#them rugged hands get me distracted

[melrodrigo]

on your knees - c.s.

Cairo Sweet x Fem!Reader

Summary: It’s Valentine’s day and Cairo really needs a date.

Word Count: idk i’ll fill it later

A/N: Hiii, here to feed my babies. Beware the last few parts because i did nawt proofread this. Will come back to edit it eventually! Thanks for all the love

“Come onnnnn, go on a date with me?” The girl in front of you practically begs, leaning forward till her whole body is pressed up to the front of your desk.

“Very funny.” You tell her, dryly.

Cairo’s been whining all week about not having a valentine’s date, but you don’t know why she specifically chooses to whine to you about it. After all, you had heard from around school she had a crush on Mr.Miller.

Your nose crinkles in disgust at the thought. Their coupling would be wild at best, and illegal (not to mention boring) at worst. It would be like seeing Einstein and an Instagram model holding hands. Except Mr. Miller wasn’t Einstein, he was Henry Miller. A spectacularly boring middle aged white guy.

To be completely transparent, you wouldn’t have minded going on a date with Cairo. Since, truth be told, you might’ve had a (tiny) crush on her.

You let your mind wander, think of what it would be like to take her out. The perfect date.

She loves nature, so it would be outdoors for sure. She doesn’t love extravagant gestures, you’d probably make her a little picnic. Your train of thought is cut short by the evil voice that tells you she could be fantasizing about a certain professor on your imaginary date.

Cairo breaks your daydreaming by falling to her knees beside your chair, hitting the carpet with a loud thud.

Your eyes widen, and you quickly grab her shoulders and try to push her up, but she refuses. For such a small girl, she sure had a lot of strength.

“What do you want me to do, beg? I can beg.” She tells you, still on her knees, dress pooling atop the rug.

You’re ashamed to admit the position has a bit of an effect on you. But who could blame you? Anyone would be flustered if Cairo Sweet was looking up at them like that…

It’s a little awe inspiring, seeing Cairo so, desperate. You’re not sure what’s brought this all on, but the cold cut Cairo you once knew has disappeared completely from the equation.

“Cairo.” You hiss, eyes darting between the door and the girl in front of you, praying that no one comes in.

“What’s it gonna take for you to go on a date with me?” She whines again, reaching for your shirt cuffs for something to hang onto.

There’s a swoosh and a quiet “oh!” that brings your attention back to the door.

Mr. Miller.

He stands somewhat awkwardly, smiling the type of smile that somehow indicates he’s unhappy. His eyes narrow when he notices it’s Cairo on the floor, his beloved teacher’s pet.

Okay, now you really need Cairo to get up. You support (force) her up and onto half of your chair, reprimanding her quietly as Miller walks past, coughing.

She straightens only slightly before settling once again on your lap, claiming it’s more comfortable and “a more suitable place for her to focus on her studies”.

“Why don’t you just sit at your desk, hm?” You point at the table, a single chair, smack dab in the middle of the classroom, in front of Mr.Miller. She was such a nerd.

She stares back at you blankly, big brown eyes making you a little distracted.

“That’s not mine.” She says, and you breathe out a laugh. The tension breaks. Her eyes crinkle lightly at the sound.

“You’re so weird.” You mumble, but allow her to sit further into your lap, no doubt much more comfy than her previous position.

“Can I sit here the rest of the class?” She asks, a little bashfully. You give her a pointed look, but nod nonetheless.

“Whatever you want.” You tell her, and she seems happy with that, taking her laptop and notebook out, ready to learn.

You see her lock eyes with Mr. Miller, who looks very confused. She smiles shyly and breaks the contact by nudging herself into the crook of your neck.

Oh.

Maybe all this was just to make Mr.Miller jealous.

You frown at the disturbing thought. Cairo’s breath tingles your skin as she tilts her head up so her lips are right beside your ear. The sensation makes you shiver, quite unwillingly.

“Now will you go on a date with me?” She whispers, huskily. Her confidence has returned, cocky like the Cairo you know so well.

You weigh your options.

You do really want her to get away from Mr.Miller…it might be a good time to slap some sense into the young girl.

“Alright.” You say curtly, already regretting your decision.

Cairo removes herself from your neck, smiling wide. For a second it quells your anxieties, her milky white pearls blinding.

She turns back as more students start filing in, ready yet again to learn.

You can’t focus for the duration of the class, mind wandering. Valentine’s day was tomorrow, what were you going to say? What were you going to do?

You stay quiet until class ends and all the way while you walk her back to her home. Cairo pokes at you a couple times to try and get you out of your head.

“Don’t forget flowers!” Cairo teasingly yells from ahead of you, already one foot into her house. You straighten up, dumbly answer with a “You got it!” and a face palm once she’s out of sight.

-

Okay. This was it. Last night was spent toiling on your bed, writing a script of what you’ll tell Cairo, prepared lillies- her favorite flowers, and a batch of the best things you could possibly find in your fridge.

Bread, butter, freshly sliced tomatoes, lettuce, and two slices of turkey left, you’re all ready and set.

The script is tucked away into the back pocket of your jeans, snug and cozy. It radiates warmth that makes you think it’d be terribly rude to ever take it out.

You sit down onto the grass, arms on both sides straightened, palms rubbing uncomfortably with the tablecloth.

“I shouldn’t be this nervous.” You remind yourself, but it does almost nothing to quell your worries.

You can’t keep lying to yourself, the truth swims in your head and you’re afraid it’s going to leave your lips the second Cairo arrives. You aren’t nervous about the letter, or anything to do with Mr.Miller. In fact, you’re nervous about the date.

A tiny part of you, no matter how much you try and shun it away, hopes that, maybe, just maybe, if Cairo liked this date, she might start liking you.

The minutes count themselves down too fast, and it’s almost time. You sit straighter, checking your shirt for any wrinkles.

You see a tiny figure make it’s way onto the lawn, and you have to bite back a smile when you realize it’s Cairo.

She looks almost shy as she walks up to you, twiddling with her thumbs.

It’s like a wave washes over you when you finally see her up close. She’s wearing a gray turtleneck, with a denim jacket over it, hair all nice and wavy. She looks unbelievably good.

It takes a second for you to grab your bearings and act like you weren’t just blatantly staring at her.

“You look beautiful.” You say, as casual as you can muster, and Cairo breaks out into a smile. You notice she’s wearing water liner, and it makes your knees feel like jelly. She’s only ever done makeup like this once, during your school dance, and it had all but made you swoon.

“Yeah?” She muses, mindlessly. Bending down and sitting on your makeshift picnic cloth.

“Yeah.” You breathe, even though you can tell she didn’t really need an answer to that. She reaches for your face, pushing a stray hair back.

“You look good too.” Is what she comments, all soft like.

You’re a little ashamed to admit you dressed up particularly for this occasion. Some rosy pink blush, your favorite lipstick just for her.

You cough awkwardly, and it breaks you both out of your trance. You reach for the food and serve her her plate.

You get a good while into talking and laughing that you bring up Mr. Miller.

“So…do you have your eye on anybody right now?” You ask nonchalantly, pretending like you haven’t mapped this whole conversation out in your head a million times.

Something flashes in her eyes but it disappears so quick you can’t tell what it is.

“You know you can tell me anything,right?” You tell her, and you mean it. Whatever or whoever it was, you’d be fine with it. You wouldn’t just stop being friends with her because of complicated feelings. She mattered more to you than that.

She bites her lip, then speaks quick, like she has to get it out before she overthinks too much.

“Yeah I am interested in someone. In this school, actually.” She says.

You feel your heart drop to your ass, you’d hoped against hope that the rumor wasn’t true- but with this new information, it had to be.

So much for ‘being okay with anything.’ That’s it. It’s over for me.

“Oh?” You try and ask, but it comes out as a little squeak. Cairo shoots you a weird look, but continues telling you about it.

“Yeah…I really like her. I just, I don’t know if I should pursue it.” She purses her lips.

Now it’s really time for your heart to flip. Her? Did she say ‘her?’

“Yeah, I did.” She confirms, small smirk playing on her crimson lips.

“Shit, did I say that out loud?” You ask her, cheeks heating up immediately. She gives you a quick nod.

Oh god.

“You like a girl?” You ask again, disbelieving.

This time she huffs, sounding almost impatient.

“Yes, I like a girl.” She says, exasperated, with a bit of bite in her tone. Something defensive and possibly jealous stirs up in you fast and quick. Why does she look annoyed?

You can’t help but answer in the same way.

“Okay, so who is it that you like so much?” You ask pointedly. The fire in her eyes that was there just moments before simmers, and just like that, she reverts back to her normal self. It’s almost concerning how she does it so quick, like the flip of a switch.

She suddenly looks nervous again. You give her a small encouraging nod, take her hand in yours as support. They tremble slightly.

“I like you. And I know you probably-” She continues but all you can hear are the echos of her first statement.

I like you. I like you. I like you.

I like you.

You retract from her hands, surprised beyond belief. You regret it immediately when her smile drops.

Her mouth is moving rapidly, and you use the best of your abilities to try and hear what she’s saying.

“I mean why do you think I even begged you on this date? I swear your head is so thick-“ Her words pass through your ears in intervals, and finally, after she’s done, and looking at you expectedly, all you can do is croak out a weak, “You don’t have a crush on Mr. Miller?”

Cairo blinks once, twice.

“What?” But there’s no fear or judgement or any hint of any emotion except disbelief.

Huh, so she didn’t know about the rumor.

“Who said I have a crush on Mr.Miller?” She asks, nose scrunching in disgust. You sigh, looking up to the sky and thanking god.

At this revelation, you’re elated. You scooch just a tad closer and tell her about the rumor. When you’re done, you expect someone shocked, or weirded out, but all she does is letout a hefty laugh.

“God, just because I like a class doesn’t mean I want to fuck the teacher.” She smiles, and you marvel in the way she’s able to shake it off so easy. She’s always been like that, carefree.

You let your mind wander to what she said before. She turns her head to look at the scenery, allowing you guys to sit in comfortable silence.

You say her name, a simple sound, but it makes her look up into your eyes, curious.

“Did you really mean what you said? You like me?” You ask, soft.

She gives an adamant nod, assuring she really does. God, you could not focus right now. She looks so pretty.

“I like you too. Like, a lot.” You breathe, and watch as her eyes sparkle.

“Really?” She blinks, in a state of vulnerability you’ve never seen. You can’t believe that she wouldn’t believe it. You give her the same nod, grin breaking out on your face.

“Can I kiss you?” She asks, gaze fluttering between your eyes and your lips.

It’s all you’ve ever wanted- you can’t even speak.

Her kiss isn’t what you’ve always imagined. Something soft, something gentle. That’s how it always was with the first kiss. You should’ve guessed long ago Cairo wasn’t just anyone.

She surges in, grabbing your face tight like if she lets go you’ll disintegrate. She’s so rough, and you can’t get enough of it. She climbs over your body and settles in your lap, grabbing the collar of your shirt to deepen the kiss.

You break away when it gets too much, both of you panting. Her cheeks are now another shade of pink you can be proud of causing; her hair messed up in a way that makes you want to grab her and kiss her again. And so you do.

You guys stay like that, laughing and talking and kissing till it’s dark out.

“It’s a good thing I forced you on this date, isn’t it?” She muses, rolling in your arms.

You giggle, high from the endorphins.

“You didn’t force me, it was a two person thing.” You try and justify, hoping she doesn’t think you didn’t want the date.

“It’s sweet of you to say that, but we both know you would’ve never asked me out.” She tells you, booping her nose against yours.

“Oh shut up.” And you take her lips in another kiss before she can retort.

#cairo sweet x reader #cairo sweet #millers girl #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #tara carpenter #wednesday addams x reader #tara carpenter x reader

[daisies-daydreams]

Focus (König x F!Reader)

Pairing: König x F!Sergeant!Reader Category: Pure Smut (18+) Warnings: Swearing, Dom/sub, Inappropriate Work Relationships (König is your superior), Brat Taming, Unprotect P in V Sex (You Know the Drill), Vaginal Sex, Sex, Rough Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Spanking, Bondage, Cockwarming, Orgasm Control, Edging, Praise Kink, Mirror Sex, Full Nelson Position, Creampie Word Count: 2.9k+

A/N: I tried looking for this fic while I was updating my masterlist, but I could only find it on my AO3. :( I’m not sure if it got lost in the abyss or if I forgot to post it on here as well. Side note: König’s real name is Felix in this fic.

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

Your chest rose and fell along with the movements of your arms. Your muscles burned as you raised and lowered the barbell, but you needed something to get your mind off of what happened earlier. You glanced up as a large shadow overcast you.

“Care to explain why you were such a terrible shot during the marksmanship test today?” your commanding officer, Colonel König, asked in a gruff, low voice.

Speak of the devil.

His beefy arms were crossed against his chest as he glared down at you with his piercing, blue eyes. You puffed out a breath as you placed the barbell on the wrack. \ You could hear his lead boot thudding against the ground as he waited for your reply.

“I was a little…distracted today,” you said as you briefly glanced into his eyes. König huffed out a laugh as he shook his head.

“Distractions cost lives in the field, Sergeant,” he reprimanded. You bite your lip as you puffed your chest out, slowly rising up from lying down on the weightlifting bench.

“Well, if you have anything that would help me focus, I’d love to hear it,” you said as you took the weights off the barbell. You could feel his eyes boring into your back as you swayed your hips side to side while putting the weights away. The corners of your lips curled up a bit as a large hand rested on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly as the fabric of his mask brushed against your neck.

“I have a training regiment in mind. A very…special one that would help. Especially for a brat like you,” he husked into your ear. You licked your lips as you turned, your ass just barely grazing over his covered crotch.

“And how soon should I start this regiment, Colonel?” you whisper in a lithe tone. König’s eyes narrowed as he pushed his hardening cock against the plush of your behind.

“As soon as possible,” he murmured.

---

The door to König’s room slammed with so much force you thought the door would fall off its hinges. His posture was rigid as he turned back to you.

“Take off your clothes. Now,” he commanded sternly as he unbuckled his belt. Your fingers deftly worked to peel your shirt and workout tights off of your body. The colonel scoffed when you remained in your workout bra and panties. He stepped forward, his pants loosely hanging over his rugged hips. “It seems you have more than just an issue with focus, Hase,” he rubbed his palm against the leather belt as he stepped forward. You shifted your thighs together as he loomed over you, his rough hands pushing you onto the bed.

“Turn around and bend over for me like a good little soldier,” König rasped. You turned and stuck your ass out as you bent over, your breasts pushing against the comforter you’ve grown so familiar with over the past few months. You heard the belt squeak in his tightened grip before he snatched your wrists in his hands. You could feel your pussy get even wetter as he tied the belt around your hands, securing it with a firm nod. His fingers traced down your hands and over your back, goosebumps rising in the wake of his surprisingly gentle touch.

“I’ve seen you slacking off, Sergeant,” he began. You heard the soft sound of his boots thudding against the hardwood floor as he shuffled behind you. You tried to stifle a gasp as he roughly grabbed your asscheeks and kneaded them. “Are you really that desperate for my cock?” König scolded before laying a sharp slap across your bum. You bit your lip as the pain stung against your plush skin. The colonel behind you groaned as he spread your cheeks apart, no doubt gazing at the small wet patch in the crotch of your panties.

