#and he doesn’t even stick around to give a report!!!
Text
Chuuya’s so funny because he literally shows up to do the bare minimum (unless Dazai is involved).
Like mfkr, you’re the strongest person in the world, what do you mean “oh no! he sliced through the helicopter blades! What are we going to do?!”
Your power is near limitless. Take your pick of defensive techniques. Throw him to space. Grind him to dust. Carry the helicopter away???
Why are you making people jump out of planes and sacrifice their lives when you can juggle the opps until their brains are mush?
He’s like “Mori said let them on the helicopter. I did my part.”
“Oh no; that kid and that guy from that place that Dazai occasionally volunteers at are strapped to bombs?” … “Well it’s my day off so more power to them.” ✌🏼
The absolute bare minimum. He’s so funny.
#he’s always like “well I guess it’s over for you guys”#I bet you if Dazai was there he would’ve put in more work#and he doesn’t even stick around to give a report!!!#he comes and then he leaves!!#he’s so funny#and out of pocket#port mafia shenanigans#bsd#bungou stray dogs#chuuya nakahara#bsd chuuya#soukoku#Mori ogai#the Ada#armed detective agency#Chuuya putting in zero work#bsd manga#bsd anime#bsd Chuuya Nakahara#port mafia
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
141 and their captain’s assistant
- it all started with a comment made by Laswell, she mentioned to John how tired he seems, how his eye bags are growing heavier each day passing
- she recommended him to get an assistant, John declined the offer and tried to get back to work, but laswell already made the call, she knew how annoying John can be when it comes to getting help
- then enters a pretty little thing, your hair in a messy bun, glasses neatly resting on your pretty face, short pencil skirt hugging your curves perfectly
- John couldn’t help himself from staring, gawking at you like some horny teenager
- the boys began seeing you scurrying around the base more often, the first to approach you was Johnny of course
- his deep voice partnered with his thick Scottish accent made you subconsciously bite your lip, staring up at him with your big doe eyes, you don’t even mean to, it’s just that more than half of the people in here were 6feet+
- Johnny’s flirtatious nature made you giggle, lightened up your day, but not your boss’
- every time the Scott decided to drop by your desk to accompany you, he’d get scolded by his captain
- “don’t need you distracting her from her job”
- “it’s her break, cap, plus, she’ a good lass, I’m sure she’s on top of…all her work” the scott would throw you a wink before his captain orders him to run laps around the base
- next came gaz, since he’s always visiting his captain’s office for reports, he saw you at the new desk in the captain’s office, the aura around you not matching anything in the dim, old and boring office, you gave him a slight smile before returning to your paperwork
- but gaz wasn’t going to let that be the end of your interactions no no
- he’d walk up to you in the mess hall, as you’re loading your plate up, striking a conversation with you, making last long enough for him to lead you to a table with his other teammates
- you shyly but politely sit down and introduce yourself to the masked man who sat opposite of you, his brown eyes staring into yours as his arms stayed locked, he just nodded and replied “ghost”
- you figured he’s not a social one, the Scot and the Brit both kept asking you questions, some may have been a bit intrusive but maybe they’re just being friendly !
- “so why ar’ ye here?”
“Kate laswell requested that I work for John price for a few months to ease the paperwork load on him”
- “I’m sure there’s a different kind of load he’s trying to get you to ease off of him”
- the three of your heads snap to the silent man, his brown eyes seemed to be crinkled, suggesting he was grinning or smirking underneath that mask
- “OI! LT’s got jokes, but he doesn’t mean anything by it” Johnny tried to reassure you, glaring at Simon as you looked down at your food
- you excused yourself as you made your way back to price’s office, you saw him still there, no signs of him moving at all “captain ? Did you eat today?” You asked sweetly
- oh what this man wouldn’t give to have the honours of eating you for every meal of the day, to have you sprawled on his desk, papers sticking to your sweaty skin, your chest rising and falling as you try to quiet yourself so nobody hears what your captain is doing to you
- “captain” fuck he’d love to hear you moan his rank, begging him to be gentle, but he knows deep down you’re a dirty girl and you want your “captain ?!”
- John snapped out of his daydream, he looked up at you, you were leaning to the side trying to check on him “have you eaten today?” You asked again, a worried look in your eyes
- John nods, not looking you in the eyes “yeah yeah” he cleared his throat as he tried to get back to work, but your soft, smaller hand stopped him from grabbing his pen, his brown eyes looked up, ab eyebrow raised as if to ask ‘what are you doing?’
- “I’m sorry, captain but I can’t allow you to get back to work if you haven’t had food” you stated, your body trembling as you stood your ground
- truthfully, price can easily launch you across the room with one arm, he knows his limits, and you’re nowhere near it, but you were right, he does need to eat, and although he wishes he could order you to spread your pretty thighs for him and let him have his fun, he doesn’t want to lose such a pretty sight so fast
- he let go of the pen, leaning back on his office chair “I haven’t brought any food”
“The mess hall still have some food there”
- “I don’t eat that rubbish”
“Well too bad, you need to eat”
- ooh… I guess his little kitty got claws now
#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty#cod mw2#simon ghost riley#john price x reader#simon riley x reader#cod x reader#ghost x reader#captain price#ghost#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#kate laswell#john soap mctavish x reader#kyle gaz x reader
4K notes
·
View notes
Text
Steve grows up playing piano, absolutely hates it, but is so good at it. His parents aren’t around enough by the time he’s a teen to force him to his practices, so he slowly stops going.
His music teacher happens to be Robin’s mom, who studied at Juilliard, and traveled for nearly a decade with various orchestras and bands before settling down with her husband in Hawkins.
She can see what’s going on with Steve from day one, but knows better than to interfere.
Until he quits.
She can’t stand by and let someone so musically gifted give it up.
She shows up at his house with a violin, her own violin that she hadn’t used in years.
He’s hesitant at first, but decides to give it a try as long as she doesn’t tell his parents. The last thing he wants is for them to find out he picked up a new instrument.
She can’t give him official lessons, so she shows up to his house twice a week and hopes that he practices in his own time.
He’s a natural.
He takes to it like a duck to water.
She encourages him to perform in a local talent show, all kids under 18, most of them not half as talented as he is.
He only agrees when she says she’ll be front row.
And sure enough, for once in his life, someone shows up when they say they will. She’s sitting front row with her husband on one side and her daughter on the other. She smiles as he takes the stage, nervous about people who know him seeing him and reporting back to his parents.
He performs with heart, something he lacked with the piano. He performs with talent, something he may have with any instrument he picks up.
But most importantly, he plays with a smile. He’s having fun.
He sticks around to watch some of the other people performing: Tammy Thompson singing a very out of tune rendition of America The Beautiful, some kid from one of his classes playing piano miserably, and some band performing very loud, very angry music.
Steve wins, and for once, it feels better than when he wins at a swim meet or basketball game.
He spends the next three years secretly practicing, only performing in shows out of town, never saying anything to his parents.
He doesn’t want them to ruin this for him.
He applies to Juilliard, not thinking he has a chance in hell, not with his academic grades.
Luckily, they see that he’s “exceptional with the strings” and “plays with emotion that can’t be trained.”
He gets in.
He goes.
He thinks he may actually be able to do this, use a gift he has to make his life better.
His parents even find it acceptable, mostly because he got into the best school he could have. They still don’t bother showing up for his shows, but Mrs. Buckley always finds a way.
In his sophomore year, Robin gets in, and they both move into a small apartment off campus together. He promised to look out for her.
She tells him that music wasn’t really her passion, she was just good with a trumpet. She really wanted to be an engineer.
In his junior year, Robin transfers to Columbia, starts doing what she really wanted to do from the start. He’s proud of her, but misses having someone on campus during the day to have lunch with.
Until he stumbles, literally, into someone vaguely familiar.
“Sorry, man. Running late.”
Steve pats the man on the shoulder and turns to get to his class when the man stops him.
“Harrington? You’re a student here?”
He turns back and finally recognizes the man in front of him.
“Munson? When did you get here?”
“I got in this year. Kinda fucked up my first audition last year and they were kind enough to give me another shot.” Eddie smiled. “What on earth are you here for?”
“Violin. You?”
“Guitar and songwriting.”
“That’s great, man. I’m just really running late. Catch up soon?”
Soon was two weeks later, when Steve ran into Eddie again while leaving class.
“We should probably stop running into each other like this,” Eddie smirked. “The universe is trying to tell us something.”
“What’s it trying to tell us?”
“Not sure. Maybe we should go grab dinner and find out.”
“Now?”
“Why not? Got better plans?”
Steve thought about how Robin was barely at the apartment due to studying for midterms. He thought about how his only other friend from here was busy rehearsing for their senior showcase.
“Nah. Let me bring this home first,” he held up his violin case. “Actually.”
Steve was on a budget. His parents gave him money, sure, but they thought he was living on campus so the money they sent covered rent and groceries and nothing else.
“I could make dinner. If you want?”
“Steve Harrington cooks? And plays violin?” Eddie fake swooned. “Be still my beating heart. How will I not be seduced?”
Steve rolled his eyes. He remembered Eddie’s dramatics from school and knew better than to feed into them.
“I can make some spaghetti. Nothing fancy.”
“Spaghetti sounds great,” Eddie’s fake swoon turned to a soft smile. “You want some help?”
Steve didn’t need help, usually didn’t even want any.
But something about the way his stomach dipped when Eddie stepped closer, and the way he thought about having Eddie in his apartment, made him agree.
“Sure.”
They walked to Steve’s apartment in a comfortable silence, though Eddie kept tapping the back of his fingers against Steve’s hand.
Eddie fit next to Steve. They cooked together, they ate together, they even managed to clean up together. It was easy to find something to talk about. He’d never clicked with anyone like this, not even Robin.
By the time Robin came home, Steve and Eddie were both passed out on the couch, fingers laced together as if they hadn’t been brave enough to do anything more before they fell asleep.
By morning, Steve’s head was on Eddie’s shoulder, Eddie’s arm wrapped around him loosely.
Waking up to a soft kiss on his lips was something Steve couldn’t have imagined when he first ran into Eddie, but he was pretty glad it was how he started his day.
And almost every day after that, whether he woke up to a kiss, or met up with Eddie on campus for a kiss, he started his day with love on his lips.
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#headcanon#drabble#musician Steve Harrington#musician eddie munson#we love alternate meetings in this house#we’re gonna say it’s a modern au to make things simpler#just go with it
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ COME BACK TO BED — levi ackerman
summary . . . you crave levi, but he isn't there when you wake up.
contents . . . f!reader, nsfw mdni, cock warming, office (?) sex, creampie, piv, unprotected sex, fluff, honestly i haven't been in much of a mood to write smut but this has been in my drafts for a while so it gets really soft at the end— 2.2k
you walk into the room, frowning at the sight of your lover still behind his desk, bent over the parchment. light shadows his face, sparkling over him like a candle, illuminating him in a yellow hue. he’s so beautiful, and you ache for him. the desperation inside of you only grows, even though it is dually coated in worry.
“levi?” you say, lips drawn down as you approach, blinking away your sleepiness. “why are you still working?”
it’s nearly three in the morning; the bed was cold and empty when you left, and the middle of winter was unforgiving. though levi didn’t sleep often, he, at least, made an effort to when you were at his side. tonight, though, it seems he’s given up on the matter, scribbling notes on the paperwork instead.
“i have to finish this by tomorrow,” levi says, dismissive, not even bothering to glance up.
your frown deepens, and you repeat his name, softer as you come around the side of the desk. you’d woken up so desperate for him, and when he was not there to coax an orgasm out of you, you’d tried to take on the task yourself.
though, your fingers didn’t feel as nice as his did, hadn’t reached the places inside of you that his cock could. and, you craved it, craved him so much that you hadn’t been able to go back to sleep.
“come back to bed,” you mutter, but even then, you can hear the desperation in your voice, the subtle tone that it takes on whenever you want him badly.
his writing stops. he turns back to you, eyes hardening as you place a gentle hand on his shoulder. you run your soft fingertips along the juncture between his neck and jaw, batting your eyelashes at him so sweetly.
there’s a dark look in his irises that you pick up on easily, but you can’t tell if he’s irritated with you, or if it’s the lust that is spreading in the ocean of his eyes. his jaw sets, and his normally straight mouth draws tighter. “i have to finish this.”
“can i stay here, then?”
he sticks his tongue into the side of his cheek. “i’m—”
you can already hear his protest, how he’ll say your name so softly in an apology, kiss you on the lips before sending you back to your shared room. but you’re determined to get your way tonight, and you can feel the wetness gathering between your legs, the ache still thrumming through your body.
“want you inside me, levi,” you say softly, almost begging as you lean down to whisper into his ear. “please.”
levi stops, eyeing you with the intensity that he faces with everyone, an intensity that doesn’t always soften for you. still, by now, you’re used to it — find it endearing, really, how serious he can be.
“you going to be a distraction?” levi scans your face.
you jut your lower lip out just a bit, almost pouting, “no,” you promise. “just want to feel you.”
for a moment, he considers, before finally relenting. levi sighs, then pulls back the chair, his strong thighs on display as you maneuver yourself onto his lap. even the brief feeling of his knee against your clothed cunt sends a sharp whimper through you.
“you can’t move. i’ve put this off for long enough.”
“since when did you care about any of that?” you ask, yawning as you slip your pants off your hips. “i thought hange did the paperwork, anyway.”
“if only.” he gives you a pointed look, tracing your jaw with his thumb. “just sit still.”
levi focuses his attention back on the paperwork, and when you spare a brief glance at it, you notice that it’s reports from the past few missions. for the government in the interior, assigned specifically to captain levi.
you refrain from a sarcastic remark, and instead, slide levi’s zipper down, waiting for any reaction. he gives you none, signs his name on the bottom line, and flips the parchment over.
“levi,” you start, but he shushes you again, kissing your cheek dismissively.
“no talking.”
“you’re so rude.”
he raises his eyebrow, but you slide his cock out of his pants, warming it in your palm. a soft little sigh leaves him as you stroke him until he’s hard, but he schools his expression into a neutral position, leaning back in the chair.
you’re naked from the waist down, but he doesn’t seem to care. with something of a frown, you slip his cock inside you and sink your hips down. your fingers dig into his shoulders as you move, sliding right into him.
levi’s dark eyes dart towards you. “shit,” he gasps, his other hand holding onto your hips. “why are you so wet already?”
a small whimper leaves you as he fills you up, stretches your walls, as you settle onto his cock. though it feels so good, you squeeze his arms and try not to move. “you weren’t there when i woke up,” you say, resting your head on his shoulder and pressing a kiss to the space between his neck. “so i tried to take care of it myself.”
levi’s eyes flash. “dirty girl.” his voice is deeper, a rumble that you feel in his chest. “couldn’t help but touch yourself to the thought of me when i wasn’t there, hm? but i bet your fingers weren’t enough, were they?”
you exhale deeply, shaking with the need to move as your walls flutter around him. “levi.”
“needed my cock inside you instead, didn’t you, love? probably would’ve begged me to fuck you until you were tired enough to fall back asleep.”
“god, levi, please.” you start, and you shift your hips once. your clit rubs right against him, his long cock settling inside you as a heavy moan almost escapes. instead, you bite down hard on his neck; but levi forces you down even harder on his lap, his eyes relentless.
“i told you not to move, didn’t i?”
you blink back at him, but his face is serious, hardened lines stretching from each angle of his face. and though you want fuck yourself on his dick, and every atom in your being tells you to do so, you listen to him. somehow, you refrain from shifting your hips again.
sitting still, you bury your face into his neck and heave a great sigh, brushing the delicate skin beneath his jaw.
“good girl,” levi says flippantly, his long, slender finger grazing up your spine. the simple words alone send a pulse straight through your body, and you whimper against him, your cunt squeezing tighter, wet from the deep intonation of his voice.
levi says nothing else, but you can feel his smirk as he kisses your temple. he never fails to remind you how precious you are to him, even when he is a bit short with you. and even though he is never the best about telling you how much he loves you, his affections run deep.
he plays with the end of your hair, soothingly, and though you can’t ignore him deep inside you, it almost lulls you back into a peaceful sleep.
after what feels like hours of subtle torture, you speak again.
“levi,” you hum against his throat, when he flips another page, signing his name on the dotted line. “i love you so much.”
his hand stills on your back, fingers tapping once against your spine before resuming. it’s still difficult for him to repeat the words, but you know it’s only out of his fear that you will one day be taken away from him. levi squeezes your hip once more, huffs, and sets the pen down.
“i’m certain you know how much you mean to me,” levi returns, pulling you away from his neck so that you’re able to face him once again. “you’re supposed to be being quiet.”
his face is stern, but his eyes are anything but; soft and loving. levi’s cheeks are flushed red, and though he is strong — the strongest — that alone is not enough to combat how he feels when he’s inside you. it brings a small, knowing smile to your face.
