#this is beautiful AND doesn't make you want to peel your skin off

[thedreadvampy]

continues to be a lovely warm December

[kalims]

scribbles

"( – ⌓ – ) ⎯⎯ he lets you draw on his skin, yeah thats pretty much it.

ft. malleus, vil

malleus

it was... a breach of your patience.

the lesson, was awfully boring. the more you listened to the apparent 'heroic' doings of certain individuals. the more it strips away your attentiveness to the words spilling out of professor trein's mouth. no matter how many times you will your ears to make out the incoherent lecturing of the man... it remains deaf.

so you decide to sate said boredom.

how? of course you need to bother your seatmate!

your intentions remained within the circle of yourself of course. your eyes stuck to the stray marker over your paper so you silently twisted the cap off and scribbled on your paper—then it was your palm—and now, malleus' arm.

"child of...?" man. malleus finishes in his mind, his attention suddenly snapped away at the sudden tug of his arm. definitely not his own decision to even make it move in the first place. usually it would remain stiffly beside his body like usual and even if someone tried to pry it to them it would remain still. but without his attention, his body lets you.

without another word. you peel open his fingers, palm open to you and it's a notion he allows. and he stays silent when you tug his gloves off. perhaps with a curious huff, malleus drifts closer to you. to accommodate your actions that he's yet to get an explanation for.

... and suddenly there's very bright flowers drawn on his palm.

said owner of the palm might just be toe darkest person in the room so it's quite out of place.

but it's from you so he likes it.

he peeks at it, with a fond smile on his face. I should enchant it to remain there forever. he thinks to himself, the curve of his lips growing wider at his thoughts, like he'd proud of the idea. the idea of being able to carry around something made exclusively by you might as well shove him into a cannonball and send him to cloud nine.

it's adorable. you're adorable.

his world grows a little more blue the more he stares at you. and if it weren't for the searing glances the professor sends your way malleus would just let his eyes engrave you into his memory forever, so he laments over it and reluctantly peels his gaze off you. mind speaking a thousand memories, the very same reason he somehow can't hear anything trein says.

you draw a strange looking lizard beneath his ring finger, one that looks a little like him and he thinks that you're asking him for marriage.

that can be arranged... he ponders, oblivious.

vil

drawings, doodles, painting— art. a reflection of the soul.

vil is great at makeup.

every brush on your face, a step to beauty. that is his reflection. you are his soul. he wants to make you look—no, make you feel like you're beautiful cause the canvas he's standing in front of is his greatest piece of art, he'd want to put you on the tallest pedestal there is. the grandest one just so the rest knows your beauty is parallel to none, something they can see and admire but not reach.

but he also wants to keep you in his own room, because only he knows what he felt when he painted you. only he should be the one given the grace.

this... he doesn't know what to consider.

perhaps vil should be bothered, if not then a little peeved at the several colors across his skin. a myriad of doodles, some words, and some simple drawings. a poor portrait of him is drawn next to one he assumes yours, the 'fairest' word on the right side of his hand, and flowers.

he's sure though. you're definitely no artist.

the thought cracks a smile at him, and you steal a glance midst the cool tip of the pen dancing along his skin. "I'd thought you wouldn't even let me do this," you admit, chair having been moved over closer to him so you wouldn't have any leaning problems. a suggestion by vil you gratefully took up, though you doubt it was just another excuse to have you closer.

"why?"

"dunno," you shrug. "it looks unseemly compared to you."

he huffs, flashing you a light smirk. "so my face is, hmmm..." vil ponders for a moment, and your face twists to the realization that you possibly just exposed what you think. but you suppose it isn't really a problem since it was basically common sense that vil is...

"gorgeous." you finish for him.

his aura brightens. (probably will be for the rest of the week.)

your hand retracts from him, the marker gripped between your fingers. and he takes a look at your 'art.' he doesn't know if he should consider it as one since there are a heap of sloppy lines, and the color bleeds into his skin. some smudges that you accidentally brushed against that makes it seem like a messy picture of chaos.

vil strives for perfection, but it's only natural there are flaws. to love oneself, you must love all parts. and to love you, he loves whatever the ink on his skin is.

well, what the heck.

"pass it to me," he stretches his hand, and you quirk a brow. questioning but curious so he indulges you. "I'll show you how it's done."

note. ngl idk what I wrote for vil it's currently 12 AM rn ☠ <- newer note, this has been rotting in my drafts for weeks and I couldn't decide whether to post it cause I wasn't sure about vil's but here hehehe

[luveline]

I NEEEEEED MORE STRIPPER!READER X SPENCER

fem, 1.2k

You and Spencer aren't dating, but he thinks you might be in the before. 

"You're home!" you say, clambering at the door to slip out of your shoes. You throw yourself at him as soon as you're close enough, the salted caramel and sandalwood of your new perfume washing over him. "You're here! I missed you." 

Spencer tries not to blush. He wishes you weren't so close —his hair is lank from two days unwashed, his five o'clock shadow obvious and embarrassing. If you notice anything unappealing about him you don't give the slightest inclination, your arms crossing over his back as you drive your face into his neck. 

"I can't believe how much I missed you, Dr. Reid," you say warmly. 

"I missed you too." Morgan would laugh at him for being this earnest, maybe comment on his lack of charisma, but Spencer doesn't know how else to show that he's interested beyond sincerity. 

You step back but work your hands up his neck and into his hair, raking it away from his cheeks. "That's better. I can see you better now." 

Spencer thought he remembered only horrible things from being a teenager, but he remembers this feeling, sweaty-palmed, heart-racing want. You tilt his head gently one way and then the other like you're following the motion of a wave, fingertips scratching in his hair, the sensation stirring the very pit of his stomach. No trace of tiredness remains on your face, only spritely joy to see him. 

"That feels nice," he confesses. He's not weird about it, more friendly. 

Your aswering grin tells him he nailed the casualness he was aiming for. 

"You've been working hard," you say, tucking his hair behind his ears and dusting down his shoulders, "I can tell. You look tired." 

"You don't. Short shift?" 

"Is it weird that bad weather genuinely keeps people home? I guess they prefer their wives when it's cold." 

"No, really? Who could ever pick the woman they married over you and those silver shorts?" he teases, peeling out of his sweater.

The shirt underneath is rumpled, but he doesn't care about that. Anything to be seen between you has been seen. Spencer has, unquestionably, seen you half naked. You've seen him in his boxers, so you're just about square. "Idiots, all of them." 

You're staying with him again while a security company fits your apartment with the appropriate trappings. Or, that was the initial reason. Spencer went with you to assess after it was done, discovering black mould in the corner of your bedroom and spreading its evil way across the bathroom ceiling. 

What is that? he asked, knowing what it was, hoping you'd at least pretend to be concerned. 

That's fifty bucks off a month, Spence. Don't look so horrified. 

"I missed you," you say for the third time in as many minutes. "And I hoped you'd be home, so I brought Chinese food for two."

You and Spencer change into pyjamas, and it's cliche but whatever, you look beautiful undone —he's not stupid enough to lie to himself about how he feels when you're wearing your little outfits, but he prefers this side of you a thousand times over because you like it better. You wear your prized baseball tee, white with blue sleeves, and a pair of sweatpants pushed up high on one leg while you ice your sore knee. He sits cross legged opposite, jabbing his chopsticks into one of your crispy spring rolls just to watch you gasp. 

"Can I ask you something too personal?" 

You rub down the length of your naked calf, sighing as some of the tension releases. You're more bruise than girl lately, splodges of tender skin patterning the inside. "What don't you know about me, at this point?" you ask. 

Like it's a good thing. Like you're glad for it. 

"Are you making enough money?" he asks. 

You steal back your spring roll, answering him through rice paper and greens, "Kind of. Not tonight, but enough for dinner. I'll be okay." 

"Did you think about it?" 

You shovel through your waxy box of rice, shrugging. "I thought about it, but… it's not realistic. What office would take me? What drug store?" 

"I could loan you the money while you apprentice, and get some experience, you could go back to school–" He says it all in a rush and you still knock him down. 

"It's real sweet of you, Spence, it is, but I couldn't let you do that. That makes me your charity case, and not your friend." 

"What else do you do for the people you care about?" he asks. Let them stay at a job they don't like, even if they're good at it, one that puts them statistically at higher risk for femicide or assault? 

"I wouldn't need a loan, Spencer, I'd need more than you have," you say gently. "I'd have to start my life from scratch. How would I pay rent? You couldn't afford to keep us both." 

"You could stay with me again." 

You shake your head. "You're the best friend I've ever had, which is why I'm saying no." 

He doesn't get what you mean, but you finish your dinner and help him clean up. He more than trusts you to stay here alone while he's on a case, you've honestly left it in better condition than you found it, and he insists you sleep in his bed again while you're here. 

"Don't be silly," you say, throwing a sheet out over the couch. "This is your place. You need to sleep in your own bed." 

The disaster is that it smells like you. Spencer says goodnight to you reluctantly and leaves you on the couch with every throw blanket he owns, climbing into his own bed and pulling the comforter up to his nose. He imagines you here at night, your body wash still clinging to your skin from a late night shower, your hand tucked under his pillow. There are so many things he'd like to give you, if you'd just let him. 

He spends a quiet thirty minutes like that, missing the warmth of your skin and your casual touching, wishing he could offer you the fresh start you desire, even if it meant he wasn't involved. 

The couch springs creak as you toss and turn, the sound finding it's way down the short hall from the living room slash kitchen to his bedroom. Hesitant, Spencer shifts in bed, hitting that one coil in his mattress just right, the twang resounding.  

You appear in his doorway with your borrowed pillows crushed to your chest not long after that. You don't need to ask, Spencer doesn't need to answer. He can't give you everything that you want, but he can give you a quiet, comfortable night next to someone who loves you. 

Ever well-tempered, you slip into the sheets beside him and curl up toward him, your fingertips brushing his side. You don't look at him in the dark, but you mumble sleepily, fingers twitching, "Night, Spence." 

You're out like a light. 

[bbyhellfire]

can't stop thinking about riding eddie in front of a mirror (18+ only)

eddie x fem! reader, smut, p in v, mirror sex, reverse cowgirl, body worship

You never could hold your tongue when you smoked. Your thoughts scattered with every hit until the filter in your head faded away. It’s why you're comfortable enough to ask – 

“Why do you like it when I’m on top?”

You slip the joint between Eddie's fingers, your vision hazy as you watch the silver of his rings bleed into the dark blue interior of his van. His chest raises as he inhales, his eyes closing as he exhales with a loopy smile pulling on the corners of his mouth.

The words roll around in your dry mouth as you press him with another question, “Is it ‘cause my tits are in your face?”

“That's a reason. A pretty good one actually," He pauses to take another hit. "But not the reason.”

“Then why?”

Eddie is slow to respond, you can’t tell if he forgot your question or if he’s thinking of an answer. Your own mind buzzes until you’ve almost forgotten your initial question.

“Well,” He turns to you with bloodshot eyes and a boyish grin. “Why don’t I show you?”