“Judging by how soaked you’re getting, my assumptions are correct,” he chuckled mockingly. You gasped as he suddenly pulled you onto his lap. He was still fully clothed, yet you could feel his prominent, growing erection beneath his rough pants.

“But you’re going to have to earn it-earn having my big, fat cock stuffing that tight little cunt of yours,” König husked as he smoothed his hand over the sore spot on your behind. You resisted the urge to wiggle in his hold as he raised his hand. “By being obedient,” he said before slapping your ass again, letting his palm linger and pressing into the raw handprint. You whined and nodded.

“Y-Yes Colonel,” you moaned. König grunted as he squeezed your ass.

“Good girl. Now, count how many spankings I give you. If you mess up, I’ll start all over again. Am I clear?” he huffed.

“Yes sir,” you said. König groaned as he rubbed his hand up and down the globes of your butt.

“Gut,” he rasped in his native tongue before slamming his palm against your ass [Good]. You arched your back as your toes instantly curled.

“One!” you cried out. Another crossed your other cheek in a matter of seconds. “Two!” you yelped as your body lurched forward. Heat spreads from the top of your head to the tips of your toes with each slap against your ass, your pussy soaking the soft fabric of your underwear. Soon your ass is left alone, raw and sore from all of the spankings. Your hands strain against your back as your superior pushes your panties to the side again, his fingers now sliding against your wet slit. You shiver and clench your fists as he chuckles.

“Sensitive, are we?” König mused as he spread your folds apart with his thick digits. A small noise leaves your throat when you hear the sound of fabric tearing. You whip your head around to see part of your panties held snugly in his fist.

“There are consequences for disobeying, Hase,” he tsked [bunny]. The expression on your face drew an amused twinkle in his eye. “You thought the spankings were your punishment?” König hummed as the pads of his fingers circled around the ring of your entrance. He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Nein-I’ll make sure it’s much more…effective,” he rumbled [No]. You whined when he drew long strokes up and down your slit, circling your swollen, sensitive clit every once in a while.

“O-Oh my God,” you squealed as he pinched your nub. You heard him chuckle behind you as his other hand massaged the back of your thigh.

“We’re going to do another exercise, hase,” your commander groaned [bunny]. Your lips parted as he slowly shoved two of his fingers into your entrance, letting them linger just inside the tight ring. “I want you to count every stroke of my fingers inside your pussy,” he husks, his hot breath fanning over your neck. You nod, your lip hurting from how hard you were biting it. You moaned loudly as he suddenly began to pump his fingers inside of you quickly.

“Uh, uhm-one two three four five six seven-” you tried to keep up with each stroke, your mind getting foggy with arousal.

“Speak louder!” he barked as he pressed his thumb down on your bundle of nerves.

“EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN-” you shouted, your voice dry and hoarse as he shoved his fingers deep inside your wet hole. Your voice stammered as you grew closer to your orgasm with each number, your muscles tightening as every fiber in your being screamed for release. And suddenly…it stopped. Your eyes shot open as you felt him yank his digits from your pussy. The colonel sighed as he stared down at the slick on his fingers.

“What a shame: you missed fifteen,” he mused. You gritted your teeth as your nostrils flared. König huffed before picking you up like a little kitten. He set you down on the bed as he stripped his clothes. You gaped at the sight of his throbbing erection as it sprang free from the confines of his boxers. König chuckled as he watched you wiggle against the mattress for any form of friction.

“Such an impatient little thing,” he clicked his tongue. You yelped when he picked you up again. He spread his legs wide open as he sat on the edge of the bed. You caught a glance of your naked form in the full-length mirror in front of you. König sighed as he slowly sank you down on his member. You winced as just the head breached your entrance, spreading you wide open for the rest of his shaft to sheath inside of your pussy. Both of you groaned as he bottomed out, his plush balls resting against your slick labia.

“Guess I’m going to have to teach you some patience, too,” he hummed as he let your legs drape over his own. Your brows furrowed in disappointment when he simply lets his cock rest inside of your gummy walls.

“K-König,” you mewled as you wiggled your ass against the divots of his abs. The giant man inhaled deeply as he squeezed your hips.

“Stay still, soldier,” he growled. You bit the inside of your cheek as he kept your hips from rolling. The pressure inside you was boiling and rising to the surface as he made you warm his massive member. The slight sting of the stretch faded though until you found your walls relaxing. They suddenly clench when you hear the soft hum of a vibrator. Before you have time to react, you feel the tip of the toy kiss against your clit. König smirked as he leaned his head down.

“You see that, Hase? See how much my thick cock bulges inside of you?” König husked into your ear [bunny]. You whimper as he pushes the vibrator deeper against your clit, your bundle of nerves puffy and throbbing from how much he’s been teasing you. You feel his other hand come up and grip your jaw, forcing you to look into the mirror. You shudder as you stare at the reflection of his girth stuffing your tight, dripping cunt.

“Answer me when I’m speaking to you, Sergeant,” your commanding officer rumbled as he squeezed your cheeks mockingly. You swallowed thickly, throat tight and mind clouded with an intoxicating pleasure.

“Y-Yes sir. I see it,” you breathed out. You whimpered when he pulled the vibrator away from your aching cunt. A high-pitched squeal escaped from your bitten lips as he laid a slap against the top of your pussy.

“Tell me exactly what you see, Sergeant (L/N),” the Austrian groaned as his hands rested on the top of your thighs, his long fingers drumming over your goose-bump ridden skin. Every stroke and dip of his digits sparked a fire that danced across every nerve in your body.

“I-I can see your cock inside of me,” you mewled. König hummed and traced his fingers against the inside of your thighs.

“What else?” he purred, his teeth raking down your pulse as his hands danced up your sides. You squeezed your legs over his muscular thighs. He groaned into your ear as he took your hard nipples between his calloused fingers.

“I-I see you playing with my tits,” you whined. You squealed when the Colonel pinched your nipples as he “tsked” you.

“Oh Sergeant, I know you can do better than that. You’re such a clever girl,” he whispered, voice husky and drenched with lust. “Tell me everything now-what you see, hear, smell…” You whined as he puckered his lips onto your neck, sucking on it harshly while his cock twitched inside of your gummy walls. “Feel,” he murmured.

“I-I’m spread wide open in front of a mirror,” you begin. König grunts as he trails a line of fresh hickeys down your sweat-covered skin. You take a deep breath. “My thighs are spread over yours, your p-plump balls resting just below the place where our sexes are snug,” you keen as he licks a bold stripe over the bruises, his fingers massaging your tender areola. “I can feel the head of your cock kiss my cervix like you want to breed me,” you continued. You moan when he suddenly bucks his hips upwards into your heat.

“Yes,” he groans as he shallowly thrusts into you. “Keep going,” he commands with a light slap to your upper thigh. You bite your lip as you gaze at the lewd scene in front of you.

“I-I can feel every vein of your thick cock drag against my plush walls-oh!” you moan as he tugs on your nipples again. The noise he makes is akin to a purr as he bucks up into your core, eliciting a solo of moans from your plump lips.

“That’s right. Good girl. Good fucking girl,” König growled, his hands now falling to your hips as he squeezes them roughly. Your head falls back against his shoulder before he pulls your face back up.

“Keep looking,” he hissed, voice wavering as his thrusts became faster. You panted and moaned, your voice reverberating across his bedroom walls. You tried to bounce on his cock to match the pace of his thrusts, but your thighs wouldn’t stop shaking. You gasped when you felt your colonel wrap his arms beneath your knees and lifted you up, only to slam you back down on his meaty rod.

“Mmm, such a pretty, tight cunt,” he moaned as his hips snapped up, eyes glued to the piece of glass in front of you. “And it’s all mein,” König snarled. Your head was reeling as he slammed his cock into you repeatedly. You flushed at the sight of your cream coating his long shaft, dripping down and lathering his twitching ballsac. You keened loudly as he bit into your shoulder.

“Say it, say you’re mine,” he groaned, voice commanding and hungry. You bit your lip as you tried to steady your mind.

“I-I’m yours…Felix,” you said with a shaky breath. The growl from his throat was damn near feral when his real name fell from your lips. You were rewarded with him speeding up his thrusts, his arms curling and tightening around your thighs.

“Du gerhöst mir...mir allein!” König roared as his cock plunged deep into your core [You are mine…and mine alone]. Your vision grew blurry as you watched the way your breasts bounced and jiggled. Your muscles were tightening into an inescapable knot as you sped towards your orgasm. “Look in the mirror when you cum around my cock, liebling,” he grunted. You blinked through the veil of tears that coated your eyes as your body stiffened.

“Yes, that’s it-let go for me,” your commander panted as he shoved his dick against your womb. You yelled as the cord inside of you snapped into a million tiny pieces, your body shaking with ecstasy. König’s thrusts grew more sloppy as your walls gripped at his shaft. His chest rumbled as you cried out, pure pleasure surging through your veins.

“Ahhh yes, feels so good when your warm cunt hugs my cock like this,” König praised as he kissed your neck. You moaned with each of his thrusts as the waves of your orgasm continued to rock through you.

“K-König,” you slurred in a high-pitched whine, his thrusts getting sloppier with each one. His balls tightened below you as his breathing became ragged.

“Gonna fill this pussy up, make it leak with my fucking cum,” he grunted with a strained voice. You shivered as pleasure rippled down your spine and straight into your core as your second orgasm crept up on you.

“Yes, oh Gott yes!” König roared as he suddenly snapped his hips forward [Oh God]. His arms clenched around your legs so tightly as his cock throbbed inside of your well-fucked cunt. “Yes…” he panted as he filled you to the brim with his warm, thick cum. You shook with ecstacy beneath him as you felt his seed start to dribble from between the seam where your sexes were joined.

“Such a good little soldier,” König muttered as he kissed your cheek. You turned your head so he could capture your lips in a proper kiss. You keened into his mouth as he lowered you into his lap. You sighed, letting his dick soften inside of your tight walls. Just as you went to pull yourself off of him, his hands instantly flew to your hips.

“Nein, I want my cock to stay inside of you for a little bit longer,” he whispered as he gently massaged the bruises over your hips [No]. You shivered as you felt some more cum leak onto the edge of the mattress as he kissed along your neck. You closed your eyes as your head fell back against his shoulder.

“I think you’ve learned your lesson…for now,” König purred softly as he gave one final peck to your temple. Your mind was now drifting further away as he gently slipped your back onto the mattress. Your throat tightened when he shoved his cum back inside of your tender hole with his two thick fingers.

“Now, listen carefully: you’re going to get dressed and cleaned up…and then you’re going to retake that test while my cum stays inside of that tight, little cunt of yours,” his lips danced over the shell of your ear. “Do you understand, Sergeant?” he asked. You shivered and nodded.

“Yes, sir,” you panted. König cracked a grin before gently patting your cheek.

“Gut kleiner Hase,” he murmured [good little bunny].

----

Thank you for reading! ❤️

Edit: Thank you so much @dangern00dl3 for correcting my German!

#call of duty #cod #call of duty modern warfare 2 #reader insert #cod x reader #cod smut #könig mw2 #könig x reader #könig x fem reader #könig x you #könig x y/n #könig cod #könig #könig call of duty #könig fanfiction #könig smut #konig cod #konig x reader #konig mw2 #cod mw2 #cod mwii #mw2

[luveline]

missing eddie and roan rn🥲

can we get something were roan brings home flowers she picked during recess for reader🫶

Eddie and Roan —Eddie’s daughter brings you a bouquet when you’re sick. (step)mom!reader

Roan skips up the path to the house with a big smile. “Dad, come on!” she demands.

Eddie’s trying to carry three paper bags of groceries and close the trunk at the same time. He is not receptive to criticism at this present moment. “Shut up, babe.” 

“You shut up!” 

“You first.” He drops the keys by accident. “Ro, can you come and grab these for me? Thank you.”

She races to grab the keys and then back to the door. “Dad, COME ON!” 

“You’re being super rude and irate right now but I forgive you,” Eddie says, yanking the door open to let her inside, “because I know you’re hangry.” 

“Not hangry!” she denies, bursting into the hallway and kicking her shoes so hard against the shoe rack that the top layer of your work shoes topple onto the floor. “Mom!” she shouts, one word lined heavily with joy even now. She’s been calling you mom for months and it doesn’t get any less exciting for her, clearly. “Y/N! Y/N, I got you something! Where are you?” 

“I’m in bed!” you call, sounding excited yourself, if a little confused. “What did you get me?” 

Eddie wasn’t aware of any gifts. He puts the groceries on the counter in the kitchen and follows his charge up the stairs, curious and not wanting to put stuff away anyhow. Roan tumbles into the master bedroom still wearing her red vinyl coat, door slamming into the wall, you wincing in bed. 

Eddie winces too. “Ro,” he says desperately, “come on, bub, she’s in bed rest, remember? So we’re being careful about loud noises. I told you twice today already.” 

“Sorry! I just want to see you,” she says, straight to your side and arms up expecting to be helped. 

You pull her into your lap. “I’m sick of resting anyways.” 

Eddie intercepts Roan’s hug to lean down over you and give you a gentle kiss, of which you are extremely receptive. He gets butterflies thinking about you to this day, and having you raise your chin to receive him intensifies them by half, then whole as your lips do finally touch. 

“Okay day?” he asks. 

“Really quiet,” you say, tugging Roan up into your chest before she can get jealous. 

“Head?” he asks. 

“Fine. Barely a headache anymore.” 

Eddie bites his lip. Not too long ago you were in a hospital bed practically catatonic. He cannot afford to be uncareful with you. You’re too much to him. 

“Promise?” he asks. 

You’re distracted from answering by small hands on your face. “Mommy, I was talking to you first.” 

“Sorry, baby, yes you were.” You sink further down. “Can you ever forgive me?” 

Roan could forgive you for almost anything. She wiggles where she’s sitting on your stomach, hands clumsy at the bottom of her coats zipper, her chest rising and falling after her sprint up the stairs. Eddie and Roan are still both cold enough to have it emanating from their coats, but you don’t care, you just want your after school cuddle.

Eddie peels out of his coat at the same time, takes his shoes off with some self-chastisement (mud upstairs is awful and rude of him and he’ll spend the evening trying to rub it out of the rug because you really like the rug and he likes you), and sits on the bed by your feet. 

“Oh, what have you got?” you ask warmly. 

Eddie bends his head to watch her pull flowers from her overall pocket, one small stem at a time. Daisies and buttercups with petals smaller than her fingernails. They keep coming, ten then twenty, maybe thirty flowers on your chest. The stems are broken, but they’re all more alive than anyone could have hoped for considering they’d been sandwiched in her pocket for hours. 

“These are for me?” you ask. 

“All for you. Except this one for dad,” she says, picking up one of the bigger daisies. “And maybe this one for me.” She grabs a buttercup for herself. 

“Aw, thanks baby. These are gonna make me better, huh?” 

She looks like him when she smiles. Cheesy, cute, she arranges the flowers in a bouquet in her hand and presents it to you grandly. “I picked them at school behind the wooden house. Do you like ‘em?” 