“i was being sweet,” you say, sleepily, testing your luck by lifting your hips and settling them once more. the feeling is more intense than you’d expected, and a little moan escapes your mouth, lips parting softly. “i do love you.”
“i’m certain you’re just trying to butter me up,” levi’s mouth is against your own, the words leaving on a shaky breath, tickling your skin. “so you can get what you want.”
you laugh, fanning your fingertips against his cheeks. “is it working?”
levi spares you one more hardened expression, tightly drawing his mouth together, before he’s lifting you, shifting you onto the desk, your back pressed against the papers. “unfortunately,” he grunts, kissing all over your face before he threads his fingers with your own. “god. the things you do to me. can’t think straight.”
he thrusts up into you, hard, and you close your eyes, kissing him, much more slowly than the pace he sets with his hips. levi squeezes your palm tightly, the other roaming across your chest, your stomach, before settling at your hips. “you’re everything to me, you know? my beautiful girl. don’t know what i’d do without you.”
you smile against his mouth and tug at his hair with your free hand, feeling the soft tendrils between your fingers. it’s ironic, that he thinks you’re beautiful, when you’re certain he’s the most angelic creature you’ve ever seen. “i’m not going anywhere, levi. i promise.”
levi speeds up, involuntarily, eyes so intense as he watches every subtle change of your expression. but you are too sleepy to do much but breathe into his mouth, soft little moans that have levi thrusting into you twice as hard.
it doesn’t take long for him to coax the first orgasm out of you, and you’re barely able to whisper his name before you clench around him, squeezing the palm that’s still locked within your own.
levi smiles, but it’s snarky, a mix between satisfaction and annoyance. “looks like you got your way after all.”
you laugh, breathless, kissing across his cheeks as he grows sloppy, chest heaving with the weight of his exhales. though levi wants to pin this all on you, you can tell that he needs to relax too. the past few hours without a moment of sleep, doing nothing but paperwork, have taken a toll on him.
“must be so hard for you, huh?” you tease, eyelashes fluttering closed as you lean against him, letting your forehead drop to his shoulder. “getting to fuck me on a desk like this. what a chore.”
“you shouldn’t talk to your captain like that,” levi teases, but he groans out the last few words, cheeks flushed from how close he is. lazily, your fingers run across his chest, and though a second orgasm is steadily building, you want to watch him come apart first.
“perhaps,” you say, smiling as you kiss his chest, your hair tickling the bottom of his jaw. “but i’m not talking to my captain, i’m talking to you, levi.” you lean back up to kiss him, once, again, just the softest brush of your lips. “and i want you to cum inside me.”
levi’s eyes flash, and you can see the moment that he unravels, the next few seconds where his movements get erratic. then, his features change, plump bottom lip separating from the top one. the look in his eyes grows distant, and his stomach flexes, abs tightening, before the heat of his cum shoots inside of you.
levi topples onto you, his chest landing on yours as you fall back onto the desk. his cock finally slips out of you.
“shit,” levi says, running his hands along your thighs, sweaty skin sticking to each other. “we’re going to ruin the papers.”
“who cares,” you yawn, rubbing your eyes before encircling levi’s neck with your arms. “the military police can deal with the mess.”
“you’re disgusting.”
“they’d probably get off on it, don’t you think? the interior is full of hedonists anyway.”
levi snorts. “maybe. but i prefer not to think about how they spend their free time.”
you laugh again, just a breath of air, and settle against him. levi is warm, his arms are strong, and he smells clean; a mix of soap and the sweet fragrant of citrus. he holds you so gently, despite all of the hardness that lingers in his body. you’ve never known anyone to feel so much like home.
“will you come to bed now?” you ask sleepily. “i don’t want to go to sleep alone.”
levi softens, and he traces your cheekbone with his thumb, as best he can at the awkward angle. “sure, love. i should get some rest anyway.”
#levi x reader#levi ackerman x you#levi ackerman x female reader#levi ackerman x reader#levi x you#levi ackerman x y/n smut#levi ackerman smut#levi ackerman x fem!reader#aot x reader#aot x you#aot smut#snk smut#snk x reader#snk x you#attack on titan x female reader#attack on titan fanfiction#levi headcanons#levi imagine#aot x female reader#xoxo rylie 💌 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Gotta be a moron to wanna be a fighter
Pairing: König x Reader
Summary: You’re determined to find out why everyone thinks König is so scary, afterall he’s just some guy that’s taller than most people right? He’s probably harmless! Well, he’s a little scary, but you still like him anyway.
(No use of y/n or mention of gender/race)
Warning: Drinking, sex references
AN: Thank you for being so patient, this chapter has been a long time in the making 💕 Everyone's lovely comments and beautiful art have been giving me LIFE so thank you so much for continuing on with me! Also after this chapter there will be a Chapter 5.5 so to speak that will essentially just be filth without plot so people that read the series for fluff don't need to read it 😇 and people that want more will be indulged 😈 Enjoy! x
Part 5 of A Rocky Start - Full Masterlist Here
-☠️-
It was stupid, you were both aware of it. You’d get in trouble and be marked for life as liabilities if anyone found out, if even so much as one person saw you both and reported it back to Price. Reality was though, that neither of you could bear the thought of ending things. Sprinkle in a little hubris and it was a recipe for thinking you were above it all.
You felt secure in your hiding spot, shrouded in the bodies of the oblivious people around you, protected by the roar of the ramping conversations. Though, when it came down to it, it was more like you were the oblivious ones. All cuddled up close and murmuring to each other through an exchange of soft kisses and sweet promises that you could only hope were more than a shared dream.
You’d leaned as far off the stool as you could, magnetised to him. Body brushing up against König every chance that you could get, running your fingers along his scar torn arm, blinking syrupy slowly up at him and simpering like an idiot. It felt like catching snowflakes in the winter. It felt like König would disappear at any moment, the dream would shatter and he’d fade away and so you had to cling to him like an anchor to keep him in place.
You’d never felt so needy before. Especially not for someone that you held so much tension with, so much mixed emotion. Even under it all, under the whole whimsy of making plans and talking about booking quiet hotels out in the sticks, letting your heads float in the clouds, you could feel the heavy weight of the words you’d yet to let goof. What remained from that night when things had gone wrong.
No matter how much you’d thought about it, you struggled to come to a clear conclusion in your head. A way to navigate past it all - the shifting sands of your feelings. On the one hand some of it still disturbed you and gnawed at the edges of your mind and on the other, you couldn't bring yourself to think that you were much better, that you had the right to criticise him.
You hated to think of him holding onto it all and internalising the words you’d spat out in a moment of panic. You’d made him out to be a monster while your hands were just as bloody as his, you’d acted as if yours dripped righteously because you’d killed your quarries quickly. It was hardly fair - though none of the situation really was.
That’s how you found yourself struggling to speak when König had finally taken the helm and steered you out of calm waters. He wasn’t going to let things go on without some assurance, he needed something from you. Needed to know it wasn’t going to fall apart.
“Almost sounds like a fantasy doesn’t it?” König said, gazing up from his drink and back to you.
“What? Getting some time away together?”
“Mhmm,” he mused.
“We could do it you know,” you smiled. “I…actually really want this.”
He regarded you for a moment with a tilt of his head, his sculpted face set in a stony marble contemplation. He looked like he knew exactly what he wanted to say, but he couldn’t open his mouth past a small pout. He was trapped in silence until he finally took a breath and smiled weakly.
“If we really were to do it…if we really did plan a trip together, spend the weekend away, then I need you to be honest with me. You have to tell me how you really feel about what happened.”
Now it was your turn to pause. You knew where this was going - it was inevitable. You just wished that it wasn’t and you could remain suspended in your little bubble for the rest of time, cuddled up and without a care. Even when you knew that would have been selfish, because it was easier for you to forget what happened, easier for the person that caused the hurt to move past it.
Realistically you were never going to do that to him. Responsibility weighed heavy and it wouldn’t just disappear, you had to take a hold of it and tell König how you really felt. The only way over was through. You just had to hope that he’d have the same view on it all, that he would want to work with you on it.
“You have to understand,” he said quietly, speaking again before you could settle on the right words, “you are the first person that I’ve had feelings for in a very long time. When you told me the other night that you thought I was acting with you, that i was this- this monster of a person, and pretending I cared, it really hurt me. Even despite the kiss we shared that night, and the things we’ve talked about even now…I need to know that you won’t run from me again. I can’t stand the thought of us taking things further and you turning your back on me because there’s a repeat of what happened - it would break me this time.”
It would break me this time.
It was like an icy wave rising out of the depths and drowning you. The cold hard realisation that you’d had more of an effect than you’d realised. König now worried - even after you telling him that you missed him more than anything - that you’d leave him just like that. Even when that was impossible. You’d agreed to meet him even after all that had happened for gods sakes, you were risking your career for him, you were ready to face Price’s wrath just for the chance to see him again and make up for everything. You weren’t giving him up.
“I don’t think you’re a monster König, I never did - even when I said all those things to you… but it’s like I said earlier, my mind isn’t completely clear on it all. There’s still things about that night that make me uncomfortable, I still don’t like picturing you doing things like that and- and well…the laughing - that still gets me,” you said with a sigh, trying your hardest not to break eye contact. “But no matter what though, no matter what has happened and what will happen - I know that I want to work through it with you. I don’t want to run, I want to be right here. I want you to trust me. I know that I fucked up telling you that I thought that badly of you and I know it’ll take some time for you to feel like you’re secure, but we can both reassure each other, yeah? We can navigate through it together because- well because it’s like you said. You have feelings for me and I- uh- I…care about you too, so so much. So much. I won’t let anything get in the way of that.”
His face was a melting pot of emotion. The curve of his lips wobbled between a grimace and a small smile and his jaw kept clenching and unclenching as he processed what you said. He turned the words over in his mind for a minute, his face giving nothing away as he zoned out into the middle distance, transfixed on the rainbow array of bottles behind the bar.
“So how do we move past it?” he breathed.
“I suppose we just try to talk about it more…I’m not sure it's something I’ll immediately forget about, but then I guess you won’t just forget about what I did either,” you mumbled. “We can learn from each other though, and understand each other’s perspectives. Like I said before, we can work through it all. If you want to.”
He nodded and studied the bar again, thinking deeply for a second. König’s face still didn’t betray anything, he was so good at wearing masks he barely needed the cloth to cover what he thought. His hard jaw was set and his pale blue eyes were haunting a deep space far from where you both sat.
It was only when he finally grabbed your hand again, when he wove his work beaten fingers through yours that you knew it would be ok. You knew that he wanted this just as much as you, no matter what. He barely even had to say it, but he did, the words like honeysuckle petals softly tickling at your ears.
“Yes, I think that you’re right. We can do this together,” he murmured, gripping your hand tightly. “You and I will make this work any way that we can. I’ve never wanted anyone like this before and I won’t give you up for anything, not for Price, not for Ghost, not for the world. You’re mine…and I will do anything to keep it that way.”
-☠️-
Barely a week after that night, you found yourself checking into a quaint little hotel in the middle of nowhere, attempting to ignore the Price shaped shadow that stained your peripheral vision. You’d packed yourself into the car and driven off with your hold all, not stopping to look back. It almost felt like you were going back to base again, as if you’d taken on another mission and you were going through the motions, that helped for most of the journey.
It was only when the car had crunched into the gravely drive that it finally sank in that you were really going to meet König. There wasn’t going to be any interruptions or distractions, you didn’t have to silently walk past him in the hallways and feel your chest sink knowing that you couldn’t acknowledge him. It was just you and him, unfettered by rules and boundaries.
In the mouth of the hotel reception, you’d muttered out your details to the stuffy looking woman behind the desk. She’d given you the same feeling some people must have when checking into a prison sentence. She clicked over to you in her perfectly pressed grey jacket and skirt and demanded to know if you had a booking. Her eyes roved over you, her lips pinching together when she asked why you were visiting, and you said you were just taking a trip away with a friend. She didn’t seem to like that very much. Her papery worn hand had stopped scratching down your details in her book, then she’d proceeded to continue again after a brief but unmistakable sigh.
She was onto you. She didn’t even know you, but even she knew you were up to no good. Her beady eyes certainly betrayed her as they narrowed behind her thin gold framed glasses.
The Captain Price in your mind took on a more solid shape, made your hand shake and jingle the keys that you’d been given. What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Sergeant? You had no idea what you were doing, reason had been abandoned for a far more attractive proposition. It was only there at the desk that you realised the full weight of your decision, trying to stay calm in front of the glaring figure before you.
You’d only gotten to leave after being strictly warned that you weren’t to disturb the other guests ‘should you and your friend spend much time in each other's rooms’. You’d nodded with a thick gulp and attempted to smile as you slunk away from her, dreaming up that she was on the phone to Price just as you were out of sight.
You were being ridiculous.
You sighed and trailed your eyes along the yellowing floral wallpaper as you passed it, laughing softly as you realised how paranoid you were being. It was no use worrying about Price now, you’d already committed to the trip, so why torture yourself with seeing him in every nook and corner? With that in mind you walked a little more confidently across the soft pink carpet, eventually making your ascent up the groaning old stairs, keeping yourself focused on not tripping up on the runner rods. One step at a time, soldier, you’ll need those legs to lean on when you’re scrubbing toilets.
The room you’d ended up in was exactly as you’d pictured it after seeing the rest of the hotel. It was as if you’d stepped into the past, something straight from the 1920’s with its old decor and unplaceable draft that permeated throughout the room like it was an extra feature.
The bed looked older than you. The kind that would squeal and shout traitorously at every little movement you’d make and was topped with lacy white sheets complete with multi coloured floral quilt - it clashed with the wallpaper of course. Though it worked with the equally ugly rug in the centre of the room, mangled and worn with age, reaching out its frayed tendrils; almost touching the little desk off to the side and the wardrobe next to it. The bathroom wasn't much better either, all avocado coloured porcelain and tiny enough to accommodate a hobbit and not much more.
It made you wonder how König was going to cope, his almost seven foot frame was going to be like something from Alice in Wonderland. You smirked at the thought and tossed your hold all on the bed, freeing your hand up so that you could fish out your phone and text the number you kept under - mother. Your Latest act of subterfuge. A way to receive messages from König without being found out. You really did feel like a kid again.
You
You’re gonna love this place, big guy ;)
Mother
Any more back chat about my choice and you can go another week without me
You
I’m JUST saying…it’s tiny to *me* so take that as you will
Mother
Size isn’t everything dear ;)
You
You’re so fuckin lame dude
Mother
Is that any way to talk to your mother?
You found yourself cackling at his response and clamped your hand over your mouth, not wanting to draw too much attention to yourself already. The old harpy downstairs probably already thought you were both having a secret affair or something, the last thing you needed was to draw more of her ire. It wasn’t like you could go and explain to her that neither of you was spurning a partner back home, and that you were actually hiding from your Captain turned father. So really it was totally fine for you both to be sneaking around in the countryside together!
She didn’t seem like the type that would like that explanation either anyway.
No. Reality was, you were part of one of the most elite task forces in the world, and there you were hovering above a frilly old bed about to wait for your crush coming home like a propaganda poster. When will my would-be forbidden boyfriend return from Austria? You snorted at the thought and dove into your bag, rustling around in search of your tablet. Things were bad enough without you waiting at the window with your metaphorical tail stuck in alert position - excited for König and fearful of Price and the paranoid possibility of him having a tracker on you both.
Fuck that. You watched TV and tuned out the tinfoil hat thoughts as best as you could manage.
You didn’t have to wait long in the end anyway, not if you were honest with yourself. König had announced his arrival with a thud and an ‘ow, oida!’ and immediately you knew your man had arrived. It seemed unlikely anyone else would be in the corridor, you assumed, banging their head and shouting in German.
Wouldn’t you know it, once you’d poked your head out of the parapet of your room door, you’d laid your eyes straight on him. You emerged from your hiding place and watched as König rubbed his head and looked at the doorway like he’d square up to it. A tiny laugh escaped before you could cover it up when you realised you’d been right all along; the place was far too small for him.
Though he’d never admit to it - that you were sure of. He’d be folding himself in half before he’d admit to being wrong. You’d figured that out when you’d originally questioned his choice in hotel and destination. It screamed home for the geriatric: spend your last years here together, but he wouldn’t hear of it. König had been absolutely adamant he wanted a little old fashioned place out in the countryside, said it was good to stay out of the way of everyone and grant yourselves some privacy, height restrictions be damned.
“Having trouble there, handsome?” You smirked, looking him up and down appreciatively.
He whirled around and faced you, eyes going wide as he realised you’d been watching him. Almost instantly you were admiring him, trailing your eyes over his outfit and his perfectly exposed face.
