore your work ♡

with tons of love, 🪻.

This is such a nice message to get ;; I feel like I don't deserve this kind of love form so many people <3

Aaand since you didn't specify which one from 141 I'm gonna go with Gaz bc this just...feels like him ;;

And boy imagine the looks the task force would give him when he walked into the room on base with the prettiest girl they've ever seen :(( Sure, they know that Gaz is the youngest among them, incredibly charismatic and very good looking too but he's still a battle hardened soldier so they kinda didn't expect someone...so soft and pretty and nice smelling ;;

And you were so nice and polite too! Greeting them all nice, a hint of bashfulness in your voice, your stance was tense and a bit rigid but they know they can't really blame you; you're small and soft compared to all these large brute males, everyone would be intimidated but they can see you visibly relax when Kyle, ever the gentleman grabbed your hand tightly, rubbed soothing circles on your hand and whispered something into your ear that made you giggle a bit and smile brightly up at your boyfriend :((

Gaz is such a loverboy I just can't with him ;;

#kin speaks #asks #interactions #cod x reader #cod mw x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick

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thisgirlnamedblusy · 3 months

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First off I wanted to say I love that you write about Donna bc SHE DESERVES MORE ATTENTION and I love the way you write her as g!p as someone who’s intersex and views Donna more like me 🖤 so it’s nice to have both.

My request: Reader as a living “doll” kind of like her manniquins in the game but with more human body parts and a soul, getting frustrated that Donna made them but gets caught up in making other dolls and wants more attention from her. So reader acts out of place and bratty to the point it pushes Donna to become dominant. Smut please, g!p Donna if you can. Thank you for everything 🖤

Yess!!! OMG, thank you for your support and for your nice words!! They made me so happy :))) Here it is!!! Thank you very much for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! <3

PS: I love your OC :)

Her not so perfect doll

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! (Human-living-doll) Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, smut, Minors DNI, domination, control, dark themes, dark Donna, living doll

Word count: 5,907

Summary: You were her doll, she made you. You were hers, her favorite doll…

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

You opened your eyes little by little. You should have felt the sensation of waking up, of ending some kind of nightmare, but you didn't. All you could feel was relief, a strange relief to be awake, alive, but, were you really alive?

Searching your mind you couldn't find a meaning for that sensation, for the rigidity of your body. It wasn't you anymore, but who were you? Were you really who? Your perception of the world around you had changed. The fear that you should feel was not present, not even you were present. It was no longer you. You didn’t know if you really were.

You felt your soul, but it was empty, did you really have a soul? Did you have a soul? Were you someone, or something?

“You're awake...” A soft voice murmured, a voice that made you turn your head, blinking slowly, trying to clear your vision. Your face smiled automatically, recognizing that voice, recognizing the black figure that was next to you.

You had the feeling you didn't have to know who that woman was, that mourning figure that looked at you with a smile, but you knew.

Donna, her name was Donna and she, she made you.

If there was one truth that was clear to you, it was that. Donna made you, she was your owner, you were her doll.

Doll, not a person, doll, not a girl, not a human being. For a moment you felt that you really were one, that at some point in your life you were a person. Your head hurt but how could it hurt if you were a doll?

Her gaze was tender, understanding, her caresses passed over your forehead as you began to be aware of your reality, of where you were. That was your home, the place where she made you, the place where you belonged. How could you know if you didn't even know what or who you were?

“(Y/N), that's your name,” the woman in black said, searching for something in your eyes.

Did she want to make sure you knew your name? Did she want (Y/N) to be your name? Did you ever have another name?

Donna smiled, satisfied with what she saw, with your confused but confident, calm look. Yes, you were calm, comforted by her presence. She made you, she created you.

“What's your name?” She asked. She couldn't be talking to a person, she was talking to you. Did the dolls talk? Did you have the right to speak? Why did you feel you shouldn't do it unless she wanted to? “Come on, speak.”

Her insistence sent an unpredictable wave of shame, of sadness for having made her repeat the question. You had the answer inside your mind, but you were afraid of failing, of saying anything that wasn’t that name, the one she gave to you. The question assaulted your mind again: did you have another name? Did you ever have another name?

Donna moved closer to you, watching you, running a hand over your bare skin. It must have been cold, but you were unable to feel it. The only thing you felt was her hand on your arm, those comforting caresses.

“I know you can do it, speak...” She said in a soft tone, with a bright eye that didn't seem to want to look at anything but you.

Your duty was to serve her. You knew it was. You were her doll.

“My, my name is (Y/N)” you said almost effortlessly. Your voice was human, hoarse, weak, but audible. The smile on her face told you that you had done the right thing, that you had been a good doll, her good doll.

“Very good, tesoro,” Donna said, with a bright smile, placing a kiss on your cheek. A prize that calmed the beating of your heart, did you really have a heart? At least you could feel it. “Who are you, (Y/N)?”

That question made you smile somehow. Her touch was calming, her voice was soft. It entered your ears like a balm that soothed the inaudible cries of something resembling a conscience.

Why was your mind screaming at you? What was hidden behind the wall of your subconscious? Maybe a past life? Maybe a cry for help? You couldn't even think about it. The only thing you could do was to please your owner, to be a good doll.

“I’m, I’m…” You stammered, unable to say what you wanted, unable to verbalize the truth that resided in your soul, your purpose, the only thing you could be sure of. Her gaze grew cold and that made you nervous. You didn't want to see that look. You wanted to see her smile. “I’m your doll.”

Another kiss on your cheek, followed by a satisfied gasp was all you needed to relax. Only she could relax you, and you knew it, you already knew it.

“My beautiful doll,” Donna repeated, pulling your wrists. You immediately recognized where you were, your house, your home, the place where you were born, where you were created.

The contradiction that resided in your mind told you that something was wrong, that the world that seemed yours had not always been yours. It was a nuisance. It was what gave you a headache. You wanted it to go away. You wanted to enjoy the comfort of feeling safe.