“I love them,” you pronounce, just as grand but not half as loud. 

“I love you.” 

“You cheesball,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes. 

“Ignore him.” You touch her cheek with a fondness that makes his jaw ache thinking about the love behind it. “I love you too.” 

“And you’ll be better soon,” Roan says. 

Eddie can answer that one. He holds your ankle through the sheets, and gives your calf a quick stroke. “She’s gonna be a hundred percent any day now, bug. Better be extra gentle with her to help her along.” 

Roan rubs her bouquet of flowers softly under your chin. “I’m gentle,” she whispers. 

You rake your fingers through her hair, a half centimetre a second, fingertips drawing down between her shoulders. Such a mom thing to do, Roan dissolves like sugar paper in the rain. 

Eddie smiles. “Alright, I’m jealous.”

#eddie and roan #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #dad!eddie munson #dad!eddie munson x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

[slushycoookie]

My Husband Has a Symbiote! Pt. 2

Pt.1 - Pt.2

Relationship: Symbiote! Miguel O'Hara x AFAB! Reader

Word Count: 2,804

Content: Smut, p in v, vaginal fingering, Miguel gets choked, Reader can't go ten minutes without being railed, MINORS DNI!

Summary: You try to have a serious conversation about the symbiote Miguel has, but it doesn't really work.

A/N: I'm having so much fun with this, don't mind me. Also, you guys really liked the first part, so here's some more!

After the most wonderful sex you had in your life, you had to get a grip.

It couldn't happen again. Having sex with an alien that your husband bonded with. You were still trying to understand why using a symbiote was the best action out of everything else. You all could try the normal way. Without taking extreme measures. Or, in your case, out-of-this-world ones. That's what you decided to do getting up this morning.

You took your time putting on clothes, your legs wobbling as you stood. You smelled the strong scent of coffee while traversing to the kitchen. Only to get a view of your husband's gorgeous back. 

“Good morning.” Miguel handed you a cup of coffee as a peace offering. As you took it, you tried not to get distracted by his hairy chest and arms. Or how his sweatpants hung low around his waist. 

“Good morning.” You smiled against your cup, “Sleep well?”

He nodded, matching your smile. “Did you?”

“Yeah.” Your eyes darted around his form. No clear view of his new symbiote. Unless he put it in a bottle. “Where is it? Or them?”

Miguel rubbed the back of his neck, “They're still here.” Just then, his new best friend appeared. Only its head, sporting your partner's signature blue and red colors. Its smile and tongue gave you flashbacks of how that was on your lower half last night. Taking exceptionally good care of you. You squeezed your thighs again to ignore the arousal.

“Pretty thing.” A weird form of greeting they uttered before disappearing.

“We should definitely talk about that. In-depth.” You settled your cup down.

Miguel did the same, standing beside you. “What's more to talk about? I told you why I got one.”

“And I understood that.” You sighed, “But that can't happen again. We should try like normal people. Go see a doctor, try more sex positions…”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist and holding you close. “We're not normal people.”

“I know.” You let out a slight laugh, “But I think it's best to-”

“Did you not enjoy last night?” 

Your heartbeat picked up. His eyes were lowered, gazing at you with an emotion you knew all too well. It didn't help that he smelled so good. Hints of ginger mixed with the fresh coffee hugged your senses. Or the way his rugged arms held you up last night while thrusting into you. “I did-”

He stole a kiss. Stopping you from regretting anything that occurred last night. You started making out in the kitchen, absorbed in the bitter coffee taste. Which somehow turned into you getting destroyed from behind. Miguel's symbiote form pressed against your back, body rutting into you. His ginormous hands covered the countertops. Little cracks formed with each thrust he took. You couldn't be upset about the destruction of your kitchen. You didn't want him to stop.

“You deserve to have our children…” That deep voice resonated in the room, causing you to shiver. 

“Don’t say that…” You whimpered, pressing your ass back against him. A territorial growl emitted from behind and he went harder. Pounding into you until you screamed his name.

Everything was a mess. 

The countertops were damaged, coffee spilled on the floor along with the broken pieces from your mugs. And a sticky, warm substance was sliding down your thighs. Miguel’s normal hand reached down and scooped up whatever was coming out. Pushing it back in to make sure it didn't go to waste. All while he kissed your head.

You couldn't even talk to him about the symbiote in the room. Whenever you tried to bring up getting rid of it, somehow you were on your back, side, bent over or on top. Taking your partner's cock like a champ. Getting full of his seed. And at the end of it, feeling completely satisfied. 

You ranted to MJ and Jess when you all went out for lunch at a café. It's been a week of Miguel using you like his own sex toy.

“All I heard is that you've been getting some.” Jess remarked while sipping on her drink. “And you're complaining about it.”

“Because he's distracting me! So I don't tell him to get rid of it!” You buried your face in your hands.

“Well…how big is it?” Mj asked, eyes wide with genuine curiosity. 

You raised a brow as your cheeks turned dark. “I shouldn't tell you that.”

“You look the way you did when you came back from your honeymoon.” Jess noticed your body practically glowing from all the sex you were having. “We gotta know how good it is.”

The table they were sitting at was rectangular in shape. Long enough for you to show them how big Miguel was with his symbiote. Which was almost half of the table. 

“Whoa.” Mj gawked at the description. “And tell me why you're complaining again.”

You rolled your eyes, “Symbiotes are dangerous! I don't want him to get obsessed with it all because of a problem I have.” You turned to Jess, “Shouldn't you be agreeing with me here? Didn't you have a symbiote?”

Jess waved you away, “No, because I'm too smart not to put myself through that.” You purse your lips as the Spider-Woman kept going. “They are dangerous, but only if they don't have a decent relationship with who they're attached to.”

“Yeah, Peter was very different when he had it.” Mj explained, twirling her drink around with a straw. “First he was energized and then snippy. He couldn’t part with it until he had a wake-up call that it was destroying our relationship. It was scary.”

That's what you were worried about. Your partner turning into someone you couldn't recognize. You weren't scared of him but for him.

“You know you can say no, right?” Jess said before getting a mischievous glint in her eye. “But you don't want to. The sex is that good, huh?”

You gasped at her accusation, “You are…absolutely right.” Your friends sympathized with you, “But we need to talk…”

You had to come up with a plan. A way so you could talk without having his cock buried inside you. You decided to visit him at HQ, trying to look as unattractive as possible with a hoodie and sweatpants. Being married to the leader of Spider Society had its perks. One of them was looking into mission distribution. You noticed the teen dream, which you called Miles, Gwen, Pavitr, Hobie, and Margo, going to report to Miguel that day. You couldn't barge in when he spoke to Peter. He'd have Mayday with him, adding more fuel to the fire. Or any reports with Ben because Miguel would get jealous and sex would ensue. A bunch of teens on the other hand was perfect.

You approached the group as they were about to make their way into his lab.

“Hey!” Miles greeted with open arms, “What brings you here?”

“Oh, I need to talk to Miguel about something.” You waved it off, not deeming it as important. 

“Trouble in paradise?” Hobie said with a smirk, causing you to shake your head.

“No, no. It's just about the symbiote. You guys think it's weird, right? That he's using it?”

“Actually,” Gwen took over, “some of our people have had success stories in using it. Like me, for example.”

You stared at the girl, surprised. “What? You had a good relationship with one of those things?”

“Yeah. It's no big deal.” Gwen shrugged it off. The entire time they were slowly making their way inside his lab. Going past his equipment in the darkness.

Pavitr jumped on her back, “She says it's no big deal. Like a boss.”

“That's Gwendy for ya.” Hobie winked at her.

“Guys, it really isn't a big deal. Symbiote relationships can be symbiotic. It depends on the person and who they connect with. It could make them better or worse.” 

Everyone blinked at Gwen's explanation. Your knowledge of her connection with the alien made you pause. Was it possible for Miguel to have a healthy relationship with the thing? Were you stressing yourself out worrying about him?

“Miguel has been getting better lately.” Miles cut in.

“Yeah, at first he was moody, but then he gave me the day off so I could play a new game that came out.” Margo added. “He never lets me take the day off for video games.”

You hummed. Sure, his mood was getting better, but they still had to talk. You didn't want to assume everything was okay until they at least spoke about it.

Inside the lab, the teens gave their report to Miguel. The entire time he stood high on his platform, nodding to everything they were saying. Once in a while, he’d glance at you, a trace of intrigue, like he wanted to talk. Or breed you before getting back to work. You couldn’t relax seeing him in his typical suit. The symbiote was still attached to him, just not present. 

“Good work.” Miguel complimented, “Now, my partner needs to speak to me about something.”

You perked up, shaking your head. “They can stay, it’s not that important-”

“I’d rather they didn’t.” His stare shot through your body. It was hard but yet filled with increasing lust. All you did was walk in the room. 

The teens walked past you, shooting apologizing looks. Hobie’s face was amused, giving a reassuring pat on the back before whispering in your ear. “Don’t rough ‘im up too much.”

Miguel called you to his platform. You made your way across, trying to devise a quick game plan as your current one backfired. You placed yourself on the other side to create as much distance as possible. You heard him command Lyla to lock the lab so no one could get in. You took a deep breath to stabilize your beating heart. 

“Why are you over there?”

You shot him a glare, “You know why.”

“Do I?” Miguel tilted his head in question. A rumbling chuckle filled your body when you tsked. He stood on the other end, not making any moves to get closer. Yet his eyes were trailing down your covered body. Picturing himself peeling every layer off of you. “I like your outfit today.”

You saw him take one step closer and you had to straighten yourself. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Another step and you cleared your throat. You could see yourself being bent over that console if the conversation kept up like this. 

“Look, we really need to talk about this symbiote.” Miguel hummed, partially listening. As he took another step, you pressed yourself back against the console. Realizing you couldn’t get further back, you raised a harsh pointer finger towards him. “Miguel.”

“I’m listening, preciosa.” He paused, that same look of hunger in his eyes. 

“Are you? Do you see yourself right now?” You watched him take another step. 

Miguel snorted, “Do you see yourself right now? You’re so sexy. I can’t believe I married you.” 

He closed the gap, one hand on the console behind you. You placed your hands on his chest. At first, it was to try to create some distance, but the hardened muscle under your palms made you reconsider. Those same pectorals you've always felt and pressed up against. Your hands had a mind of their own, running along them. The corner of Miguel’s lips curled up in amusement. 

“You still wanna talk?” He picked you up and placed you on the console. His other hand placed against your lower back, pressing your entire body against his chest. Your resolve was dwindling as he gazed at you. “Or do you want to be bred?”

That’s how you ended up the way you were now. Clothes removed, thrown who knows where in his lab. Legs spread while his gigantic finger pumped into and out of you. Miguel’s symbiote form took over, drooling while watching you take him in easily. You whined while clutching his arm. Small sopping sounds fill your ears. 

A gasp escaped your lips when a second digit entered you. Your back arching at the beautiful friction. How his fingers knew where to touch inside. A satisfied growl erupted from Miguel, mouth wide as his tongue glided across your pleasure-fixed face. 

“Pretty thing. So obedient…” His thumb pressed against your clit. Your nails dug into his sticky skin at the additional sensation. Not wanting him to stop for a second as that familiar burning feeling started to rise. It pooled in your stomach before spreading up and over your body. Miguel didn’t care when you screamed for him in his lab, letting all the spiders know he was pleasing his partner. 

You panted, leaning back a little on the console when his fingers were gone. The familiar sight of his large cock came into view, ready to go in. A rush of clarity filled your mind as you stopped him. He gave you a look in question.

“Lemme be on top.”

Miguel grinned, eyes lighting up with intrigue. “Oh? Pretty little thing wants to bounce?” 

Before you could nod in confirmation, he sat down. Back pressed along the console. Goosebumps formed, feeling the cool steel amongst your feet. You licked your lips, watching your partner observe you. Dark blue cock aching to be inside. You hovered over him, stabilizing yourself by touching his shoulders. Before sinking down. 

Each time Miguel’s cock entered you, it was always as if it was the first time. After a couple of thrusts, You always lost your ability to think straight. Only taking what Miguel gave you. This time was going to be different. 

A moan escaped you, getting used to the feeling before raising your hips again. Before slamming back down on him. His eyes lowered at the sight of his partner fucking yourself on his shaft. Even though Miguel took over most of the time during sex, You had your moments of being the one to make him quiver under your touch. While fucking the symbiote, it was still affected by things that made regular Miguel whine. So you went slow, sliding up and down at an antagonizing pace. Even for you. But you needed to get your point across. Miguel’s hands hovered by your hips, ready to have you pick up the pace. Only for you to use one hand to grip his thick throat. 

His eyes went wide at the sudden action, your tiny hand doing your best to choke him out. “Pretty thing wants to get rough?”

“You like it rough.” You quipped back, still rolling your hips on him. Miguel growled at the sensation before latching his hand on his arm.

“We do.”

It happened in an instant, the symbiote tendrils curling around the lower half of your arm, coating it the signature blue. You felt stronger. Enough to grip his neck tighter. You also picked up the pace, bouncing in a way to drive him crazy. If you could see Miguel’s face, you knew his eyes would be rolled back, while his hips thrusted up in unison with your bounces. 

“L-Let me…speak to him…”

“You are.” The symbiote’s chest heaved, almost succumbing to the intoxicating sensation. 

You shook your head, a whimper coming out as you hit a spot that was too good. “No. I wanna…see him…” Miguel’s face appeared, pleasure permeating his dazed face. If there were any other moment, you wouldn’t stop, help him chase his fucked out high. But not right now. You slowed down, earning a cry from Miguel. 

“N-No. Don’t stop, mi amor.” 

“Listen to me first…” Your pace was torture as you sunk down enough to provide pleasure still. In this position, Miguel was susceptible to agree to anything as long as he made sure he released inside you. “We’re gonna have a conversation about this thing.”

“Okay, okay. We will. Now let’s-” A strangled moan escaped him when you squeezed his neck.

“I’m serious, Miguel. If we end up like this again without talking, you’re not coming back home.” You stared right into his eyes, serious while clouded with pleasure. Miguel stared right back, taking in that you meant every word. You didn’t like it had to come to this, but it would put you at ease if you two talked about it. 

He nodded, taking your words to heart. “Okay.”

With that, your pace picked up again. You bounced on his cock with vigor, hand removed from his throat and back to his shoulders. Miguel’s hands were on your hips as he fucked up into you to meet your own. Both were extraordinarily loud in the lab. Neither cared as they went to chase the high together. A mix of grunts and moans spread amongst the atmosphere. 