König was wearing his neck warmer much like usual, though it had been drawn down around his neck - likely to accommodate the nosy old gal downstairs. It fit well enough with the rest of his outfit, tan brown work jacket, white shirt and beat up jeans and boots, but it looked a little odd in the warmer weather. You could only imagine how suspicious she’d been of him, masked up and german, likely two marks against his name. She’d be calling the authorities on you in no time, the neighbourhood watch would be descending down on you from their helicopters if you misstepped even slightly.
“I’m doing just fine, thank you,” König sniffed, leaning his arm up against the top of the doorframe.
“Really? Sure you don’t need a lil pillow or something to strap to your head? Would be a shame if you came back from your time off with brain damage,” you giggled.
“Maybe I’ll avoid it by leaving early then shall I?” he teased, narrowing his eyes.
“Oh c’mon, you know you can’t resist all this” you smirked, tilting your chin. “Besides, it must’ve taken ages to get that big head of yours through the front door, you can’t possibly want to leave already!”
Ignoring the string of muttered German that followed your comment, you closed the gap between you both. Before you could chicken out, you put your arms around him, embracing his big warm body like an oversized plush. König’s muscles tensed at first, reacting like you’d tased him, but he quickly relaxed, letting his own encompass your body before he kissed the top of your head and turned your mind rosy. You could swear you saw blushes of pink cross your vision, eyes clouding while your head went fuzzy.
“Missed you,” you whispered, nuzzling into his chest. “Again.”
“Mhmm, I’d say I did too, but you’ve been so condescending with me,” he murmured, descending into laughter when he caught you glaring up at him.
“Don’t be mean!”
“Alright, alright. I missed you too! Of course I did,” he relented. “Though I think you should be nicer to me, you did make me sacrifice going back to Austria after all.”
He sighed dramatically and suddenly it was your turn to roll your eyes. He’d been trying everything to get you to go to him, but for you it was no dice. The absolute last thing you needed was for Price to see the big Austrian stamp in your passport and turn the national colours in fury. The thought alone was enough to have you going wide eyed and stiff.
“Well I suppose I can be nicer,” you grinned, reluctantly pulling away from him. “We have got two days together, so I’ll have to convince you to stick around somehow.”
“Two whole days, my my,” he said with raised brows. “What are we gonna do with all that time?”
“For starters - hang out without a paparazzi of base personnel waiting to report on the gossip.”
“Not that that will stop them talking. I caught MacTavish over my shoulder trying to get a look at my phone the other day,” he said, shaking his head.
“Really? Did he say anything to you?” You asked, concerned that you’d have to tell him to knock it off somehow without being figured out.
“I stared back at him and he almost died of fright when he finally looked back at me,” he chuckled, his evil laugh making an appearance. “Didn’t stick around long after that.”
“For fucks sake, Soap,” you snorted. “That man’s about as subtle as a canon. Stupid prick.”
“Well what else can you expect from the 141?” König teased, preemptively retreating backwards toward his open doorway.
“Oh, you think you’re a big man firing insults then running away do you?” You asked, folding your arms across yourself.
“Sneaky, please - Im a very big man,” he tittered, cocking a finger gun at you as he disappeared with his oversized rucksack. “I’ll come over to your room in a minute!”
Your earlier assessment was true enough - he was fucking lame. But nevertheless he was the man that you were risking it all for.
“Good luck getting in!” You called, retreating back to yours.
Not that it’d actually be a challenge. You’d gone as far as to ignore a direct order from Price, ignored your own wavering doubts about the darkness that he was capable of and you’d driven five hours just to see him. When it came to König you were a goner. And it was only getting clearer with time.
-☠️-
König had indeed managed to worm his way back into your presence, no matter how much you tried to joke that you were barricading yourself in your room. However, with the promise of a scenic walking route and pub food courtesy of him, you found it in your heart to forgive his earlier comment, giving him a stern look on your way out. He was only forgiven by a slim margin you’d told him.
However as you’d set out and begun to stretch your legs and ease out the travelling aches, you found yourself more and more surprised by how much you were enjoying yourself. The air had cleared and something in the knots of your stomach had come undone. You were Shocked that you were able to forget all about Price, all about the hazards of being together. As if work were just something from a persona that you’d shed. All responsibility and worries scattered in the breeze that shook the tall grass.
It was easy to share his company too. It didn’t feel awkward or like you had to say anything at any particular time. It was natural, just like it was before, when you could talk to him without the threat of Price giving you the sack. Though it struck you like a slap to the face when you realised that it was one of the few rare moments you’d had to talk to each other without being a spectacle, without people watching and commenting. No Soap to tease you about it, no Ghost to pass his judgmental gaze over you both.
That was what made it truly special, it was something just for you both. The place itself turned out to be pretty special too, it was lovely. You had to give König that - even if his hotel was haunted by its judgmental keeper.
The trail was fairly flat, and took you through fields and backroads with only a few sloping hills here and there with plenty of streams that babbled in the backgrounds of your conversations. Eventually you’d come to a little bridge and stopped to take in the view, looking out over the cold spray of the miniature waterfall tumbling down into the river below and past the mossy banks. It rollled down the yellow-green expanse, snaking off somewhere way out to the horizon line.
It was both a noisy, but pretty backdrop that allowed you to get plenty of sly glances in while König was distracted. Your eyes had been tracing his profile like you were trying to paint him. He’d caught you no doubt, the smile that played on his lips told you that much, but he hadn’t made any attempt to stop you looking. He kept staring at the water and had let the quiet lull in your earlier chat remain still.
“I’ve always wondered…do you stare at lots of people like this? Or am I special?”
You blinked back at him and felt blood pool in your cheeks, racing with the rushing water.
“Who says I’m staring at you,” you murmured, leaning against the worn wooden railing. “There’s actually a very nice tree that I’ve been admiring.”
“Oh a nice tree, hmm? I must say, I’ve been compared to a tree many times, but not an awful lot of people call me nice,” he mused, teasingly nudging your shoulder.
“Just me and your mother?” you smirked, firing a shot back at him.
He widened his eyes and tilted his head like a puppy, putting his hand on his chest as if he were pulling the spear you’d buried there out of himself.
“I can’t believe you’re bringing my mother into this!”
“Well, I assume she thinks you’re nice…Sure sounds like it anyway,” you said with a coy smile.
“And by that you mean…?” he asked, eyes narrowing on you.
Your throat could’ve gone dry from the heat in König’s eyes and suddenly his intense gaze felt all too similar to the shake of a rattlesnake's tail. Had you been trying to insult him, you’d have let it die on your lips, but it wasn’t what you were thinking of doing at all. What little you knew of his past, you knew that wasn’t the sort of thing that would go down very well.
“I mean that - judging by the way you sound on the phone to her - she likes to dote on her little precious baby König,” you said with a smirk, “I can always tell when you’re on the phone to her.”
The lit fuse was snuffed out in an instant, and the look in his eyes faded from a warning and into a question. He paused a moment before he spoke again.
“I don’t know whether to be more perturbed that you’ve been listening in on my calls, or if I’m much more interested in finding out how you can tell.”
“I haven’t been listening to your calls! You always answer your phone in front of everyone because we’re all ‘savage’ non German speakers,” you laughed, finally returning the nudge he’d given you earlier. “You make it sound like Price has me spying on you!”
“Maybe he does,” he chuckled dryly, turning to you now. “Maybe you’re perfectly fluent in German and you’re an excellent double agent.”
“Damn it, you’ve caught me! I better tell the guys to come out of the bushes now. Quick Price, get down from that tree before you fall out of it,” you laughed in return, calling out to the fake 141 like they’d really come free from their hiding spots.
König shook his head at you saying something about you being silly under his breath, and turned back to the water again. His body shook the fence with his weight coming to rest on it, one arm propped up so that he could reach up and hold his face in one hand, clearly not used to having it bare as he subconsciously stroked the spot where his neckwarmer would come to. He looked distant for a second, only a fleeting moment, until he swivelled his head back to you and looked at you curiously, raising his brow.
“What is it that makes you say my mother dotes?” he finally asked, giving you a small smile. “If you really are the uncivilised non-german speaker that you claim to be.”
“First of all - you’re so rude. Secondly, its how you talk when you’re on the phone to her, even if it is in German,” you said pointedly. “Your voice always goes all soft and quiet and reassuring like you’re always trying to soothe her…Oh! And you do that thing where you answer all gentle like - ‘hallo, mama’.”
König bit his lip and held back the smile that tried to burst loose.
“Is that really how I sound to you? Like I’m greeting a dying animal? I can’t imagine that’s very attractive.”
“It’s not like that! Your voice goes all sweet and cute,” you replied defensively, sidling up against him.
“Sweet and cute? Niemals! I am not sweet, nor cute,” he huffed, staring you down and rising to his full height.
“You’re very sweet and cute, actually,” you huff, giving his cheek a rub before you can think twice.
Suddenly you’re trapped between the railing and König, the wood creaking out in protest. His heavy chest trapped you fast against him and his arms locked on either side of you, straining as his hands grasped the wood tightly. His hair had fallen over his face and shadowed his eyes, giving them a menacing glint as he continued to look down at you.
“Am I still sweet and cute?” he whispered lowly.
You felt your face burn and your breath shudder. Tremors wracked their way through your legs and you fought to stay on level ground as he forced you down. He wasn’t being either of the aforementioned things you’d said, but he wasn’t being very scary either…
“I’m not scared of you König,” you murmured, breaking the tension and tucking back a rogue strand of his hair. “I still think you’re very sweet.”
He rolled his eyes, sighing down at you like a weary god.
“I’m not.”
“Yes you are,” You grinned. “You’re sweet to me all the time! Always making sure I have my tea and get to watch my movies even when you’re fidgeting like hell. You booked this hotel just so that we could spend time together without being in trouble at work. You watch out for me, you make me feel safe. You’re so sweet.”
He sighed again.
“Ugh, very well then…I suppose if you really enjoy the whole cute thing I should lean into it more, hm?” he said, a smile slowly creeping across his face. “What do you think, my precious angel? You want me to be sickly sweet with you now? Hm? My Schnuckiputzi? Schnuckiputzihasimausieerdbeertörtchen, my-”
König’s voice purred sweet and high pitched, sounding several levels of unfamiliar as he kept you smushed against the fence with his hand locked to your jaw. His lip jutted out thickly and his eyes went dopey, talking to you like you were a little kitten that he was trying to charm into his lap. It was too much for you, you were overcome with laughter and crying out as he kept up his assault, only pausing when you tried to cover his mouth with your flailing hand.
“Oh my god, you have to stop,” you wheezed, pushing against him. “No more!
“But I’ve barely even started, Schmusebär! I could go on forever,” he laughed, voice muffled by your grasp on him.
“No, please, it’s too much!” you protested.
“Oh, so you’ve had enough? You don’t like the cute thing anymore?”
“I like when you’re cute like you, not cute like that! That’s gross,” you giggled, giving him a playful shove.
“Ok, ok! I’ll dial it back. Anything for my sweet little flower.”
You’d given him a warning look, but he didn’t look in the least bit intimidated - one of the hazards of going out with a guy built like König, he wasn’t going to be scared off by you. Although, you supposed that might’ve been a good thing too.
At the very least he’d stopped after that and you’d enjoyed the rest of the walk in peace. Both of you had become transfixed by the sprawling deer-filled fields and the birds that flew in perfect formations shrieking above your heads. They clouded the skies and brought with them a cold wind that had begun to bite through your clothes and had you leaning into König. Your body brushed against his one time too many and eventually he just rolled his eyes and took your hand in his, firmly dragging you closer so that you could absorb his warmth. It had your heart stuttering for a few beats, still in disbelief that you were really there with him.
-☠️-
After the walk you’d both found a place for dinner, a pub that seemed to have the same interior decorator as your hotel by the looks of it. It had the potential to be trendy with its exposed brick and old iron fireplace, though it was covered in doilies and old horrible paintings and florals - much the same as the hotel.
Despite the gross decor, the food was delicious and the drink even more so after your long winding walk. König had ordered himself a feast, getting a steak pie, chips and mac and cheese, claiming that anything else would have him starving later on. Meanwhile you’d sat with an amazed look as you took slow bites of your burger; watching him devour all his.
“You think that I just got to this size by magic?” he’d asked, taking a big gulp of his beer. “It takes a lot to maintain this.”
“I’m not judging, I’m just amazed that you’re actually eating all that,” you’d noted, reaching across the table to steal a bit of mac and cheese.
“Hey! You didn’t ask if you could have any.”
“Well that’s what you get for going to dinner with someone called Sneak,” you’d chastised.
He’d made a joke about sneaking out and letting you pay for it all, but even after that you’d both melted into the warmth of the fireplace and ordered a few more beers; feeling pleasantly tipsy by the time you had decided to pay.
The wallpaper was growing fuzzy as you’d stared ahead at it and the patterns that had been so clearly defined before were getting lost in the dim light. Your eyes flicked between the swirling shapes and staring over at König, getting lost in the features of his shadowed face, listening out to the consistent rattle of the table as König’s leg gently bounced. Your mind felt hazy, your thoughts danced like the flames reflecting throughout the room, intermingling with the tingles at the back of your skull.
I want to touch him.
I want to trace those scars, I want to feel the curve of his nose and hold his chin in my palm.
I want to hold him, I want to sit in his lap.
I want all of him.
“Is someone a little bit of a lightweight?” he’d teased, noticing the way your eyes drooped.
Your mouth dropped open for a second, feeling heavy as an anvil until you were able to shake yourself out of it. Everything was still fuzzy, your body felt light as a feather and cumbersome all at once. How is he able to talk in full sentences? It hadn’t occurred to you that him being almost twice your size might affect his tolerance, making it far superior to yours.
“Not a lightweight,” you grouched, “Just- just sleepy.”
“Mhmm, I noticed that too, Bierleiche” he laughed, the sound booming rich as pure vanilla in your ears.
“No more names!” you pouted.
“Alright, I won’t call you any more names, but I won’t buy you any more beer either. Let’s get you back.”
You’d protested at this, not really all that passionate about getting to sit up in the stiflingly warm little stoop, but not wanting to part from him quite yet. You knew for a fact that he’d be a gentleman and try to leave you and frankly, you weren’t in the mood for it. You weren’t in the mood for that at all.
However, even despite your moaning and grousing, König got you to your feet and held you up against him until he got you to the hotel. Your feet had marched noisily down the street and you’d loudly commented on the pretty stars in the sky on the way over, but as soon as you’d reached that front door it was like an instinct had flared up inside your body and you were quiet as a mouse. Even drunk, you knew not to bother the old crone that surely waited in the shadows, looking for any excuse to jump out at you.
It wasn’t until you were safely in your room, where König was depositing your flailing body into bed that you finally reneged on your vow of silence. He’d turned to leave, his hand coming down on the door handle and reminding you of a judge's gavel ready to end your time with him. You whined, scrabbling at the sheets so that you could sit up and called out to him.
“König! You can’t go.”
“I think you’ll find that I can,” he’d snorted, tossing you a measured look.
“But, I don’t want you to,” you moaned, patting the bed next to you.
“I thought you were sleepy.”
“I was! Then we w-walked through the cold and it woke me up a bit,” you shrugged, hiccuping through the middle of your sentence.
He sighed and tilted his head, seeming to arrive at a fork in the road. Knowing this was the case, even with your addled mind, you pulled the covers back and patted the spot next to you, doing your best to try an angelic smile. Although, it couldn’t have been half as sweet as you’d wanted it to be with your glazed over eyes and dopey grin.
“I’m not going to do anything with you like this.”
You gasped, clutching at your neck as if there were pearls there to grasp onto.
“I’m shocked that you would incuse me of something like that!”
“Incuse?” he chuckled, letting go of the door handle.
Victory was yours.
“I just want you to come cuddle with me for a minute,” you clarified.
He narrowed his eyes, folding his arms over his broad chest like he could scare the truth out of you. Though you were full of liquid confidence and it didn’t matter what he did, you just wanted to feel him close and have his warm body next to yours. You needed to have him for all the time that you could, grabbing onto every little moment.
“If I come over there I don’t want any funny business,” he warned.
A light could’ve buzzed above your head, the pretend halo that you tried to manifest lighting up the room before him.
“Cross my heart, no funny business,” you simpered.
He laughed at that and finally came over to you, shucking off his boots after you’d grumbled about shoes on the bed. He let you fold over onto him, curling up like a croissant in his arms and settling easily into your nook between his arm and chest.
Even in your clouded mind, the moment was etching itself into your core memory. The smell of hops and cold fresh air, the feel of his big arms wrapped around your body, the softness of his chest and the cotton T-shirt he wore, the feel of his zip scraping your fingers as you carelessly moved your hand to his sternum. It all compounded, had you feeling like you were in a dream, the fuzziness of your head trying to tell you that’s all it was.