That’s how you end up in your current position – sitting on top of Eddie with your cunt stretched out on his cock, facing away from him and towards the dirty mirror hanging on his bedroom wall. His hands cover your chest, his fingers circling and tweaking your nipples. A shudder runs up your spine when Eddie mutters behind you, “You look so good like this.”

You hum a detached response, eyes briefly flickering up to look at your face before they fall down to the sight of his cock notched inside you. Eddie gives your nipples one more twist before his hands settle on your hips.

“Now, are you gonna start? You know this isn’t all we do.”

“I know…” Your words trail off as his fingers press into your skin to encourage you to push your hips back. You move forward to hold onto his thighs, but your eyes eyes still remain on the reflection of his cock inside you. You’re so wet that you’ve soaked his cock down to the patch of dark hair at his base. The small lamp in his room provides little lighting at night, but it’s enough to make his thighs shine from your wetness. You're sure he can feel it, too.

With thighs bracing, you raise yourself up before slowly sink down. The stretch of his cock is sharper than usual, spurred on by the reflection in front of you. Eddie's searing gaze doesn't help either. You catch glimpses of him in the mirror as you bounce on top of him. Up and down, he devours the sight of you struggling to contain him.

His hands tighten around your hips, aiding you as you move on top of him. It’s like you can feel him all the way up between your ribs. The feeling of fullness makes your eyes roll back into your skull. 

“Hey, hey. Eyes open, sweetheart," He trails one hand up to hold your throat. He gives you a light squeeze to tempt you to open your eyes. "You wanted to know why I like you on top. You gotta watch.”

“Eddie–” 

“Just watch, sweetheart.”

You bite down a whimper, but comply with his request. Your eyes peel open to follow his hand down from your neck to rest on your hips once again.

“There you go. Just keep your eyes open. You’ll understand, I promise."

This time you focus on scene in front of you, really focus this time. And it’s…beautiful. Not just where the both of you connect, but everywhere. Everything. You don’t expect this. Watching yourselves like this, you look perfect together. Your bodies are wrapped tight and close, limbs shifting against one another in unison.

Your hips rise in confidence, soft ripples traveling across your flesh, as your bodies move together. 

“F–fuck, Eddie. Okay, get it. I get it!” 

“I knew you would. So smart and so beautiful. And strong. Look at the way you move, sweetheart. It’s like we were made for each other.” 

The amusement in his words has your calf muscles trembling from the effort of keeping yourself balanced and speared on his cock. You barely register one of his hands curling forward and down until his fingertips touch your clit. Your thighs jerk in surprise, the shock of the feeling making your movements halt. 

“Eddie, fuck. I’m gonna cum. I–!” You’re babbling as Eddie plays with your clit. 

“It’s okay,” He groans, as your pussy starts to tighten around him. “I’ve got you. Let go. Just keep watching, okay? This is my favorite part. Don't want you to miss it.”

Electric shocks run through your body as you watch the intimate image of sweaty limbs, trembling thighs, and wrecked expressions.

Messy, dirty, and so fucking addicting.

It’s when Eddie groans your name like it's both a sin and salvation when you finally let go. The heat from your release bursts and melts away any remaining strength in your legs. You collapse backwards, hitting Eddie’s soft chest with a thud. His own movements are quicker than yours, wrapping an arm across your chest to keep you in place as you ride out your orgasm.

As the roaring in your ears subsides, your brain starts to register your surroundings: the yellowing popcorn ceiling of Eddie's bedroom, the sticky sweat coating both your bodies, and Eddie murmuring to you again as he gently rocks up into your spasming cunt.

“Now do you get it? You look so fucking beautiful and I’m a selfish bastard. I wanna keep that view for myself.”

[taliseby]

WARNING: Smut | +18 content

Feat. Hawks, Aizawa, Bakugou, Dabi, and Shigaraki

HAWKS

Subtly checks in on you during the whole thing, “Does that feel good, beautiful?” “You want more? Can't get enough of my cock?” Always making sure he has you wanting and begging for more. Has a thing for enthusiastic consent. The more you want him, the more he's willing to give you.

He's a man known for going fast, but he wants to take this slow. Well, as slow as he can manage when his cock is being milked by your tight heat.

He's at your every whim here. You say faster, he's going faster. You say slower, he's slowing down till you can feel every ridge and vein on his cock. You want him to fuck you dumb? His pleasure. Want him to take his time and worship every part of you? Get ready to be treated like a goddess because he's diving in.

Uses your hips as a way to anchor his hands in place. He gets a bit excited and sometimes intense in the way he move so his hands find themselves wandering a lot. Eventually, he squeezes the plush of your hips to keep them in place and help guide your hips to meet his.

Such a sweet talker and a giant tease. “So pretty when you arch your back like that.” “C'mon, you can do it~” “Lemme see those pretty eyes, baby, look at me.”

His aftercare is so soft. Cleans you up and massages your body to help you relax until you're just putty on the fresh sheets. He's getting you some water and juice and a snack or two while turning on your favorite show or movie and holding you close. Kissing your head and cheek and whispering how much he loves you and how perfect you are to him.

AIZAWA

Talks. You. Through. It.

This man is full of praise and encouragement mumbled between tight grunts and husky moans. The kind of man you can shut your brain off with because he'll guide you all the way to your orgasm himself. Tells you where to touch yourself and gently manhandles you into the positions he favors.

He's so observant your first time, too. He already loves you so much, and seeing you so vulnerable and willing under him makes his head spin. He'll take in every little movement and noise you make. He wants to know you inside and out and what better way to do that than have your legs hanging over his shoulders with his cock nestled inside your heat.

He is very attentive and wants to make sure you're feeling good and enjoying how he fucks you. Checking in with you, “That okay, honey? Does it feel good?” “Want me to keep going? You gotta talk to me, pretty.”

Keeps a steady pace. Not too fast, not too slow. He wants to make it last but wants you to feel good. He can be a bit lazy in his free time, but he's a giver by nature. Your pleasure is all he wants, and having you whine and moan for him is what he needs most.

Kisses up your calf and ankles while rolling his hips. He thinks it's so precious how you wiggle your hips for more and is more than happy to give it to you.

Will pound you into the mattress if that's what you want. Fold you in half as he hunches over your body to kiss you and taste your sweetness. Every noise drives him crazy and makes him slam his hips into yours.

His aftercare is so sweet, too. Full of praise and softness. Helps you clean up and makes sure to get you water and maybe a snack if you want. Cuddles you up to him because he wants you close and wants to tell you he loves you so bad.

BAKUGOU

He's so NERVOUS. He's always been careful with you because he loves you so much and doesn't want to hurt you or scare you off.

He can't even bring himself to help you undress. Instead, he lets you give him a little strip tease. His eyes watch for every inch of skin that you reveal. Groaning when you take your bra off and let your tips drop out. Even peeling his own clothes off feels so intimate with him. He's all scared up and built like a God and can't help but feel bashful when he sees the way you eye him like a hungry animal.

Once he's bare ass naked, he gets a little more of a kick. He grabs you up and tosses you onto the bed with a grin. His eyes raked over your body, taking in every curve and dip. Your plushness is so fucking beautiful he just wants to eat you up. So he does. Buries his face between your legs because he'll be damned if his woman doesn't cum all over his face. Wants you weak and wet before he even tries to sink his cock into you.

But good God when he goes. He's so fucking thick he's steching you out so fucking nicely. He'll watch every inch that disappears into your hole. Loves the way your puffy cunt sucks him up and squeezes him. His new favorite sight. Can't imagine any other pussy around his cock but yours. Just so fucking soft and warm that he feels intoxicated by you.

He starts slow, easing himself out, then back in, and just watches you melt into the bed. Your hands grip the sheets and your head thrown back while you bite your lip and moan his name. God, he loves you so fucking much. Practically begs to cum inside you because pulling out feels like a sin against man.

Aftercare is delightful. Cleans you up and holds you against his chest. Doesn't talk much, but has you falling asleep in his arms.

DABI

Spontaneous. He's not much of a planner, so your first time with him will be pretty heat of the moment. Making out on the couch in your living room turns into you stripped down on his lap.

I can't see him having the most experience, but he makes up for it with confidence and cockiness. His hands touching everything his eyes see and even having the nerve to stare you dead in the eyes while he cups and rubs your cunt with his warm hands.

Makes you cum on his fingers first. Slipping his middle and ring finger inside you and just watching you fall apart and try to grind and bounce on his hand. Fuck, his fingers are so long and he curls them just right that he's rubbing that spongy spot that has you seeing stars. When he's done he's making you suck your own cum off his fingers.

Uses it as a distraction to slip the tip of his cock into you. Hisses as he feels your pussy suck him in and your teeth graze his soaked fingers, “Now, now…We don't bite without permission, Cutie. Take my cock like a good girl and I'll make you feel so good.”

Lets you set the pace for the most part. He's cocky but he gets lost in the feeling of you clenching his cock so tightly. When he's close he'll demand you go faster and may even grab your hips to force you to bounce quicker on him.

Aftercare is kinda lazy. Have you cockwarm him for a bit while you just lay on his chest. His warm hands massage your muscles as he speaks sweet nothings into your ear. Let's you clean yourself up but will tease you for the awkward shuffle you have to do with cum dripping down your legs.

SHIGARAKI

Has no idea what he's doing but really wants you and wants you to feel good. Has you sat in his lap, and he tries hard not to just rip and tug at your clothes. So excited he can barely wait to get you naked and on his dick. And he gets SO hard so fast. Twitching everything you shift on his lap or make a sound.

His hands are just everywhere, unsure brushed of his cold fingertips tease your warm skin. It isn't on purpose but he's absolutely worshiping your body and how it feels to have you sat on his cock. He doesn't let you move quite yet. He wants to savor the tightness of your pussy clenching around him.

When you do start to move, he can't help but throw his head back into the pillow that props him up and thrust up to meet your bouncing hips. His hands are gripping your hips and ass so tight they may leave little bruises.

Once he's gotten into it, he holds your hips up and plants his feet on the bed firmly. His hips slammed up into you. The whole time he's spearing you on his cock he's watching where your bodies merge. The sight of his dick being swallowed up by your cunt has him so close to cumming right there.

His aftercare is kinda shit. Gets you something to clean up with them kinda just hangs around in his room. Though if you ask nicely, he may be willing to get you some water and a snack. Give him a few more times and more experience, and he'll get better at caring for you after the deed is done.

[netherfeildren]

10:05 PM

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel is exhausted, you're there to make him feel better.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Post Outbreak; QZ Joel Miller; Somnophilia; Established Relationship; Friends With Benefits, kinda; Free Use; PIV Sex; Unprotected Sex; Creampie; Kind of mean and uncaring Joel, but at least he makes you cum; Rough Sex; Somno may or may not have been previously discussed, but she's okay with it happening; He's in kind of in a hopeless and numb state of mind (likely thing for Joel Miller to be)

A/N: idk man whatever i might look into religion after this

Word Count: 1.4K

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

10:05 PM

He’s exhausted.