You looked down, but felt indifferent, indifferent to see your naked body, your doll body. Why did you have the feeling that you should feel uncomfortable? You couldn't, you didn't want to. You were next to Donna and she protected you, she took care of you, she made you.

Your eyes forgot about your nakedness and landed on a table, where something resembling a mannequin was lying. Its head was looking towards you with empty eyes. You should have the feeling of looking yourself in a mirror, surely it was you, you didn't know.

You approached slowly, without letting your owner's hand go, that hand you could feel the heat of, the one that you believed that if it let go of you, you would be defenseless.

You reached out your hand to touch the wood that formed the limbs of the mannequin. Cold, rough wood. It looked nothing like your soft skin, something you were able to confirm by touching yourself at the same time.

“My love...” Donna whispered, grabbing your waist to relax those nerves that made you tremble. Could a doll tremble?

“Is she your doll too?” You asked with a cold, hesitant tone, imagining how horrible it must be for Donna to touch that cold wood instead of your skin.

The woman in black looked at you with a half smile and laughed amused, resting her head on your shoulder.

“She's not as perfect as you,” she whispered, relaxing you with a caress on your hand. Your gaze was furious, looking into those wooden eyes that seemed to mock you. No, that wasn’t a doll like you, that doll was missing legs, her skin was not soft.

You were much better, and you knew it, deep down you knew it.

“Now, my beautiful doll, let's get you dressed,” Donna told you, leading you by the hand towards a bedroom, towards your bedroom, hers.

You walked without fear, without cramps, with those screams from your subconscious becoming less and less heard. Was your consciousness fading? Did you ever have a conscience? Were you really (Y/N)?

You couldn't help but close your eyes as you felt the brush run through your hair. Donna carefully combed your hair, humming a soft melody, one you didn't want to stop hearing.

“That's... That's better, mm?” She said affectionately, to which you nodded, eager to be worthy of her, of your creator, of your owner.

You looked yourself in the mirror. Oh, no, that wooden doll had nothing to do against you. Your eyes shone differently, the softness of your skin had no competition. Nothing could take away Donna's affection from you, an affection you needed.

“I want to be pretty, prettier than her,” you said with a slightly contemptuous tone, still with the image of the mannequin in your head. Donna turned around and looked at you with a frown, as if you had said something strange.

“Of course, my love,” she said softly, pulling out a beautiful dress that caught your attention. With clothes on, that damn mannequin would have nothing to do.

Carefully, she dressed you, observing your entire body in detail, she seemed satisfied with you, with her creation, but, if she had created you, why was she looking at you with curiosity?

“Bellisima...” She whispered in your ear, getting up from the bed and making you look at yourself again in the mirror. “What do you think, (Y/N)? You look enough beautiful?”

You nodded with a wide smile, touching the fabric of that beautiful dress, made to your measure.

Damn stupid mannequin, you didn't have a dress.

“Good doll...” Donna said, pleased, rubbing your covered arms, looking at the image of the two of you together in the mirror, an image that gave you chills and a relaxing sensation. She made you, she would never abandon you. She would always protect you. “Tell me, pretty doll… Who am I? What’s my name?”

Another strange question. You were her doll, you knew her name. You knew that she was the only thing that existed for you. But if the mere fact of remembering it pleased her, you were happy to repeat it.

“Donna Beneviento,” you said almost immediately, noticing the pleasure just to repeat that name gave you, to say it out loud, loud and clear. The lady in black smiled and nodded, searching your eyes for something again.

Why were you afraid, Donna? What were you looking for in my eyes?

“Very good,” she murmured satisfied, giving you another reward, another hot and pleasant kiss on the cheek. “What am I, my love?”

“You are my owner,” you said calmly, finding security in those words, in her hands on your waist, in the heat of her body very close to yours. You couldn't feel the cold, but her warmth… Her warmth was different. She was everything, Donna was everything you could and wanted to feel.

“What are you?” She asked again, adjusting the collar of your dress, looking at you when you took more than two seconds to respond.

“Your doll,” you finally said, regretting having taken so long to react. You thought that maybe there was something wrong with you, the fear that you were of no use to her, that you were a failure, a mistake, the fear that damn mannequin would take your place. You tried to silence that truth that resided within you, the truth about you. You were a human being, not a doll. No no. You were a doll, nothing else.

“You're going to be a good doll, right?” Donna asked, resting her head on your shoulder again, like a reward or a threat. If you answered right you would get a kiss, if you did it wrong, you didn't know what the consequences were, but you didn't want to know either.

You nodded again, feeling rewarded again, feeling the warmth of her lips on your skin.

“I'm sure, (Y/N). You're going to obey me, right? You're going to be my good doll... The best of all,” she repeated, kissing your neck, hugging you from behind, traveling over your body, enjoying her own creation.

“Yes,” you answered briefly, overwhelmed by her caresses, by the way she caressed your body. She was proud of you, of her creation, you could feel it. You felt lucky.

But the sudden cold you felt, that cold that you otherwise weren't able to notice, let you know that you had done something wrong. Her hands no longer passed over your body and her fingers went to your chin, forcing you to look at her, to contemplate her beauty.

“Yes? Come on, tesoro, you can do it better,” she told you with a dark tone, a tone that you didn't want to hear, that made you feel bad, that you had failed, that you had failed her.

You became nervous, not knowing what you had done wrong, why her hands weren't touching you, why her gaze was so horribly cold. You were breathing heavily. Could the dolls breathe? You do, and that's why, that's why you were the best, her favorite doll.

Helplessness made you shed a tear that her pale hand wiped from your cheek. Crying was a sad feeling, your throat hurt, why did she make you with the ability to cry? Did the dolls cry?

“Shh, don't cry, my doll,” Donna said softly, calming your sadness and frustration with healing caresses.