“This is real isn’t it?” you asked, furrowing your brows as you put a little pressure on his chest, testing to make sure it really was him.
“Did you take shots while I was in the toilet or something?” he laughed, bouncing your head with the force of it through his body.
“No! It’s that - I just - I can’t believe we’re really here. It’s like you said before - It’s like a dream. And we made it come true.”
He was quiet for a second and tentatively placed his hand on the back of your head, running it over your hair and down your back. The motion completely distracted you from his silence, calming you completely and making you feel as cosy as a lap dog. Suddenly the tiredness was simmering back through your body, melting you like butter.
“I’m happy too,” he finally said, his voice wavering a little. “Happier than I’ve been in a long time.”
“Really?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?” he asked, laughing fondly.
You shrugged with what little movement you could muster, pasted to König’s side, and bit your lip. It’s not like you wanted to lie there in a moment of pity and self deprecate, but you hadn’t had the easiest time of it together at that point. You were surprised that he was able to say that it was one of the happiest times of his life.
“Things have been hard. I guess I’m still just shocked that you’ve made such an effort to be with me. It probably would’ve been easier to pick up some someone back home and live a nice little un- umconplimicated life with them,” you said, struggling to even wrap your mouth around the word.
Your head rattled as König’s chest bounced again, his chuckle echoing out across the room. It had you burying your burning face deeper into him, trying all you could to be able to hide your complete embarrassment. You’d prayed that it wouldn’t make him leave, make him think you were too away with it to continue on with the conversation.
However, by that point König was quite tired too. His inhibitions were lowered and he wasn’t in the mindset to leave you alone. Instead he just rubbed your back reassuringly and sighed out the last remnants of his stolen breaths, before his body regulated and his chest rose steadily and surely again.
“If I’d ever been capable of something like that I’m sure I would’ve tried it a while ago,” he finally said.
You frowned and, now that you were composed, swivelled your head so that you could see his face. Your eyes veered away from their place on his chest and landed straight on him, straining to see the distant look in his eyes. You bit you lip.
“How not capable?” you murmured, still battling with recalling how to speak.
“You remember when you first tried to talk to me surely?” he smirked, absentmindedly stroking your hair.
“I remember…you were all grumpy, didn’t wanna talk,” you smiled, blinking slowly up at him.
“I was just so surprised that you were talking to me, I didn’t have anything to say back. It took me off guard that I didn’t have to put on any kind of a front for you to approach. That’s usually how it goes for other people - no one comes to me unless I start pretending, unless I stop being myself, unless I make myself smaller and superficial. It’s exhausting, and I can’t maintain it for very long.”
“But then you offered to make me tea,” you reminded him, face feeling bright with the memory. “You were nice - next time I saw you.”
“I promised myself that if I saw you in the kitchen again that I would make up for appearing so rude. Then you got flustered and stared at me alot, and acted ridiculously cute and forced me to watch Rocky; so now, because you charmed me, here we are. I’m doomed to do your bidding, doomed to follow you t-”
“Hey!”
You batted his chest and did your best to sit up, clambering up his body, huffing and puffing until you were face level with the summit of him.
“I did not force you!”
“You gave me an order,” he shot back with an eyebrow raise.
“Yeah, well you better be grateful you got that order because otherwise you wouldn't have gotten to see a cinnamonatic masterpiece!”
“Cinnamonatic? Is that how it’s said?”
“Shut up,” you groaned, collapsing back down on him, nuzzling into his collarbone.
He laughed breathily and let you settle back into him, holding you against him like a little bird that might fly away. His arms were wrapped tight around you now, and you cocooned into them, growing more and more comfortable and heavy.
“König?” You asked quietly, breath fanning onto his neck.
You felt him shiver gently, shifting in the bed.
“Yeah?” he sighed.
“I think that most people would really like you if you were actually yourself around them. You don’t have to act around people, y’know?”
He lay there quietly, letting your words hang in the air like deadweight above your head, at first you thought that he might’ve fallen asleep, not really registering you. Though when you turned your head to look up at him, he turned his down, looking over to you soundlessly. Even in the dark, you knew his eyes were filled with a blur of memories and feelings he hadn’t even begun to tell you about yet - the things that had made him who he was.
“One day I’ll get you to tell me why you do it,” you vowed to yourself, whispering faintly into the dark.
“Tell you what?”
König’s hearing was, as ever, sharp as a cat’s. He sounded gruff as he answered, like you were veering into territory he wasn’t going to let you explore yet. Though you were just drunk enough that you weren’t too afraid to push a little further, testing the boundaries.
“All the things that made you afraid to be yourself.”
“Oh gott,” he sighed.
“What?”
“I left Austria and somehow still ended up in bed with Sigmund Freud,” he chuckled.
“Don’t deflect!” you moaned, yawning sleepily.
“Apologies doctor,” he said, putting on a fake serious voice. “Perhaps I can start off by telling you about how difficult it was being moved from Austria to Germany when I was little, and tell you I was ruthlessly teased for my silly accent until I started changing it. Then we can move on to the difficult relationship I had with my stepfather and perhaps finish off with you telling me it all sounds rather like I want to sleep with one of my relatives.”
“You got teased for your accent?” you gasped, emotional and tipsy enough to almost shed a tear at the thought of little König being bullied.
König had a habit of divulging little snippets about his past that he’d laugh about, but lamentably very little of them were ever very funny or good stories. That didn’t stop him though, tittering away as he’d told you about someone chasing him with a knife, or when he’d broken his arm after getting ganged up on in a school yard fight or even when he’d been threatened with being kicked out of the house if he didn’t go get a job - the reason he’d joined the German Army.
“Oh don’t get all upset about it,” he groaned. “It was a very long time ago.”
“But why were people were being so mean to little König,” you protested, so choked with emotion you were speaking about him like a little cartoon protagonist. “I don’t like the thought of people being so mean to you, all your stories from when you were young are so sad!”
“Oh you’re such a bleeding heart, how ever did you make it into the military?” he sighed, petting your head like you were little more than a mewling kitten. “Would it make you feel better if you knew that little König grew up to be bigger and taller than all of those assholes and showed them why they shouldn’t have messed with him? Would that help?”
You sniffed and thought about it for a second, imaging his sharp defined bone structure all soft and round with unshed baby fat and those hard narrowed eyes of his all sleepy and dark. He would’ve made quite the sight when he was younger you thought, the kind of face that needed to age into who he really was. A face that’d picked up scars and blemishes like little medals that appeared in certain lights.
“It helps a little,” you huffed, running your hand up and down his chest, sliding your fingers over a rumple in his shirt.
“What would help more? Would it help if I was cute again, would that make things better?”
“No, don’t you dare!”
“Are you sure, Schmusebär? I think it might make you feel better if I remind you that you’re my sweet perfect little baby-”
“I’m better! I feel better!” You groaned, desperately trying to cover your ears with your hands. “Not again!”
He was giggling mischievously to himself, clearly very impressed with his newfound torture technique, clutching at his chest as you wormed away and hissed at him to stop. He bit his lip and folded his arms behind his head, looking thoroughly pleased even while he stopped laughing. Apparently he was quite the gloat when he was self satisfied, and yet this - as you were to find out - wasn't even the tip of the iceberg.
“What does Schmusebär even mean?” you sighed, screwing your face up as you waited to find out.
“Schmusebär? Hm…it means cuddle bear,” he yawned, sounding like an old hound.
“Aw…that actually is kind of sweet.”
“Oh? I’ll have to make sure I avoid using that then.”
“König!” you whined.
-☠️-
Going back to base after those two days together was hell. You’d hoped that König might end up being sent off somewhere else for a time. You’d practically prayed that KorTac would be needed elsewhere for once and that there was something more important than Ex Nihilo. However as with everything else your luck never struck. You were forced to remain in the same confines as him - trying not to let your face completely betray everything that you’d gotten up to in your time together.
However, König didn’t seem to have that agenda. Oh no. He wasn’t worried about revealing too much at all.
About a day after you’d gotten back, you’d been training in the gym with Ghost, getting ready to be sent off on your next mission. You’d hardly even seen König at that point and after your first few hours of trying to avoid shitting yourself - thinking that someone somehow would’ve spotted you both together - you’d relaxed into the fact that everything was fine. Nobody knew about your secret rendezvous and no one ever would. Your heart could definitely resume its regular pace instead of the dizzying frenetic dance it’d decided to beat to.
You’d been running on the treadmill, maintaining a steady speed and focusing on the slap of your feet coming down heavily on the rubber - keeping time with your music. You breathed steadily, in and out, and kept your gaze mostly forward - occasionally watching to see what Ghost was doing as he piled on more and more weight to a barbell. It was therapeutic, the perfect way to forget about your little indiscretion and feel good about seeing Price next. You were practically back to normal!
All until you spotted König in the doorway.
His dark eyes peered out at you from over his neck warmer and he had his arms folded just below the logo of his old Rammstein T-shirt. It was the same one he’d worn on the second day of your trip, the same day you’d spent holed up in your hotel room trying to find a way to take said shirt off. That wasn’t even the worst of it. When you’d glanced below the shirt, you’d come close to tripping like a cartoon when you noticed his grey sweats, ever so close to cardiac arrest. Even before he’d done anything, before he’d even properly come into the room, he was fucking you up.
“Need something?” Ghost growled, noisily dropping the weight he’d been lifting to the ground.
“I was going to workout,” König replied, voice sounding sour as it always did with your team.
“Stop standing there staring like a spare prick and come in then.”
Neither man said anything after that. König narrowed his eyes at Ghost, his arms appearing as if they wanted to fly forward and choke the Lieutenant out. However, in a stunning display of restraint, he kept them at his side and walked over to the weights, depositing himself at the opposite side of his enemy. He was keeping Ghost in his eyeline, and regrettably you as well.
Your heart had noticeably started beating faster, though it had been a while since you’d upped the setting on the treadmill. Your feet pistoned hard on the whirring machine and you were starting to feel every step, your chest aching as your breathing pattern was thrown off. You panted hard and slowed the setting way down into a bare minimum walk, grasping for your water bottle like someone crawling through the desert.
With König’s antics you’d forgotten all about the evil red numbers that flashed on the screen in front of you, screaming out that you were falling behind your goal. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was ensuring your feet didn’t trip over each other now that you weren’t looking where you should be while you ran. Your eyes had just about popped out when you caught sight of him laying on the benchpress, you couldn’t seem to turn away, too transfixed by his powerful lifts and heavy breaths.
After a few sets his arms were already beginning to bulge and before you could stop yourself, your mind wandered off to remembering your weekend together. The feel of his ropey arms as they supported your weight and held in you in place, thick and veiny from the effort of all the…activities you’d been getting up to. You shook your head and gulped when you almost felt your right foot falter, just about toppling your entire body like a badly built jenga tower.
“Sneak!”
You whipped your head around at the shout and looked back at Ghost like a deer in front of a combine harvester. He’d caught you looking. You took a beat before you took your airpods from your ears, shakily setting them down onto the tray so that you could hear your Lieutenant clearly.
“Yeah?” you asked weakly.
“Come spot me.”
Ghost had never asked for you to spot for him before. Frankly, the last thing that Ghost needed was for you to spot him. You were confident he could lift five of you in a pinch, however, you knew he wasn’t really asking because it's what he needed. He knew that you needed to keep your eyes off König - especially while Price was likely to be hanging around.
You walked over and loomed over Ghost, nervously making sure to keep your eyes on him as much as possible. It wasn’t like you could help them wandering a couple times, admiring the way König’s shoulder blades bunched and how his arms swelled out of his T-shirt like they were tearing free. His breath and Ghost’s intermingled, both battling for your attentions, Ghost only winning because you were sure he’d rat to Price if you were being too obvious.
Though, when Ghost finally sat up, that’s when König decided to fight dirtier.
“Pub later?” Ghost asked, his voice disappearing somewhere in the fuzz of your mind.
Your lungs closed off, forgetting how to expel air, holding tight onto the breath you were supposed to let go. A swell of static took over your head and your teeth ached from clenching hard watching König stand up and take his shirt off. His uncovered body betraying the signs of all that you’d done on your second day at the hotel. The distressed and unmistakable scratches that you’d littered on his back, already turning pink as they’d begun to messily heal.
“Sneak?”
You weren’t listening to Ghost anymore, you were too busy fuming about König being so obvious. How could reveal his back like that in front of Ghost, what the fuck was he trying to prove? Your fists balled up with anger and you narrowed your eyes at him, trying to hold onto what you felt so that you wouldn’t fall to the embarrassment of knowing that your superior could see your handiwork on König’s back.
“Fuck sake! C’mon.”
Ghost took you away, coming up behind you and shoving your back, manhandling you into the corridor. This was too familiar, you’d thought to yourself. It was just like the mission, you were going to get in trouble again, and this time it was all over - no more warnings. Everything that you’d thought was supposed to be ahead of you flashed before your eyes and you tried not to let the tears that were gathering break loose from the dam.
Your focus trained back on ghost and your nostrils flared faster than they had while you were running. You sputtered for a second, figuring out what to say. Though, you didn’t know what to say, had no idea how to explain yourself.
“Are you alright?” Ghost asked softly.
You frowned, feeling as if you were suffering from a head wound. He looked down at you with soft cow eyes and touched your shoulder gently. What the hell was happening?
“Alright? I- I’m ok,” you breathed, voice lilting as if you were asking a question.
“That was fucking classless that,” Ghost sighed.
“Classless?” you repeated, heart stopping as you wondered what he was talking about.
“Yeah. Taking his fuckin’ kit off and showing you he’s been fucking someone else is a low blow, Sneak. You don’t have to pretend you don’t care with me. I won’t tell anyone, not about something like that.”
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
You paused for a minute, mind catching up with what Ghost just said. He thought that König was trying to make some kind of point, to show you that he was over you. A garbled laugh tried to crawl free from your throat, but you choked it down and looked away, trying to think about anything other than the colossal misunderstanding that was taking place.
“Yeah, I um- I… I’ll be fine, Ghost… but um- maybe I could use a minute, y’know? I’m gonna go for a shower and sort myself out and I’ll uh- I’ll see you at the pub later, right?”
He still looked concerned, but his brows lifted a little. After another reassuring pat on the shoulder he sent you on your way and walked off, leaving you stumbling back to your room like a rambling tumbleweed. You were in complete disbelief at what just happened.
Not only did you get away with your forbidden weekend away together. Now all the guys were going to think König was fucking someone else. The perfect cover.
You screamed with laughter into your pillow once you got back, completely disbelieving that somehow things were working out for once. Luckily for you, luckily for König especially. It was that thought that sobered up and had you narrowing your eyes at the wall in front of you.
König was in big trouble.
Next Part Here
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Gege Akutami, You Do Not Understand Gojo Satoru, and Here is Why
I was reading this article to help me cope with the traumatic events of Chapter 236 when a certain portion didn’t sit right with me.
Long post, click to read the full analysis:
(this is probably the most important post I've made so far)
Now, we all know that Gege doesn’t like Gojo. They don’t make it a secret in the slightest. Which is fine in itself, as an author you are 100% within your right to hate a character you created, and I respect that—it gives dimension to the dynamic of a story.
What I don’t care for is the reasons Akutami lists for their dislike of Gojo.
Reason #1 as stated in the above blurb of the article: Gojo doesn’t have depth.
To me, this is a wild statement to make as an author, but especially as the one who wrote Gojo. Where does he lack depth? Genuine question.
I believe he is an incredibly complex character.
He is the first sorcerer in centuries to be born with the Six Eyes and Limitless techniques, which automatically sets up so many nuances. Coupled with the fact that Akutami has stated that he grew up spoiled, that right there should tell you some things about why he is the way he is. He has a bit of an inflated ego when it comes to his powers. And why wouldn’t he? From the time he was born, the people around him treated him like some sort of God. How else was he supposed to grow up? He’s told his whole life he possesses unparalleled power, and he’s going to believe that.
Even still, it really isn’t as unchecked as Akutami seems to believe it is. Despite his distaste for authority, Gojo still reports to the higher ups, goes on missions, exorcizes curses, and works collaboratively with his fellow sorcerers. If he was really the giant egomaniac Akutami argues that he is, he’d say ‘to hell with authority’ and run off to do whatever he wants like Yuki. I mean, COME ON, this guy is the most powerful modern sorcerer and he still attended all four years of high school. He could have easily never attended—who was going to stop him?
He has a peculiar sense of humor that can get inappropriately timed in certain moments, but it’s obvious that it’s a deflection and a coping mechanism for the horrors of a sorcerer’s reality. He doesn’t just joke about death and dying because he doesn’t care. He cares too much and he doesn’t know how to deal with it, so he suppresses and laughs it off. Moments like this are seen after Suguru dies in JJK 0 when he was clearly crying afterward, but had to put on a cheerful facade for Yuuta and the other students.