Then, a comfortable silence took its place.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #slushycoookie writes

[b1rds3ye]

Cod men with an so that has a kink for their gear/uniform …thats all

Anon you are SPEAKING MY LANGUAGE at this rate my obsession for people in uniform is unhealthy but it IS WHAT IT IS ✌️(only price and gaz for this one tho, my brain just ain’t braining for ghost and soap 😩😩)

In Uniform

Characters: Captain John Price, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

GN!Reader w/ no physical descriptions

Word Count: 1.4 (~700 each)

Genre: Fluff, Smut 18+/MDNI, established relationship

Warning: Smut, 18+/MDNI, No overly dom/sub themes I don’t think? riding + worship (Price), thigh riding (Gaz), if I miss anything, let me know

A/N: This is the spiciest I've ever written (it pales in comparison to the filth I read but reading vs writing is a whole different story WRITING THIS WAS SO HARD ARGH-)

Captain John Price

Price is not blind. For the sake of professionalism, he doesn’t comment on it, but he can’t help but feel smug when he notices how your eyes trace his chest rig. How it looks almost too small with how it hugs to his chest, the straps that wrap over his shoulders emphasising his thick arms and broad torso. How the extra gear he has to equip gives his already large chest more volume

He will never sacrifice practicality and comfort over visuals on a mission… but if he knows he should just be wandering around base he may just tighten the straps of his gear a little more than usual just so it hugs his form better when he meets you. Just because he’s in a stable relationship with you and a high ranking soldier doesn’t mean the captain can’t have some fun and a little ego boost!

Still, Price is reluctant to test the extents of your uniform kink. His uniforms are often filthy and he can’t imagine anything more repulsive than some crusty blood of the enemy staining the pure haven that is your shared bed. Even after they’re cleaned, there’s a lingering concern that they’re not clean enough

But if there’s anything that John is weak to, it’s you with your hopeful eyes and sweet smile. He’ll triple clean his uniform and he’s ready to for it to join the confines of your bedroom

Even under you, Price prides himself on his restraint. He hasn’t lost the image of a commanding captain, still fully dressed save for the fly of his cargos pulled down just enough to free his cock that is now buried in you. The rough fabric of his cargos leave a pleasant burn against your bare thighs, but it’s nothing compared to the pleasant burn of John stretching you out. You want to move your hips faster, to have him hit the parts you know he can hit perfectly. But no, this night will be slow, cherishing the delicious sight below you.

You shift slightly and you whine at the impossible fullness from within. Distracting yourself from the intoxicating pain you drag your hands along his chest rig. Prying and slipping your fingers into every crevice and bend of straps and pockets, they twitch as an odd aftershock washes through your body. Under your palms John’s chest lifts with every heavy breath. Pressing them flat against his stomach as it deflates, you exhale with him as your relaxing body adjusts to him filling up your every crevice.

John’s hand creeps up to curl around one of your wrists. The plastic coating of his gloves offers a foreign coolness that has your body jolting and you whine as goosebumps coat your burning body.

“Didn’t know you had such a thing for men in uniform,” he simpered, his other hand down to rest on your hip. He idly massages at the plush skin, fingers digging deep down into the layer of muscle. Tilting into his touch, you try and contort yourself to get his hand a little closer to where you’re most sensitive, just that little bit more but he doesn’t relent, his moustache and beard now slightly curved as he watches you with amusement.

“Only you,” you whisper and his next breath is hefty and rugged, accompanied with a satisfied hum that reverberates through his entire being.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Only me.”

You pull your hands back up to his chest rig, you slip your fingers under the securing straps and take a firm grip. Hands dangerously close to his throat, John’s Adam apple instinctively bobs in anticipation.

“Getting handsy, are we?”

“Just need a bit more,” you mutter absentmindedly. You stare at him with blown out eyes. “Can I?”

“Do as you wish.”

Using your grip on his rig, you pull your hips further, feeling him deeper, harder. His hands immediately find purchase on your hips to steady you as you tremor at the new sensation. He only moves with you, his hips offering the faintest of encouragement as he slightly drives them up into you. Once you manage to set a rhythm above him the captain sounds near unrecognisable as he stifles a groan with every tug against his gear.

“Fuck. Just like that, darling.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle is attentive to you, so he is aware of how your eyes scan his body when he walks past. He never thought that his uniform was particularly attractive or attention-grabbing since literally everyone else wears it, but he’s glowing upon noticing that he can entrance you over what’s merely his day-to-day gear

In low stakes situations, this man is teasing you to hell and back. Not directly though, he’ll never explicitly say he knows you have a thing for his uniform, but just before a mission he’ll have you double checking if his chest rig and gear are firmly secured to his body. Of course, they won’t be, and he’ll ask you to tighten the straps, discreetly flexing the respective body parts all the while

Now you can tell when Kyle’s horny. Instead of immediately shedding his gear to wash up and relax with you, he’ll only get rid of weaponry and any contents in his various pockets but the gear and uniform stays on in a (not so) discreet attempt of getting you just as riled up as he is

“Shit, you look so good.”

You let out a halfhearted laugh that morphs into a sigh as you grind your hips against his thigh. Through the flimsy fabric of your underwear, you swear you can feel everything against you. Each individual fibre of his cargo pants, the ridges of the seams. Even through the fabric you can feel the soft swells of his muscular thigh that you’re seated on.

“You should take a look at yourself,” you praise breathlessly.

Even with clothes on, Kyle looked hot as hell. Still in his gear, it made the slivers of his skin that revealed themselves all the more tantalising. His half-unbuttoned shirt revealing skin covered in a sheen of sweat. Sleeves haphazardly shoved up the arm to reveal his lean forearms, veins pulsating with lust as they hold onto your hips like a lifeline.

“Caught you staring earlier,” he mutters. With those godly arms he wraps them around your back, forcing you to lean into him, sweaty forehead against his.

“Thought you were worried about me, but it was really you I should have been worried about.”

His words are lost on you and he only smirks as your hips move forward and back and forward again with reckless abandon. Each drag of your hips getting more exaggerated, more forceful as you strain against Kyle’s arms that selfishly pull you taut to him.

“Let me… move, dammit,” you huff as you struggle to move in his hold.

“What? Is it bad that I want to be close with the love of my life?” he offers an innocent laugh but his eyes are still trained down to where your hips rhythmically meet his thigh with sinful movements.

Grinding your hips, you grunt unexpectedly as a pointed intrusion brushes against your clothed sex, nipping at where it was most sensitive. Christ, Kyle must’ve forgotten to take out a spare magazine in his cargo pockets. The edge of its hard metal giving a delicious contrast against his thick, clothed muscle, you experiment, trying a new angle to brush your most sensitive areas with his leftover weaponry.

It sends a wave of electricity through your body that has you jerking a knee up, one that brushes against Kyle’s hard on and he whines. His embrace only tightens as he tries to silence himself with his face buried in your chest.

“Shit- do that again,” his words are muffled against your skin, echoing through your rib cage.

With the next roll of your hips you pull your knee up once again. The stimulation against his dick has him instinctively flexing his thighs, and you tremble at the extra firmness in between your legs, the sensation evoking a sound of pure sin from you.

Kyle rolls his head to the side to rest on your shoulder, his ragged breaths burning against the crook of your neck.

“Please- fuck - do it again, love.”

You didn’t have to be told twice.

Call of Duty Masterlist

#cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x you #task force 141 x reader #cod smut #captain price x reader #john price x reader #john price smut #john price x you #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick smut #kyle garrick x you #/*avery actually writes*/ #/*avery shut up*/ #anon mail ❤️

[avatar-anna]

2022

Y/n stepped into the studio in search of her boyfriend, who had been eluding her for a couple hours now. He woke up before she did, then went off on a morning run, then to rehearsals, and now that everyone was back, she still couldn't find him. Another person might've assumed he was avoiding her, or everyone, but she knew Harry better than most people. He was as clingy as they got, often crawling on top of her when she was at her desk to get her attention and his constant insistence on being the little spoon whenever the two of them watched TV at home. But Y/n knew he liked his space from time to time.

With a little more searching through the unfamiliar Palm Springs house, she found Harry laying in the middle of the studio, one arm draped across his eyes. From her vantage point, Y/n could see her boyfriend's chest rise and fall slowly, as if he'd fallen asleep on the carpeted floor.

"Come lay with me."

Y/n was a little startled to hear his voice, she could've sworn his eyes were closed at the very least, but he must've seen her come in. Still, she didn't question him, didn't say much at all until she was next to him, cheek nestled against his black hoodie. Y/n closed her eyes too, her hand sneaking beneath Harry's layers of clothes to feel his warm skin beneath his palm. Harry hummed, leaning into her touch a little as her breath kept time with his.

"H?"

"Yeah?" he replied, his voice low and croaky.

"Why are we on the floor when there's a perfectly good bed for us to sleep in upstairs?"

"I'm not sleeping," he mumbled.

Y/n picked her head up off his chest, and she smiled a little at the slight pout that turned the corners of his mouth downward. "Then what are we doing?"

"Meditating."

But it was clear Harry was content to lay on the floor in complete silence, so Y/n obliged, once again resting her head against his chest and focusing on his breathing. Minutes passed until she wasn't sure how long they'd been laying prone like that, but she didn't say anything. Even when she started to feel the hard floor beneath the rug and grew uncomfortable, she stayed put. There was something on Harry's mind, Y/n could tell. He was just finding the words.

He said it with finality, as if that was an obvious reason to be laying on the floor of the house's studio. But Harry was like that sometimes, believing him and Y/n were so in synch that she could read his thoughts. Most of the time she could follow his train of thought without him having to say anything, though even she had to admit this was unusual behavior for her boyfriend.

"You're supposed to be meditating," Harry mumbled.

Harry might've been meditating, but Y/n had never been all that good at it personally. She could hardly get through basic yoga poses without getting distracted or falling into a fit of giggles. Now her eyes were getting heavy, the smell of Harry's cologne and the soft material of his sweatshirt putting her to sleep.

Blinking slowly, Y/n inched her way up until she was face to face with her boyfriend. His eyes were closed, and if he hadn't just spoken, she would've guessed he was asleep. Tapping his nose gently, she said, "You're taking too long to talk to me."

"Oh. Well, excuse me," Harry said, one corner of his mouth turning up into a crooked smile.

"You know what I mean," Y/n said. She kissed his jaw, her thumb grazing the other side of his face. "We're laying on the floor in the middle of a studio. That's pretty strange, even for an eccentric celebrity such as yourself."

"You're just full of jokes after your nap."

"I wasn't napping!" Y/n insisted, pinching his stomach. Harry giggled and pinched her back until they were both rolling around the studio and play-wrestling until both breathing heavily with laughter. The tussle ended with Harry on top of Y/n his knit sunflower hat tickling her forehead.

"Talk to me. What's bothering you?" she asked him gently. She took his hat off and ran her hand through his hair, twirling a strand around her finger.

"It's all just...happening so fast," Harry finally admitted. He rolled back onto the floor, his head turning so he could still face Y/n. "I feel like just yesterday we were quarantining back home, and now we're here, and I...Am I crazy if I kind of miss it?"

Y/n's gaze softened. "You were chomping at the bit to go on tour when lockdown started," she said, smiling at the memory of those first few weeks. "And now the world is opening up and you get to perform again. This is a good thing, bub."

She and Harry hadn't been dating for very long when lockdown started, but they stayed in a bubble with Sarah and Mitch, which helped to make it feel like she and Harry weren't diving into moving in together so quickly. Y/n worried she would grow to despise him or discover a habit of his she didn't like and vice versa after spending so much quality one-on-one time together, but she didn't, and neither did he. Eventually the two of them quarantined without their friends, and Harry was right, it was honestly the best time. Y/n had never felt so close to someone before. All the movie nights and making dinners and late night wine and card games and cuddling for hours while sharing secrets and staying up and helping him with his music were so precious to her, and she wouldn't trade it for anything. But this was important too.

"I know what you mean," Y/n said. "I've missed my all-access pass to Harry Styles whenever I want."

Harry grinned. "You still have that, dork."

"And you still have me," she said earnestly. "But you're also going on tour again, H, and that's amazing. This album is so good, and you've worked so hard. If you need to take a step back from it all and have to decompress with little old me, you can. You know you can. But this is good too, okay? This is great. I mean, look at where we are? Coachella? Come on."

"I'm so nervous," Harry admitted.

"That's okay," Y/n told him. "I know you're gonna be great. And after that? We'll come back here and unwind. We can still do what we did during lockdown, bubbie. We'll just take it on tour. If I'm invited, that is."

Harry gave her a funny look. "Of course you're coming."

"Okay. Then that's that. Nothing to worry about."

Y/n grinned at him, but Harry just kind of stared at her. Normally she was pretty good at reading her boyfriend, but this was a look she'd never seen before. She was about to ask him what he was thinking now when he blurted,

"I'm gonna marry you someday," he said quietly, turning on his shoulder so he could face Y/n better.

Her eyes widened. They'd never talked about the future like that before. Y/n had been hoping and praying that Harry was the one for a while now and that he felt the same, but it had never been put in such plain terms before. Or out loud.

"Promise?" was all she could think to say.

Harry nodded. "Promise."

Y/n's grin was wider than anything she thought was capable. "Now can you please take me upstairs so we can lay on something other than a rug over hardwood floors?"

Rolling his eyes playfully, Harry stood up and helped Y/n to her feet, promptly picking her up until his legs were around his waist. "My fiance is so demanding," he said, leaning in for a kiss, but she stopped him by placing a finger on his mouth.

"Absolutely not. I am not your fiance until you ask me properly on one knee with a ring in your hand. And you can't call me anything else but your girlfriend until you do."

Harry looked amused but didn't argue, just raised his brows and glanced down at where Y/n's finger was still pressed against his lips. Smiling, she wrapped her arms around his neck, gripping the ends of his curls excitedly as he walked them out of the studio.

#harry styles #boyfriendrry #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

[sinsandsweetness]

Please can u do a rickyl breeding kink. Like they see how she looks after Judith and it makes them want to take turns filling her up ❤️❤️

TAKING TURNS

(Rick & Daryl x fem!reader)

warnings- 18+ content, breeding kink obv, smut, creampies, FMM threesome, taking turns, mentions of getting reader pregnant, pregnancy and unprotected p in v. kinda fluffy and not rlly proofread…

notes- first time writing a breeding kink so… let me know how it is:) reblogs and comments are very much appreciated <3

Daryl nudges his friend, taking a sip of the bottle of water in front of him. “Quit starin’ .” He hisses, breaking Rick’s gaze away from you. Sitting all pretty, on a rug in his cell. Judith sitting right in front of you, a little, blue rattle keeping her attention as you talk to her. Your sweet, soft voice, mumbling quiet little praises at her. And she won’t stop grabbing for your hand or your hair or the rattle as she babbles away.

“M’not… staring…” Rick mumbles.

“I can practically see your dick getting hard. Pick your jaw up off the floor, yeah?” Daryl says, pretending that he’s not just as guilty. They both glance back over and rake their eyes over the shape of your body. The way your tank top cups your breasts, and your shorts hug your hips. And most importantly, how fucking attractive you are, smiling and blowing kisses at the 5 month old in front of you. How… maternal. It was driving both the boys a little crazy.

Daryl can’t help but imagine you holding his own mini me. A little boy with his eyes and your hair. And definitely Daryl’s attitude.

For Rick, seeing how good you are with his baby girl, it made his heart swell. Feeding her and playing with her, always being the one to know exactly what she needs. Seeing just how natural it comes to you. How he knows you’d be a good mom one day. How he wants to be the one to make you a mom one day.

“Like you’re any better.” Rick shoots back, his voice tearing Daryl out of his daydream. Both men still staring. And as you look over, they both straighten up. You wave the rattle at them and give a sweet smile, returning your attention to a talkative Judith quickly after.