That sort of tiredness that takes you away from yourself. The sort that takes away rest and peace and the ability to let go. Like you’ve crossed over the edge of the world where sleep is no longer possible, and all you are is sore and dirty and beaten, and you don’t think you’ll ever rest again. It’s just the too hard day, and the too hot sun, and a night that won’t ever end.

 And Joel is tired. 

He knows if he falls into bed now, he won’t sleep. He’ll stare up at the water stained ceiling, the cracks in the plaster deeper than the cracks in his mind, and he’ll find no rest and no peace and no forget, and all he’ll do is remember. 

Pulling his shirt over his head as he goes, he toes one unlaced boot off and then the other, the sweat damp cotton sticking cold and tacky to his back, and it peels off slow, a little disgusting, the grime of his shift all along his skin, in his hair, between his toes and under his fingernails and looking at you, the slow rise and fall of your shoulder as you sleep so peacefully, he knows he shouldn’t touch you, have you, know you. 

He doesn’t really care.

The button of his jeans, sticky, warm summer night air against his already hardening cock, and he watches you. You’re wearing a little white tank, worn and frayed and old as a long past life, ratty panties, too hot to pull the sheet over yourself, nothing but a sheen of sweat for cover. You’re beautiful in the way things aren’t beautiful anymore. Beautiful in a way that makes him not want you. But you’re here, and you’re his, and you give him things he doesn’t deserve, yourself, and Joel is a selfish creature now, bad and bristled in the way this new world demands, so he takes. 

All the time Joel Miller takes things. 

He doesn’t love you because he can’t, because he doesn't have it in him. But there’s peace here, or comfort, or something easy and silent and freely given. Understanding, maybe, which is all anyone can ask for anymore. He shucks his grime covered jeans and crawls over you, and he shouldn’t touch you, never should have, but he does because, again, he’s selfish, he touches you because you let him, because he has nothing else but this to feel good and man about. 

Hooking his fingers beneath the edge of your panties he pulls them down, slow and steady, watching the rise and fall of your ribs, steady heart in the steady rhythm of your breath. You’re still asleep, and he’s going to have you because he can, because you’re his without commitment or ask or demand. Because it’s easy. 

He pushes a soft thigh up high, opening you to his gaze and pulls your cheeks apart gently, dragging a gentle thumb up the crease of your sex as he goes. You hadn’t waited up for him the way you did most nights, and he’s grateful for this, grateful for the fact that you’d spare him from conversation, questions, wants. All the things he can’t give you and doesn’t even really want to because he doesn’t have any of that in him anymore. 

Sometimes, and he’ll admit it because Joel isn’t a liar, honest to a fault, he’ll feel that faint whisper, dream pulse of desire, like a thing he knows exists somewhere in the world just not inside him that beats of  togetherness or commitment or love. Something that beats of all the things he knows you want but he can’t give. 

His thumb against your little clit, and he circles and circles against the warm, damp dryness. You’re not dreaming of him, no immediate well of slick desire, and through his haze, it makes him a little bothered, a little sad if he still had the ability to be sad. But he circles and circles, and you shift and whimper, and then finally, eventually, there’s that drip of want. Sticky and sweet and only for him because he might not love you, but he does possess you, and you’re only for him. 

You turn your face further into the pillow, hips hitching, cunt dripping, a deep sigh and his thumb presses in, tastes the well. You’re warm and hot and tight, and he slicks his thumb in and out of your cunt, fucking you slow and gentle, stretching you a little while you still refuse to wake for him. He wonders what it would be like to love you, to know you dream of him, to dream of you. He shoves your thigh higher, wet enough now, and lines his cock up. 

Joel is tired, but he has this, and it’s enough.

Cockhead notched at your entance, and one thing he does still love: the sight of his too wide head against your too small hole, the sound of wounded hurt you make when he shoves inside and makes you all his. And he keeps himself slow and gentle at first, he doesn’t want you awake, that’s not what this is, he only wants you his and for him, until he’s all the way pressed inside, deep enough for you to wake with hurt and you shift and wiggle and your hips arch like you want to escape or want more but it doesn’t really matter anyways because you’re caught and flayed now. 

“J– Joel?” Soft as a butterfly while your cunt flutters around him. “What’re you doing, Joel?” And if there wasn’t the moan of his own little whore in the sound of you, he’d think otherwise, but he knows you’re pleased to be woken so. You press and clench and stretch like a cat, spine long and lean and fluid, arms reaching for something he can’t and won’t ever give.

He swings his hips back, fucks in again, your cunt’s good and wet now, and the giving’s good as the take. “Don’t worry, baby. Just gotta come. You don’t gotta do anything.” He pulls back again, your pussy flutters and sucks at him, and you plant your hands against the apocalypse stained wall of this poor and sad room in a place that used to be called Boston and let him use you as he needs. Just gotta come in you, he tells you again.

And you might whisper that it’s okay, it doesn’t really matter if you do or don't’. He doesn’t need to know, he doesn’t need to care. Joel buries his face in your throat and loses himself in the wet of your cunt and the heat of your skin, the scent of your sweat, fingers clutching and twisting at your breast, and there's a sound of hurt or want coming from your throat. He doesn't care much about that either. Just take it, just take it, he says over and over. “Just lay there and take my cock.” The sound of your wet, sloshing cunt is the loudest thing in the whole dead world, and he loses himself in it. He counts his breaths, counts his not blessings, only you, and eventually, he fucks deep enough he hits your womb, that place he’s reckless and careless about, and you start to milk him deep. A moan of his name, Joel, sleep addled, love deluded, what else would excuse or allow treatment like this, and you come on his cock like you always do. Long pulls of a too easy, too delicious cunt, the contractions of your womb reverberating through every line of your muscles while you suck him deep and cry into the pillow. Joel swears and sweats worse than he did through his long twelve hour shift, grunting and panting above you. And when he anchors himself above you on locked, bulging arms to watch the drag of your red cunt around his cock, slicked with desperate want for something neither of you will ever have, the way your ass bounces and jiggles against his too rough thrusts, he comes too. Fills you deep and full to the brim, enjoys the spill of it around the place where he fills you, spills himself dry. And he doesn’t feel content, Joel, but he does feel satisfied, he does feel sated. And he tells you that you’ve been a good girl because he knows you like it and knows you deserve it. And if he presses a soft and gentle kiss to the wing of your naked and sweating shoulder, it isn't because he loves you, but because he needs you. 

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

[sxcret-garden]

P1Harmony Reaction ღ Their s/o wearing lingerie [M]

ღ P1Harmony Keeho, Theo, Jiung, Intak x gn!reader ღ genre: reaction, smut ღ warnings: none

(requested)

Keeho:

you're making out with him and clothes are flying off one by one as both of you already know where this night will lead you

can't suppress a grin once he discovers that you're wearing lingerie underneath your other clothes

"Came prepared, huh?" - teases you and makes sure to press his lips back against yours before you can reply

he likes seeing you like this, and he likes knowing you're wearing it for him even more, and he will make sure to tell you that

in between teases and praises he lets his lips explore your body, and it doesn't take long until he has you trapped underneath him on the bed

"Fuck you're gorgeous... can't wait to tear all of this off of you..."

Theo:

very flustered the first time he sees you in lingerie

he has no idea how to react - it's not that he doesn't think it looks good on you, it's just that he's not so patient as to take the time to appreciate the cloth that is very much in his way chdbdnnxxn

will start leaving kisses down your body eventually, and tug at the underwear with his teeth in hopes you understand what he's trying to tell you

but when you stay oblivious he'll become a bit more pushy

his hands roaming your body and brushing the fabric aside, he touches your most sensitive spots directly, and as he buries his head in your neck you can hear him mutter, almost growling,

"Let's take these off... they're in my way."

Jiung:

a small "oh" escapes him as he watches you walk into the room, dressed in nothing but lingerie

the way you look takes his breath away to say the least, and he welcomes you into his lap, still unable to stop staring as you're straddling him

his hands find purchase on your hips, and when his eyes meet yours, he leans in for a kiss

"You're beautiful... and also very sexy..." - he whispers those words into the kiss

eventually lets his fingertips explore your body unhurriedly, as if it was the first time, mapping out where the lace wraps around your skin like he’s trying to memorize its exact position

is gonna take his time with you today, in order to worship you and to make sure you feel his appreciation with every bit of fabric he eventually removes from your body

Intak:

he definitely likes the sight of you in some lingerie, and so time and time again you surprise him by wearing it

he's also the type to notice right away when you've bought a new set, even if it looks similar to one you've had for a while, and will make sure to comment on that

can't take his eyes off of you as you're putting on a little show for him, and drinks up every single second of it

when you finally get on top of him he can only mutter a curse, muffled by your lips pressed against his

"I don't think we need this anymore..." - tugs at the underwear eventually as he flips your positions around

and suddenly he's not so patient anymore as he peels it off your body in a hurry, eager to have full access to wherever he wants

[ikts]

lust for life ౨ৎ hiromi higuruma. nsfw + fem reader + oral + needy hiro.

it's roughly the end of your sapping shift when you find yourself standing small in front of a tall tan door. its surface is smooth— small, intricate details etched into the hard, heavy wood. light dancing along the surface. the door's presence, specifically what's behind it, makes your stomach turn, your exposed thighs unconsciously pushing, pressing against each other underneath your short, knit pencil skirt.

before you can even think to knock, you hear higuruma's low voice calling you in, making you jump, your heart pumping hot blood throughout your entire body.

your legs carry you forward, your head fuzzy as you waddle into his office— eyes big, fixated on higuruma's tired, drooping face. for a second, you just stand there, letting him eye you up and down, his gaze heavy and cold— empty, save for the glint  of need only you could ever notice. if you didn't know him any better, you would've thought he was going to start scolding you with the way he massaged his temples, thick brows knitting together. 

he doesn't need to say anything. you already know to make your way into his lap, your legs on either side of his, soft hands resting on the back of his cold but warming neck.

"thought you left.." he sighs, letting his heavy lids decorated with long, wispy lashes fall shut. 

you just shake your head, and his hands settle onto your waist, allowing you to get comfortable, the initial feeling of nervousness sliding off you effortlessly, making you wonder why you were so anxious in the first place.

"you look so tired..," you hum, your hands falling onto his chest. 

"i am." he gently squeezes your waist, hips softly pushing up, letting you feel him, making you squirm in his grasp. 

his lids slowly peel open before he leans forward, his soft, plump, rosy lips pressing against yours. and he's pulling you closer, hands searching for a place to settle. 

he drags your hips against his, slowly pressing against your clit. and he's so needy, cheeks flushed a beautiful rosy pink, rushing to reach underneath your blouse to kneed your soft boobs, long fingers tugging at your perky nipples.

"need it," he sighs, head slipping into the crack of your neck as he presses sweet little kisses to the sensitive skin.

he slips his fingers past your silky panties, and he almost whines at the feeling of your warm wetness, all for him. how cute.

your hand loosely clings around his thick wrist as he toys with your clit, hips bucking against his rough palms, making a mess of him.

"wanna taste you..please," he sighs, lifting you onto the desk before falling to his knees. slim fingers reaching to pull your little skirt off. then his hands are behind his back, pearly teeth tugging your pretty little panties to the side. 