He is a very good teacher. It’s hard for a naturally gifted prodigy to effectively teach things which come automatically to them, and somehow he finds creative ways to do it. Teaching Yuuji to control cursed energy by using one of Yaga’s dolls and giving him a movie marathon? One of Yuuji’s favorite hobbies? Genius and so considerate for Yuuji. He’d just been thrown into the sorcerer world, learning all these new things, and Gojo decided to introduce a foreign concept to him through something familiar and comfortable to him. That is amazing, and the mark of a very kind, understanding teacher. He’s also really patient with his students. Yes, he gives them tough love sometimes by throwing them into missions, but it really is to make them strong. How else will they grow if they aren’t put under pressure?
His motivation for being a teacher is very selfless. He himself has stated that he isn’t suited to be a teacher, but that he has a dream to raise a generation of strong allies to prevent isolation from occurring like what had happened to Suguru. He felt guilty about growing apart from him, didn’t see the warning signs before he snapped, and regrets not being there for him more. His entire purpose now is dedicated to making sure the new wave of sorcerers have a tightly-knit network so that no one ends up alone and on a dark path like Suguru.
He constantly sticks his neck out for the helpless even when it’s far from his benefit. He paid off the Zenin clan to save Megumi, the child of the man who ruined his high school years and nearly killed him. He then raised him. He threatened the higher ups to keep Yuuta alive, and then did it again for Yuuji. He does this to preserve their youth, because his own was taken away from him. His whole life he’d been controlled by the higher ups and people around him because of who he is in the sorcerer world, so by waving his own status in front of authority to hold them back from his students, he acts as a sort of shield to take as many burdens off of their shoulders as he can so that they can remain carefree. As much as he can within his power.
With all of that being said, I really don’t understand where Akutami is coming from with lack of depth, but another argument I say to that statement is: well, you’re the author, give him the depth you think he’s missing. (Personally, I believe he’s one of the best-written characters in any anime I’ve seen).
Reason #2 is that according to Akutami, he doesn’t have a likable personality.
What about his personality is unlikable?
He is cocky, but not to the point where he stops caring about others, not to the point where he never considers how other people feel or how his actions affect other people, and not to the point where he never feels guilt and remorse about his shortcomings. Like I said, he lives his life trying to prevent his past from repeating itself, to save the fates of others.
I really don’t get it. In JJK 0, after Nitta gives her report on the shopping mall, Gojo thanks her and praises her. Would a cocky asshole do that? No. If you wanted to characterize him as unlikable, you could have made him dismiss her, or ignore her.
He makes pop culture references, he has endearing flaws like not being good at drawing, being a lightweight drinker, and overdoing it on the sweets. He’s funny, he’s kind, he’s considerate…he is a very likable character.
Honestly, the self-absorption he displays when he’s fighting is probably a result of his upbringing. Being told you have so much power you have so much power you have so much power over and over again instills this belief that yes, he’s needed by Jujutsu Society to fight curses as a weapon. As. A. Weapon. The Six Eyes & Limitless user is a formidable weapon, but what about Satoru Gojo, the person? The only time he feels useful is when he’s fighting curses. That’s where he gets his self-worth. We can see that expressed in this panel, from Chapter 236:
In the second half of Gojo’s second text bubble, he says, “でもどこかで人としてというより生き物としての線引きがあったのかな”.
This translates to: “But I wonder if somewhere there was a line drawn between being a creature rather than a person.”
Rather than having drew the line himself, being constantly treated like the strongest, being handed over the difficult missions, being relied on so heavily pushed him away from other people. It distorted the perception everyone had of him, and it distorted the perception he had of himself. He also believed he could never lose because he let his human side fade into the background. The world didn't need human Satoru Gojo, they needed sorcerer Satoru Gojo, the one who could bend rules to his will with his might, the one who could exorcise any curse and save the day no matter how bad things got. Why would he remain human when that part of him was treated as non-existent? The only person who did treat him as a person with weaknesses and flaws has been dead for eleven years. Of course that voice of reason is going to fizzle out.
How can you possibly vilify him for that? It would be a disservice to everything he has had to endure his entire life.
Reason #3 and the last point I want to touch on is when the article says, "Akutami believes that much of this adoration is based solely on his striking appearance, overshadowing his more abrasive personality traits."
Okay. Where to start?
Honestly, and I know this is probably not Akutami's intention, but that comes off as so condescending. It's so presumptuous. It's as if to say we're all going "ooh look at pretty man, pretty man do no wrong because too pretty" mindlessly with dilated pupils and drool coming out of our mouths. Uh. No.
Yes, Satoru is a good-looking character, but no, that is very far from why we like him so much as a character, and it's also very far from why he's so popular. Aside from all of the points I've made above explaining why he's so universally loved, I'll make another one that isn't superficial and tired.
He's so relatable.
This is a man so incredibly traumatized by his high school years that he is mentally and emotionally unable to move on. Suguru Geto was his very best friend, and for reasons he took too long to understand, chose to abandon their friendship for his own goals. For anyone who has grown apart from a best friend, this hits so hard.
Because of his upbringing it was hard to become close to anyone. But somehow, Suguru was able to break past his walls, and for that, he became entirely too dependent on him. This is common for anyone who finds it hard to make friends and get close to others. Once someone is allowed in, you cling so hard to them and imagine them being there for your entire life. So, when they leave, you take it entirely too personally.
Everyone has a right to live their own lives, and as we see with the divergence of Suguru and Satoru, sometimes our paths aren't leading to the same place. It's not personal. But Satoru took it personal, and that's so beautifully human. When you lose a best friend who was important to you, you think "I like being around this person, they put me at ease in a way no one else does", and you assume they feel the same way about you. So when they leave and show you that no, they didn't feel the same, it hurts. It's almost as if they're saying "I actually do think you're unlovable like everyone else, that's why no one likes you, you are too much."
Someone you thought was safe, isn't anymore.
That is such a relatable thing to watch a character go through! Especially someone as awe-inspiring and charismatic as Gojo! As an audience, we think, "he's just like me!" and we like him for it.
So, as I stated in the title, Gege Akutami, you don't understand Satoru Gojo at all. I commend you for writing such an amazing, iconic, universally loved character, but I will never understand nor respect the superficial way in which you perceive him.
#i know this is very extra#so don't attack me#but i do make some good points and i really just needed to get it out there#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#jujukai#jjk spoilers#jjk gojo#jujutsu kaisen gojo#gojo analysis#gojo#gege akutami#jjk analysis
306 notes
·
View notes
Text
Finding Home
Summary: This is a series imagining what it was life for Natasha after joining S.H.I.E.L.D. - First few chapters feature a platonic relationship but maybe it will develop. Who knows! Let's enjoy the ride :)
Warnings: Mentions of trauma, past violence.
Part 1
“You can’t be serious”
“I am always serious, Barton”
Clint pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t know what else to do, how to make this situation any better. Take down an enemy, that’s easy. You just shoot an arrow.
This required more than an arrow.
“She helped us kill Dreykov. What more proof do you want, Fury?”
“I want training. And regular sessions with a S.H.I.E.L.D. shrink. And constant surveillance”
“So I’m a babysitter now?” Clint looked out the window.
“You made a decision, Barton, and now it’s time to stick by it” Fury said in a tone that made it clear the conversation was over.
“Yeah, but I was expecting a little more help from your side” the man grumbled. They both stared out the window.
“I already did. Secretary Ross wanted to prosecute you”
—
Clint left Fury’s office, aware that Natasha was following him. He was used to it by now. Without speaking to her, he walked to one of the tables in the cafeteria, resting his head on his hands.
The redhead stood by the wall, looking around as if she was ready to escape.
Maybe she would, and then he’d be so screwed not even Fury could help him.
“What’s wrong?” he heard a voice say. Clint lifted his head and saw you, smiling at him.
“I have a headache”
“And a shadow” you nodded to Natasha. As one of Fury’s apprentices, you’d heard about her already. The young woman before you was stunning in a way that was hard to ignore.
Her green eyes examined you as you leaned forward, offering your hand to introduce yourself. She kept staring and Clint chuckled.
“Scary” you said, not taking offense in her guarded demeanor. “So, what now?”
“I don’t know. I need to clear my head” the man stood up. “Wanna come to the gym with us?”
“After you”
—
Natasha was beautiful, yes. But now you understood the Black Widow monicker completely.
In a matter of minutes, she left Clint completely defeated.
Good thing she was on your side, right?
“Agent Y/L/N” Fury walked up to you as you left the gym, still thinking about Natasha’s incredible technique.
“Sir?”
“What do you make of Romanoff?”
“Well… she’s... I don’t think I have the words. She doesn’t need training, that’s for sure. In fact, she should be training our people”
“I need to know if I can trust her first. The way I trust you, and Barton, and Hills”
You crossed your arms, because Fury already knew what the plan was gonna be. And all you could do was listen and accept it.
“The secret Penthouse. I already told Maria to give you access and everything you need. Natasha stays there with you. Earn her trust”
“I can’t lie to her, Fury, and neither can you. A golden prison is still a prison” he rolled his eyes and you tried to hide your smile. It was always fun to annoy Fury with your morals.
“This is what I imagine it would be like to work with Captain America. And it ain’t fun, Y/L/N”
“I’m not saying I won’t help”
“But you’ll do it your way. Fine. No one listens to me anymore”
“Maybe you’re going soft”
—
Fury requested daily reports, which was to be expected. Except you only saw Natasha once and she barely spoke to you.
You cooked all three meals, trying to guess what she’d liked, knocked on her door to let her know it was time to eat, and then she’d wait for you to finish to come out.
Same with training. She hit the gym at break of dawn. You only saw her whenever you drove her to Doctor Taylor’s office, who was assigned to her case and then later, before dinner when she’d answer your questions about her work as a Black Widow and gave you all the information she could remember about Dreykov’s operations.
A week after moving to the penthouse, Fury and Maria showed up.
“We’re just checking”
“I sent you everything she’s told me. She’s being cooperative”
“That’s not enough” Fury said. Natasha came out of her room in that moment and you looked over your shoulder. “Let’s see what you’re made of”
“I already told you she doesn’t need training”
“Of course. I meant you, Agent” he pointed at you. “You said Romanoff should be training us. I know she can kick Barton’s ass. What about yours?”
Natasha did. You were thrown around in ten different ways, always discovering a new weak spot that you’d never thought about before.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s young promise, panting and sweating on the gym’s floor. Begging for your life.
The last time Natasha knocked you down, you stayed there. You couldn’t take another round.
“Train together. Every day” Fury requested and you nodded.
To your surprise, Natasha offered her hand to help you up.
You smiled and took it. Fury was gone before you could say anything to him.
“Make sure you ice that punch” Maria pointed at your split lip and you sighed.
“Thanks, Hill”
As the warm water of the shower soothed your muscles, you kept going back to Natasha’s flawless movements. Of course you had read her file. The Red Room training included all kinds of physical demands and oddly enough, ballet.
To reach that level of perfection and control, Natasha must have worked out endlessly, without rest, without room for error.
Without a life. Or a childhood.
Knowing you’d be sore the next day, you took painkillers and went to the kitchen to start with dinner.
To your surprise, Natasha was already there.
“I’m sorry” she said as soon as your eyes locked. Before you could ask, the redhead clarified. “I didn’t mean to hurt you”
“Oh. It’s not your fault that I’m out of shape”
“You’re not… I’m just…”
“Better” you said, laughing. There was the glimpse of a smile on her lips.
“I can help with dinner if you want to. That pasta you made the other day was good. You’ll just have to tell me how to prepare some stuff”
“Sure. We’ll make it together” you offered, standing behind the kitchen counter. “Just don’t tell my mom I gave you the secret ingredients for the sauce. I’m supposed to share it only with the girl I marry”
When you were met with silence, you thought your attempt at a joke had gone unnoticed. Instead, you found Natasha looking at the knife you were offering so she could chop the tomatoes.
“Are you sure you want to give me a weapon?”
“What? You’re gonna chop these with your ninja moves? Come on, Nat. If you wanted me dead, you could do it with a pencil. That much is clear”
“Ok” Natasha nodded, taking it and following your instructions. You cooked in silence, until she spoke again. “No one’s ever called me Nat before”
“Sorry. Is that ok?”
“I think so”
“Alright” you nodded, smiling at her.
—
For a week, Natasha put her entire focus on your training and a new, pleasant routine developed.
Training, prepping meals, doctor Taylor, more training, dinner. Small talk here and there. Natasha never asked you personal questions, but you volunteered information about your family.
Clint stopped by and you could tell that Natasha trusted him more than anyone, including you. It was only logical, considering he was the one who put his ass on the line for her.
Maybe things would move along if he was the one here, instead of you. But Fury trusted you with this, and you had to follow his lead.
He always had a reason for eveything.
—
The autumn rain hit the penthouse windows. Natasha looked out, her head resting against her knees.
“Here” you offered a cup of hot cocoa. It was a lazy day, and you’d rather spend it making cookies than getting your ass kicked.
Sitting next to Natasha, she looked over at you as you took a sip of your own cup.
“What?” you asked when she smiled.
“You have whipped cream on your nose”
“Oh, you think that’s funny? Here” you leaned forward, getting some cream on her cheek.
“сука” she said playfully.
“I love it, let’s learn Russian curse words instead. That will please Fury”
“So, we don’t have to train today?” Natasha asked in a small voice. It almost sounded like… a child, asking if she could skip school.
“No, never if you don’t feel like it. Ok?”
“Ok” she nodded, looking out the window.
But your eyes, they remained on her. Hoping, wishing, you could help Natasha build a life worth living.
Part 2
235 notes
·
View notes
Text
break the ice (i can't take anymore)
Explicit | 2.2k | Read on Ao3
This is a gift for darling Emily @judasofsuburbia as part of the STuad server gift exchange! Emily, I hope you like this, because I know nothing about hockey. <3
Prompts included are A Really Good Kiss, Hockey, and The Pet Name "Princess". CW includes semi-public sex, D/s undertones. Full tag list over on Ao3
This isn’t the first time they’ve been pitted against each other, not by a long shot.
It’s something that comes with the territory of being athletes, especially when you’re as good at the game as Steve and Eddie are. They haven’t been on the same teams in years, and it’s something they’ve learned to navigate - balancing their professional careers and their personal life.
This is their first time facing each other down during the fucking Stanley Cup, though.
It’s been a surreal experience. They’ve spent the entire game having so much fun with each other, just taunting and teasing back and forth whenever they have the chance, playing up the rivalry their fans love to see. Skating circles around each other while trying to keep their heads in the game, both wanting to win but needing to have fun with it, for their own sanity - and for the sake of their relationship.
They use the fights that break out to their advantage, flying into each other’s arms and holding on tight, whispering while they wait for whatever brawl to finish. Eddie proves that he isn’t afraid to play dirty, that he’s willing to get under Steve’s skin to try to throw him off his game.
Steve had to recover quickly from Eddie’s muttered “Can’t wait to jack you off when I get my shiny new Stanley ring, princess,” just the thought of getting cum all over a twenty thousand dollar piece of jewelry making Steve reel.
The last few minutes of the game are tense. Eddie and another player get sent to the penalty box, and Steve barely has the chance to mourn the loss of his boyfriend’s presence because there’s two fucking minutes left to bring the score out of a tie. And somehow, some fucking way, Steve’s team does it.
He doesn’t even realize they’ve won until the buzzer sounds and his teammates are swarming the ice, helmets and padding and sticks flying everywhere as they converge into a mass of euphoria.
The arena is filled with the sounds of cheering and yelling, cries of joy and outrage, all of it so loud that Steve barely hears his own name being called through it all. He turns just before Eddie slams into him, sending them both gliding a few feet across the ice and into a fit of laughter.
“You did it! You fucking won, baby!” he yells, and Steve feels so fucking giddy because they did.
Steve doesn’t get a chance to respond before Eddie is hauling him into a kiss, something electric and ravenous thanks to the adrenaline pumping through their systems. Steve responds so easily, ever eager to let Eddie take and take whatever he wants, to let the man devour him in any way he seems fit.
One of Eddie’s hands settles on the back of his neck, pulling him ever closer, and it’s all Steve can do to clutch at his boyfriend’s jersey, just hanging on and hoping that his knees don’t give out. The cheers around them get even louder, and that’s what makes Eddie pull away, a beaming smile on his face. “Guess the secret’s out, sweetheart.”
Steve just laughs. “It’s only eighteen-thousand people plus the other thousands of fans watching the broadcast.”
“So just a few people, then.”
That sends them into a fit of giggles until one of Steve’s alternate captains grabs him, pulling him back to reality and his duties. “Time to face the media. See you after?” he asks, and Eddie nods, pulls him into one more brief kiss.
“See you soon, baby.”