To hell with that mannequin, you can't cry. Donna is never going to comfort you,

“Come on, try again, I know you can, I trust you”

Those words of encouragement made the revelation of your shameful mistake. Of course, she was not just any woman, she owned you. She made you. She deserved your admiration, your respect. She deserved everything you could give her.

“Yes, mistress,” you said confidently, knowing that was what she needed to hear. Donna smiled pleased at your response, rewarding you with the extraordinary sensation of her lips on yours, kissing you softly making your heart that shouldn't exist to beat fast.

“I like it that way, (Y/N), you're such a good doll,” she whispered into your lips, moving away, causing you to moan, an almost silent protest for having lost that kiss.

Trying to regain the sensations of that kiss, you extended your hands and leaned towards her again. The pain you felt when you felt her hands on your chest, stopping you, was even worse than having failed her.

“Don't be greedy, huh?” Donna joked, smiling tenderly, easing your protest with a soft caress on your cheek. Your skin was soft, it wasn't wood. That mannequin had nothing to do. “Behave like this and I will give you all the kisses you want.”

You nodded, giving up trying to get closer again. It was easy. Please your owner, your creator, and she will shower you with kisses, with affection. You finally had a purpose, that soul that shouldn't exist now had a purpose.

Donna pulled away, touching up your hair. Another of your sisters, little Angie, was waiting patiently on the bed. Angie was your friend, you knew it, you knew she wasn't the mannequin, you knew she wasn't going to betray you. Since when did you know that?

“Angie, how long has it been?” Donna asked, with a lack of tenderness in her voice, causing you to frown and your hand to shake for some reason you didn't know, the screams of your subconscious.

“I'll go away and leave you alone, I'm sorry, I got lost and...”

“Now you are mine, I won't let you go”

You blinked confused. Those voices you heard sent a chill through your entire body, making you crawl and the tremors in your hand to worsen.

Luckily, you were able to calm down before Donna noticed. You didn't want to fail her again, you needed her kisses. You needed to be her good doll.

She made you, you were hers.

“Two days,” the puppet's squeaky voice said; a voice that seemed strangely familiar to you. Donna nodded, hands on her hips, turning to look at you tenderly again, slowly approaching.

“I'm sure my doll is hungry, am I wrong?” She said with that soft voice, with that seductive accent. She was everything, your reason for living, the reason you lived.

Hunger? Could a doll be hungry?

Your hands went to your stomach, where your stomach was supposed to be. Your belly vibrated and the feeling of dizziness hit you suddenly. Was that being hungry? Why were you hungry?

“Yes, mistress,” you admitted, embarrassed. You didn't want to look weak. You were better than a person, you were better than that mannequin, although she probably wasn't hungry. Did that make you less worthy of being a doll? Less worthy of Donna?

“How sweet you are, (Y/N). Don't worry. I won't let my perfect doll to be hungry, come with me,” your owner whispered, taking your hand, making you feel safe again.

A table, a plate of hot food, two pieces of cutlery, were in front of you. You didn't move, you didn't know if you could do it, if you should respond to an internal call from your body that asked you to devour that food.

“Okay...” Donna sighed, moving your chair closer to the table, making the smell of the food even more unbearable.

After a comforting kiss on your cheek, she helped you to pick up the cutlery, placing it in both hands and taking one last look at you before sitting down.

“Come on, eat, tesoro,” she told you with a smile, with that smile, with the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes, with the only thing you were able to see when you closed them.

You obeyed slowly, trying to be careful, not to let yourself be carried away by your instincts and please her. Her smile told you that you did it and that made you feel relieved. You had been good, which would lead to a kiss, the only goal of your life, to kiss her, to adore her, to have her close to you.

Time passed quickly. You were good, you really were. You did everything Donna asked of you and you wanted to do it the best you could. She made you dresses, she combed your hair. She made sure that you were her perfect doll. She took care of you and loved you and you… You loved her.

The kisses were frequent but always short, always leaving you wanting to protest, to ask for more. The heat of her lips, of her caresses little by little became an almost unbearable addiction.

She owned you, she made you, you were Donna's, you were her doll.

But after a period of time that you couldn't define, well, you couldn't define, since when did dolls have awareness of time and space?

After that countless time, you began to feel increasingly cold, fewer and fewer kisses, fewer caresses. Her hands rarely roamed over your naked body, those moans you heard when her body was pressed against yours stopped being so frequent.

You were addicted to her, her affection. You were addicted to your owner, to the woman who made you. Your duty was to obey her, please her, be with her, to not leave her alone. Donna was good to you, she was kind, caring. She always took care of you, she always told you how good you were, her good doll, her favorite doll.

As if your body really had a mechanism to function, you believed that those words, those gestures, were its fuel. You felt weak without her, you felt like your life lacked purpose. A doll without an owner was just a broken, abandoned toy.

Your duty was to be with her, she created you. You didn't want to be alone.

Wandering like a lost soul… How many times do I have to tell you? You didn't have a soul… You decided to look for her, go after her, disobey one of her rules “never bother me, (Y/N)” The contradictions were going to destroy your common sense. How could you obey her if your duty was to be with her, to make her happy?

She was everything. Donna owned you, she made you.

“(Y/N), I haven't called you,” Donna said in a whisper when you appeared in her workshop.

You wanted to cry, to scream, to act like a human being, and not like a doll. The sight before you made your insides burn, made you realize you had them.

Donna Beneviento, your owner, your creator, your savior, the woman who was everything to you, was deceiving you. That damn wooden mannequin enjoyed her caresses, her work on her limbs. Her legs were no longer missing, now she was almost complete. Why was that stupid wooden doll better than you? Why did Donna stop caressing your soft skin to work on that disgusting wood?

Your gaze involuntarily darkened. Your will was always hers, but not this time.

“Leave. I'm busy,” Donna ordered you, placing the leg of that mannequin, rubbing it with her delicate fingers, the ones that played with your hair when she snuggled with you in bed, when she whispered in your ear how good you were.