“Fuck.” They both mumble in unison.

“It’s hard enough having no condoms around here. And then she’s gotta go ahead n’…”

“Make you actually wanna put a baby in her?” Daryl finishes Rick’s sentence for him. Whether it was what he was going to say, or just what he’s really thinking, it didn’t matter. It was true.

Ricks jaw clenches at the thought and he actually has to look away. The front of his jeans are all tight and his cheeks turn warm.

“She’s gettin’ a little fussy,” Both boys turn around to you walking over, holding a crying Judith. “Think she might need daddy to put her to bed.”

Rick has to bite his tongue at that comment. Taking his baby girl from your arms, and she seems to calm down fairly quick in his arms.

“Thanks,” he shifts Judith onto his hip and leans down to your ear to whisper, “You, uh… you stayin’ up or headin’ to bed?”

You smile at him all knowingly. “I could stay up if it means I get to see you a little longer…”

Rick nervously chews his lip and gives you a weak smile as he heads off to his cell, to calm Judith down and put her in her crib.

Daryl clears his throat and you turn to face him.

“What?” You kind of half laugh, as his hand starts playing with the hem of your shorts. “Nothin.” He bites back a smile. “Wanna get outta here?” He jokes, hand making it’s way up your waist, thumb brushing your nipple through the thin fabric of your tank.

“Um…” you look over, distracted by the curtain closing in the doorway of Rick’s cell.

“Hey, look.” Daryl grabs your attention and your hand, starting off towards your own cell. “He’s gonna be a minute. We’ll just get started without him. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

And he didn’t. Didn’t mind at all. Walking in on the two of you. Laying on your back, shorts already gone, with your legs wrapped around Daryl’s waist. An elbow by your face, propping him up so he could kiss you all slow and sloppy. Little grunts and moans falling from the two of you as he ground against you, nice and gently. The lace of your panties rubbing so deliciously in between your clit and his crotch.

“M- more-” you stutter, not realizing that you have extra company.

“Think that can be arranged, don’t you Daryl?” Ricks voice startles the both of you, turning to see him unbuttoning his dress shirt, knee dipping into the mattress, dangerously close. You swallow hard, lips all wet and swollen. Daryl’s shirt already peeled off and on the ground.

“One’s not enough for you is it, baby? Gotta have two cocks filling you right up. Ain’t that right?” Rick asks, leaning in for a hot, open mouthed kiss that you accept so graciously, hands going to the back of his neck and pulling him into the tangle of limbs on the squeaky bunk bed.

“Mhm.” You agree against his tongue, Daryl pulling at your panties and the two men take their turns. One kissing you, lips trailing down your neck and nipping little marks on to your breasts as the other fucks you so good and hard. And your begging for them as quietly as you can, hoping not to wake anyone up.

“What’s that? Gotta speak up, sweetheart.” Daryl tells you as Ricks dick pumps in to you at a harsh pace, a little whimper leaving your mouth before you can even answer.

“Want you- wanna cum.”

“I didn’t get quite that, did you?” Rick turns to Daryl, who’s biting his lip, trying not to laugh, “You wanna cum, sweetie? Or you want us to?”

“B-both please. Please.” You whine, grabbing onto both of their arms, grip tightening as you feel your orgasm begin to approach.

“Gonna fill you up nice and good, baby. Get you so full of cum, you won’t even know which one of us got you pregnant.”

And your eyes widen at Ricks words. Starting to shake your head ‘no’ but Daryl interrupts you with a kiss.

“Don’t you want it? Tell us how bad you want it, princess.” He orders against your lips. Demanding a price for your orgasm.

“Yes… I want it, Dare,” you whine, arching your back as Ricks tip continues to abuse your g-spot.

“You can do better then that.” He says, leaning back and admiring the sight of you getting absolutely railed. Legs folded to your chest, and your pearly, white juices dripping onto the sheets.

The sight makes his cock twitch and he thinks he could cum right there.

“Want it so bad. Want your cum, Dare. Want- uh- want you to fill me up, please.”

“Mmm, that’s better.” Daryl says, grabbing you by the foot and kissing the inside of your calf. Spreading you open to watch you get cream-pied by his best friend.

“Put- put a baby in me, Rick.” You whimper, eyes rolling back and you reach your climax. Feeling his own hips stuttering immediately, the comment clearly sending him over the edge. Burying himself deep in your cunt as he cums with a groan. Pulling out and switching positions with Daryl. A little grumble of, “I’m going first next time, asshole.” Coming from his lips, before he slides right into you. Giving you zero recovery time before he starts fucking you, the sound of your juices and Ricks cum, squelching and mixing, fills the air. And you can’t help but moan. Ricks thumb makes its way to your clit, rubbing from side to side as Daryl whispers filthy praises, telling you how pretty you’d look carrying his baby. How nice and pregnant you’ll be as soon as their done with you. And you go along with it, too fucked out to argue. Reaching another quick and shaky orgasm. Daryl following immediately after, plunging his own seed into you.

A sticky mess coats your thighs as the two start to get all dressed. A slight flash of worry on their faces in realizing what they actually did. Having come down from their highs, and thinking a little clearer.

You try not to laugh as the two of them chew their lips, grabbing a blanket and cleaning their dirty, little mess up from your thighs.

“What?” Daryl asks, noticing your shit eating grin.

“You guys know that I’m on the pill right…?” And you can’t help but giggle at their reaction.

As much as the the thought of getting you pregnant got the two men going, relief flooded their faces as they both leaned in to attack your cheeks with kisses.

“Some day though, right?” Daryl asks, hoping that your words earlier, weren’t just for show.

“Of course.” You peck both men’s lips, and pull on their arms, forcing them to snuggle up on the tiny mattress. They chat among themselves and trace little patterns onto your back as you try and fall asleep. Dreaming of someday, when a little Rick and Daryl will be running around and causing chaos in your future home.

taglist- @rickswh0r3 , @elnyrae , @catt-leya

(message or comment to be added💗)

#rickyl #rickyl x you #rickyl smut #rickyl x reader #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes smut #rick grimes fanfiction #twd fanfiction #smut #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x y/n #rick x reader x daryl #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x daryl dixon x reader

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Stuck On You

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Dark themes, slut shaming, obsessive behaviour, smut.

Word count: ~6k

Summary: When her email is hacked and racy photos she'd sent to her boyfriend find their way onto Myspace, she becomes the social pariah of Oxford University. She turns to the only person she believes is intelligent enough to be able to help; Michael Gavey. Could uncovering the truth of the situation make things worse than they already are?

Author's note: Written to celebrate one year of my blog existing. Sorry for the delay. Crumbageddon beat the shit out of me. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

“Using a painting of that former duchess as a conversation piece, he describes what he saw as her unfaithfulness, frivolity, and stubbornness, and implies that he prefers her as a painting rather than as a…as a living woman,” her voice shakes, stumbling over her words, watching as her essay papers slip from her hands, fluttering towards the rug of the study.

“Sh-shit…I’m sorry,” she stammers, leaning down to snatch them back up, feeling her skin heat up with embarrassment as she attempts to rustle them back into order.

“Everything alright?” Professor Ware asks, shifting in his seat and clasping his hands in his lap.

“Distracted by her own portrait, I should imagine,” snarks Farleigh, cutting her off before she has a chance to reply. 

He smirks up at her, before returning his focus to the screen of his Macbook, fingers tapping quickly across the keys as he sits on the floor with it in his lap, leaning back against the armchair she currently sits in, his legs crossed at the ankle.

Of course he’d left it until the last minute to do his essay. Lazy prick.

“Stop it,” she hisses, knocking his shoulder with her knee.

“Why? It’s up again already anyway,” he retorts with a casual shrug, not bothering to look at her this time.

Her blood runs ice cold, dread gnawing a pit in her stomach. That would be the fourth time this week.

“Where?!” She demands, leaning down to snatch Farleigh’s Macbook from him, ignoring his protestation of “hey!” as she clicks on the minimised Internet Explorer window to see her Myspace profile already open.

Just as he’d said, there she is. Her profile picture depicts her in a lacy two piece lingerie set, laying on her bed, her cleavage, stomach and thighs on full display. She’d thought the angle flattering when she’d first held the digital camera above herself and snapped the picture, but now it’s splashed all over the internet for everyone to see. It makes her feel sick.

“I have to go,” she says hurriedly, shoving Farleigh’s Macbook back into his lap and stuffing her essay papers into her bag.

She almost trips over Farleigh’s long legs in her rush to escape the tutorial room, the air suddenly feeling too thick and difficult to breathe, as her heart hammers in her chest. Her feet carry her down the hallway in quick strides, no particular direction in mind, just eager to get away.

It had all seemed like innocent fun at first. She had felt excited on the second day of Fresher’s Week when a group of girls from the floor of her accommodation had invited her to go shopping with them

They had wrinkled their noses as she had beelined for the Ann Summers in Westgate Shopping Centre, lured by the big, red sale banner in the window.

“Oh darling,” India had cooed, “don’t buy that rubbish. We’ll get the train into London and take you to Rigby and Peller in Mayfair, if it’s lingerie you’re after.”

She had balked inwardly at the thought of how expensive that would be, but had simply smiled politely, stating “this is fine”, more than happy with the matching black lace set she’d picked from the sale rail.

Back in her room, she’d tried it on, loving the way the material hugged her curves and felt against her skin. Excitedly, she’d dug out her digital camera, contorting herself into various poses that she felt best displayed her assets, until she was satisfied she had several that looked good.

She hadn’t seen her boyfriend, Jake, since she had left for Oxford and he had gone to Brighton. Their reading weeks didn’t align, which meant they’d have to wait until the term came to an end to see each other at Christmas.

Emailing him the photos had felt like a nice way for them to maintain some sort of intimacy, despite the distance, and he’d certainly appreciated it, as a couple of hours later she’d gotten a text from him which simply said “wow!”

The high from that had left her with a smile on her face for days, until she’d stepped out of a tutorial a few days later to see a missed call and a text from him.

“What the fuck are you playing at?!” It had read.

She’d called him back straight away, the urge to vomit growing acrid in her throat as he’d told her what he’d seen, holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder, she’d scrambled with shaking hands to free her laptop from her bag, to confirm what Jake was saying.

There it was. Her Myspace profile picture had been changed to one of the lingerie photos she’d sent to him. This one was a full length photo she’d taken, aiming the camera at the mirror in her room.

The hot prickle of tears had burned beneath her eyelids, as she’d drawn in a shaky breath. “Wh-why would you do that?” She’d whispered tearfully into the phone.

“It wasn’t me!” Jake had snapped angrily. “Perhaps if you hadn't taken those bloody photos in the first place then this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Are you seriously blaming me?!”

“It just looks bad. I think maybe we should cool things for a bit, I can’t with be someone that—”

Tears had rolled down her cheeks as she’d pulled the phone away from her ear, seeing the call had cut off. She’d run out of credit. In a way, she was grateful; she didn’t want to listen to Jake ending their relationship, to continue to blame her for something that wasn’t her fault.

She had taken the photo down, changed her profile picture back to what it was before, and changed the password for both Myspace and her email. However, the damage was done, the whispers of “slut” as she walked to lectures had already started.

Another two days later she had entered the IT lab to print out her essay, and saw a group huddled around a computer, laughing together. They had turned, immediately quietening down, their voices hushed whispers as they looked at her. 

She had pushed them apart, already knowing what it was they were all looking at, but wanting to confirm it. Just as she’d suspected, her Myspace profile was open. This time her photo had been changed to an over the shoulder shot. The side of her face and her buttocks visible as she’d arched her back.

Running back to her room, tears of humiliation blurring her vision, she’d taken the photo down again and changed all her passwords. But once again, it was too little, too late. A print out of the photo slipped beneath her door that same day, with the word “whore” scrawled across it.

Her friends were already starting to pull away, the invites to the pub had dried up into nothing. When another photo had been uploaded, Felix had pulled her to one side.

“Look, I think it’s incredibly daring of you to be doing what you’re doing, and I respect the fuck out of you for it, really I do,” he’d said, eyes filled with sympathy as he’d looked down at her. “But a few of us really aren’t comfortable with how you’re going about…getting attention, so I just think it’s for the best if we take some space until you’ve figured out whatever this is.”

She had been stunned by his words, her eyes going wide as her mouth had dropped open. “You think I’m doing this to myself?!”

“Well, what else are we supposed to think? We’re worried about you. There are better…healthier ways to make yourself stand out. Just come clean and all of this can stop.”

Turning away in disgust, anger and betrayal flaring white hot in her chest, she’d walked away. This was happening to her, she wasn’t complicit in it, and yet people continued to act like it was her fault. She had started to wonder if she really was to blame. Had she tempted fate by taking those photos in the first place?

Today was the fourth time a photo had been uploaded and having fled from the tutorial with Professor Ware and Farleigh, she finds herself in the Bodleian Library, having walked on instinct. 

It serves as a quiet refuge for her in moments when she feels overwhelmed, hiding among the shelves, admiring tomes that are older than she is. She’d come here on her first day, when the influx of new people, sights and sounds had become too much, and she had crouched between the stacks the first time one of her photos had been leaked. The smell of old books and the peace and quiet feels safe.

Walking silently between the study tables she spots him, alone, as he always is; Michael Gavey. He is hunched over a notebook, scribbling furious notes, stopping occasionally to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger.

She had thoroughly embarrassed herself the first time she’d met him, the only time she had ever spoken to him. It had been the night of the fresher’s welcome dinner. She’d heard his outburst in the dining hall, heard how he had answered the subsequent multiplication sum flawlessly and been bowled over by how effortlessly brilliant he was. It was intimidating.

Yet, later that evening fuelled by the courage of five tropical watermelon flavoured Bacardi Breezers, she’d stumbled over to him in the rec room, ignoring how he’d recoiled slightly at her advancing towards him.

She’d wrapped an arm around his neck, taking no notice of the way he’d stiffened beneath her touch.

“Wha’s nine hundred and ninety nine divided by thirteen?” She’d slurred into his ear.

He had bristled slightly, before answering quietly. “Seventy six point eight five.”

She had giggled, patting his cheek, knocking his glasses askew. “Don’t even know how to check that, but I’ll take your word for it, genius.” 

Kissing his cheek, she’d stumbled away, leaving him to wipe away the sticky residue her lips had left behind, while Felix and Farleigh had fallen about themselves, laughing, finding it far funnier than she’d intended for it to be. She had ended up making him a laughing stock without even meaning to.

The memory fills her with shame. She really did find him impressive. He was precisely the type of person she had wanted to rub shoulders with when she arrived at Oxford, yet she had made a fool of herself instead.

She smiled at him whenever she caught his eye on the rare occasions they crossed paths, but he’d either look away or stare at her expressionless.

Perhaps now was her opportunity to make amends. She has no friends now anyway, so it’s not as though she has anything to lose.

Walking over to his table, before she has a chance to talk herself out of it, she sits down heavily in the seat next to him, depositing her bag onto the tabletop.

Michael’s pen pauses its movements, and slowly his head turns to the side, narrowing his eyes at her in silent question.

She suddenly has the urge to run, realising this was a terrible idea. She feels enormous discomfort beneath the scrutiny of his gaze yet, determined to push through it, she offers him a bright smile.