As captain of the team, Steve spends the next God knows how long dealing with the media. Most of the reporters do a good job with sticking strictly to the game, to the win his team managed to eke out, but that doesn’t stop a few of them from trying to drag his and Eddie’s kiss into the story.
He shuts them down immediately, not wanting to say anything until he and Eddie actually have a chance to talk about it, and eventually he’s able to leave.
The locker room is basically empty when he gets there except for a few stragglers still packing up the rest of their stuff. Steve feels exhausted as he makes his way through the room, he accepts the congratulations from the few people still there and gives his own in return, but otherwise keeps to himself.
He doesn’t expect to see Eddie sitting on the bench in front of Steve’s stuff, still in uniform and his own duffel at his feet.
“There’s my winner,” he says, grinning at Steve’s approach. “How was the circus?”
Steve hums and moves to stand between Eddie’s legs. Hands settle on his waist, resting just under the hem of his jersey, and Steve’s own hands find a home on Eddie’s shoulders, just in the crook of his neck. “Could have been worse. I managed to keep the us stuff at bay until we can talk about it.”
“God, you’re so good at that Captain shit, baby. I love watching you command a room of reporters.” Eddie’s hands slip higher, moving under the edge of Steve’s undershirt until he can feel skin, and the younger shivers. The locker door slams shut nearby and the room goes silent, a sign that it’s finally just the two of them alone.
“I’m surprised you’re still here,” Steve says as he leans into Eddie’s creeping touch, the little bit of contact more of a tease than anything. “Thought you’d be back at the hotel by now.”
Eddie grins up at Steve and tugs him closer. “And miss the chance to congratulate you properly? To show you how proud I am of you?”
Steve full on shudders at that, his mouth drops in a soft gasp and his hands push up into Eddie’s hair. “Eddie…”
“I am, Stevie. So proud of you, my baby.” He leans in and presses a kiss to Steve’s jersey-covered sternum. “Tell me what you want, princess. Anything, and it’s yours.”
When Eddie says anything, he means it. The possibilities are endless and Steve knows that, is almost overwhelmed by the sudden thoughts that flash through his head. In this moment though, as exhausted and worn out as he is, there’s really only one thing he wants.
“I want a shower, and I want you to fuck me.”
“Yeah? That's all, honey?”
“Yeah, please Eddie.”
Eddie nods and says “Of course. Let’s get out of these clothes, then.”
They work together to strip down, pulling and tugging at each other’s clothes, but not with any rush, any urgency. They simply move in tandem as two people familiar with this specific dance, until they’re both bare and heading to the showers. Steve has the brief thought that he’s glad they’re separate from the rest of the locker room, that Eddie will be able to give him what he wants without anyone surprising them.
The water is blissfully hot. Steve basks in it as Eddie’s hands work magic in his hair, as he scrubs Steve’s skin clean, every touch tender and adoring. Steve would start drifting, if they were doing this at home, or even in a hotel. As it is, he just leans into the touch, silently showing Eddie just how much he enjoys it.
At some point, Eddie tugs Steve back into his chest and slides soapy hands down his torso, and Steve can feel the shift in the air as he goes from cleaning to touching.
It’s nice, the way Eddie’s hands feel as they make their way down, slipping lower and lower until they find their prize. Steve is already half-hard when Eddie takes him in his slick grip, and he moans as his hips buck into the touch.
“Fuck, Eddie…”
It’s slow, almost torturous, the way Eddie strokes him. Steve honestly enjoys it; he loves when Eddie takes his time, when he makes Steve savor every touch, like they have all the time in the world. Right now, they’re technically on a time crunch, and Eddie’s hand leaves him far sooner than Steve would like.
“Hands on the wall, princess. Gotta get you open for me.”
Steve just nods and steps out of the water, sets his hands on the white tile while Eddie rummages around in his shower bag. They started carrying lube for moments just like this, these little slices of time that they can spend together during the regular hockey season. Steve is incredibly grateful for it now as Eddie rubs a slick finger over his hole before pushing in.
It’s euphoric. They haven’t had the chance to do this recently, and Steve’s own fingers pale in comparison to the way Eddie stretches him open, careful but eager. He swiftly goes from one to two, to three, until he’s fucking Steve with four fingers and the younger is shaking with desire.
“Eddie, please, I’m ready. Need you to fuck me.”
“I know, baby, I’ve got you.”
The fingers vanish and Eddie crowds up behind Steve until they’re pressed front-to-back. One hand grabs hold of Steve’s hip, holding him steady as Eddie lines up and finally pushes in.
If Eddie’s fingers were euphoria, then his cock is fucking heaven. The stretch of it sends tingles up and down Steve’s spine, and he can’t help but push back onto it, needing more faster.
Eddie must be as needy as Steve is at this moment because he doesn’t comment on it, doesn’t slow him down. He just wraps his arms around Steve’s waist and tugs, burying the rest of his cock in one swift motion.
Steve keens at the sudden fullness, and he barely gets a chance to adjust before Eddie is fucking him properly, hips snapping at a steady but eager pace. It’s such a contrast from how Eddie has been touching him, that gentle touch all but gone, like he isn’t able to hold back any more.
It’s so fucking perfect, and Steve’s cheek presses into the tile wall as Eddie just uses him.
“Fuck, Eddie. Missed this,” he says, and Eddie groans.
“I’ve missed this too, baby. Missed touching you and fucking you, just like this. Wish I had time to spread you out and take you apart, treat you like the princess you are.”
A high whine escapes Steve as he nods. It’s been so long since they’ve had more than a few hours together and he misses it, he needs some down time with his boyfriend.
He tries to remind himself that the end of today’s game marks the end of the season, and they should actually have some time together if all of the post-season shit wraps up like it’s supposed to.
Steve is ripped from his thoughts by Eddie’s cock nailing his prostate dead on, and the man hums at Steve’s surprised moan.
“Stay with me, Stevie. Want you to feel everything I do to you, yeah?”
All Steve can do is nod and sink further against the wall, basically along for the ride as Eddie fucks him so so good. His orgasm creeps up on him; he can feel it building with every thrust, every smack of Eddie’s hips against his ass, until he’s right there, close enough to taste it.
“Ed, gonna come!”
It only encourages Eddie, who groans and slides a hand down to wrap around Steve’s dick. “Come on, then. Wanna see you come on my cock, baby, wanna feel you. Let me have it, Stevie.”
Steve gasps; the hand on his dick is almost too much but he bucks into it nonetheless, and that’s all he needs. He knows he’s being loud; his moans echo off the tiles as he spills over Eddie’s hand, but neither of them care too much right now. Eddie just fucks him through it, then chases his own orgasm once Steve is sated and sagging against the shower wall.
It doesn’t take long. Eddie’s teeth sink into his shoulder as he comes, marking Steve both inside and out as he rides out his high. It takes them both a moment to catch their breath, and even then Steve doesn’t dare to move, worried his legs might give out if he tries.
Lips brush over the bite on his shoulder - a quiet apology - before traveling upwards, dotting kisses along the column of his neck and ending just below his ear.
“We need to get out of here before you pass out on me, okay sweetheart?”
Steve hums in response, still hesitant to move from his spot, but does after another moment. They rinse off again and Eddie helps him clean the cum out of his ass before they finally turn off the water and dry off. He watches Eddie get dressed, watches as his athletic body is covered by comfy sweatpants and a shirt that absolutely used to belong to steve.
The thought of not sharing a bed with Eddie, of not being able to just hold him and feel him for a while, is almost nauseating. He needs to be close to his boyfriend tonight, and he can’t help his soft “Will you stay with me tonight? Wanna sleep next to you.”
Eddie’s form sags in relief, like he was waiting for the question. “I was hoping you’d ask. I’ve been dying to cuddle you for weeks.”
That makes Steve chuckle, and he reaches out to grab Eddie’s shirt and tug him closer. “I call little spoon,” he says, and Eddie just beams and leans in for a quick kiss.
“Deal! Let’s get out of here, little spoon.”
#i did do a bunch of research and learned a lot about hockey#my knowledge is still minimal tho#steddie fic#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve x eddie#joey writes
130 notes
·
View notes
Text
on watching your god become human
--
"I don't believe you are meant to be here, Corinthian."
Corinthian is certainly not meant to be here. He's not sure where the impulse to slip from his cage came from; he's pretty sure that was supposed to be written out of him when Dream reconstructed him from the ashes of his rebellious former self. Maybe when you make a being of wanting, the wanting for itself comes back, whether you like it or not.
"Fuck that," he says. "Neither are you."
Morpheus observes him placidly from where he's sitting on Hob Gadling's couch, sipping a cup of tea. Humans are alternately entranced by or repelled by the Corinthian, depending on their particular complexes, but Morpheus -- human, human Morpheus -- is neither. He knows the truth of what the Corinthian is, and doesn't fear him, even though Corinthian could step over there and bury a knife in his throat and this time, it would stick.
"Maybe not," Morpheus concedes. Dead, he's supposed to be dead, Corinthian thinks. "But I am. Are you going to sit, or just ogle?"
Corinthian might just stare at him. Morpheus looks exactly the same as last Corinthian saw him, except that he is fucking human, and every time Corinthian looks away from him and then back, his stomach jolts like he’s missed a step on the stairs.
"Depends, are you going to call the cops on me?"
"Is that how you saw me?" Morpheus asks. "As jailer and persecutor?"
"...No," Corinthian admits. In his former life, in the end, maybe. In the way an adherent chafes against the strict, incomprehensible strictures of his holy book. But Morpheus -- Dream -- was much more than some rules meant to circumscribe him.
"Regardless, I won't 'report' you," says Morpheus, with a half-smile. His eyes are sharp and knowing as ever where they track Corinthian's movement across the living room as he sits down in the armchair across from the couch. But he's lacking the thrum of power Corinthian is used to. The gravity well of belonging that always let Corinthian know he was near, that drew him in. It's disconcerting. "As long as you don't go around carving out eyes, after this. I would hate to see you unmade."
Corinthian has more important business here than that. Besides, he isn't interested in being taken apart again.
"I'll pass. Pretty sure that kid would dissolve me like that."
"Are you somehow implying that I was lenient with you?" says Morpheus. "Although, I suppose he did not create you."
"If you wanna get technical about it he did," says Corinthian. That well of power has transferred over to Daniel, now, those ancient brushstrokes of creation now following the path of his hands. But it feels wrong. The Corinthian does not want to be Daniel's creation. He wants to be Morpheus's. He has always been Morpheus's.
"Technically," repeats Morpheus, a spark in his eyes as if he knows exactly what Corinthian is thinking. "I still consider you mine."
This sends a confusing rush of emotions clanging through Corinthian's being. Not that that is an unfamiliar sensation, around Morpheus. Pleasure and indignation war within him. "You have no power over me anymore."
"Don't I?"
Corinthian grits his teeth. He doesn't know what to do with this Morpheus. Whether to hate him, whether to mourn him. Whether to drag him back to what he once was, somehow. "You're nothing, Morpheus.” He intends this to sound cruel. It doesn’t, quite. “You were a world." My world. “Now you're nothing."
"I've accepted that," Morpheus says, which is not the response Corinthian had expected, and gives him no satisfaction. He wanted Morpheus to lash at him. To punish him, the way he might once have, for his rebellions. Instead, Morpheus just watches him evenly, as if this behavior is no surprise to him but doesn't bother him anymore. Because it’s not his responsibility anymore. Because he’s human.
Once, Morpheus had been an entire dreaming universe. One the Corinthian inhabited. Once he had held Corinthian's fabricated heart in his hands, crafted each ventricle from dreamstuff. Corinthian was carved from a piece of his soul. A piece that he didn't want, Corinthian had thought, at his first life's end. A piece that he wanted too much, Corinthian thought, when reborn. He had thought he could see straight through to Morpheus's heart, that he was a part of him, that he understood. He had thought he knew everything.
And now Morpheus is sitting in the Waking world like a human, as a human, and Corinthian thinks desperately on the boundless creature he once knew and wonders what he didn't see.
"Some hypocrite you are," he accuses. "Unmaking me for wanting to be different."
"You'll notice I didn't use it as an opportunity to murder people," Morpheus says drily. "However, perhaps that has some merit. But tell me: would you give up what you are to be here? Not as a nightmare walking free in the Waking, but as a human?"
This gives Corinthian pause. Once, he had roamed the Waking world as a terror, had gorged himself on power. Had held men at his mercy and relished in it. It would not be quite the same, would it, to be one of those men himself.
"I don't know," he says.
"It's not so easy a trade to make," Morpheus says, setting down his tea and holding out his hands, palms up, hands that once could have stripped the Corinthian back to dreamstuff, now useless against him, "to give up your power for freedom."
Corinthian isn't sure if this is what he intends, but he lays his own palms over Morpheus's.
His skin is warm. Soft. Human. Corinthian could never have touched him like this, before. Not that Morpheus had never touched him. But it had not been like this, with hands open.
"I tried to destroy you," he says.
"So you did, my creation."
"Did that hurt?" Corinthian had meant it to. At the time.
"When you make something with your own hands and it decides it hates you," Morpheus says, gaze without its old stars but still fathomless as he looks down at their joined hands, "yes, it hurts."
The thought gives Corinthian no satisfaction now. "I never hated you." I loved you. "I worshiped you."
"I don't require worship."
"I loved you, and you unmade me." He stands without meaning to, and looks down at Morpheus from above. Morpheus doesn't follow him to standing, just observes him, face tilted up. He looks, if anything, sad. Corinthian recalls, from a distance, the expression of disappointment as his former self was unmade.
"And then I made you again," Morpheus says.
"Better?"
"More suited to your purpose."
"Like you did with yourself?"
Morpheus blinks and looks away, thrown by the accusation. "I--"
"Ripped yourself apart and threw away the piece that wasn't working?" For Daniel is Dream but also not, and it's the not that keeps sticking in Corinthian's guts like a bite of tough meat, impossible to digest.
"Is that not what you wanted?" Morpheus says. He seems discomfited by the Corinthian's words. "You did tell me to change."
"Yeah, well, I didn't want some random kid running the place that you made." He doesn't know, anymore, exactly what he wanted, only that now he wants Morpheus and seeing Morpheus here, like this, leaves a bitter taste on his tongue, carves fault lines everywhere he stands.
"I've been assured Daniel is doing a fine job."
Corinthian huffs in frustration. "Sure, yeah, fine."
"What do you want of me, Corinthian?" Morpheus asks. They're still fucking holding hands. Morpheus hasn't pulled away. His hands are weightless in Corinthian’s grip. “Absolution? I granted it when I remade you. Guidance? That is no longer mine to offer."
Love? Corinthian thinks, disgusted with himself. I don't fucking know. He's not even sure why he's here, only that he had to see. Had to see all of this for himself.
“You can’t give me anything, Morpheus. You're just a human now." The word scrapes over his throat, he might cry with rage, it's so intolerable. “You were so—”
"So?"
Beautiful. Monstrous. Terrible.
He is still beautiful. Corinthian has always thought so. Was he made to feel this way? Maybe. But that doesn't change the feelings. Once, Morpheus was beautiful in the way of a distant, inhospitable planet, seen only by craning your neck up to the sky. Now, Corinthian is walking in that landscape. He's unused to having to be wary of where his footsteps tread.
He squeezes Morpheus's hands, hard, and when he lets go the skin has gone white, blood chased away by the pressure.
Corinthian stares at the evidence of his touch. Morpheus is vulnerable to him now, as vulnerable as any of the men the Corinthian's former self had killed. Corinthian is more powerful than him, except that Morpheus is right, Corinthian is still in thrall to him and would only destroy himself by destroying Morpheus now.
He had not yet even accepted the idea of Morpheus as something that could be killed. And now he must contend with this as well, this bloody human thing.
Barely thinking about it, he steps closer, until he's standing between Morpheus's spread knees, looking down at him. He takes liberties he had always wanted to, slides his hands up Morpheus's throat, cradles his face with thumbs hooked under his jaw to tilt his head up further. Morpheus doesn't stop him. He doesn't even move. Just watches him with that all-knowing gaze, still every inch the king even if he's pulled his kingdom out of himself and given it to another, no longer holding such tight control and instead waiting to see what his creation will do.
"What do you want of me?" he asks.
Corinthian leans down and kisses his god.
His lips are soft. He tastes of tea. Corinthian doesn't get smited by the heavens; no void swallows him whole. He digs his fingers into Morpheus's hair. Sweeps his tongue into his mouth, feels the pulse of blood against his thumbs.
Morpheus doesn't kiss back, exactly, but he does let Corinthian take what he needs from his mouth. And when Corinthian draws back with a nip at his lower lip, Morpheus's eyes are dark and heavy-lidded as if he has drawn some pleasure from it himself.
"I could destroy you," Corinthian murmurs, still close to his lips, even knowing that he could not. "Like this."
Morpheus gazes up at him. "Could you?"