“No” That word left your lips, the forbidden word, the word that you knew Donna couldn't tolerate, that made you a bad doll, and not her perfect doll.

“What?” The woman in black asked, leaving the wooden leg on the table and turning her head towards you, frowning.

Well, you're still missing a leg, you stupid mannequin.

“No,” you repeated, with a trembling voice, with your dress being wrinkled by your nervous, sweaty hands. Could a doll sweat?

Donna smiled nervously, shaking her head. That was an expression you had never seen before, an expression of disbelief, of disappointment. You were no longer her perfect doll. Her bright eye told you that was so. The lady in black stood up from the table, walking towards you, studying you like the day you opened your eyes.

“Be a good doll, (Y/N), and obey. Get out,” she whispered to you in a soft tone, caressing your cheek, your soft skin.

You could never have those caresses, you wooden whore.

“I don't want to go,” you said decisively, kicking the stone floor of the workshop, making your owner, your mistress, your creator, to step back in confusion.

“You're not behaving well, (Y/N)” she hissed, with a dangerous tone, changing her caresses for a tight grip on your hair, hair that she combed every day. “Get out now, tesoro. Don’t make me angry.”

That threat could do little against your anger, against the infernal vision of her hands touching the wood and not your skin, with her work creating another doll that was not you, that was worse than you.

“I don't want to go,” you said through clenched teeth, hissing in pain… Pain? When her grip tightened, throwing your head back with a grunt. You had never made her angry like that, but somehow you wanted to. You wanted to her to know why you refused to obey her.

“Oh, honey... Why are you acting that horrible way?” She said with a softer tone, with sadness, disappointment. Not even that was enough to make you react and be her good doll again.

“Why her?” You asked pointing at the mannequin as her hand released your hair. Donna turned slowly to contemplate the reason for your anger. A sinister smile formed on her face.

“What's wrong with her, tesoro?” Donna asked with a calmer look, but an evil gleam in her eye. “She is your partner.”

“No!” You screamed, letting out that regret from your chest, that anger repressed by so many days of indifference. “She's not like me!”

Donna laughed, shaking her head and crossing her arms.

“At least she isn’t behaving like a spoiled girl, don't you think?” She said sardonically, with a childish expression, which made you even angrier.

“She's worse than me!” You shouted again, enraged, with your body trembling, with those voices inside you shouting, no longer small phrases out of context, that were confusing you, that made you seem like you weren't a doll. Those voices became more and more simple whispers, which disappeared under the heat of her kisses.

“What makes you think that way?” She asked with a hard expression, with a cocky attitude. She was testing you. Donna was your owner, you were her doll.

“She doesn't love you like I do,” you said, sure of your feelings, of the things you felt since you saw her smile, since she made you. “She doesn’t love you!”

“Oh, wow,” Donna murmured with a disappointed tone. “Poor jealous doll…”

“You made me!” You screamed uncontrollably. “I’m your perfect doll, I’m your favorite!”

“Are you?” Donna asked, approaching again, grabbing your chin tightly and making you feel that pain you didn't know you could feel. “If you were perfect, darling, you would shut that mouth of yours and leave before I lose my patience.”

You couldn't defend yourself against that argument. But you had some equally effective.

“You can't kiss her,” you hissed, letting her fingers dig into your skin, letting her gaze intensify and fill with hate.

Don't break me, please. I want to continue being your doll, only yours.

“Why would I want to kiss a mannequin, (Y/N)? You're acting like a capricious little girl,” Donna snapped, shaking your jaw with the hot grip of her fingers.

“I’m your doll, your only doll,” you said quietly, relaxing the breath you shouldn't have.

“How daring,” the lady in black laughed, amused, releasing you and tilting her head with a satisfied smile. “You are forcing me to punish you, tesoro.”

Your face lit up, finding in those words the goal you were looking for, her attention.

“Well, at least then you will pay attention to me,” you said with pride, one for which you had not been created. Donna created you, she was your owner, you were her doll. You couldn't contradict her, you shouldn't be able to.

“Oh, so that’s the problem?” She asked with a different, tender face, with her grip turning into a caress followed by an amused laugh. “My poor little doll wants me to pay attention to her…”

You could only nod.

“I’m yours,” you said involuntarily, feeling a strange heat on your cheeks.

“You're mine, tesoro,” Donna confirmed, with that sinister smile sending strange sensations to your chest.

“I want to feel yours. I want to feel I’m your favorite. You created me, you love me,” you said sighing, feeling the need to kiss her, to beg for forgiveness and to be a good doll. But you had gone too far.

“I see...” The lady in black murmured, surrounding you, observing your body like other times and sending chills to your skin. “Maybe you need a lesson, mm?”

After that sentence that sounded confusing in your mind, the lady in black pulled your arm forcefully, pushing you towards one of the tables in the workshop, not caring if she hurt you. You shouldn't feel pain, you were a doll.

She lunged at you, grabbing your hair again, holding your head against the hard wood of the table.

“My favorite, huh?” Donna mocked, forcing you to look at her with her grip. “You think so?”

“Yes, you created me. You created me just for you, just to be yours,” you said, hissing at her grip, at the sensations that began to form between your legs. Something wet, unknown.

Donna laughed, letting your hair go and moving behind you, scratching your back and pressing her body against yours.

“Well, I guess you've earned a punishment, although I doubt you see it as such, right?” She laughed amused, grabbing your legs, making the warmth of her to comfort you. “You're not going to make me angry, are you? You're going to be still, you're going to be good.”

You nodded, feeling how her hands traveled over your body, how they grabbed you from behind, how they grabbed your breasts in a different way. She always caressed you. She told you how beautiful your body was. But that was not an affectionate gesture, but one of domination, just what you wanted: to feel her, to feel her in a way that stupid mannequin could never do.