“You’re Michael, aren’t you?” She says, attempting to sound more cheerful than she feels.

“Yes,” he replies simply, placing his pen down and straightening in his seat.

“Thought so. I’m–”

“I know who you are,” he cuts her off. “What do you want?”

“Oh,” she swallows, shifting awkwardly in her seat. She hadn’t anticipated him being quite so blunt. “Well, I wanted to apologise for how I behaved on the first night. I thought maybe we could be friends?”

He scoffs, the corners of his mouth turning up into the faintest of smirks. “As if I’d be friends with someone who’s reading literature. Why pay all that money in tuition fees for a glorified book club?”

For a moment she doesn’t know what to say. Shock, offense and hurt swirl in a hot mixture in her chest. She fights the embarrassing urge to burst into tears. Her voice is small and weak when she finally asks “How do you know what I’m studying?”

Michael nods towards the desk. “There’s a book of Robert Browning poetry sticking out of your bag.”

“Right, yeah…” She feels her skin heat up, turning to slowly tuck the book further down inside, still able to feel his eyes upon her. It’s disconcerting to be observed so closely.

“Where’s that group of losers you usually hang around with anyway?”

The question takes her by surprise, and she laughs softly, though there is no real humour to it. “I don’t think they want to hang around with me anymore.”

“So you’re a Norman no mates too then?”

His expression has softened, a slight playfulness brightens his blue eyes as she looks back at him, and she can’t help but smile. “Yeah, I suppose I am.”

He leans forward, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin up on his hand. “Hmmm. So they got bored of you then?”

“No…I–”

She sighs exasperatedly, running a hand through her hair, before digging through her bag to pull out her laptop. “It’s probably easier if I show you.”

Setting the laptop down on the table, she loads her Myspace page, the same picture she’d seen on Farleigh’s Macbook earlier still set as her profile photo. “Someone keeps changing my profile picture to this. I sent my boyfriend…ex-boyfriend…some photos and now someone has them and keeps doing this every time I change it back.”

Michael’s expression is impassive as he stares at the screen. “Have you changed your passwords?”

“Yes,” she sighs.

“So, you’ve been hacked.”

“Looks that way…I don’t suppose you know anything about computers? Maybe you could help me figure out who’s doing this?”

“Ah,” he clicks his tongue, staring intently at her, “so there it is, pretending to befriend the college nerd because you need computer help. Do you not think it’s a bit of a tired stereotype to assume that because I’m reading maths I’d be able to help you with your IT issues?”

“No, it’s not like that!” She protests, her eyes welling up with tears. She turns away, defeated, deciding this is a lost cause and closes her laptop. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave you alone.”

He sighs. “Well, there’s no need to cry about it. I can help you, just not right now. Are you free later this evening?”

She sniffles, her eyes going wide as she looks at him in surprise. “Really?”

He nods, closing his notebook and slipping his pen into his breast pocket. “I’ve got a tutorial in twenty minutes, but I can help trace the IP of whoever’s hacked you. I’m on the first floor of the Brasenose, second room left of the staircase. I’ll be back around five.”

Nodding, she immediately feels lighter, the possibility that this may finally come to an end instantly lifting her spirits. A chance to get her life back. “That’s perfect, I’ll see you then. Thank you so much.”

He rises, his gaze remaining fixed upon her. “See you later.” 

The way he addresses her, first and last name, sends a shiver down her spine as she watches him turn away and walk slowly out of the library. She wonders what she has gotten herself into, but with no friends and no other options there is little else to be done.

She is filled with restless energy for the rest of the day, unable to sit still or concentrate during the only other lecture she has that afternoon, until eventually she finds herself standing outside of Michael’s room at quarter past five, the hours leading up to that feeling as though they’ve lasted an eternity.

Where there is the faint sound of music or talking coming from the doors she’s passed already on her way here, she is struck by the eerie silence she is met with from his, and wonders for a moment if he’s even home.

Nervous excitement crackles like electricity through her body and her knock is louder than she intends for it to be. She hears shuffling from the other side, until the door swings slowly open. Michael stands poker straight on the threshold, staring down at her.

“Did you bring your laptop?” He asks.

Yet again she is taken aback by how forthright he is, but she nods, stepping in as he moves to the side to let her pass.

Looking around the room, she takes in the plainness of his bedspread, the shelves of mathematics and physics textbooks, the desk set up in the corner that has his laptop open on it. There is nothing that gives even the slightest indication as to who he is as a person.

The sound of him clearing his throat startles her attention back to him, and she turns with an apologetic smile to face him. “Sorry, always weird being in someone else’s room…”

“Right,” he replies, his gaze unwavering as he looks at her. “Laptop?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” embarrassment heats up her skin, as she rummages in her bag, taking it out and handing it to him.

He settles it next to his own on the desk, before taking a seat.

She stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking around, not quite knowing what to do with herself. “Um…where should I…?”

“Anywhere,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand, not looking at her.

She settles on the edge of the bed, running her hands over the soft cotton of the duvet cover. It’s an odd sensation to sit so casually in the space that she knows he sleeps. It feels too familiar, too intimate.

Glancing to the side, she notices the shimmer of gold and purple in the bin. She smiles to herself, having learned something about him in spite of the lack of personal effects in his room. He has a sweet tooth, evidenced by the Crunchie bar wrappers in the bin.

“Password?” He asks, and her head snaps up towards him.

“Hmm?”

He turns in his chair, resting his arm on the back of it, glaring at her over his shoulder. “The password for your laptop, what is it?”

“Oh!” She exclaims. “Is it safe for me to tell you that?”

“It is if you want me to help you,” he sighs.

She squirms uncomfortably. He has the innate ability to make her feel small, foolish, but what’s most disconcerting is that she doesn’t dislike it, there is something about him that draws her to his condescension. 

“It’s Shakespeare,” she tells him sheepishly, “with a four in place of the first A.”

“What about the passwords for your email and Myspace accounts?”

“The same.”

“The same?!”

“I’ve changed the passwords each time a new photo has been posted, but it’s just easier to have the same one for everything.”

He groans, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “No wonder you’ve been hacked, typical fucking liberal arts student.”

She lowers her gaze, fingers plucking nervously at the bedspread. “Different passwords for every account, got it.”

“Well, that’s a start, yes,” he tells her, turning back to the screens. “Has anyone but you had access to your computer?”

“No, it stays in my bag when I’m not using it.”

She sits watching him tap away at the keyboards of both laptops alternately for a few moments before she speaks again. “I’m not stupid, you know,” she tells him, her voice sounding meeker than she means for it to. “English Language and Literature is no less of a respectable course than Mathematics. I wrote an essay on the Robert Browning poem, My Last Duchess, recently. It’s a fascinating piece, focusing on the Duke of Ferrara using a painting of his former wife as a conversation topic. The Duke speaks about his former wife's perceived inadequacies to a representative of the family of his bride-to-be, revealing his obsession with controlling others in the process. Browning uses this compelling psychological portrait of a despicable character to critique the objectification of women and abuses of power. It’s a compelling commentary on social status and elitism.”

“What would you know about either of those things?” He asks, continuing to type.

“More than I’d like to,” she says quietly, “I don’t fit in here, not really. I earned my place with a scholarship.”

He pauses, stiffening, glancing over his shoulder at her with a “hmm”.

“I’ve managed to get into the access logs for both your email and Myspace accounts,” he tells her. “There are two sets of IPs that have accessed both accounts in the last week, but both are eduroam IP addresses.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that whoever is uploading those photos is doing so from the university.”

The revelation hits her like a punch to the gut, she feels paralysed, unable to speak as his words sink in. A part of her had wanted to believe it was Jake. To think there is someone at the university who is doing this to her makes her feel nauseated. Her mind races with the possibilities of who it could be. Felix? India? Farleigh? What reason could any of them possibly have to want to do that to her?

“What should I do?” She asks worriedly, staring at Michael with her brows pinched together. “Do you think reporting it would help?”

He swivels his chair fully around to face her and shakes his head. “Not if you intend to keep your scholarship. Rocking the boat over leaked nudes won’t look good to the university board, they’ll take issue with the fact that you even took those photos in the first place.”

“So I just have to let this keep happening?” She feels her throat tighten, wetness rims her eyes.

“Change your passwords,” he says matter of factly. “A different one for every account.”

She nods, expelling a shaky breath, before standing. “I should probably get going. Thank you…for everything.”

Before she goes to bed that night, she changes her passwords - a different one for every account she owns, and deletes the newest uploaded photo, returning her profile picture to its original state.

As far as she is concerned, that should be the end of it. However, her breath hitches, icy cold fingers of fear gripping her heart when she logs on the following morning. Not only has her profile picture been changed to another photo from the set she’d taken for Jake, but the “about me” section now reads “vapid cunt”.

On autopilot, she dresses, taking her laptop and walking the six minutes from Christ Church Halls to Brasenose College.

As soon as Michael’s door opens, she flings her arms around his neck, sobbing into his chest. He stiffens, not returning the gesture, until she finally pulls away.

He straighens, adjusting his glasses. His hair is rumpled from sleep, clad in a t-shirt and plaid pyjama bottoms.

“God, I’m so sorry, I woke you up,” she says tearfully, “I should go. I didn’t think, I just–”

“It’s fine,” he says flatly, ushering her in.

She sits down on the bed. It’s unmade, still warm from where he’s been sleeping in it. The feeling sends a shiver down her spine, despite her emotional distress.

Gingerly he sits next to her, keeping a respectable distance as she removes her laptop from her bag and opens it. “It’s happened again. I did everything you said to do, but it’s happened again, and it’s worse this time. Look–”

Handing him the laptop she shuffles closer to him, her thigh pressed against his. She can feel the warmth of him through her leggings. It causes butterflies to flutter in her belly, it’s been so long since she’s been this close to anyone.

Michael doesn’t stiffen at her touch this time, whether it’s because he doesn’t mind it or is too distracted by what he sees on the screen, she’s unsure, but it’s progress.

“Hmm. And you’re sure you changed your passwords?”

“Yes, all of them. I don’t know what else to do. If I report it, I risk my scholarship, but if this carries on I’ll lose it anyway, because how can I concentrate when this keeps happening?”

He says nothing, closing her laptop and passing it back to her.

“I’ve worked my arse off to get here, to earn my place, this can’t be what ends it,” she says miserably, tucking her computer back into her bag.

“I’d suggest focusing on your studies and less on your peers,” Michael says matter of factly. “You haven’t made the best choice of friends since arriving here.”

“They’re not my friends,” she whispers, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “At least not anymore. Do you think it’s one of them doing this?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” he replies bitterly, “stay away from them. I’ve got a lecture this morning, but maybe when I’ve got some downtime, I can do a deeper dive, perhaps see if I can track the logins to a device type.”

“You’d do that for me?” She whispers, looking at him with eyes full of appreciation.

“That’s what mates are for, right?”

“Thank you…just…thank you,” she tells him with sincerity, holding his gaze.

She reaches for his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, desperate to kiss his cheek as a gesture of her gratitude, but remembers the first time she’d done it and cringes inwardly. Though Michael’s hand doesn’t clutch back, he doesn’t move it away and, after a few moments, she realises they’re simply sitting holding hands, looking into each other's eyes.

He is beautiful in his own way. His stare, though intimidating, is piercingly blue, and his lips are soft and plump. She swallows, lashes fluttering in embarrassment when she realises she’s staring at his mouth.

Chancing her luck, she leans in, planting a lingering kiss to the corner of his lips. “I’ll be back at lunchtime, okay?” She whispers, before standing and moving towards the door.

He simply nods, fingers raising to brush over the spot where she’d kissed him. The sight puts a spring in her step for the rest of the morning, almost enough to forget about her being hacked. Almost.

She stops at a vending machine in the rec room on her way back to Brasenose at midday, deciding to buy Michael a Crunchie, an additional thank you for him going out of his way to help her.

As awful as having her privacy violated has been, she is grateful that it has brought her and Michael closer together. She had started the term wanting nothing more than to be his friend, and had royally fucked it up.

Now it seems they have mended their rift, and the prospect of being more than just friends is on the cards. Admittedly, he isn’t her usual type, but there is something about him that excites her. She hopes that once this is all over, this can be a fresh start for her at Oxford; her and Michael, just the caliber of intelligence she had wanted to associate with when she’d first applied.

She knocks at his door, hesitating when he doesn’t open it.

“Michael?” She calls out, brow furrowing in concern when he doesn’t answer.

They’d agreed upon lunchtime to meet, where was he? She tries the door handle and it’s unlocked, gingerly she pushes it open, peering slowly inside. He’s not there, but if he’d left it unlocked then he’d surely be back soon and wouldn’t mind her waiting inside for him.

She steps into the room, finding it much the same as before, only this time the bed is made. Walking over to the window by the desk, she stops to admire the view of the church, startling slightly when her bag knocks the computer chair, disturbing the mouse and taking Michael’s laptop out of sleep.

As she is about to turn back to the window, she notices her Myspace profile is open in edit mode in his browser. She frowns, a feeling of unease washing over her, as she steps towards the desk, her hand trembling as she reaches for the mouse.

She minimises Internet Explorer, gasping when she sees a folder open on his desktop, filled with the photos she had sent to Jake, all of them, even the ones that hadn’t yet been set as her profile picture.

Her heart pounds as she selects all of them, deleting them before clicking on the recycling bin to empty it.

“You didn’t think I’d be stupid enough to not create back ups, did you?”

Turning, she sees that Michael has returned, so quietly she hadn’t noticed. His fingers clutch at the USB stick that’s clipped to his cargo shorts, lips turned up into an expression of smugness.

Tears prickle her eyes, as her heart lurches, the only word that escapes her is “why?” as she looks at him with arched brows, her face pinched into an expression of emotional hurt.

“Why?” He repeats, cocking his head, advancing towards her as she shrinks back into the corner. “Because someone needed to take you down a peg or two.”

“You’ve ruined my life!” She cries, tears slipping down her cheeks, looking at him in disbelief.

This has to be a dream, it is too surreal. Any moment now, she’ll wake up and all of this will have been a terrible dream.

Only it’s not, it’s real, real as the heat of his breath that fans across her face as he looms over her, having backed her fully into the corner between the desk and the window. 

“What life? Pretending to play a part with people that don’t really like you? Using your pretentious choice in reading material to make yourself seem intelligent?”

“You don’t know anything about me!” She says defiantly.

“Oh, I know all about you. Hiding your scholarship from those vapid cunts, so they won’t sniff out your working class background and drop you. The variations of John Browning as your password - adding a different number to each variation doesn’t make it a different password, stupid girl.”

“I was nice to you…” She offers feebly, almost pleading with him.

He smirks, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, gripping harshly, forcing her to look at him. “You felt sorry for me. But it’s not me that needs pity, is it? It’s you. Poor little scholarship slut. You love that My Last Duchess poem so much because you see yourself in it, don’t you? Think you’re being objectified, treated unfairly. Well, let me tell you something, you are like that poem, but in the sense that you’re better in pictures than you are in real life.”

“Stop it,” she whispers, trying to pull away from him.