"my pretty pussy missed me?" he presses a wet kiss to your cunt before sucking on your clit so gently, humming against you when you whine out for him. closing his eyes to bask in the taste of you.

you lean back on your elbow, letting your other hand run through his messy hair— hips, grinding against his pretty face. ears flushed and sensitive when you stroke them. he's so cute. so drunk off your taste, he wants to be inside you so bad. feel your soft walls hold and hug him so tightly, so warm, but he isn't full off of you yet. 

he pulls back, placing a kiss on your puffy, swollen clit, to tell you, "you taste so good," dipping back down before wrapping his lips loosely around you. 

"goona cum.. 's so good" you're so weak, legs shaking, clamping around his head— he wouldn't have it any other way.

"please, let me have it."

with a breathy, drawn-out whine of his name, your back arches against the cold wooden desk, your knees knocking together before he's pulling them apart, lapping at everything you give him<3

[authorhjk1]

Thanks for answering my question earlier. Here's Umji in a simple white dress. Sure looks like she's trying to see if there's an opportunity to do something.

Simple White

(Umji X Male Reader)

"What about here?"

You shake your head.

"Everyone is gonna see us."

The look Umji gives you, tells you that she doesn't care about others right now. But you do. You don't want to be the one that ruins her career.

"Let's keep looking."

You don't know what's gotten into her. Since her and Yuju's little competition, Umji has become more needy than usual. She asked you to go for a walk earlier, so that's what the two of you are doing.

But you should've known that she has ulterior motives. Especially with the dress she is wearing. You could just sneak your hand underneath her arms and you would have access to her chest. You could just push the hem of her long white dress high enough and you would have access to her lower body. You could do so much. Umji doesn't need to give you a verbal invitation.

You watch her as she walks a couple of steps ahead, scanning your surroundings. It wasn't about going for a walk at all. But why not do it at home then? Because Umji loves to do it in public. The two of you have been caught often enough. And you don't want to continue that streak.

"Here."

She jumps over the small rope, a triumphant smile on her face. Her hand holds yours, so you don't have a choice but follow her. You're pretty sure that stepping on the grass is not allowed. But the way Umji looks back at you, the way her lips form a beautiful smile, the way her brunette hair flows in the wind. It's all too much for you to handle. Your senses only focus on her.

You find yourself pressing Umji against the stem of a tree. She tilts her head upwards to meet your lips with her own. Your hands wander to her waist, while Umji wraps her arms around your neck. The two of you kiss each other for longer than you intended to. Her lips drew you in, but her tongue keeps your mouths locked.

Eventually, the both of you do have to break away for air. You quickly look around, but no one seems to be anywhere near the two of you. Umji has let her bag fall to the ground and is now attacking your exposed neck.

"Umji..."

You're helpless, feeling her lips on your skin.

But after a while, you're able to peel her off of you.

"Why are you so horny all the time?"

Her grin makes you feel something warm.

"Because I want you. You don't give me enough attention."

Before you can reply, Umji is already working on your pants.

"What do you mean? Im treating all of you the same."

"But you're always with Yuju unnie. Why didn't you come to my place that day?"

Your pants are now around your ankles and you have to remind yourself that you're still very much in public. Your underwear quickly follows, before Umji wraps a hand around your cock.

"Because you don't live alone."

"Oh, please. Eunha unnie and Eunbi unnie wouldn't mind at all."

"Yeah, that's exactly the problem."

You have to bite your lip to not groan as Umji opens her mouth and sticks her tongue out. Her saliva drops off her tongue in long strings and falls onto your cock.

The truth is, you wouldn't have been able to handle all three of them. You were tired and horny. To go to the Viviz dorm would've been potential suicide.

"Damn, Umji."

Her quick handjob is too much for you. Her small hand coats your cock in her saliva as she equally distributes it everywhere.

"Fuck me now?"

Her innocent smile makes it sound like she just asked for ice cream.

You lean forward and capture her lips once more. Her strokes slow down and you slowly turn her around, so her body faces the tree. Her head is still tilted towards you, your lips still connected.

"Let go of me."

Umji reluctantly lets her hand fall off your cock as if she is afraid that you'd run off.

You reach down and quickly hike up her dress. Not wanting to stand around half naked longer than necessary, you quickly align your tip with her folds. The fact that you're having sex outside is already making Umji wet. If it was up to her, she would've chosen a spot that wouldn't be as hidden.

You hear her moan as you finally penetrate her pussy and sink yourself into her. Your hands are on her waist once more, holding up her dress. Umji herself is leaning against the tree. Her hands are tightly holding onto it as you thrust into her.

Your name leaves her lips as you push her hips down a little to drive yourself even deeper into her.

An endless string of moans flow out of Umji's mouth as you fuck her against the tree. Everyone could walk by. The small path you were walking on is just a couple meters away. And everyone close enough would definitely hear Umji whine and moan. Her mouth has gotten you two into trouble more often than you can count.

"Oh god, yes!"

Her head sinks against the tree and you keep pressing her whole body against it more and more. Your cock thrusts in and out of her. And with every thrust, another moan leaves her mouth. Another whine. Another cry.

Judging by how high her notes are by now, you can tell that Umji is slowly closing in on her orgasm. You spot a couple with their dog in the distance. Headed in your direction.

But there is no way that Umji can keep quiet. You'd have to finish the both of you before you get caught.

Instead of holding onto her, you grab the tree yourself, trapping Umji between the tree and your body. Her head tilts back and is now resting on your shoulder as you keep fucking her from behind.

Your name leaves her lips again. It's more of a cry than a moan. And eventually, Umji climaxes around your cock. Her whines echo through the park. Her pussy contracts around you. Her walls hug you tight.

Umji's orgasm drives you closer to your own. You pick up the pace a little, fucking her through her orgasm, as you try to cum as soon as possible. The couple, and especially the dog, are coming closer.

"Fuck, Umji."

You lieave kisses on her naked shoulder as your eyes close, signaling your incoming climax.

"Cum in me, oppa. Fill my pussy."

Umji's words finally push you over the edge. You erupt inside of her, shooting your load deep into Umji's pussy. Her legs quiver as she feels your cum flood her insides.

"Thank you, oppa."

You need a second, before you can collect yourself. The two of you are back to looking presentable as you step onto the path again.

"Is that enough attention for you?"

Umji doesn't answer. Just like ten minutes ago, her eyes wander through the park.

[ghoastixx]

what about spn boys with an S/o who pranks them with the ‘monthly shed’ thing? How would they react to that?

SPN boys being pranked with the monthly shed

synopsis above

notes: I hope you know, whoever you are, I love you for this. This.. this is amazing.

Author's notes: Gender Neutral Reader, but AFAB body. Mentions of menstrual cycle.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dean Winchester

Freaks the hell out.

Brother does NOT understand, he hardly understands makeup as a whole so he would never even think of it as an option.

"Is it like your period?? Is it a side affect??" "Baby, what do you mean? It's my monthly shed." "I THOUGHT THAT WAS YOUR PERIOD."

He is stressing.

He would 100% ask if you need anything. Tries to tell you that you look amazing, though he does wonder if you're a monster.

Will ignore you once he finds out you were joking. You scared him, he's petty.

Will ask you how you did it.. he wants to try it on Sam.

Sam Winchester

Now, Sammy is a smart boy. He's lived with a girl before, I feel like he'd know better. He knows how makeup works.

..but you're so persuasive.

He shakes himself out of it, he knows very quickly you're bullshitting.

He's mostly just interested on what exactly you had on to make it look like you could peel your skin off. He wants to know how it works, how you put it on, what it is.

This is what you get for loving a smart boy.

Castiel

He's confused

genuinely so confused.

"Does this have to do with a humans menstrual cycle..I was not aware..the human body could do that.."

Asks if there is a way he can help..what you do with the skin..how to treat this..how long you've been dealing with it.

Genuinely if you were to go further with the joke and use the siren-esc route I've seen on tiktok where they mention that "To keep our beauty we have to drain it from men" he will actually tweak a little bit.

He doesn't remember Eve having to do that?? When was this update??

Please reassure him you're joking, he might have a crisis.

Gabriel

Even if he knew that you were joking, he would soo play into it

"Sugar, what are you doing?" "My monthly shed," "Your monthly shed?" "Yes, why is something wrong?" "I've never seen something like this before, sugar. What is it that you do for this again?" "Ah, I have to drain a man to keep my beauty before I wilt." "OH. SO THAT'S WHY YOU'RE WITH ME."

It literally goes exactly like that. Nothing else.

He does ask you how you do it though, sure he could do the same thing if he wanted, for real, but he wants to see you do it.

Lucifer

He is slightly intrigued.

"My dear, whatever are you doing?" You mention you're peeling your skin off?

"Darling, you're shedding?"

Immediately (Ironically) compares it to a snake in his mind. Wonders if his father punished humanity finally.

"My darling, I was around. I do not remember this being..necessary."

He sniffs it out so fast.

Would act unphased but he sort of does want to know about your odd illusions you can do with the odd..face paint you insist on wearing.

Crowley

Only a tad bit concerned.

Humans don't normally..do that.. do they.

I think he would be confused but would want to act like he knew what was going on.

Like..yes this is totally normal! oh- a joke- psh yeah I knew that, I was only humoring you, angel.

What a charmer.

[hopeluna]

✘︙Asmodeus !

♡! hope's notes: yes this is a repost from the old blog, hush

CW: body insecurities

"If i'm more pretty, do you think they'll like me?"

The silence that followed gets broken by Asmo's laugh. He mutters a small "idiot", shaking his head, chuckling at the mirror in front of him. Well, the half broken mirror. Most of the broken shards and pieces were on the floor anyway, few embedded on his knuckles.

Looking around the room, Asmo sighed tiredly. Pillows strewn around on the floor, torn pillows ; his pristine silk bedsheets all crumpled up on the floor too. His beauty and skin care products were more or less useless now, most of them had their products dumped in the sink, some in the trash.

He supposed, in a ironic way, it was a beautiful mess.

Lucifer was definitely not going to be pleased and so, albeit reluctantly, Asmo got up to first clean his hands. A little magic would cover and heal it up.

This was the fourth-no fifth "breakdown" he has had in a week. Not his proudest moment. Its all your fault really, or at least that's what he tries to tell himself.

Asmo knew he was pretty. He is pretty. Its a fact. But then again, beauty is subjective, isn't it?

So, maybe he wasn't pretty to you. He has tried to change to your preferences though. He's wore perfumes you'd like, clothes that you find attractive, colours that you love. He doesn't understand why it's not working, he's tried everything.

Asmo knows this is pathetic but what can he do? His looks, as he's been told, are all he's got. So if you don't like his looks, you're never gonna want to speak to a ugly Asmo!

The next morning comes and he's there for breakfast as usual, joking and talking with his brothers as if he did not want to peel his skin off last night.

"You know- I have to say, I think blue looks really attractive on some people!-" his ears perk up as he glances at your direction as you talk animatedly with a hardly-listening Beel munching on his and your food.

I could use some blue in my wardrobe. Asmo continues eating as he makes a mental note to go shopping later.