As on other occasions, when your body was showered with kisses and caresses, you felt that lump in her dress again, one that made you burn, that made you wonder how it would feel, what sensations you could experience with Donna inside of you, truly possessing you, truly being her doll.

Donna created you, she loved you. You were hers. You wanted to be even more hers.

“You naughty, ungrateful doll,” she murmured in your ear as your hips began to move to rub against her prominent erection. “I have given you everything, (Y/N), and how do you repay me? Disobeying me, behaving like a brat. Tell me, what mistake have I made with you?”

“No, no, I'll be a good doll,” you said, afraid that this feeling would disappear, that friction would be torture and it would disappear to give you that lesson, to teach you how to be good.

“Will you? Will you be good? My good doll?” She asked amused, knowing that you couldn't do anything against your wishes.

She was your owner, your creator. She was everything. Donna Beneviento was your life.

“I will be, I promise,” you said panting, feeling her hands lower your underwear, feeling pleasantly exposed, at her disposal. “Please, love me…”

“You're so cute...” Donna whispered, moving her dress to release her own desire, to rub it against your wet entrance.

Why could a doll...? Enough of stupid questions.

“So sweet... Your body is perfect, (Y/N)...”

“I'm perfect for you,” you murmured, moaning from the pleasure of her length against your entrance, from the sensation that went beyond kisses. Kisses that made you much happier, that made you feel like her good doll, her favorite doll.

“How arrogant,” Donna whispered, scratching your skin, sensitive to her touch, sensitive to her. “When I’m done with you, my doll, I will have to teach you manners.”

Slowly, as if wanting to reaffirm that it was a punishment, Donna entered you, stretching your body, making that pain increase, making you put on a strange face and hit the wooden table.

“Mistress... It hurts,” you protested the overwhelming sensation of her erection inside you, deforming your walls, stretching you in a way you didn't think you were capable of.

“Shh, stai zitto, my doll,” Donna whispered, stroking your hair, leaning over your ear. “It will just be a moment. Do you know how good you feel? How does your body hug me?”

You nodded when her caresses eased the sensation, when your doll-like body was able to get used to her size, hugging it tightly, covering it with the wetness of your desire.

“Now, I'm going to move and you, tesoro, you are going to stay still... Don't disappoint me anymore,” she told you softly, before entering completely, causing you to moan indiscreetly, letting out the pleasure that the pain hid for a moment.

“No, Mistress, I'll be your good doll,” you said, clenching your fists tightly, noticing how your body made her slide with embarrassing ease as she moved slowly, enjoying that same sensation. You knew she enjoyed it. Her moans were soft, discreet, heated, but they were moans. Donna was enjoying it. Your body was making her to enjoy.

“That's it... My good doll... You're so wet... So tight... Maybe I was wrong about you,” Donna murmured, increasing the force of her thrusts. “Maybe I should have used you like that from the beginning.”

“Yes, mistress, use me...” You said moaning, moving your hips to adapt to her rhythm, to feel her inside of you, to feel that you were hers in every way possible.

“Don’t, tell me...” The lady in black growled, giving you a spank that caused your body to tremble with pleasure. “…What I have to do, (Y/N)”

“No, mistress, I'm sorry, mistress,” you moaned, delirious from the sensations, from the pleasure of her erection playing on your body, stretching you, possessing you.

“I don't want to hear your voice,” she ordered with another spank. You bit your lip and moved your head to look at your enemy, that stupid wooden mannequin. No, she would never feel that way. Only you could enjoy her body, only you had that right.

Your suppressed moans matched the wet sounds of her intense, soft but dominant thrusts. Your walls hugged her, prevented her from separating from you. You knew she wanted silence, but you couldn't help it, the pleasure was too overwhelming.

“I love you,” you whispered, keeping your balance, opening your legs wider so Donna would be more comfortable, so she could have better access to you.

“Oh, are you sweet now? How predictable, my love,” Donna laughed, amused, putting an arm under your neck, forcing you to bend your back, feeling her penis getting deeper and deeper, deeper inside you.

“Please, mistress,” you begged, when the heat became unbearable, when your body began to ask for release. You were a doll, just that, a doll that wanted to scream, that wanted Donna.

“What are you, (Y/N)?” She asked, ignoring your pleas, agitating her breathing, hitting you hard with her hips, making you explode with pleasure. “Answer me!”

“Your doll,” you moaned, noticing a current of pleasure run through your entire body, making your walls tense, moving to embrace her.

Was that an orgasm? Why a doll...? I said enough is enough.

Donna moaned in satisfaction as she watched your body release uncontrollably. Of course, she didn't stop. She wanted to make you hers.

“And what am I?” She asked, bending you back to the table and grabbing your hips to guide your body trembling with pleasure. “What am I!?”

“You are my, my owner,” you said almost without strength, letting yourself be carried away by the sensation.

“Very well, good doll, (Y/N),” Donna fawned over you, stopping for a moment to kiss you on the cheek. “Maybe I should do it inside. Maybe this way you will learn your lesson, what do you think?”

“Yes, please, fill me, do whatever you want to me...” You begged, pathetically reaching for her hand. She pushed it away with a nasty slap and continued with her thrusts.

“You're mine, (Y/N), you're mine...” She moaned, unable to control her words, crazy with the pleasure she felt when she released herself inside of you, when she let a humid heat run through your insides, causing you a second tension of your body.

Donna pulled away, pulling up your underwear immediately after. She didn't want you to stop being hers. She wanted her warmth to not abandon you.

“Hey, look at me,” she told you, turning you around, which made your instincts speak again, throwing you into her kisses, ones that, miraculously, she didn't reject until after a few moments. “Enough, (Y/N)”

You nodded, catching your breath, feeling the moisture soaking into your underwear as you let yourself be comforted by her arms, by a tender hug and a kiss on your hair.

“I don't want you to behave like that again, do you hear me?” She hissed in your ear, cupping your face in her hands. You nodded with teary eyes, wanting to beg for that to happen again.