“Truth hurt, does it?” He asks, his grip on her face remaining tight. “That’s a pity. I enjoyed those pictures, really enjoyed them. It’s a shame the real life version is so whiny and pathetic.”

“I’ll report you,” she says quietly.

“Oh, I don’t think you will, somehow. You love the attention,” he tells her, dropping his hand from her chin to her shoulder, turning her and backing her up towards the bed. “I’ve seen how you look at me. If I wanted to fuck you right now, you’d let me.”

“I–I wouldn’t!” She stammers, feeling her face grow warm.

With a gentle shove from him, she topples back against the mattress, and he is quick to move over her, caging her in. “Liar,” he whispers in her ear.

She shudders at the sensation, despising the way her body betrays her, as heat pools between her legs. She shouldn’t be turned on by this, yet she can’t deny the way he sets her pulse racing.

“I haven’t ruined your life, but I could and you’d let me, wouldn’t you?” He hisses.

The weight of him on top of her, his warm breath fanning against her neck, it’s dizzying. She wants to tell him to get off of her, to push him away, yet she cannot find it in herself to do so. There is a part of her that’s curious to see how far he’ll push this.

When she doesn’t say anything, he carries on, nimble fingers moving to the waistband of her leggings, tugging them down. “I’m going to treat you like the desperate, little slut that you are, and you’re going to let me, aren’t you?”

She whines, lifting her hips as he rids her of the bottom half of her clothing.

“That’s what I thought,” he smirks.

His gaze falls between her legs, tentative fingers reaching out to brush through the wetness that has gathered there. She sees a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes and wonders if he has ever done this before.

She knows his moment of hesitation would be enough for her to push him away, grab her clothes and report him, yet she feels compelled to stay. If this is his first time, then she wants it to be her. She enjoys the dynamic of the power he has over her, while simultaneously being able to take something from him.

Wanting to bolster his confidence, urge him to continue, she sits up, eager hands unfastening his belt and unzipping his shorts. It flips a switch inside him, and he’s surging forward once more, pinning her beneath him as he pushes his boxers down just enough to free his cock.

“Tell me you want this,” he rasps against the shell of her ear.

“I want this,” she mewls desperately, feeling the head of him resting at her entrance.

“You’re going to keep letting me do this to you, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll wear that tarty underwear from your photos for me, won’t you?”

“...yes.”

He presses forward and is met with resistance, not having fully prepared her. He draws back and pushes against her again, repeating the motion until he’s fully sheathed inside of her. It’s exquisite torture, a pleasurable hurt to be split apart by him, to feel so full.

Breathing heavily through his nose, he stills and she can feel his inexperience in the way that he tenses, but isn’t prepared to give up when they’ve already come this far. She rolls her hips against his, a breathy sigh escaping her as she feels her sweet spot rub up against the head of him.

He screws his eyes shut, jaw going slack, before beginning to move his own hips, pulling back to slam forward once more, quickly finding a rhythm that suits him. This isn’t careful, considered lovemaking, they rut against each other like animals, both of them allowing instinct to guide them as they seek out the movements that feel most pleasurable.

She clings tightly to him, meeting him thrust for thrust, their breaths coming in hot, shallow pants.

“Fucking knew this was all you needed,” he mutters, “someone to teach you a lesson, see you for what you really are.”

“Please,” she whimpers, her hands sliding down to his backside to push him in deeper, causing him to groan.

“F–fuck,” he stutters, picking up his pace when he feels her start to tighten around him. “Tell me you’re mine, you don’t need anyone else, just me.”

“‘M yours,” she gasps, pushing her hips against his, zeroing in on the precipice she is about to fall from.

A particularly harsh thrust is the final shove she needs, and white hot waves of euphoria wrack her body, as she cries out in ecstasy. Suddenly, Michael is withdrawing, leaving her to clench around nothing as he paints her inner thigh with sticky warmth.

He collapses beside her, and she stares into the lightly fogged lenses of his glasses, their noses bumping together.

“Are you still going to ruin my life?” She asks, hazy with pleasure.

For the first time, their lips meet, a messy clash of tongue and teeth, that’s sloppy and wet, their breaths still heavy and movements uncontrolled. 

“You’re going to let me,” he whispers when they finally break for air, “because you’re mine.” Resistance is futile, she will let him. She wants this, needs this. After all, Michael Gavey is the type of person she came to Oxford to associate with in the first place, and she’s gotten exactly what she asked for.

#michael gavey x reader #michael gavey smut #michael gavey imagine #michael gavey x you #michael gavey x y/n #ewan mitchell #michael gavey saltburn #satlburn michael gavey #saltburn #michael gavey fan fiction #michael gavey fanfiction #michael gavey fan fic #michael gavey fanfic #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn fanfic #satlburn fan fiction #satlburn fan fic

[mochimooon]

Break Me Off - gojo satoru x reader 18+

pairing: Gojo Satoru x afab! Reader summary: While staying over Suguru's, you're fine sleeping on the couch for the night. But Satoru swears that the couch is too uncomfortable, resolving (insisting) to the only solution: sharing an air mattress with him. word count: 4k+ notes: First time writing the one bed trope and writing Gojo 😳 warnings: smut, explicit content, explicit language, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f! receiving), teasing, edging, face sitting, doggy-style, missionary, some fluff, no real plot, abuse of air mattress MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+ !!

The air mattress swallows the large rug beneath it, rising a few centimeters shy of the sectional couch. 

Padding across the floor, you pause to survey the size of the mattress. 

“I didn’t know those could get that big.” You scratch at the back of your neck. You were fine settling on the couch or piling pillows on the rug for the night, until Suguru suggested to Satoru that he should set up an air mattress. 

Satoru seals the hole at the corner, giving it a trial push with the tip of his finger. “All inflated.” He sounds pleased with himself. 

You watch him rise to his feet, skirting around it to grab the duvet Suguru had left on the table, while you avoid it like a puddle of water. 

The duvet falls onto the mattress with a silent thud, followed by a few pillows that Satoru snatches from the couch. He gets to work arranging them on one side of the mattress, crawling onto it with his knees. Satisfied, he sprawls onto his back about to slip under the blanket when he notices you standing nearby. 

He raises a brow, eyes shifting between you and the empty space on the mattress. “Do you want that side or…?”

A frown forms on your face. “I was going to take the couch.” 

Satoru blinks, shooting a look at the sectional. “The mattress is big enough for the both of us. That’s why I inflated it.” He gestures to the extra space. “Plenty of room to stretch out.”

Sure, he’s not wrong. The mattress is easily a king size, fitting within the space in front of the couch. You didn’t understand why Suguru had one so big, but you thought it was for Satoru not for the both of you. 

Taking a step on the mattress, you wince as the weight of your foot wobbles against the unsteady surface. For better measure, you drop to your knees to crawl towards the couch.

“I’m good, I’ll stick with the couch.” You throw over your shoulder.

Satoru snorts his disbelief, and you pause to turn, affronted. He must think you’re joking. 

“That couch will kill your back,” he says. “Been there, done that, and you’d regret it.” He taps the space next to him. “Take that side of the mattress. A bed is more comfortable than the couch.”

Again, he’s right. However, you hesitate to believe that a blow-up bed is the same as one with coils or foam. But that’s not the cause of your hesitation. 

Satoru’s back to arranging the blanket, patting his pillow for more volume, giving you a chance to glimpse at his bare arms and strong hands. Each sharp smack of the pillow makes you weak; you restrain the urge to flinch each time. 

You bite your lip. This is going to be a long night for you. 

Without arguing further, you reach for the extra pillow on the couch. Not wanting to jostle the mattress, you stretch your arm, fingers ghosting the sides of the pillow, unaware that your shirt has ridden up your stomach. 

Meanwhile, as Satoru angles his body to lay down, his blue eyes get distracted with the length of your sweat shorts. Already short to begin with, a dusting of pink spreads across his cheeks, zeroing in on the curve of your ass that is scantily covered.

It takes him a moment before he realizes your struggle to get the pillow. 

You catch yourself on the mattress when the pillow is snatched from reach. You blink, face to face with Satoru, extending a hand for the pillow. “Um…thanks.”

Satoru pulls it away, holding it in his grasp like bait as his eyes darken, setting your ears aflame. 

The pillow plops back onto the couch while the mattress dips at the center as Satoru lunges at you. 

You’re pinned to the surface, pulse going mad, watching Satoru loom over your body. He eclipses the light overhead, casting the back of his head in a faint halo, a stark contrast to his devilish smirk

The stare-down ticks away at an agonizing pace, you don’t realize you’re holding your breath until Satoru leans closer, blue gaze dripping down to your lips.

There’s no telling who breaks the tension first, together bridging the gap, lips connect in a fiery kiss. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows for leverage, desperate to deepen the kiss. Though there’s no need. Satoru takes the back of your head to keep you in place while his other arm wobbles along the mattress to anchor your combined weights. 

The contact is nowhere near enough. You gasp, allowing Satoru’s tongue to slide along yours, robbing each other’s breaths, making your head spin, and yearning for more. 

Your arm wraps around the back of his neck to reel him closer as though it’s possible. The sudden excursion sends him off balance. His eyes flutter open as he falls to his side.

There’s little respite. Your lips chase after him anyways, cupping his jawline while the other arm rakes along shoulder blades. 

A groan erupts from Satoru’s throat, a small release of pleasure as every drop of his blood travels south, encouraging his hips forward. 

You whimper at the bulge prodding into your center, though you don’t shy away from it, pulling him closer with immense strength that leaves Satoru both stunned and needy. 

Light footsteps putter down the stairs. 

You and Satoru separate as though caught on fire. You climb to the couch, yanking the blanket from Satoru’s feet to cover you up. 

Satoru whirls his sights in your direction with a desperate look. But he rolls to the edge of the mattress upon hearing Suguru’s voice. 

“Found two more blankets.” Suguru plops them on the arm of the sectional. Brown eyes shift between you laying on the couch nonchalantly and Satoru frazzled, red-faced, and hair tousled. “The mattress is more comfortable,” he tells you. 

You shrug, stacking a pillow against the armrest. 

Suguru sighs, shaking his head. “You’ll hurt your back that way.” He narrows his eyes at Satoru. “Were you asleep?”

Satoru swallows, pressing a pillow on his lap to shield his boner. “Uh—what?”

“You look like you were already rolling around in bed.” Suguru points at Satoru’s hair. He turns to you again, raising a brow. “On second thought, stay on the couch. From what Nanami’s told me, Satoru’s a fussy sleeper.”

Satoru huffs, smoothing out his hair. “It’s because he keeps the heat on all night.”

Suguru nods, lips pressed into a tight line, unconvinced. “Right,” he drawls, addressing you. “Pick your poison. A bad back there, or a black eye in the morning. There’s also room in my bed—”

Satoru’s quick to interject. “She’ll stick to the couch.” He clears his throat, an attempt to disguise his frustration in all arenas. “I already offered her a spot. She wants the couch.” He feigns an exaggerated shrug. “Her loss.”

Suguru tilts his head at you. “If…you’re sure?”

You yawn, nodding. “Yep. I prefer to sleep on something hard anyways. The firmer the better.” From the corners of your vision, Satoru’s jaw clenches, and you bite back a grin. 

Suguru raises his arms in surrender. “Alright. If you change your mind, don’t hesitate to come up.” He breathes a laugh at your eye roll. “Extra blankets here. It gets chilly at night. I’m off to bed. Night.”

He gets the lights as he heads upstairs with an echoing click of his door. 

You blow out a long-winded sigh, tucking under the blanket unable to stop another yawn from spilling out. “Night, Gojo.”

He snaps to attention with feral haste. A yelp locks in your throat at the hand on your ankle, dragging you off the couch and back on the air mattress.

“Satoru—” you say with a shaky breath. Your shirt has ridden up so high, stopping just below your breasts. 

Cool air kisses the exposed skin, goosebumps blooming with a shiver to be under Satoru. Even in the darkness, his wolfish smirk is a beacon that cannot be ignored. 

He tuts, hand grazing your side. “We’re not finished. We’ve barely started.”

Your lip catches between your teeth. “Well, Suguru said it gets chilly. We better start warming up.”

Satoru’s smirk widens, contradicting your statement with the toss of his shirt. 

The rustle of fabric lands somewhere in the dark. Not that you care, because the second you get a glimpse of Satoru shirtless, you’re in silent awe. 

And of course, Satoru notices, a grin spreading across his face. “Like what you see, huh?”

You feign confusion, channeling your voice into a tease. “See what? It’s dark in here.”

It’s a lie, because even with the lights off, enough moonlight pours in through the windows that you’re able to admire every detail of Satoru’s body. His toned arms and chest, long torso, and ripples of muscle that plunge into a deep V past the waistband of his sweatpants. 

Satoru clicks this tongue, calling your bluff. “Liar.”

You say nothing, only holding his stare, tension passing between your eyes and his.   

In a blink, he falls forward the same time your arms enfold his neck. Like the strike of a match—heat crackles between starved kisses.  

He nips at your bottom lip a few times that your mouth falls open to accept his tongue again, exchanging moans, tickling the sensation building in your stomach. 

“Well, if you can’t see me,” Satoru breathes. “Lucky for you, I can make this a more sensory experience.” He seizes your lips again, deeper and longer this time. 

You moan into his mouth, feeling the curve of his lips against yours. Satoru’s ego may be bloated and ruffle some feathers, but to you it’s something you’ve never been able to resist. A man who’s self-assured, far past the point of arrogance—it’s your biggest weakness. You enjoy yourself a cocky S.O.B. 

Unable to get enough, your fingers comb into Satoru’s hair, nails digging into the scalp, swallowing his pleased hum. 

However, as much as you want to get busy, a concern worms its way to the front of your mind. You push Satoru’s chest gently. With some urging, you’re able to break free.

“Wait—” You turn away, dodging his lips again, pushing against his chest. “Satoru, wait.”

“Huh?” He doesn’t pull away, content with spoiling your jaw with kisses. “What’s the matter, baby?” A kiss to your jawline. “You don’t like this?” Another kiss marks your cheek. “Too gentle?” Fingers wrap around your jaw, this time to kiss your lips. “I can be rough too. Just say the word and—”

“Satoru, time out,” you say in a hushed tone.

Finally (begrudgingly), he relents, peeling away, aghast that you’d have the audacity to stop him.

“Let’s move to the couch,” you whisper. 

“The couch?” Satoru clicks his tongue. “What is it with you and that couch?”

“It’s stable, that’s what,” you say. 

“C’mon, you’re more fun than that. We can’t roll around on a couch. I inflated this thing for us.”

“To sleep on…” 

“Isn’t that what we’re about to do?” he purrs, back to peppering your face with kisses that trail to your neck, leaving shadows of heat to blaze beneath your skin. You release a breathy moan.

“Does my girl like that?” he whispers. “Hm? Does my girl like it when I kiss her here?” He sucks at your pulse, and you supply your answer by driving your nails deeper into his hair, keeping him close. 

He chuckles, moving to your throat, kissing it tenderly. “You still want to sleep on the couch?”

Words tangle together on your tongue, too jumbled to verbalize an answer. 

At your silence, Satoru’s teeth graze the side of your neck, voice dropping to a low rumble. “Yes?” He bites down with enough force that promises to leave a mark, and another whimper leaks from your mouth. “Or no?”