© hopeluna. Do not copy, translate, modify or repost any of my work in this or any other site. Do not steal or modify my ideas/concepts either.

[merakiui]

thinking summer thoughts and the octotrio preferences with bikinis/swimwear,, i feel jade is more of the type of guy to enjoy a more teasingly covered up look,, for example a long skirt that has a slit on each side that is so flowy when wind hits it you need to readjust or else it might reveal something,, or perhaps a backless one-piece that reveals the curvature of your spine,, something just enough to gif him over for later, he doesn’t want the full meal yet

for floyd, i’m thinking jade calls his preference ‘teasingly slutty’ and floyd just throws out the teasing part altogether,, skimpy bikini enjoyer!!! dude wants you wearing the thinnest pieces like IAMGIA level bikini sets,, this is so self indulgent but i love buying from that clothing line, like the tops that are the tiniest triangles and thong bottoms, maybe 🤔 skimpy bottoms with frills he would enjoy

i didn’t have a big epiphany for azul but i was thinking azul might like those waist beads that are silver or blue just for the pearl motif or eye color symbolism,, imagine you going out shopping and holding each waist-bead chain up to his eyes, making sure to get the right color

anyways these are my silly thoughts!!!! 💕💕 kiss

!!!!!!! these are all such delicious thoughts omg... feasting on all of them like it's one big buffet. I so agree,, it's just like Jade to be patient enough for the entire meal. I also think he enjoys using his imagination to fill in the blanks, so he likes things that will feed his thoughts. A peek of your thigh or a sliver of shoulder and collarbone just barely hidden by your outfit/swimwear!!!! I also think he would enjoy elaborate lingerie because he appreciates the imagery and also the delicate nature in which he must slowly peel it from your person, lest he be too rough and tear gentle fabrics in his haste. I think he's a big fan of sundresses, but then maybe that's just because he gets to fantasize about all that's beneath the dress, with such easy access should he wish to sample you.

But I digress!!! Floyd absolutely loves all things skimpy and slutty. The IAMGIA bikini sets........ the way he'd adore you in frills,,, omg YES!!!!!! If he's really feeling it, maybe he can be patient enough to appreciate those long slit skirts and whatnot, but no one in Octavinelle holds a candle to Jade's level of patience. ^^;;; Floyd just likes showing skin and thinks human bodies are such a wonderful, beautiful thing. Why hide that with layers of clothes? Besides, the weather is so hot and humid. Less layers means more relaxation (and less things he has to pry off, but then he's the type of impatient to just slide your swim bottoms to the side and go from there,,,,) but also....... I think he has a soft spot for the types of swimsuits and summer clothes that make you look so cute and soft and !!!!! His cuteness aggression is off the charts as soon as he sees you hehe.

And Azul....... I think anything that has any sort of mer motif (pearls/waist beads as you noted, etc) is going to have him salivating because he likes the symbolism (also,, pretty, shiny things on his pretty darling = very yum in his tako brain hehe). The fact that you could enjoy his culture in the same way he enjoys yours means a lot to him. That, and for someone who is so self-conscious of his true form it warms his heart that you find octo-mers so fascinating and pretty. 🥺 can he marry you on the spot right now!!!!! I think Azul has a thing for sarong skirts. Also a fan of sundresses; he just doesn't realize it at first.

Matching pieces with his eyes... that's really cute AAAAAAA. Picking out jewelry and other accessories based on his eyes while he does the same, and he's just melting because you're such a sweetheart,, oh, he's so in love,,, I think Azul is the best person to go shopping with because he enjoys shopping (especially when he has a list of things he needs) and is good at helping you choose things if you're debating different aesthetics and prices and whatnot. Very logical. Jade is the type who will go and has fun seeing you shop, but he doesn't buy anything (he insists on holding your bags and everything else so that you can have free hands,,, he's so boyfriend). As for Floyd, I suppose it's entirely mood dependent. He does make for a fun shopping friend, but then he's also a big spender who likes luxury brands,, also, I feel like if you go shopping with Floyd there's a high chance he'll buy things that remind him of you and gift you them after the fact. He shops with Shrimpy in his mind all the time. <3

AAAAA OTL I rambled so much,,, but your thoughts are now wedged in my mind. It's just so perfect. Octavinelle + summer fashion/swimsuits is so *chef's kiss*!!!!!

[luveline]

if you’re open to it, could you complete the trio and write smth abt james seeing reader’s scars for the first time, too? ty x

ty for requesting ♡ fem

cw past self-harm [no graphic imagery]

It should surprise James as someone who's never thought about hurting himself, but he has two very important best friends, of which he'd do anything for, who aren't of the same disposition. So when he notices the pale skin of your scars where they criss-cross your chest, your stomach, your thighs, he's almost ready for it. 

You attract sad souls, Sirius had said once, mostly joking. 

But James doesn't think that's true. He just thinks there are more people who needed love and didn't get it than first appears. 

You sit up in your sun lounger. James pretends not to notice when you see him, smiling to himself as you grab your cover up. 

"The sun doesn't feel real, right?" you ask, sitting next to him on the picnic bench. "Late September heatwave. What will global warming think of next?" 

"It's miserable," he says agreeably, though he loves the heat. "That's nice." 

"This?" you ask, waving at your cover up. It's ruched fabric made to drape at your hips, almost like a skirt. 

"Yeah, that. You look really pretty." 

"Thanks, James." Your smile is all kinds of dazzling. "Nice of Sirius to host a party, huh? Now we can make the most of the sunshine. Did he put you in charge of food again?"

He nods to the spread in clingfilm behind you both. It's safe in the shade, the sun kissing to your knees and not much further. "Doesn't he always?" 

"It's good for me. I like your samosas." 

"Which ones? The kheema ones?" He nudges you amicably. "You have good taste. I made a bunch of sliders too, cucumber sandwiches. Don't limit yourself." 

You stay by his side and eventually peel back the clingfilm on one of the plates, stealing quarter sandwiches with one of your legs pulled up on the bench. Your bikini is little and your coverup slips to one side down your leg, scars plainly on show. He has no intention of bringing it up, until you notice what's happened and flinch. He can't hide that he's seen fast enough, horrified when you fluster, you waver, your eyes pinched with humiliation. "Sorry," you say, laughing awkwardly. "I'm flashing you. Sorry." 

He casts a glance around the back garden. Most of your friends squeeze into the lazy spa sweating themselves to death in the sun, and the remainder drink cold drinks by the stereo. No one's watching you but him. 

"You don't have to be embarrassed," he says. 

"I just didn't want you to see." 

"Me?" he asks, startled. 

"I mean. Not like that. Not not like that." You tear the crusts off of your sandwich and put them on the plate like you're looking for something to do. "Not like anything." You smile at him a raw shade off of happy. 

"Shortcake, it doesn't bother me one bit. You think I care about that?" He ducks his head. "You're you. All of this," —he makes a small gesture at your front— "is you. I want to see all of it. You don't have anything you need to hide." 

"All of it?" you ask strangely. 

He doesn't get what you're saying but then he does, suddenly, blood rushing to his face and his ears hot as a flame. What a weird thing to say, he stresses to himself. You stupid man. "I'm not a pervert," he says. 

You gawp. He gets hotter, if possible, scratching his hair back from his eyes. 

"I mean, you're beautiful," he says, "anyone would be lucky to see it all. Oh my god." 

You put your ruined sandwich on the edge of the plate and fix the clingfilm as he dies of shame. He's thinking well, courting you was fun while it lasted, all those bad jokes and better hugs, he loved every minute of your attention. 

You laugh. "Most of the time I don't care about them," you confess, and he's so happy to hear your voice rolling over his embarrassment he could run a lap, "they're old. Can't do anything about them. But I didn't want you to think I was some sort of freak." 

"Is that what you think you are?" 

"No, of course not… Silly for doing something like that." 

"I don't think it was silly. We do what we can, right?" He eases his arm around your shoulders in a hug, his hand eager to rub at the top of your arm. "I don't think you're some sort of freak, you're my type of freak." 

"You really don't care?" 

"I care," he says gently, touching the tip of his nose to your cheek before giving you a more friendly amount of space. "A lot. Especially about you, okay? But I don't care about them unless you do. I like you, yeah?" 

"I like you too," you say. 

"Wanna prove it?" 

James asks you to make him a plate of things to graze on while he finds you both a drink. It's not his most romantic of lines, but it means you end up at his side for a dedicated while, flicking condensation at his chest. You don't worry about the coverup again. 

[irkimatsu]

You asking for Husk scenarios?

Say less!

Soft Husk and his pillow prince/princess/whatever else. It starts with kisses and touches that eventually lead to him fucking his pretty whatever so lovingly.

You ordered, and I served! <3 I love softly dominant Husk so much oh my god. 18+ Husk/GN!Reader below the cut!

"Just lay back and let me lead, all right, babe?"

You're happy to take Husk's request for the evening. His taking the lead during sex is nothing new. Contrary to his usual lazy attitude, he's never been very good at being a passive partner, and more importantly, he loves the chance to spoil you without asking for anything return. Tonight sees him more determined than ever to make sure you don't need to lift a finger. He wouldn't even let you take off your own clothes, instead peeling them off of you himself as if unwrapping a precious gift he couldn't risk damaging. His suspenders went a lot quicker than your clothes did, as if he couldn't be naked and on top of you soon enough. He's laying on you with as much weight as he can without hurting you, and kissing you deeply and passionately, putting more use to his lips than his tongue.

The rarity makes his rough tongue's flicks into your mouth all the more enticing.

"God, you're beautiful…" He moans against your mouth between kisses. You lift your hands to scratch his back in the spot you know he likes, but before you can touch him, his paws are pinning your wrists to the sheets. "Hey. I said let me lead." He's not mad, but his tone is certain enough to convince you not to try that again. If he wants full control, then that's what you'll give him.

You trust him enough to know he won't abuse that control.

He kisses his way over to your cheek, then down to your neck. You gasp as he nips at your throat, doing your best to resist the urge to tug at his hair. Once he's confident that you'll lie still, he lets go of your wrists and moves his paws to your sides instead. His tongue scratches against your skin as he rubs his claws against your hips, and you shudder.

"Husk…" you whisper. He moans your name in response.

He kisses his way down to your chest, the fur on his cheeks tickling you as he moves. He takes great care with one of your nipples, lightly circling his tongue around it, knowing that from a mouth like his, a little pressure goes a long way.

Your breath hitches as he lightly takes your nipple between his teeth. He gently prods it with his tongue as one of his paws takes responsibility for your other nipple, his paw pad and fur rubbing against it in rhythmic circles.

"Husk…" It's more of a whine than a whisper now as your hips involuntarily squirm. "Oh, Husk…"

He chuckles, and his hot breath on your skin doesn't help your predicament. "You're this worked up already, doll?" He moves his paws back up to your face as he goes in for a few more kisses to your mouth, this time including his tongue a lot more firmly. Judging by his audible breathing, you're not the only one worked up here. This would normally be the point where you'd help get him warmed up, serving him with your hands and your mouth until he can't take the tension anymore and he unleashes like a coiled up spring, taking you as his however he pleases.