“I promise, mistress... But, but...” You stammered, settling into her chest, closing your eyes to enjoy the affection of your creator, your owner.

She made you, you were her doll.

“But?”

“Please, make me yours again,” you asked in a low voice, afraid of her rejection. Quite the opposite, Donna laughed amused, kissing you on the lips again.

“If you behave, (Y/N), I might do it. But don't forget what you are, tesoro. You are my doll.”

#donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #re8 donna #re8 village #oneshot #requests

98 notes · View notes

sminiac · 8 months

Note

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE WHINY RIWOO WITH DRY HUMPING I BEG. IT CAN START WITH THEM LIKE PLAY FIGHTING BEING CUTE BUT THEN. YEAH. I read one with riize sohee and.. It was LIFE changing 👁

⋆ Lee Sanghyeok + Reader

Contains! — Smut focused, dry humping, MDNI.

Note — As soon as you mentioned Sohee w this I was like “Thea!!!😧☝️” bc IT REALLY WAS LIFE CHANGING, ugh I love my mutuals, I <3 @kissohee. But I gotchu! Although, I will switch it up so it doesn’t seem very copy paste, it wouldn’t feel right to me, here’s the fic w Sohee that was mentioned <3

You knew they’d do good, they always did, and Riwoo was one out of the six who certainly knew that they had executed their performance quite perfectly.

The adrenaline rush still buzzes within him as he comes bursting back into the waiting room, walking like the sun had found its place of eternal peace under the thick of his skin. His confidence glowed from within, beaming in contentment as he falls into your chest with an eruption of happy giggles, basking you in his warmth, saying breathlessly against you that he had fun, so much fun, and that it didn’t even feel like he was running on merely a few hours of sleep as your fingers scratched against the nape of his neck, sweat dripping from his hair and down the surface of his skin, it reminded you of the way water shakes off of pine trees after a long shower from the clouds above.

You couldn’t deny how pretty he looks like this despite the cemented fact that the two of you were strictly platonic, only best friends, but something foreign stirred up inside of you seeing the way he still struggles to catch his breath, his heart beating so fast that you can feel it through the layers of clothing between the two of you.

“You looked really hot on stage.” you say simply, watching the way your fingers thread through the few inches of his blonde hair. “Yeah, it was really warm, I don’t think I’ve ever produced this much sweat from performing before.”

You struggle to bite back a laugh at his clueless response, a little warm in the face from his unknowingness to the existing layers of your words. “I bet, I can feel it soaking through your clothes, how’re you on top of me if you’re so warm?” Your finger pokes gently into his cheek.

“Shhh!” He musters as he lets his hands out from bearing his weight, his cheek smushed against your shoulder as he settles further into you. “I’d prefer for my pillows not to yap in my ear when I’m trying to sleep, thanks.”

Your palm gently pats against the back of his head, imitating a smack that makes him jump, you’re too busy whining about how he needs to get off of you that the fact his semi-hard cock just dug into your thigh goes unnoticed. “You’re lucky I’m so nice to you, y’know? Bratty boy.”

He makes a small ‘Mmmph’ sound in disagreement, his hips lifting and then falling back into you. Right now it seems that you’re the clueless one after dismissing the movement as a way to annoy you, and not that he’s secretly rolling his own high into play.

“I’m so nice to you, Riwoo. Sometimes I think I show you a little too much leniency, even when you do deserve it.” There’s an airy laugh to your tone, “No matter how rare that is.” and his ears know that you’re merely just joking around, you know- like you always do, it’s how you you are, but something about it is simultaneously making his hips shift against your leg, his breaths so heavy that they start exiting through his mouth in quiet pants.

“Please-” he squeaks, his hands fisting at your top desperately, he tries to keep himself from grinding into you fully with the heft and longevity that has his mouth watering, it’s not right, but fuck does it already feel so good.

“What? What’re you doing?”

“Hhngh- why d’you, fuck-! Have t’be so soft.” He’s taken under by the slightest lick of pleasure, so much so that his own embarrassment is far from the surface, and he’s not willing to pull himself out of it anytime soon. “Riwoo, can you…” the pre that sinks into his briefs coaxes him to keep going, rocking faster, harder against your leg, but the pleasure only comes to a certain point before fizzling out again, he doesn’t have enough firmness to make him breach the minor setback but he’s too stupid to come up with a solution for himself. “Honey please, I just need to you-”

He isn’t listening, his hips are frantic, eager, a little too much for your liking. “slow down.” You pull your leg away, out from under him.

He looks up at you with a quivering lip, such a sweet docile thing, his wide glossy eyes blinking up at you, the fear starting to sink in once he’s able to focus back on the actuality of the moment. He was just pathetically humping your leg. You, his bestfriend, his awfully pretty bestfriend who has a habit of calling him ‘honey’.

“Sorry, s-sorry. Fuck! Oh my god, Y/n I’m really sorry.” His head starts shaking side-to-side, a look of pure disbelief on his face as tears start swelling against the bottom lid of his eye, they fall heavy with every blink, the smoked out mix of warm browns around his aegyosal smearing down his face, leaving an existing trail that makes the entire act so much more lucid.

“You need to chill out,” you chuckle whilst leaning into him, he’s frighteningly still as you press a tender kiss against the mole under his eye. “I just wanted to move, make it feel better for you, you probably won’t be able to cum like this, hm?”

You look so beautiful, he swears you’re an angel, especially with that damn proclivity for being so concerned about others before yourself. He nods his head, agreeing, you’re right- how are you so right all of the time? The words, the way you use them, he’s never heard such explicit language come from your mouth before in any amount of sincerity that they’re soaked in now, but god does he want to kiss you because of it. “Tell me,” you beckon, your eyelashes are so pretty, has he told you that before? Especially the way your head tilts to the side, the angle makes them look more wispy as you blink around at his features, your fingers gently moving the ends of his hair out of the way.