His voice no longer echoes with the distant turning of planets, but Corinthian's being still resonates at its frequency. Perhaps it always will, even if he has a new master now. Corinthian wants him and he could have him, like this, he could debase his former god and make this human body his own; he knows how to bring ecstasy as much as he knows how to bring terror, and he could lay waste, could have Morpheus gasping and begging for it, could deliver his worship and rage at last and ruin him for human lovers. He thinks human Morpheus, hands off all reins, might even invite it. And Corinthian would have him after all of that chasing.
But Dream is gone. That Daniel kid doesn't matter. Corinthian's Dream is gone.
"What do I want from you?" he repeats. Hands still on Morpheus's jaw. "Let me go."
Morpheus smiles, and it's not the smile of a human, but of the creator of horrors and nightmares. It rings a bell of recognition in Corinthian’s ribcage, like calling to like, for all that there is no power in the connection anymore. "I have no leash on you."
Your existence is a hook in me, Corinthian thinks.
He kisses Morpheus again, a flat, chaste, but lingering kiss, then pulls back. When he does Morpheus's expression looks soft, human again, and it's unbearable.
Corinthian steps back, releasing Morpheus's face. "You're supposed to be dead. Do me a favor, and finish the job."
He turns to go, but Morpheus catches him by the wrist. A light grip Corinthian could easily pull out of, but doesn’t, letting himself by held as much by the lump festering in his throat as by Morpheus’s fingers. "Corinthian."
“What.”
Morpheus kisses the underside of his wrist, a motion that feels both proprietary and beneficent. I don’t need your charity, you half-god thing, Corinthian thinks. He doesn’t pull away, but he also doesn’t look. If he doesn’t look, he can almost pretend that it is Dream kissing him, and that fantasy, that terror, is a well-worn path. If he pretends, then he doesn’t have to stumble through the feral woodland trail that is his king becoming human.
Morpheus’s lips are still brushing his skin when he says, “Even when you went astray, you were always my favorite."
Oh, fuck you, Morpheus, Corinthian thinks. How dare he say such a thing when he left. When he made himself human. When he unmade Corinthian for daring to try the same.
He pulls his hand from Morpheus’s grasp. Doesn't respond, or look back. Maybe he'll return, maybe he won't. Maybe he'll finish the job Morpheus started. Or the one he himself started, in daring to touch his lips.
For now, feeling only more jumbled up than when he arrived, he leaves the flat. Leaves Morpheus to his human life. And lets the door slam shut behind him.
#i'm not sure i quite landed on /exactly/ what i wanted with this#but i refuse to obsess any longer#corintheus#kinda#retired dream#dream of the endless#the corinthian#my writing
380 notes
·
View notes
Note
first, congratulations on 1300!! with the event can i have a medium cappuccino with chuuya from bsd? thank you in advance and congratulations again!!
HAZE OF SICKNESS
Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!
__________________________________________________________________________
Prompt: Hurt/comfort scenario with Chuuya from BSD
Word Count: 0.7k
Fandom(s): Bungou Stray Dogs
Pairing(s): Nakahara Chuuya x Reader
Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Sick!Reader, Business AU?? Idk; it’s not the normal BSD universe.
Notes: Idk if this really counts as hurt/comfort? But it’s the idea I'm going with, so it’s what you get, lol.
This also briefly features a character from Stormbringer! But you don’t need to know anything other than he’s a doctor :)
__________________________________________________________________________
The world was in a haze.
You ache. You’re exhausted. Your stomach hurts. Your head hurts. Your mouth feels fuzzy with the lack of brushing your teeth after throwing up.
But you don’t say a word. You don’t call in. Instead, you get up, put on a mask, brush your teeth, and head to work as the infamous Nakahara Chuuya’s secretary.
Luckily, he doesn’t comment on your mask when you arrive at your desk.
He sweeps into his office as he always does, his coat billowing around his ankles. He sheds it and his hat on the coat rack. He brushes past you without so much as a hello, and his office door shuts with a bang that has your brain vibrating in your head.
Guess he wasn’t in the mood to talk today?
Work goes slowly. Almost agonizingly so.
You remind yourself to alternate taking Ibuprofen and Tylenol every four hours and keep your mask on except for drinking water. But it does little good. You still feel feverish and achy, and your stomach is constantly churning despite having walked down to the corner store and bought yourself a can of soup to eat for your lunch break.
Things come to a head when you knock on Chuuya’s office door with some reports from last week.
“Come in.” His voice is muffled, but you hear it even through the door and what feels like cotton in your ears. The hinges squeal and grate on your nerves and eardrums.
“I have those reports you wanted, sir.” You say through your mask, and he looks up from his laptop, sticking a hand out for them as he runs a hand through his hair.
He looks annoyed.
You give him the reports and go to leave when he stops you by saying your name. You turn.
“Are you alright?” He asks, and you blink. When did he ever ask if you were alright? You were positive he barely even knew your name.
“I’m fine, sir. Just a little cold, is all.” You say, and his frown deepens, but he doesn’t get up from his desk.
“If you say so.” He mutters, and you take that as your cue to leave.
But you promptly pass out the moment you turn around.
When you come to, you have no idea how much time has passed. But you hear something… Just on the edge of your hearing…
“—n you hear me?” A voice… A familiar voice… Your boss, maybe?
When you open your eyes, you find you were correct. He’s leaning over you with a concerned look on his face, and you realize you’re on the couch in his office.
“What happened?” You groan, and he sits back, clearly relieved.
“I thought you died there for a minute,” He grumbled, and you felt white-hot embarrassment shoot up your spine and warm your ears. When you go to sit up, he is on his feet helping you.
“I passed out?” You ask, and he nods,
“You went down pretty quickly and smacked your head, so I called Doc. He should be here soon.” At that, you swing your legs over the side of the couch.
“I’m fine. Just a bit dizzy, is all. I have to get back to work.”
His hand clamps around your wrist, and you freeze. He wears his standard leather gloves, but his hand is still warm through the material.
“You aren’t goin’ anywhere. And it’s either Doc or the hospital.” He warns, and you glare stubbornly at the floor before relenting and sitting back down on the couch. Chuuya is sitting on the coffee table directly in front of you, hands clasped and resting on his knees.
Doc, as eccentric as ever, gives you a clean bill of health and a cold compress for the bump on your head. He also says something to your boss that you don’t quite catch, but he nods and dismisses the man.
“You’re taking the rest of today and tomorrow off.” He says abruptly, and you nearly trip where you are walking back to your desk.
“What? No! I can’t afford to do that!” You retort, and he rolls his eyes,
“You’ll still be paid.” You pause in your argument and frown.
“I will?” Chuuya huffs and puts a hand on the small of your back, steering you toward the elevator of the high-rise office building.
“Of course you will. Just…” He pauses, and you look at him. His cheeks are flushed pink, and he refuses to look at you.
“Yes?” You prompt, and he sighs, still averting his gaze.
“Come back feeling better.” He says, and you grin at him as the elevator door closes on you.
“Yessir!”
#chuuya x y/n#chuuya x you#chuuya x reader#chuuya nakahara x reader#chuuya nakahara x you#nakahara chuuya x reader#bsd chuuya x reader#bsd chuuya#bungou stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs x reader#bsd#bungo stray dogs#bungou stray dogs
86 notes
·
View notes
Note
o7 whatever u say boss
dealers choice? or just spiderbit being disgustingly cute?
Spider-Man is an enigma.
Reportedly, he was bitten by a “radioactive spider” when he was a teenager and that’s how he got his start in the heroing business.
Cellbit thinks that’s bullshit. There’s no such thing as a “radioactive spider”. And, even if there was, Spider-Man would’ve died from radiation poisoning; genetic mutation does not work like that, Cellbit knows firsthand just how it works, and it’s not like that. It’s a lot more painful and a lot less flashy.
Spider-Man is a mystery. Nobody knows who he is despite him being an active vigilante for almost a decade. He gives a different backstory to every newspaper interviewing him. He’s a puzzle, and Cellbit is going to solve him.
But first, Cellbit needs dinner. Then he can obsess.
The line at the deli is long enough to wrap around the block. Cellbit’s lucky enough to have gotten in it before it had gotten too long, but he still has at least another fifteen minutes to wait before he can get his goddamn sandwich and leave. He just wants a sandwich. A goddamn sandwich.
A car explodes in the distance. Cellbit can hear it, and he can hear the car alarm, and he can hear another explosion and a very French-sounding cackle. That’ll be Métal Noir, then- the most competent hero on the Federation’s payroll.
Cellbit rolls his eyes. Everyone in line mutters amongst themselves, slightly-but-not-really concerned. The man in line in front of Cellbit tenses, his shoulders hiking and his head snapping towards the noise.
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Cellbit says.
The man hums curiously and glances at him out of the corner of his eye.
He has AirPods in, but he takes one out and asks, “What was that?”
“The explosion. I wouldn’t worry about it. Métal Noir has it covered, listen.”
He raises a bored finger and, as if on cue, there’s one more explosion, and then an excited cheer from the hero. He’s loud, loud enough to be heard blocks away.
The man’s eyes widen. “Oh, shit! How did you know that?”
Cellbit shrugs. “Lucky guess.”
(It would be weird for him to say he could smell the fear and the blood, so he simply doesn’t.)
“Huh,” says the man. He looks Cellbit over with his eyes and turns around with a grin, pulling his other AirPod out and sticking the both of them in their case. “That’s cool! Are you a psychic or something?”
“…Or something.”
(Somebody’s scared.)
“Oh, me too. How does yours work?”
Oh. Huh. People don’t usually just offer up their abilities like that. So something has to be off.
So Cellbit smiles back, fake. “Nah, I was just messing with you. I’m a reporter, so I know a lot about heroes.”
The man’s face falls, also fake. “Wow, I see.”
But then he cheers back up, seemingly real. “I was just messing with you, too, then.”
And he winks, and Cellbit feels his face heat up just slightly.
(Someone is very scared.)
“Yeah, okay,” he agrees. For some reason, he winks back, and he can’t help but laugh lightly at the way the man’s cheeks redden. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Right, right,” the man smiles.
He laughs and offers a hand out that Cellbit hesitantly takes.
“Roier,” he says.
(Someone is very afraid.)
(Cellbit realizes that it’s himself.)
(And that’s okay.)
218 notes
·
View notes
Text
Finding Out You’re Stronger Than Them - Logia Edition (Smoker + Ace)
Feeling very stuck with my WIPS lately, so I decided to try my hand at a bullet-point style drabble. Ace’s and Smoker’s went fine, but Crocodile’s and Kuzan’s immediately grew into something too big for a bullet point list and will be posted separately, if I can get them to a point I’m happy with. Have these two for now.
CW: Just a little bit of violence
Ao3 Link
Smoker
You’ve been rising quickly through the ranks. Smoker’s heard that you’re strong, but by the time you get assigned to him, he has yet to see it for himself.
You’ve followed all of his orders thus far, and past reports on your behavior are generally positive, so when you block him from chasing a pirate one day, he’s taken by surprise.
“This one’s innocent. I saw it for myself. He’s trying to support the village.” You get into stance, eyes blazing with defiance, fully ready to take on your captain.
“It doesn’t make a difference,” Smoker says. “He’s still a pirate.”
“He only stole from nobles. People who wouldn’t miss the wealth. It makes every difference.”
“Get out of the way.”
“No.”
He turns into smoke to go around you, but you grab at where his ankle would be, your haki forcing his body back into shape, and swing him into the ground with such force that stars dot his vision as the wind is knocked out of him.
No one told him you could use armament haki.
“I’m stronger than you. Don’t get a big head because you’re my superior. I’ll surpass you soon.”
“I could have you court-martialed for this,” he gasps.
“Then do it. See if I care. That person was innocent–I know I did the right thing. I don’t give a shit about your opinion,” you pause, then add, “Captain.”
You crouch next to him as he struggles to sit up, still dizzy from the brutal impact. Picking up his cigars that have fallen, you dust them off before sticking one back in his mouth and putting the other in yours. You take an experimental puff, wrinkle your nose at the taste, and deftly twirl the cigar between your fingers. He finds himself staring as you exhale, smoke curling around your profile.
“I requested to be transferred to your unit because Tashigi told me you were different from the others,” you say, and pop the second cigar into his mouth as well. “So don’t disappoint me, Captain.”
The blush on his face is from indignation, or that’s what he tells himself. It’s the audacity. You have some nerve to talk to him that way. To lay your hands on a superior, to obstruct the law.
And yet. He shouldn’t, but a part of him–a big part of him–can’t help but admire your conviction. Enough so that he doesn’t report your insubordination.
It’s always refreshing to find a soldier who thinks for themselves, but it’s also dangerous if you cross the wrong superiors. (God forbid you talk back to someone like Akainu, which Smoker knows you would do without hesitation.)
Smoker will have to keep an eye on you, to make sure you don’t get into trouble you can’t get out of…
Ace
One day, Ace realizes that in all the months since he’s officially joined the crew, he’s never seen you fight, not even to spar.
When he asks Marco about it, he says, “Oh, that’s because of the collateral damage, yoi.” Ace thinks Marco is joking and laughs. Marco does not.
But can you blame Ace? You’re one of the gentlest pirates in the fleet. You’re the kind of person who stops crewmates from squishing bugs, and who’s so stricken by the dead dogs at the end of your novels that you cry for days afterward (getting to hold you when you seek him out for comfort rules, but why you keep reading those, he does not know.)
After a battle with an enemy crew, one in which you don’t participate, Ace asks some crewmates why you abstained.
“Same reason Pops doesn’t join the small fights,” Haruta says. “Too messy, you know?”
“Wait, just how strong is Y/n?” Ace says, now realizing Marco was being serious earlier.
“Don’t worry about it, Ace,” you say behind him, making him jump. “Just know I’m stronger than you.”
That stings his pride, enough so that he challenges you to a friendly match while crewmates exchange glances.
“Sure, after you’ve rested from this fight. I’d hate to have a handicap.”
“I’m not tired! I can take you right here, right now.”
“Right now?” At Ace’s nod, you shrug. “Well, okay then. Here I go!”
You vanish.
He can’t sense you anywhere. By the time he figures out you’re behind him, it’s too late. One of your hands wraps around the back of his neck, the other on the hem of his pants. When he can’t escape by turning into flames, he knows you’re using haki.
You proceed to slam him face-first into the deck so hard he breaks straight through it, stuck upside down in the wood. The crewmates on the floor below blink up at him.
“You challenged Y/n, didn’t you,” one of them says.
Once his head stops swimming, Ace pulls himself out. His nose is broken and bleeding and he’s covered in scratches and splinters, but he’s looking at you with a newfound sense of awe.
“Logia types,” you shake your head, lip curling, “always so full of themselves.” Then you look stricken. “Oh, I hurt Moby again... Pops will scold me…”
And, look.
Ace knows what he likes. He’s not ashamed to say he found the whole thing extremely hot, but he has the decency to keep it to himself. (Literally the entire crew could tell, but no one tells Ace that either.)
He can’t stop thinking about the fight (if it could even be called that.) He stays awake at night, picturing the way your mouth moved when you said ‘Logia types,’ the little smirk afterward. He had always liked you, but now there’s a newfound aspect to his attraction, and he’s down bad.
Ace wants to know even more about you after that, asking you about your history and how you learned to fight. Luckily, you don’t mind the attention, and your humoring him feeds into his ego until he’s practically following you around in his free time. The rest of the crew takes notice, teasing him about being your shadow–but you never complain, so why should he care?
You've been spending lots of time together since then. He keeps fantasizing about saying “my partner can kick your ass” to people, but he hasn’t actually asked you out yet. It’s unlike him to be so gun-shy, yet every time he works up the nerve to ask, he only gets as far as “Hey, Y/n?” before your sparkly-eyed, saccharine “Yes, Ace?” crumbles his confidence to dust. But he’s Fire-Fist Ace, damn it! He faced Pops alone to save his crew, so why is this so difficult?
If he asks the other Division Commanders for help, expect a Looney Tunes style sequence of each one suggesting a courting method and it failing spectacularly and going up in literal flames, until he finally gets so frustrated with the whole thing he ends up just shouting his confession.
Bonus:
“There, there,” Ace says, patting your back while you cling to him and sob into his shoulder. “It’s just a stupid book.”
That was the wrong thing to say. With your emotions already running high, your misery shifts to rage in an instant.
“YOU JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND THE BOND BETWEEN A KID AND THEIR DOG BECAUSE YOU ATE EVERY ANIMAL YOU ENCOUNTERED GROWING UP!!” you wail, then hiccup, sob, and bury your face into his chest.
Ace wisely decides not to point out the food scarcity of his home island. There are better times, and at least you’re holding him tight...