He doesn't need your help right now, though. He's already grinding between your legs, making it obvious that the tension is already at the breaking point for him.

"Can I?" he asks, ever the gentleman, even as he's sitting up and shifting himself into a better position. He'd never start without your permission, but he'll make sure he's ready when you do say yes.

"Please, Husk…"

He growls in satisfaction at the sound of his name. He lifts your waist up, holding you so your thighs rest on his hips. He lets go of you with one paw just long enough to line himself up, and once the angle is right, he jerks forward, burying himself inside you in one smooth thrust.

It always takes you some time to get used to his size and his rough barbs. He watches your face for a few seconds, waiting for you let him know you've adjusted. Once you nod, he starts thrusting into you.

Rough sex is an inevitability with Husk. He may not be particularly strong, physically, but being with you like this always seems to unlock the beastly side of him he's always trying to ignore. He grunts with every thrust, and his claws slightly dig into your hips as he holds you in place.

"Haaa… fuck…"

At first, it seems like he's barely there. His eyes are screwed shut, and the only apparent thought in his mind is how badly he needs to rut into you.

But without slowing his thrusts, he opens his eyes slightly and gazes at you through mostly closed lids.

"Fuck, babe…" he says with a small smile. "Fuck, you're good…"

His eyes close again, and he grits his teeth as he fucks into you even harder. Now it's your turn to lose all sense of where you are, your head rolling back and your body trembling.

"Fuck me-" you cry out. Normally you'd be tugging at his fur or pulling him down for a kiss by now, but you have just enough presence of mind to remember to let him have this. "God, Husk-"

Your voice drives him even more wild. He lets go of your hips and moves his paws to his pillows, already tattered from the times he's done this before. The bed keeps shifting beneath you as he thrusts into you, fucking you so hard that it really should hurt.

God, you're glad your demon body is resilient enough to take him like this.

His face is so close to yours now that you could kiss him, but you refrain. Instead you allow his heavy breathing to warm your lips, as swears and each others' names keep pouring from both of your mouths.

He closes the gap and kisses you fiercely as he climaxes, throbbing heavily before filling you with wave after wave of hot cum. His teeth lightly scrape your tongue, and even after his orgasm is done, he still keeps thrusting for a bit longer, fucking his cum into you until he finally falls soft and slips out.

You throw your arms around him and hold him through a few more kisses, having forgotten your promise. He doesn't complain, only cooling you down the same way he warmed you up with kisses all over your face and your neck.

After a few heavy breaths, he lowers himself to the bed and cuddles up to your side. "Beautiful…" He mumbles as he nuzzles into your neck. "So fucking beautiful…" He seems satisfied about how things went, as his purrs rumble against your body and ease you into sleep.

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Hey I love your work so much!!

I was thinking of maybe a Mike Schmidt x reader where the reader is all like “I’m not good enough for you, I don’t deserve you” stuff and then like Mike makes it up to the reader to show them that they are more than enough 🫶

Sure, but it's gonna hurt!

Blue Sunrise

Mike Schmidt x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: All is well, yet you aren't. A fact that disturbs and irritates you so, even if it shouldn't.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no use of gendered pronouns for Reader, SFW with brief mentions of smut, pre-established relationship, set during the movie but that's honestly not very relevant, hurt/comfort, Reader and Mike both have PTSD, this isn't projection, bed rotting, depression, self-loathing, night terrors/nightmares, panic attacks, sleep deprivation, mentions of medication, lack of self care, slight self-harm (scratching), breakdown, nosebleed.

Notes: *in sonic snapcube dub voice* heyyyyyyyyyyyy what's upppppppppppppp it's meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee (STOP!!)

                     ▪︎◇{¤♧■♧¤}◇▪︎

6:34 A.M.

The dawn is gentle, the sky a soft blue behind the thin, cheap blinds that cover the bedroom window not that far in front of me. If I wanted, I could get up and open the window, revealing the surely beautiful and gorgeous sunrise that waits for me just outside the blinds.

But I don't. And I won't.

Birds sing gently outside, waking up and fliting about here and there. It's my favorite part of the day, quite frankly. When I can, I open the window to allow in the fresh, cool air, moist with the morning dew, unmuffling the bird's songs as I drift off to sleep, my schedule mostly in tune with Mike's for his night shift. Sometimes I manage to stay awake to greet him when he returns home. It's always nice when I do. His smile is lazy, his strides long and slow as he makes his way to the bed, peeling off his work clothes and crawling under the covers with me. Sometimes he'll press himself against me, his lips finding my neck as his hand dives between my thighs, his fingers trained on one goal as he murmurs against my skin how much he's missed me. Sometimes I wake to this.

There's a part of me that wishes he'd do this today just so I wouldn't have to think.

The lock on the front door rattles as someone attempts to insert a key into the hole. It doesn't matter how long he's lived here or how he uses those keys every morning, he still takes a moment to make sure he's using the right one, and on the first try he usually isn't. So it takes him a solid minute to unlock the door and enter the house. If we had dogs, they'd surely drive us insane from his routine. It slightly drives me insane already. But I'm technically not even supposed to be awake, so I never mention it.

When Mike finally enters the house, the first thing I hear after the satisfying break of the doors seal ringing throughout the living room is a deep sigh as Mike's backpack lands in front of the coat rack. He should be quieter about setting it down. I would be. But I think he assumes we should be so deep in sleep it really wouldn't matter, and it honestly doesn't make much noise. Just a slightly dull 'thud' against the thinly carpeted floor.

Next I can hear his car keys land in the bowl they're meant for. Again, he's a bit too loud with it all. At least, while people are sleeping. But it's not really a bother. In a way, I like it. It gives me a routine to memorize, his sounds before he'll trail to our room and come press himself against me.

The rocking recliner creeks softly as he sits in it, lazily undoing the laces on his boots before he tosses them towards the coat rack. And next he'll duck his head into the fridge I'm sure and look for the leftovers I put into a big bowl for him to warm up - which he won't, because he's a psychopath who likes cold food. - and then when my alarm goes off, he'll come to wake me up, rising from the old couch where he's very quietly reading his book while he eats and do whatever he has to do to prevent me from slipping back into sleep. He's very good at that job. Especially when he uses his tongue.

But today there's a break in the routine. Today, his footsteps are padding towards our room, the door quietly opening as he slips in. I can hear him let out a soft sigh as he tugs on his hoodie, pulling it off and then discarding of his jeans, which muffle the clack of his belt buckle as he slips them off. Left in his undershirt and boxers, he crosses the room to open the blinds and the window, letting in the fresh air and leaning against the thin windowstill for a moment. Now, I can see him.

He looks rested, a little more than he should for having just finished a night shift. I keep telling him he's going to get fired, but he always wiggles his way out of that conversation. The bags usually under his eyes aren't too deep this morning, which while problematic is relieving. His skin is pale blue from the dawns light that pours into the room. His dark curls are more thick on the top of his head, clumped together from him not brushing them after his shower. He must've used too much conditioner, because his hair also looks thicker than it usually does. The breeze blows his oversized pale blue shirt against his chest as he leans forward, allowing his eyes to close as he takes in a deep breath. It feels like an overly private moment. Like I've intruded by watching him. I don't see him like this much when he isn't alone. When he's with me or Abby, he's alert. Somewhat on guard. It's like he's watching us to make sure we're okay. He's too used to things falling apart in an instant. But when he's alone, physically or emotionally, the walls crumble away to reveal a man who enjoys peace. Who smiles softly as he bends down low, resting his chin upon his arms, letting the dawn greet him and being the supposed first in the house to greet the dawn. And I feel like a stalker for watching him. A scene that feels as if I've stolen what will now only exist deep in my mind for when I want to remember one of the few times he has truly ever looked at peace with the world. It's a scene out of a painting. As private as a prayer. I should grant him more privacy, but I don't. In a captivated and enchanted way, I can't.

I'd never tell him this, but in this moment he looks like his mother. And not in the sense of him being her son. No, based off of the few photos I've seen of her in more private, intimate instances, like when she was holding a very small Mike on her lap on his second birthday, or when Mike's father had stolen a photo during their honeymoon when she wasn't looking, Mike looks just like her. Quiet, serene, not hiding anything from anyone because there's no need. At this moment it is just him and the gentle, late winter breeze that makes my nose begin to sting. He's beautiful. Just like she was.

The moment comes to an end, and now it is just a moment that exists only within my mind as his eyes open. The blue dawn brings out the green in his eyes that's usually hidden by artificial light that overpowers the amber, turning them mostly black in some instances. That's the color I thought they were until I saw him in proper daylight. His long lashes bat once, twice in an almost sleepy manner as he shifts his focus, now turning his head to look at me. I shut my eyes quickly, my canines biting into my tongue to force myself to keep a straight face. But it's too late. We made eye contact, even if it was only for a second, and now he knows I'm awake.

"Sweetheart?" He whispers softly, his voice low and slightly gravelly in the way it always is. His 's' and 't's just a tad sharp, clear as always when he speaks. I hear the floor groan as he pads towards me.

I don't speak. I'm not supposed to be awake. I should be asleep, he would rather I was asleep. I tried to be asleep.

He stops in front of me, I can hear the floor groan louder as he crouches in front of me. He's trying to decide if I'm awake or not, if maybe he'd been tricked into thinking we made eye contact. But something convinces him he hasn't, and the bed sinks as he places a hand upon the mattress to support his weight while he kisses my temple.

"Hi," he whispers against my skin, placing another kiss just above the curve of my brow. "Good morning." He places another kiss on the space between my brows, his lips now trailing up to the middle of my forehead. "You look so pretty like this."

Like what? My skin shining with oil, my nose dirty, my body heavy from not having moved?

Something makes him pause when his lips find my cheek. He keeps his lips pressed against my skin for a moment before he pulls away, licking his lips as he looks closer at me.

"Hey," he whispers softly, a finger finding my chin. "Open your eyes."

I don't want to. When I do he'll instantly know what I've been doing, and I don't want to handle it. I don't want to deal with it.

His hand slips under my head, between my cheek and my pillow.

"Sweetheart, your pillow's wet," he says in quiet surprise. "Open your eyes, talk to me."

Hesitatingly, I obey. Cracking my eyes open and trying not to reveal how horrid the dryness in them feels after allowing them rest for a few moments after keeping them open for what could have been hours at this point. Mike's face is inches from mine, his brows furrowed in concern as his eyes scan for other obvious signs of distress.

"Hi," I croak in a tired, unused voice as I try to pretend all is well. Mike unfortunately knows better.

"What happened?" He asks concerningly, taking in the tone he does whenever Abby is upset, fretting over me like I'm an injured child as both of his hands cup my face, his lips finding what he's confirmed are thin, itchy and salty tear tracks, placing several, feather-light kisses along them.

"Nothing," I answer honestly, my voice still cracking. "I'm fine."

"Your eyes are red, baby," he says softly, pulling away to look at me again while his body inches closer. "You look like you've been crying for hours."