You touch him like he’s always been yours to touch, and right now he’s never been more sure of wanting to always be just yours.

“Can’t- you’re right, you are. I-I bet I could, make do with what I have, don’t need anything else- whatever you give me, ‘s more than good enough.” His sniffles break through his words, the sound of his voice so quiet, shy, hiding in the back of his throat that it makes it crack.

“Trade spots with me, will you?”

He nods quickly, he will, of course he will, he’ll do anything you ask of him. He wastes no time pushing himself back onto his calves, watching as you stand up from the couch and instruct him to lay on his back, claiming your spot.

“Comfy?” You ask, leaning over him, pushing his hair back from his forehead, it pokes out between the crack of your fingers as he nods, eyes closing as you place a warm kiss against his forehead. “Good. Sweet boy, bein’ so good for me.”

Sweet boy, he’s never heard that one before, it has the exact same effect that your usual pet name has on him, he knows because it makes his shoulder ache. A whimper bubbles from his lips, you can feel the way he squirms under you, it has your hips moving to rest directly over his dick that’s straining heavy, wet in his pants. The sensation is warm, really warm, and… damp? Your hand drags down, thumb swiping over the area a few times as Riwoo’s fighting back a long pitchy moan from escaping so bad that it hurts, curiously you inch back, seeing a darker patch of black along the seam of his slacks, his pre had enough time to completely soak through, added the copious amount it was enough to breach through the thick of your pants.

The moisture makes the fabric feel almost thinner, or maybe it’s the way it’s conformed to the shape of his head that makes the drag of your pussy over it feel even more distinct as you move back, unwilling to waste time, to let even a second of seeing him like this slip from your grasp you resume grinding against him.

“Please- fuck! Y/n- pleasepleaseplease!” He whimpers quickly, unabashedly rocking his hips up in time with yours, his left hand has a firm grip on your thigh that keeps you close, his other rests against his cheek, index finger caught between his teeth as he rocks into you. “Wanna cum, jus’ wanna cum- make a mess f’you, only you- shit! Plea-”

His legs help him punch up into you, unexpectedly spilling in his pants, you watch whilst catching your breath at the way he shudders back down into the cushions under him, his mouth wide open, drool pooling behind his teeth and leaking out of the corners of his lips, a long drawn out whine pulling from his chest, a fuzzy dazed expression on his face, filling out his brain.

“You really do know how to make a mess.” You tease, hands running soothingly up and down his chest.

“I don’t think I’ve ever came like that before… are we- are we still only friends if you made me cum that hard that fast?”

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leclsrc · 1 year

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hi audreeey!!! could i get a drabble where charles and reader are on a basic (not "basic" but u get me) dinner date and they're just all capital F Fond... like maybe even pretending theyre married bc they love the other's company sm... I LOVE U

begin again – cl16

Tonight is different. Tonight is special. title from this

auds here... my quasi-apology for being mia-ish. also i am writing a long form fic it's just taking agesss as i'm traveling rn (its nearly done) but know that I LOVE U ALL... like crazy. this is p long for a drabble but i missed writing them a lot! love u guys n i hope i did this adorable prompt justice

He says something in French, pointing at something on the menu. Then he flips the page and points at a bold red image of a bottle, mouthing its name in perfect fluency. Two glasses, he adds. One for the entree, another for dessert.

“Red wine?” You ask, smiling. Charles doesn’t usually order wine.

“Well,” he says, beaming at you and then the waiter, “tonight is special for us.”

You have to wrestle with the grin that fights its way onto your lips, but you admit valiant defeat. “Very special indeed.”

The waiter departs and you recline, mind still racing. It’s only halted by a polite voice from your left—the girl at the table beside yours, asking with meek timidity: wedding tomorrow? She has this giddy smile on her face, like it’s her wedding or her dinner; her husband-or-boyfriend across her just smiles sheepishly. Sorry. I’m curious.

“Oh,” you say quietly, humming. “I got promoted.”

“And…” Charles says, lookin at you like you share a lovely little inside joke.

Your lips grow. “And?”

“This lovely girl doesn’t remember, but I proposed to her this time last year.” He gestures to your left hand. A ring, blending in with the others you usually wear, sparkles in the low light of the restaurant.

Proposed. Your eyes stay on him even as he looks away, devoting his attention to the conversation at hand. Then you nod, a few times, soft bobs of your head. “We’re having a June wedding,” you say fondly to the girl at the table adjacent. You love the way she lights up at the mention of it, at the added detail—she asks for more in accented English.

“How did you propose?” She turns to the guy in front of her, who’s smiling dopily. “We’ve been together a year, so he could use some ideas for the future, if you know what I mean.” They both share a laugh.

Charles hums, recalling the plan he’s thought of a million times over. He conjures the images of it, the memories of mapping everything out, perfecting every last minute detail. “I did it at our house. We live in Monaco, in this, ah—this nice, wide place on a hill.” You remember seeing the house for the first time, from Charles’ car. “I did not want a big fuss around it. I knew I wanted it to be just us.”

“Just us,” you murmur along, nodding. You’ve always known it’s what he wanted for both of you. Just you two against the world.

“So I bought her flowers, lit some candles, and we sat on the couch.” He pauses, like the next few moments are so sacred and so lovely that they deserve to be heard by nobody but you two. But if Charles is anything, he’s loud—loud when he talks, yells; loud when he loves. “And I played our favorite song, Harvest Moon,and I sat next to her and just talked, and I said it. I know it doesn’t sound romantic—”

“—but I cried,” you cut in, looking right at him. Cut off, his eyes flit to you, softening when they see your smiling expression. “I cried like a baby. He was… he meant every word he said. And I was lucky, I guess, that he knows me well enough to, you know—know exactly what I want.” The conversation ebbs into quiet a little bit after that, but you catch bits of how adorable and a June wedding from their own talk.