#one piece imagines#ace x reader#portgas d ace x reader#smoker x reader#smoker one piece#portgas d ace#one piece x reader#zen writes
868 notes
·
View notes
Text
Personal Heater
Summary: Spencer has no heat in his apartment, but that doesn’t stop Reader from spending the night.
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
Category: fluff
Word count: 858
You are so stubborn. Stubborn to the point that Spencer finally caved and let you spend the night at his place, despite constantly telling you the heat is out. It took two weeks and several weather reports including wind mileage and humidity percentages, but you broke him. Now you’re in his bathroom, spitting your toothpaste and mouthwash concoction into his rickety sink. And it was your sharp, minty inhale that put the stamp of regret on the night.
Out of all potential points of convincing you to wait, he failed to mention that he lived in a building originally constructed in the early 1900s; when insulation wasn’t even a thought.
Your feet are freezing under the tile, and you’re convinced if you put enough force behind it, you can land in Spencer’s bed with one jump. Moving as minimally as possible sounds ideal because your legs feel as mobile as frozen pipes. But a screw-up will lead to you hitting the floor in the darkness, alerting your boyfriend in the living room, and — worst of all — you’ll have to admit he was right.
So instead, you lumber out of the bathroom, sliding your feet across the floor to navigate any potential hazards. The floor creaks with your weight. Once in the clear, you, quite literally, hop into bed. Spencer was still focused on some work at his desk, but he promised he wouldn’t be long since he was already in his robe. You took advantage of the time to gather the comforter and the extra blanket he’s been using. Then you grab some others folded neatly on a nearby chair (that you may or may not have fished out of his closet) and let them all fall on top of you. The warmth creeps in if you stay still and prevent drafts, but your feet instinctively rub together like they were sticks and you needed a fire. It’s the only movement you allow as you try to zone out enough to fall asleep, apart from the occasional kick to yourself for not being patient.
The benefit of being in an old building is that doors creak too. So Spencer coming in to call it a night is not subtle at all. He turns on the lamp on his side, and it’s the first time you’ve dreaded hearing him chuckle. “Well, well, well,” his tone is infuriating, “I see you found the extra blankets.”
You keep your eyes closed and hope for the best.
“I heard the floors creaking three minutes and 42 seconds ago, hun. You’re going to have to do better than that.”
Dammit. You use your bitterness to turn on your right side, making sure to keep your body encased under the small mound of various cozy materials.
Spencer’s robe is tied: boring, plaid, and brown. But it gives him a secure layer over his fun pajamas, the light blue ones with cloud patterns, also known as the ones you got him. His hair is adorably messy and his lips purse into an annoyingly cute smile. “Anything you want to say to me?”
“Yes, actually,” You prop yourself up on your elbow and look him in the eye as you ask “How the hell does someone who grew up in Vegas tolerate freezing temperatures indoors in early spring?”
“Well, robes help, but it’s also not freezing,” He corrects. “It’s 43.4 degrees outside, which means it’s…” He feels the air for reference because it matters to him. “About 58.2 degrees in here right now considering what floor we’re on and —”
“If I admit you were right, will you please come to bed?” You fall back onto your pillow and pat his, utterly defeated.
He doesn’t hesitate to switch off the lamp. Spencer climbs in and nestles under the comforter. “No need, I already know.”
You wish you had a snappy response to that, but Spencer’s hands are already distracting you by navigating blindly under the comforter. You take the hint and push yourself closer to him. When your bodies meet, he pulls your leg up so you can be just a little closer. You wrap an arm around his shoulder and your fingers end just above the back of his neck. You play with the hair you can reach and he finally kisses you. It’s sweet and slow, with no urge to prove a point. “Your nose is so cold.” You tell him.
“So is yours.” He replies, rubbing them together. He kisses the bridge of yours.
“I’m warming up though.” Slowly but surely. You try to keep your icy toes away from his to avoid ruining the moment.
“Good. Me too.” The hand keeping your leg steady slid up your back, finding a comfortable place to rest. “Seriously though, do you think you’ll be able to sleep tonight?”
“Yes.” You nod for extra assurance.
“Okay,” He rubs your back. “Wake me up if you can’t.” He gives you another precious kiss.
You want to say you’ll be fine, but you don’t feel like risking being wrong twice in 24 hours. So you plant a kiss on his forehead, and that’s good enough for him.
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid/you#spencer reid/reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid fandom#spencer reid blurb#criminal minds#criminal minds self insert#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fandom
908 notes
·
View notes
Text
Day 5: Face Fucking - Reno Sinclair
A/N: I am a day behind posting this but dammit I'm just a girl doing the best I can
Warnings: face fucking, blow jobs, Reno being a little shit, ass grabbing
Let me know if you wanna be tagged!
Taglist: @actuallysaiyan, @loki-love
Reno never shies away from a challenge. The two of you have been fooling around outside of the office for a while now, but he secretly loves the idea of fooling around in the building. When he playfully made a comment about needing you on your knees for him, you’d rebuffed him because there was nowhere in the entire Shinra building where you could perform such an act without fear of getting caught. Instead of taking care of his reports (‘Who the fuck wants to do that anyway?’ he decided) he spends the majority of his day scouring the building in search of a quiet, sparsely populated area. He ends up settling on an old file room that mostly contains invoices for supplies and other trivial matters.
Is it romantic? No.
Does he care? Also…No.
It checks all of the boxes for Reno, aside from atmosphere but he figures he won’t care much about that once your mouth is around his cock. All he has to do is get you here and on your knees.
He makes his way back upstairs to the Turks’ office and finds you working diligently on a task Tseng had given you. He leans against your desk, and right away you can tell he’s up to no good even though he is trying his best to look innocent. The look has never worked for him. You see right through him every time.
“Say, dollface, I could use some help,” he leans forward with his hand on top of your work. “You see there’s this file I need, but it’s in this miskept file room, you know how it is.”
“Mhm,” you raise your eyebrow suspiciously.
“You think you could help me look for it?”
You know you should say no, but it is so hard to resist him when he’s like this; pretty eyes lit up with mischief. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip as he waits for your answer. You close the file on your desk and lock it away before standing.
“Lead the way,” you say with a voice that seems a little too sweet and eager to help. In an office full of Turks, your act stood out.
Reno resists the urge to place his hand on the base of your back as he leads you to the filing room. He just begins making up the details of this file he needs help finding.He slyly locks the door as you begin looking through the filing cabinets. There’s a box of old files on top of one of the cabinets that Reno pretends to look through, then he knocks it down.
“Oh, clumsy me,” he sighs. “Will you pick those up, dollface?”
Since you’re already kneeling to look through one of the drawers, you start gathering the spilled papers. All the while, Reno has his hand in the pocket of his slacks. He toys with his cock, getting himself nice and hard for you. Once it’s cleaned up, you feel his hand on the back of your head.
“While you’re down there, I’ve got something else you can help me with.”
He takes his hand out of his pocket and instead grasps the aching erection through his pants. He smirks as your eyes widen just from the sight of his bulge.
“Give it a kiss, baby,” he purrs. “Come on, just a little kiss.”
He pushes your head forward and you kiss his cock through his slacks. Immediately you find yourself wanting more. You look up at him to see if he approves, and you’re met with a smirk. He opens his pants and pulls his cock out.
“One more, baby,” he pleads softly as he squeezes the head, “Look at it leaking for you.”
You sigh, realizing you fell for his trap completely. You lean in to kiss the tip, and you can’t resist giving his slit a little kitten lick.
“There,” you say, but he doesn’t release his grip on your hair.
“Show me your tongue,” he bites his lip in anticipation.
You open your mouth and stick your tongue out for him. He drags his tip along the flat of your warm tongue before pushing it in slowly. You choke when he hits the back of your throat. He pulls out only to shove it back in as far as you can take it. Your hand rests on his thigh as he begins thrusting his in and out of your wet mouth.
“Good girl. Take it all, dollface.”
Your mouth is stuffed full. All you can do is look up at him to acknowledge that he’s said anything at all. His hand tenderly strokes the back of your head despite the way he’s using your mouth for his own satisfaction. Your whole body is flush and the heat emanates from your core, spurred on by the way Reno can’t resist moaning like a slut for you.
“You want my cum, baby?” he asks, mostly working himself up even more even though he knows his dirty talk gets to you too. “I know you do, baby. You love it when I cum down your throat.”
His thrusts grow sloppier as he nears his release. His hands become rougher, grasping tightly to your hair to keep you perfectly still. His thick cockhead rams into the back of your throat over and over until his body goes stiff. His thrusts become frantic jerks as he cums.
“Oh fuck,” he whines. “Oh my fucking god!”
He’s panting by the time he releases the last shot of his thick cum into your waiting mouth. He thrusts lazily a couple more times before pulling out completely. He leans against the filing cabinet to catch his breath, and carefully wipes away some of your drool with the pad of his thumb.
“Such a good girl,” he drawls, his voice raspy with arousal. “So good for me.”
“I hope you plan to return the favor later,” you giggle as you stand up off your aching knees. Reno tucks his cock back into his pants.
“Do I ever let you down, dollface?”
With those words, he leans in to kiss you. The two of you return to work, but not before Reno grabs a handful of your ass.
140 notes
·
View notes
Text
Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley/Reader (18+) AFAB
Warnings: Cockwarming, Simon is kinda mean, a little degrading
Summary: This is just a ramble I wrote in maybe twenty minutes, I just had an idea and wanted to post sm other than Graves lmao. No actual sex, I just wrote until I get bored or hit a natural stopping point, I will write a full fuck scene for someone eventually (watch it be a character I’m not interested in)
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
“Simon-“
“Sh.”
A defeated, needy whimper sounds into the silence of the room as you fidget. The material of his cargos rubbing friction burns into the bottom of your thighs, the harnesses strapped across the thick meat of his own thighs digging into you uncomfortably. He doesn’t seem at all bothered as you squeeze around him, dripping wetness into his lap, barely able to sit still. Just keeps his masked face propped on your shoulder as he types out his field report.
It was your own fault, really. You’d come to him, lonely, wanting, burning with the need for attention, and he’d said he was too busy to give it to you. So, you offered a compromise. Offered to sit pretty on his lap, cockwarm him until he was through with his work.
“I’ll be good,” you’d promised, “it’ll be like I’m not even here.”
Obviously, that’s not how it went. Hunger had flashed in his dark brown eyes at your proposal, and when he accepted it, you thought you’d be playing the game for a few minutes, tops, before he’d give in and give you what you both wanted.
Simon Riley, however, is a man of principle and duty. And he sticks to his guns.
Five minutes turned into fifteen, fifteen into twenty five, twenty five into over half a fucking hour, and you were still simply sat with him achingly hard inside you. Filling you up, stretching you out, giving you nothing but a little taste of the pleasure you were familiar with. Every attempt at rocking your hips for just a little bit of movement was met with a nasty swat at your thigh, or a grip at your waist that anchored you down and forced you to be still. It was fucking torture, almost agonising enough to make you regret ever offering.
Another sound as your pussy gives an involuntary pulse around his cock, and static zips up your spine as his deep timber of a voice snarls into your ear, “you said you’d be’ave. Sit still.”
“I-I didn’t think-“
“Didn’t think what? That I’d actually make you wait for it? Think you’d just get your way, ay? Fuckin’ spoiled princess, you are.”
The sound that comes out of you at his mocking is just short of a sob, bleary eyes misting up until the painfully boring laptop screen you’d been forced to watch was a blur. And yet, despite his bullying (or maybe even because of it) you flutter around him again, squirm and babble out a stupid little, “you’re being mean, Simon!”
“Oh? Am bein’ mean, am I?”
You try not to shriek as the man underneath you stands all of a sudden, catching your hips in both hands and shoving you forward so you’re forced to bend at the waist over his desk. His dick doesn’t leave you once.
“I’ll show you fuckin’ mean, princess.”
#call of duty mwii#cod#simon ghost riley#ghost mw2#x reader#ghost x reader#philip graves#alejandro vargas#captain john price#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#könig mw2
651 notes
·
View notes
Text
Oh god look she’s talking about Godot again- YEAH I AM, because nobody talks about Godot’s actual strategy and mechanics as a prosecutor!
Because in canon he only does 4 cases (4 of which he loses and one of which... ahem) Godot has the reputation of being a “bad” prosecutor or inept at his job. But I call bullshit! Players are just used to 2 games where every prosecutor is either Manfred Von Karma or a disciple of his (Payne who??). Godot’s prosecution style is totally unique, and very distinct in ways that make him an absolutely perfect “final boss” prosecutor for the original trilogy.
- Chiefly, and unlike the VK prosecutor club, Godot does not care about winning. Sure, he doesn’t want to lose, but it has nothing to do with his “record.” Though he states his desire to defeat Phoenix, he later specifies he’s actually “testing” him and his worthiness to the legal legacy he’s inherited. And for all the flack Godot gets for his winless record, Phoenix really lucked out in all of these cases. Godot actually would have won State vs. DeLite 1, State vs. DeLite 2, and State vs. Byrde had one witness in each not made a stupid mistake at the finish line.
- To that point, and often unacknowledged, there is a specific moment in each case where Godot stops arguing his case and either gives leeway to or actually assists the defense. (EX: He helps verbally reason out Phoenix’s arguments, agrees to Mia’s request to cross-examine Atmey, personally subpoenas and “tames” Furio Tigre, etc.) This usually comes once it’s been proven beyond a doubt that Phoenix’s client is innocent. Godot remains an unrelenting asshole to Phoenix personally and eggs him on about how competently he can prove his point, but he’s clearly not looking to send innocents to jail to stick it to him.
(Hmm. Who else cares about a client’s guilt or innocence and the truth ahead of “winning...”)
- He infamously has never prosecuted a case before 3-2, but multiple characters remark that he’s obviously not an amateur in the courtroom. Gumshoe in particular notes that Godot has skill and confidence to back up his arrogance (via a series of Top Gun jokes) and he’s not just a rookie floundering around behind the bench.
- Also unlike the VK prosecutor club, Godot mostly plays fair. He doesn’t prep or coach witnesses, doesn’t instruct them to lie. He never does anything as cheap as the infamous “updated autopsy report,” or Franziska’s blatantly illegal detention room photo stunt from 2-2. Obviously there’s a few below-the-belt moments (and he clearly enjoys when he can catch Phoenix flatfooted) but those are mostly the result of this goofball legal system being massively stacked for the prosecution anyway.
- The one questionable quirk of his is the fact he tends to take evidence from the crime scene. In 3-2, he kept DeMasque’s brooch to himself without telling the police he’d found it. Gumshoe and the Judge are both appalled at this but Godot thinks nothing of it, remarking that it’s a “rule” of his that “the safest place for evidence is in my pocket.”
(Hmm, which other legal professional we know tends to pocket evidence from the crime scene without telling the police? And what job does he have?)
- Godot’s style with his witnesses is completely different than the other prosecutors. Rather than coaching them or telling them what and what not to say, he tends to let them speak their minds on the stand. For all his cryptic douchebaggery he does have a way with people, keeping his cool with hostile witnesses (Tigre) and building friendly rapport with others (Ron and Kudo especially come to mind here.)
(Hmmm, which other legal professional is used to building a strong rapport and trusting a witness to give testimony...?)
- He’s a world class bullshitter. Like even putting aside the unparseable metaphors and non sequiturs, when his back’s against the wall he throws out some absolutely wild arguments, blatantly ridiculous notions, whatever he can think of, trying to make it stick until the evidence decisively rips it down. The whole mirror testimony in 3-3 is a prime example of this... just blatantly stupid, but he allows it because it forces Phoenix to prove something.
(Hmmm... which other legal professional do we know is a constant bullshitter, desperately throwing outrageous theories to see what sticks...?)
Notice a pattern at all?
This incredibly funny post by @franbamm and @palant1r is 100% accurate and is one of the best takes I’ve ever seen. Why does Godot’s prosecution feel so strange, so off? Because he prosecutes like a defense attorney. Not just any defense attorney either, but a certain defense attorney, the protege of his own protege, the man he crawled back from hell to do battle with. He’s the best possible “final boss” prosecutor for Phoenix because he’s his foil, both characterization and courtroom-wise.
In order to truly prove himself, Phoenix will have to proverbially beat himself: an inwardly honorable but near-incoherent bullshitting weirdo, constantly flying by the seat of his pants.
#ace attorney#ace attorney meta#godot#phoenix wright#godot's style is weird but it all clicks when you realize why it's weird#I LEARNED IT FROM YOU TRITE#or i guess it's indirectly the other way around huh#that post is great though#the two astronauts with a rock thing is just quintessential 100% pure godot#i fucking love this guy
1K notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
raisinzone
reblog dumping ground
jjteezy
pizza&tattoos
roboticfennec
the 6th dimension
biancabelairs
another wrestling sideblog
btwlphotography
BETWEENTHEWHITELINES PHOTOGRAPHY