Ha. I wish. If I had been, maybe I'd feel better about everything. But instead, I've been lying here since Abby went to bed, feeling numb and dead internally as I willed myself to be upset about anything. Work, bills, the color of the walls. I'd succeeded maybe twice, little tears streaming down my face for a minute or two. But then they would stop, and it would feel as though I couldn't cry. Really cry. Like there was some emotional, maybe physical block preventing me from just truly letting all of my emotions out in a possibly hysterical fit. One that would mean I could connect to my humanity. I don't know what's wrong with me. So, instead I just say "I haven't cried."

Mike opens his mouth to call bullshit, but his brow furrows tighter as he thinks. "What's wrong?" He asks again, now lifting my head to allow one arm to slip underneath so I can lay upon it.

"Nothing," I answer again, truly unsure of what to say. "I'm really okay."

And I am. Work is fine, I am fine. Friends are fine. I don't have entitlement to be upset.

"Is it another episode?" Mike asks softly, now pulling his body onto the bed to lie next to me, fully committed to being partner of the year over here. Ugh. Great.

"No," I answer quickly, averting my gaze. Mike's hand cups my cheek, his body cool compared to mine. I'm soaked in sweat from sleeping - read: laying motionless on the bed since 9:30. - in too warm of clothes in too warm of a room under too warm of blankets. I probably stink. Meanwhile the morning air makes Mike feel refreshing. He's perfect. I'm a mess.

"It's okay if it is," Mike says softly. "It's nothing to be ashamed of if-"

"I'm not having an episode," I say firmly, cutting him off as though it will solidify my statement more than his if I finish mine first. "I'm just not."

I don't pretend to be perfect. I'm not, and I never will be. I know that's okay. I know episodes happen, and that I'll be okay. I've been so much better lately on my new schedule. I'm working, I'm happy.

I have absolutely no good reason to be in the midst of a depression episode. One where the memories won't leave my mind, where I can't sleep, can't think about anything but the past. It plays in my head over and over again, and I can't stop it. Even though I try. I read, I journal, I bathe. But I don't feel real. People don't feel real. Mike is disorienting in the sense that he is the only thing that truly feels real. Where the pale color of the sheets seems hypnotic, his slightly tan skin contrasts to remind me this place really does exist. The furniture and details of the room seem as real as something from a video game, renderings that aren't as realistic as they could be that blend into the wall more as you look. Flat. Nothing. But the freckles on his nose are real. Strikingly real. Overly real. It's as though someone took their time to place each one, carefully deciding their color, their opacity, their placement. I want and love each one, but at this moment they slightly torture me by drawing me into a comforting trap.

"I haven't had an episode in over a month, I'm better," I attempt to say in a firm, solid voice. But I'm too tired, too worn out. My chest burns both from anxiety induced heartburn and how shallow my breathing has been for the past several hours. Mike looks sad, and I hate that. Deeply.

"You have been doing better," he says softly, like a reassuring parent. "I've seen that. And I'm so proud of you."

But I still have this. I'm still like this. I still can't have people wrap their arms around me from behind because I'm instantly taken back to when it would end in me collapsed on the ground, panting, crying, calling out for help that just wouldn't come. I still can't wear shirts with too tight of collars because it always end with me half naked, ripping the shirt off while hyperventilating. That was how I had to tell Mike. For our first Christmas together he bought me this beautiful turtleneck, knowing I liked the style but didn't own many. A dark evergreen color, affordable but a lovely tight-knit material, I adored the thing. But the moment the shirt was over my head, the neck felt like a hand suffocating me, and though I tried to tolerate it fie as long as I could, it only took one casual graze of his hand along my back to send me reeling into a corner, hyperventilating, sobbing, blubbering like a terrified child as I clawed at my neck while he tried to get it off of me.

'I'm so proud of you.' The statement feels like a backhanded reward. It feels as though I'm an idiotic child who just can't learn their ABC's or basic fundamental math. It feels like I'm a small toddler surrounded by adults looking at me full of pity in their eyes while they think 'well, you'll never be normal by any means. But maybe one day if you're lucky, you'll work in a Subway.' But they don't tell me this. They just praise me for existing. 'You woke up today! You put on clothes today! You didn't kill yourself!' It makes me want to scream. Yes, even at him. I want to grab him by his shirt and scream until my voice is shattered 'don't praise me for the bare minimum! I'm not a child!'

But I know he's not. I know he feels the same way when he slips back in progress as well. There was a solid month last year where Mike's insurance refused to pay for his sleep medication due to some paperwork slip and such, something they eventually realized was a complete blip on their end. But that month was hell for Mike, who could barely sleep well even with the medication. His easy smirks were replaced with cracked lips, skin raw from constant biting. His eyes were filled with paranoia from lack of sleep, and worse were the night terrors. Mike didn't even know he was still capable of having them, usually sedated by his meds well enough that if there was a nightmare, he just stayed asleep. At worst he'd wake up in a haze, maybe a very short yelp if anything. But without his meds, it was screaming. Constant screaming. There were nights he would wake after only an hour and he'd start, his voice shrill and reverberating off the walls as he thrashed in the bed. You couldn't console him, touch made him worse. When it happened, you simply had to leave the room and pray he would be okay. The episode could last anywhere from five minutes to an hour, and you would know it was over when all you could hear was broken sobbing, quiet and childlike in nature. Then I would return to the room, and there he'd be. Sometimes wrapped in blankets, sometimes his shirt torn off of himself. Usually sitting either in the dark corner of the room or on the floor of our closet. Red, angry marks would trail along his skin from clawing at himself with his uneven nails, some of them being actual cuts he'd managed in his terror. I'd carefully clean his cuts with cotton balls and hydrogen peroxide while he silently stared ahead, too ashamed to speak or make eye contact with me. And too terrified to sleep again.

Sleep deprivation didn't help, either. One day I saw him with a Redbull stuck in his hand, seemingly never empty despite how much he drank from it. At first I thought it was one, than I realized it was three, then I realized I didn't really know what number he was on. It was surprising how well he could take the new, unusual load of caffeine that tastes sickly sweet without so much as a twitch of an eyebrow. I didn't realize he was trying to starve off sleep until the next morning when his leg was bouncing a mile a minute and he was snapping at every little thing. That day he had a breakdown over dropping an unpeeled onion. And that's when it slipped out.

I didn't judge him. I was terrified for him, but I didn't judge him. And I could tell the same was true for him when I would have my slips, though mine looked different. Mine looked like a lack of self care and rotting in our bed, staring pointlessly ahead until he would lift me off the bed and carefully guide me to a warm bath, where he'd gently wash my skin with a soft rag like I was a newborn while I stared ahead at nothing. At this point we had learned to tell the oncoming signs of each others episodes, and how to starve them off. And if we couldn't, how to help each other through them.

Usually, I don't mind. But today, it hurts. It all hurts.

"Have you eaten?" Mike asks me gently, his thumb gliding over my cheekbone as he wraps me in his embrace, careful of where he places his hands on my person. Like I'm a bomb.

I don't want to be treated like this anymore.

"Yes," I sigh in an irritated voice, like it's the most inconvenient thing he should ask me such a question. But I haven't. I feel empty and yet too full at the same time, and guilt pounds behind my left eye with the ferocity of a headache that I can't just mother myself.

Mike doesn't believe me. He'll pretend he does, but the press of his lips betray him as he takes a deep breath in like he's trying to tell what wire to cut next.

"Would you like to have breakfast with me?" He asks softly, his thumb still stroking just below the raw corner of my eye. It burns. All of it.

'No,' I snap in my head. But I just tighten my jaw and press my own lips together.

"I'm not really hungry, but thank you," I say in a tight voice. Now he's going to pretend that's okay, and he'll go get his breakfast. Then he'll pretend he can't finish it all, joke lightly and say I gave him too big of a portion even though he eats like he's still a growing teenager, and offer me little bites as he "tries" to finish the rest, then eventually trick me into finishing it. He isn't slick, and I'm not a child.

"Hey," he says in a light whisper. "I was thinking maybe we could go out today? All three of us? Or I could call Max, see if she'll watch Abs for a little bit so we can get away?"

Distraction. Cute. I don't need it.

"That could be nice," I admit through half gritted teeth, not meeting his eyes. "Where to?"

"Anywhere," he says too quickly, obviously relieved to have a straw to grasp at. "Your choice."

Guilt twists in my chest like an alien creature settled in my lungs, burning as it begins to slither its way towards my throat to suffocate me on its wrath. He doesn't need to do this. Can't he see how well I'm doing?

"How was work?" He asks me in an attempt to keep me talking. Mike doesn't like silence, not like this. Not really any time. There's always noise throughout the house, whether it's a show on in the background or white noise from his cassette player. He can't stand silence. Especially from people.

"Work was..." Fine? The usual? Non-eventful?

"Good," I decide. Mike presses his lips together again. Stop doing that.

"Yeah?" He asks in a slightly tight voice.

"Yeah," I confirm in a tighter voice.

"You didn't... call out or anything?"

My bottom left back molar feels like it might snap from how tight my jaw is. "Why?" I ask, venom unintentionally creeping in.

"Just asking," he says quickly.

"Why?" I press harder, wanting to know who told on me. Abby hasn't even had the chance to speak with him.

'It's because he knows your patterns,' I think. 'He's trying to gage how serious this is.'

"Maybe we could go out for breakfast? We can wait until Abby wakes up, go get some Waffle Hous-"

"I'm not having an episode," I snap quickly, more harsh than I intended. My tone makes him flinch slightly, his eyes shutting for a moment as he takes another breath in. Now I'm scared he'll pull away.

"We... don't have to talk about this right now," he says softly, opening his eyes again and wrapping his arm around me tighter. "Let's just focus on breakfast."

The guilt pounds in my kidneys, which are sore since I haven't left the bed since I laid down after putting Abby to sleep, but I did have a full water bottle around 3:00 in the morning. It's not Mike's fault I backtracked. He's just trying to be nice. I'm the asshole here.

"I'm sorry," I say in a small voice, dropping my gaze and biting my tongue between my canines again to stop the tears that are now willing to come freely to burn my eyes during such an inappropriate moment.

"It's okay," Mike says softly, placing a kiss on my forehead. "Don't even think about it."

'Don't even think about the fact he's just trying to be a decent person and you can't even say 'thank you,'' a grating voice in my head chides me. 'What, you're too good for a free meal?'

"I'm sorry," I repeat softer, my nails digging into my wrist that I'm holding to keep control over myself. Mike's hand is searching for mine, ready to pry it away to prevent me from doing what I need to to prevent the waterworks.

"Hey." Stop with the 'hey's. "I said it's alright, you're okay."

It's all bad. Everything's bad, and it's not going to get better. I keep thinking I'll get better, I keep thinking I'll be okay. But every two steps forward is one step back and I can't keep doing this redundant bullshit for the rest of my life. Am I going to be 40 at the office Christmas party sneaking off to freak out in the bathroom because something triggered me and I just can't get a grip on things? Am I even going to make it to 40?

Mike is comforting me, cradling my head to his chest and rocking me back and forth. And his shirt is wet. I don't like that his shirt is wet, it should be dry. Why is it fucking wet?