You eat in relative peace afterward—he talks about a funny story involving Carlos and stolen underwear from the gym locker room. You laugh, bubbling up your champagne, and Charles zips through two glasses of his own drink. Tonight is special, and warm, and you’re in France, and wine seems to be synonymous with the country, and everything, if just for now, makes perfect sense.

In between finishing dessert and the bill’s arrival, when the couple beside you have said their goodbyes and congratulations, and the restaurant has begun to quell its general noise, he takes your idle hand on the table. You look up from where you’d been staring at the puddle of tiramisu filling on your plate.

He’s staring. Charles is always aware of how often and how long he stares, extended gazes of your beautiful features. The awareness does not, however, cause the frequency to wane in the slightest. He still finds himself constantly enthralled by you. And even when he’s away, in a car going a million miles a minute, he finds you in his daydreams. That smile.

Nothing, he says with a quaint smile. I love you.

The bill comes and he, of course, covers it—before you even get the chance to slide your card onto the table. You fuss over it. He stares at you like you’re worth everything and more and goes, with a little laugh, I just need a kiss.

His car is parked outside, valet this time, but the cobblestone is so inviting and quiet that he pays an extra few euros to let you both walk around first. You’re not the only couple along the Seine—in fact, you’re one of many, but your shared, hushed laughs make you both feel like you’re by yourselves. Charles knows all the detours, can pinpoint buildings from different vantage points, takes you on a voyage of Paris all his own. You will look back on this one day and think—your maps of cities, your maps of places, they’ve all been charted by him.

He keeps insisting tonight should be special, like he’s trying to convince you. But you know just as well how special tonight is, how different it is from all the nights previous. You’re just quiet, you suppose, because you’d prefer to bask in this specialty, in Charles. You’re quiet because if you open your mouth for more than ten seconds, you’re going to spill your entire self out to the city. Tomorrow night will not be tonight, just as yesterday night was not tonight. This is just tonight.

You’re guided through the cobblestone streets, arm around your waist. You’re so overcome with love you feel like hugging him, just now, just here in the middle of the street, breathe him in and sigh out little I love yous until somebody has to pass through, grunting about how PDA has gone too far.

“You know how…” he starts, and every time he starts a sentence that way, it’s almost always followed by something fairly nonsensical. You know how turtles can fly? You know how Van Gogh was in an affair with Mona Lisa? You know how the latest episode of The Kardashians had Kim and Kourtney fighting? You smile, laughing already, gesturing for him to proceed. “How we see the stars nearly every night?”

You hum.

“So sometimes, we forget they’re pretty. We think, oh, bah, stars. And then a few weeks, or months, later, we look up on a random evening and we’re shocked again. We go, wow, stars. They are beautiful.” He clutches at his heart to convey the emotion he’s describing.

“Yeah, what about?” You ask amusedly, turning slightly to him.

“That is how I feel when I see you. Every time. That feeling when you see the stars after weeks.”

You breathe one, slippery inhale and then it leaves you shaky, wet, trembling. Your eyes tack themselves onto the stars. A chill rolls through you at the knowledge that you remind him of something so confusing, so beautiful, so strange. “I—God. I love you, you know.”

“Did you like my story?” He asks. He maintains his smile, his attitude, his goofiness. His little attempt to make you feel better. Unfortunately, it works every time without fail. You sniffle and roll your eyes, thankful that you haven’t devolved into a sobbing mess.

Then for the first time tonight, he breaks the precarious, near-perfect illusion: “You know, that is how I would really propose to you if I did it. I did give you that ring, remember?”

“I know,” you whisper, trying to fight tears. “I remember.”

“Don’t cry,” he quells softly. You keep freezing to dab at the corners of your eyes. He responds by pulling you into a side street so you don’t block anyone’s walk, allowing you to lean against the lamppost so he towers above you, eyes etched dark, saturated with genuine concern. “Come on, darling.”

“Charles,” you say thinly, and you’ve gone from coherent sentences to weak pleads.

“Don’t cry.” It’s all he can say, gentle and loving and Charles. “It’s a special night.” It is a special night. It’s the night before your first day at your job across the globe.

It’s your last night in Europe, your last night before you leave, your last night before Charles becomes nothing but an apparition of your past. You’re beginning to realize how foolish this plan was, this wrecked and stupid plan, but God if you didn’t love how real it all felt. It felt like bliss, being a great big pretender.

It was—it should be a month ago now, give or take. You’d gotten the offer, accepted it, told Charles about it, and then you both had to sit with the idea of living across the world from each other. You’d wrestled with plans vis-a-vis your relationship, with timezones and the demand that came with the first year on the job. In the end it was something amicable.

In the end, it ended—but not without one last night together, stretching your dreams and future fantasies to their limit.

Charles will always love you like it’s his last chance to do so. He figures that means letting you fly, letting you pursue things that, if you didn’t, would keep you tethered to the same old things. So even if it rips him apart, and even if all he wants to do is drop everything and dance with you, to the quaint Paris traffic—he remains ever the reassuring one.

He remains, forever, the storyteller, the smiling figure that takes your hand across the table and squeezes once to say he loves you. The loud guy who would’ve, if he could, proposed in your now-sold house, surrounded by candles and music. You wish he could love you longer. You know he always will, in the same way you know the nature of his love will inevitably change when enough time passes.

“Things will change,” you say weakly.

“They will always change.”

“And will you remember me after all of it?”

“I will love you after all of it. I’ve loved you through everything else.” He says, pressing a gentle kiss to your eye. “You know that, right? I’ll just do it from afar this time.”

You swear, if love and hope and being young were ever enough to make things work, you swear—this would’ve worked. But the universe reminds you time and again that they are not.

So, when you kiss Charles for the last time, his eyes are twinkling with Paris moonlight, his lips taste like wine, and you get the special chance to relish in what once was, and what will never be again.

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #charles leclerc imagines

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