"It's okay," he's whispering in my hair while horrid choking sounds come from somewhere around us. Maybe the other room? "You're alright, it's okay."

I'm aware it's alright, I'm aware it's okay. Why are you wet? Why does my head hurt?

"I can't- sleep," my voice chokes out between guttural sobs, my face pressed into his chest. "It's all nightmares."

Oh. Shit. That's me. The wetness, I did that. My bad.

"I know, it's okay. How long?" Mike asks softly. What, are you gonna call my therapist?

"A week," I moan into his chest. My ribs expand with each recycled breath I steal from against his chest, and I can feel him trying to gently tug me away so I can get one with fresh, cold air instead. I don't let him. My lungs burn more. "They just won't stop."

"It's okay, it's only temporary," he says softly, his hand pushing away some of the blanket to relieve me of the boiling warmth underneath. The cold air is refreshing against my skin, even through my clothes are soaked with stinking sweat.

"No, it's not!" I cry hysterically into his chest. "They don't go away. None of it goes away. I want it to go away!"

He's nodding, rubbing circles on my back as I grip his shirt hard enough it may stretch.

"It'll get better. It did for awhile," he reminds me.

"But I'm back here. I always end up back here. I was doing so good!" I sob, feeling the wetness on his shirt begin to slightly thicken, probably due to snot. I try to sniff it back into my sinuses, but I think that just draws his attention to the new fluid he's covered in.

"That's okay. You'll do even better next time. And if you don't, that's okay too." Don't say what I think you're going to say. Do not. Michael, I'm serious, don't- "I'm still proud of you."

Fuck. Ooooooff!

This is the real release of my emotions. Now I'm gasping, choking, sobbing, making horrible sounds that sound like a European ambulance siren wailing through the streets to announce someone's dying on the way to the hospital. My head throbs with the pain from the heavy crying, and I may give myself a nosebleed from the passion of it all. And Mike, his patience thick and durable, just holds me through it all. Letting me soak his shirt, dirty his skin, grab at him blindly while I wail like a spoiled child, just repeating the phrase over again. 'Proud.' What pride. What honor to be had at such a breakdown. Yes, very understandable.

"I should be better," I sob into his chest. "You deserve better."

"What?" He laughs lightly, and at first it feels mocking, but then he's pulling my head away fron my soaked enclosure and his eyes are so gentle for a moment I know the light laughter is simply from surprise. Then his eyes widen and he's back in parent mode.

"Don't leave me. Don't leave me!" I choke out while gripping his shirt. At first he thinks I'm talking about our relationship, then he realizes I'm not letting him pull away.

"Sweetheart, you're bleeding," he gently explains. "Let me wipe your face. I just need tissues. I'm not even leaving the bed."

But that's too much. Let me bleed, let my head throb, let this headache take the vision away in my eye from how bad it hurts. Let anything happen so long as I can stay in this moment. Don't break the spell. Don't let me go numb again.

"Don't leave me," I cry pathetically, my eyes all scrunched together in the same manner as wailing infants, my grip on his shirt not breaking. Sure enough, there on the wet spot of his shirt is a dark stain of blood that should hopefully come out if we wash it fast enough.

"Let me do that," I'm saying as I try to peel off his shirt now. "Let me wash it."

He's gently guiding my hands away. "Don't worry about it," he says gently, kissing my hands and wrists like they might break even from the delicate graze of his lips. "Let me take care of you."

He does this all the time. He always takes care of me. I should do more. Be more. For him.

"You deserve better," I choke out, feeling like I may suffocate from the tears. Mike's brows furrow in concern, and he grips my chin very carefully as he makes me meet his eyes.

"Hey, no. Get that out of your head, it's all okay," he tells me softly, staring at me like if he can't verbally convince me, his hard stare will do the trick. "I don't want to hear you talk like that."

"I should be better," I repeat, my crying lessening slightly as I try to hold eye contact.

"You're getting better," he reminds me. "This is the happiest I've seen you since we met. You'll get back to that. Hell, you could feel the same way tonight. It's okay. Take a day off. We all need one, even normal people," he says softly, stroking my hair as he kisses my forehead. "Can you just let me take care of you in the meantime?"

No. Go away, let me rot.

"We can still go out for breakfast," he offers gently. "I can still call Max, or we can all stay in. I'll set up a nest in the living room so you can watch TV. Works you like that?"

Stop. Stop being nice to me, stop trying to make me feel better. It all just feels awful. I don't want this guilt, someone takes it away.

Mike must sense my overwhelmed emotions, because he places another kiss on my forehead before asking if he can clean my face again, and this time I say yes. He pulls away, which is still upsetting but less so. I don't make a deal out of it this time at least. He opens a drawer, searching for wipes and pulling them out before turning back to me.

"Do you want to sit up?" He asks gently. I bite my tongue to prevent another mocking thought directed towards me and nod. Bones crack as I do, my kidneys hurt worse. But at least I finally moved.

Tears still streak down my face as Mike wipes away the snot and blood, his large hand gently cupping my face as he does. There's a soft smile on his face, though I'm not particularly sure why. And when he's done, he runs his thumb along my bottom lip before placing his own lips on top of mine. They're chapped, one spot raw from excessive biting. But there's still some leftover chapstick on them, and it tastes like grapefruit.

I tug on his shirt, one hand sneaking under it to feel his cool skin underneath. He gently takes my wrist once more, then pulls away. A silent rejection. He knows that I'm just looking for a distraction from my emotions, and in a moment he'll offer a much healthier one. He does discard the shirt, leaving his chest bare, but only so that he doesn't smear my fluids back onto me as he pulls me in for another embrace.

"We'll be okay," he promises. "Everything will be okay."

"What if it's not?" I ask in a quiet, strained voice.

"Then it'll be okay later. You can take time to not be okay," he says.

There's a short silence before either of us speak. And when I hear his voice hitch in the way it does when he's about to say something, Abby's alarm rings crystal clear in her room. Then the sound of a truck rattles by on the road in front of the house. Birds continue to sing. And my pours feel so clogged I'm sure my skin will be lashing out for days.

But it'll all be okay.

                             ¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤

"Can we have some fluff to reco-" no. Suffer.

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 @jhutchissupercool @laurrrelise. Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

               •▪︎Masterlist▪︎•

[starzshopoflove]

Simon "ghost" Riley x Reader

Notes: fem reader! i hc ghost doesn't wear a mask when he's off duty, this is just whatever rot my mouse brain creates, age gap but not to crazy, sfw mostly ,size kink if you squint, literally just me projecting onto reader sorry

no thoughts just ghost meeting cute little civvie reader in a shop when he's just trying to get his shopping done after coming back from a mission just wanting to fill his fridge with enough beer and groceries that vaguely resemble food

Simon watching you struggle to reach the flour from a set high shelf in the aisle, grumbling to yourself about "who fucking needs flour anyway" still trying to reach it and he just pluck it off the shelf and drops it in your cart before making his way to another aisle and your just left looking stupid watching this giant trudge away with a little blue tesco basket in tow

Simon who notices you at the same book shop he frequents, but your perched behind the counter doing god knows what ( vaguely resembles inventory but hey do what you will) calculator in hand as he peeks from behind a bookshelf trying to remember where he's seen you before.

Civvie reader who passes her days working quietly in a book shop and living in a simple one room flat indulging her romantic needs in fiction too nervous to actually talk to men, fictional ones satisfying her needs better. That is until you see some books on the counter sliding over to scan them.

"Your total's 23.55" you mumble looking at the screen "Cash or Card?" you add before lifting your head to meet the brick wall of a muscle man. Oh OH, no thoughts as you just stare at his pecs in your line of sight thanking whatever god you believe in for the sight before you, better then anything your little brain could muster up even with the detailed descriptions authors would spit out onto the pages you read

You violently peel your eyes away from the most beautiful pair of man tits you've ever seen to see what man was the owner, and by god do you wish you werent so bad around men. I mean the wind practically got knocked out of your lungs as you let out a barely audible squeak watching this man fish in his pockets for his wallet

Messy blonde hair that was in that weird phase of curly but not really, a nose that looks like its seen a good fight, deep set brown eyes, and a few healed scars settled on the skin. Aged but like wine, a really really fine wine

"Right, cash" His hands fiddling through the wallet to pull out the bank notes, while you prayed you didnt look like a hunger dog staring at his hands as they placed the cash on the counter.

Simon who watches the little bookshop employee look like she just got punched in the gut and was trying not groan as she quickly rang him up, Do i smell? he thinks to himself

Simon who watches your smaller hands shuffle the cash into the register, noting how they're free of calluses, nailed neat and slightly grown, soft.

Simon who leaves the bookstore thinking of a excuse to go again tomorrow, not to see the bookshop girl or anything, he has his reasons!! he just hasn't thought of it yet!!

You start looking up from your notes for your class when the shop bell jingles hoping to see the mystery man whos built exactly like your favorite webcomic character but with the gruff and mature aura of that mc from the game your friend made you play that you cant quite remember. Only disappointed when its just another customer , until later in the day the man returns again.

But its much later in the day and you've switched on the shops warm lights, turning off the ac letting the place warm up as you hear the door jingle again, mystery man making his way to the counter your eyes following his every step, meaty thighs

You who perks up when his forearms settle at the counter suddenly eyes locking onto yours and suddenly very glad you tidied up a bit today, tinted chapstick, perfume, cleaner turtle neck, lashes, lipgloss, earrings ahm

"Tesco" he grumbles out unmoving

"what" well thats not what you were expecting to hear

"You were the girl , couldnt reach the flour yeah?" oh that was him

"Oh, that was you? thank you?" oh what the fuck were you supposed to say?? oh thank you freakishly tall man who watched me struggle?? let me take your whole cock in my mouth while you call me a good pet feeding your meaty length down my throat??

"Yeah" Simon didnt think to much on what to do now, gaze getting awkward now that hes got his confirmation

"Did you need anything" you finally broke the silence, god its fuckin tense in here and hes so close, you wanna just get a sniff but thats hardly workplace behavior doesn't matter if its your dads shop or not.

"Mhm, ye got any cook books?"

"yeah, section 12, shelf 9" whos he cooking for? his wife? i dont see a ring? maybe a long time girlfriend?? who wouldnt snatch up this actual beefcake

"Thanks, tryna cook something new for myself. Flats been quiet" He mumbled like speaking too much would give him a headache

SImon purchased his books same stare at the girls hand like last time as she took his money. God do something you look like a creep staring at this poor girls hands.

"Got a notepad luv?" again that same punched face returned, is she alright? he thought to himself

Oh he just called me luv oh fuck dont wheeze dont wheeze just hand him the pen and paper like a good employee, come on. Oh god dont stare at his arms, are those tattoos oh my god

Sliding back the notepad simon made pace of grabbing his cook book a slipping out the shop just as quick as he went in

You who looked at the notepad almost slipping back out of your chair

"Simon 44 xxx xxx xxx"

Children were singing, the angels sang their songs, the trees regrew in that parking lot down the street, healthcare in america was just made free, and you just got the phone number of a man built like a double door fridge that you have every intention of climbing