Only a few inches away, the couch is the furthest thing from your mind. You swallow, shaking your head.

That’s not an adequate answer for Satoru. He smirks into your neck, content to tease you more. “No…? No what, baby?”

Satoru’s hand runs up the side of your body, sliding beneath your shirt to cup your breast. 

“Satoru…” you stammer out.  

“Yes…?” he hums, intent on teasing you, lightly pinching your nipple. 

The sensation ripples through you, an electric shock radiating down to your pussy. Not a moment of reprieve is spared as Satoru thumbs your pert nipple with gentle attention, contrasting the sting of teeth on your neck.

It’s all so tantalizing to experience, the gentle ministrations of his hand and the greedy bite of Satoru’s mouth. Your head swims, slowly submerging into a pool of desire, awaiting for the tide to sweep you away.  

Just then, Satoru’s weight is lifted, giving you no room to protest. He tugs the end of your shirt, slipping it off in a whirl of fabric. You fall back on the mattress, bouncing lightly as it moves like the sway of water. 

While you don’t snark at him, you do click your tongue at his brusque nature, which is met with Satoru’s wide grin. 

“I can’t be the only one topless,” he says, dropping unceremoniously to kiss your breast. The force dips the mattress a little before it rises again. “It wouldn’t be fair.”

You snort but welcome the return of his attention, grateful for it as his mouth slots over your nipple, sucking deeply. 

He takes your other breast in his hand, kneading the flesh with more pressure, you toss your head back. Your chest balloons, bending your back in a low arch, small bursts of breath pushing past your lips. 

“You see?” Satoru purrs, sucking harshly. He moans into your breast and lets go. “It wouldn’t be fair to you if you still had your shirt on.” His tongue drags along your nipple. “How can I spoil my girl if she’s not fully naked beneath me?”

You bristle at the pet-name; every time you hear it, pride sprouts in your chest. 

Needy and riled up, you raise a leg to swathe it across Satoru’s lower back. 

He obliges you with a press of his boner against your crotch. Arousal rushes from the friction as Satoru’s hips grind against yours, the mattress sliding back and forth with the momentum. 

Your hips buck up, sighing his name. “Satoru.” 

He hisses, dick twitching. “You’re going to fucking kill me.” Always with the theatrics.

You breathe a laugh. “I might, if you keep me waiting.”

You realize a second later that that was a mistake to say. A wry look unfolds along Satoru’s features, his blue eyes shining with a fiendish glimmer. 

He better not. No—not when you’re already so desperate to be touched. 

But Satoru enjoys a challenge, a game any time it presents itself. A man with his ego never turns down the opportunity to please and tease. 

“Satoru…” Your voice raises a little in warning. “I’ll climb back on that couch—”

“Shhh…” he purrs against your lips. “Suguru’s asleep, remember? Can’t wake him up. You’re a guest in his house, don’t be rude.” He tuts. 

You make a noise of discontent that’s quickly buried under a moan of renewed pleasure. You note that he doesn’t try to silence that. Satoru’s tongue explores your mouth again, slower this time, excruciatingly so. Asshole. 

He presses his bulge against you once more, relishing in your helpless whimper. His pride must be swelling right now. For a man that can be hasty at times, you’re surprised with his patience. 

It’s maddening to think of how he maintains his serenity when he’s rock hard in his sweatpants, dick twitching every so often when he grinds against you.  

You don’t have that sort of restraint, but you also don’t have that sort of ego either. 

Privy to your frustration, Satoru takes the moment to tease with his silver-tongue. “Did you think I’d go fast? Why would I? Now that no one will interrupt us, we’re going to play all night long, baby.”

You pull away, pouting. 

Satoru takes your jaw in his hand to prevent your escape. He lips press into the frown on your forehead and you’re weak to the affection that you can’t stay annoyed. 

As your reward, Satoru’s other hand hooks into the waistband of your sweat shorts. With his eyes on you, he slides them away, along with your panties, jostling the air mattress slightly. Along with your shirt and his, they’re now lost in the dark.  

Goosebumps rise along your skin with renewed anticipation. Not wanting to prolong his teasing, you’re patient (or you try to be).  

“Lay back,” he murmurs, kissing your jaw. He slinks lower, scattering kisses and bites all over your exposed skin. From your neck to your breasts, your ribcage, and your stomach, Satoru’s steadfast in leaving no inch of skin neglected. 

Time flows in slow motion by the time he reaches your hips, your pussy throbs to have him this close. No surprise, Satoru takes some time to give your hips the same attention, and finally he stops, face to pussy. 

A shudder curls down your spine. 

“We finally meet,” he laughs at his own humor.

You bite your tongue, the sexual frustration reaching a fever pitch. 

Satoru leans back on his haunches, wobbling the mattress in the process. 

He pries your legs apart so wide, your inner thighs twitch from the strain. You pay it no mind, rather watching Satoru with a curious look that makes you gush. 

He stares, no—gawks, openly at your pussy, wearing an expression of awe and mischief. Time crawls and the chill of the night settles in the room, but the longer Satoru stares, the warmer you become, hot with frustration. 

You break the silence. “Satoru…” 

Thankfully, your voice pulls him back, just a little. He continues to stare at your wet pussy, dripping and swelling under his scrutiny. You throb to be touched, your own fingers reaching lower to help yourself. 

“Ah-ah,” Satoru finally utters and your hand rests on your stomach. 

You huff. “What are you doing?”

“Looking at your pussy.” He grins, the vulgarity tasting like honey to your ears. He releases your knees, a hand wisping closer. “It’s so pretty.”

A gasp hitches deep into your chest, a storm of ecstasy brewing fast when Satoru’s fingers brush against your pussy lips. 

Slick coats his fingertips. He drags them along your pussy again, swiping at your aching clit and lightly smacks it, making you flinch. “A well-behaved pussy, all wet and ready for me to stretch out.”

Without further preamble, Satoru is merciful, slipping in a finger with ease, and it’s not long when another finger joins it to massage your walls. 

You hum your appreciation, glossy eyes looking up to find Satoru watching you. The blue in his eyes have been mostly swallowed in dark lust, hiding behind a lidded gaze. 

You lick your lips, admiring the sight above, and his smile suggests that he’s enjoying the view beneath him too. 

His thumb swipes your clit a few times, matching the rhythm of his fingers inside of you. They curl and stretch, filling the living room with the sound of your arousal. Your hips thrust up for deeper contact, chasing the path towards bliss. The corners of your vision spark, your pussy clenches around Satoru’s slender fingers, heralding your release. 

Another whine escapes you, one of discontent when Satoru pulls away entirely; the sparks fizzle away and you blink.

The frustration is short-lived, replaced with confusion as he grabs hold of you roughly. 

The room spins, Satoru rolls you both over, the mattress moving like a wave beneath your backs.

You’re brought to your knees, nearly falling forward from the unsteady dip in the mattress. But strong hands from below anchor you in place. 

You catch your breath, gathering your wits, realizing that Satoru has pulled you astride his face. His warm breath against your pussy snares your attention and you meet his eyes for a beat until he seats you on his mouth. 

It’s all tongue you feel, licking with purchase and need, granting you what you’ve been craving.

Satoru’s done teasing, he’s done going slow. He’s done holding back. The pace he’s set ignites every nerve in your body, expressing how he can no longer contain himself anymore. His eyes are trained skywards, keen on watching you fall apart.

Your hand takes hold of his hair for stability, yanking a little tightly, but Satoru doesn’t even flinch, gaze unshaken. You take that chance to grind against his face. 

“Fuck—Satoru—” Your thighs quake, reaching your knees and vibrating the mattress. It dips a little, but Satoru refuses to let up.

“I’m gonna make my girl cum,” he murmurs. “Cum on my mouth, okay, baby?” 

He quickens his pace, like a man devout in worshipping you. You gasp the closer you get, utterly delirious from the stimulation. You roll your hips to meet his pace, and after a few more deliberate swipes of his tongue, you cry out. 

“Satoru—I’m cumming—” It’s all babbling after that. Blood rushes loud in your ears, sparks burst like fireworks in your vision. 

Seconds pass and your hand goes slack in Satoru’s hair. His tongue laps you up languidly, no longer urgent.

You’re breathless and at a loss for words. Blinking a few times, your eyes fall back to Satoru, who has not stopped watching you. There’s a telltale smirk as he licks the last of your juices. 

He’s smug, and he has every right to be. 

You’re careful not to move the mattress too much, lifting a leg to allow Satoru up. You barely get a chance to give him space, pausing to drink in the hungry look that flashes along Satoru’s expression; the only warning you’re given. 

Your back bounces against the mattress as Satoru crawls over you, unbridled desire dripping from his gaze 

He captures your mouth, tongue moving with authority, rekindling the extinguished flame in your stomach. 

He springs off of you, shoving his sweatpants and boxers down to free his cock. You lift your head to get a look at it. 

Flushed red at the tip, dribbling precum, a distinct vein protruding down the base—hard and endowed. 

Saliva pools in your mouth, unable to tear your eyes away from it.

Free of his sweatpants and fully nude, Satoru guides your hand to stroke him. 

It’s so fucking heavy. 

Satoru heaves a deep breath, flashing his teeth. “I told you. You’re going to fucking kill me.” A groan rumbles in his throat, reaching your ears like a growl. You shiver in excitement. 

He leans forward on wobbly arms. The momentary kiss is soft, eclipsed with Satoru’s rough hands flipping you over and bringing you on all fours. Crawling closer, the surface of the mattress tilts, making it hard to stabilize your arms and legs. 

But there’s no need, because Satoru’s behind you, rubbing the tip of his dick against your puffy entrance. 

“Ah…” you gasp, thrusting back on instinct. 

Satoru rubs his hands on your ass cheeks, spreading them. You can feel the weight of his eyes there, stoking that flame inside of you. 

His hands move to grab your hips with bruising pressure. “Ready for me? I’m going to finally stretch this pussy out. Finally…” His voice drops, low and gravelly. “…going to make it mine.”

You peer over your shoulder, eyes begging as they meet Satoru. The tip of his dick spasms at your fluttering pussy, and it’s the answer Satoru seeks. He pushes in. 

Your breath hitches, welcoming the stretch, wincing slightly at the tender pain. It becomes an afterthought as Satoru continues to push past your walls that squeeze around him perfectly like his dick is made for you.

He’s so deep inside when his hips reach your ass, you don’t know where either of you starts or ends. You bask in his fullness. It’s heavenly. 

Satoru releases a shuddering breath, taking a moment like yourself to savor your warmth before he pulls back slowly and thrusts back inside with a force that has you almost stumble forward. 

He fucks into you, eager and quick, skin clapping against skin. 

“Fuck, fuck—fuck!” Satoru chants, along with your name—debauched and desperate, a psalm to your ears. “You’re fucking incredible! This pussy is fucking tight, made for me—” 

The sharp smack to your ass echoes in the dark, jolting you with a wave of pleasure as you yelp in surprise.

Satoru spanks you again two more times, reveling in the whimpers you fail to bite back. 

“Satoru—ah!” Another smack cuts you short. “Suguru—will—”

A sharper one lands and this time you don’t hold back the moan that pours out. It doesn’t stop you however, from reprimanding Satoru for his lack of discretion.

“He’ll hear us.”

“Who?” It falls out breathless, but you hear the snark in his voice, confirmed with another slap. So much for not waking Suguru up.

The mattress dips deeper, deflating slowly. You struggle to stabilize yourself but leave it to Satoru to remain determined as he plows into you from behind. He doesn’t want to stop and suffice to say, neither do you.

But your arms ache and wobble from the unsteady mattress that moves and jostles with every sharp thrust. You doubt you’ll last before either of you get a chance at release. Elbows threaten to collapse, your body dropping forward. 

Strong hands tighten around your hips, keeping you afloat the sinking mattress. 

“I got you, baby,” Satoru rasps. “I’ll make sure this pussy doesn’t escape me.”

You want to laugh at that, but it’s proving to be too difficult to get proper friction with how the mattress slides back and forth atop the rug. 

“The couch, Satoru,” you grunt, turning to look at him. “Fuck me there—”

He breathes a strained laugh, throat tight with pride. “Nuh-uh, beautiful. We’re finishing here.” 

Determined or stubborn, it’s hard to tell where it intersects with Satoru. 

And as the mattress sinks, your hands can practically feel the rug beneath it, Satoru pulls out, flipping you onto your back. 

He’s inside you in seconds, hiking one leg over his shoulder, eyes boring into yours, wearing a cocksure grin. “See? We’re doing fine. I’m going to make you cum again on this mattress.”

You say nothing, ignoring how your combined weights mold into the mattress, hypnotized by everything Satoru; his lewd gaze, his cocky grin, his dick drilling inside of you. You throw your arms around his neck, yanking him down until you’re chest to chest, kissing him deeply. 

He groans, one hand snaking behind your back to bring you closer, plunging himself deeper. His free hand dives at your clit, rubbing and slapping it with vigor that has you gasping into his mouth. 

“Cum for me again, baby,” he says.

You cry out, ecstasy reborn within seconds and firing off every nerve in your body as you cum for the second time that night. 

Satoru grunts behind an affectionate smile. “That’s my girl.” His pace hurries, becoming erratic and sloppy, a foreshadow of his climax. Your leg falls away while you ride out your orgasm, but your arms keep Satoru locked above you. 

He meets your eyes again, and you understand. 

You nod lazily. “Cum inside of me.”

He kisses your forehead, bucking his hips sharply and spills himself inside of you, warmth spreading within your walls, all while Satoru moans your name. 

The night falls into a quiet still, nothing but the sound of labored breaths floating in the living room.

Satoru slides his cock out, soft and spent, but remains on top of you. After a moment, he kisses your cheek, thumbing a strand of hair that clings to your sweaty forehead. 

He looks radiant like this, sweaty, tired, satiated. 

“Didn’t I tell you? The air mattress is way better than the couch.”

You laugh, hearty despite how drowsy you feel. It’s also then that the night’s chill catches up, you bristle. 

Satoru reaches for the discarded blanket, draping it over you both, and collapsing at your side, arms and legs entangled around you, tucking your head under his chin. 

While it’s a relief from the cold, it’s too humid under the cover with Satoru clinging so close. You wriggle for some room, but the man has the nerve to hold you tighter.

“I need to cuddle, or I won’t fall asleep,” he whines. 

“Satoru, you’re like ten feet tall and all limbs—” You’re pressed closer to his chest. 

“Shhh…” Satoru whispers. “Suguru’s sleeping upstairs, remember? We can’t be rude.” You hear the smile in his voice. 

Sighing, you manage to kick your feet free for some ventilation. But it’s not too bad. There’s something comforting about Satoru’s arms around you and you melt into his body, burrowing deeper against him, and the last thing you recall is a goodnight kiss to the crown of your head. 

…

By daybreak, Suguru comes downstairs. 

He grimaces at the clothes strewn on the floor and couch, heaving an annoyed sigh to find you and Satoru still sound asleep on the deflated mattress. 

He knew he heard something last night…

☻

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x you #gojo saturo x you #jjk smut #gojo smut #satoru gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfiction #mochi-writings

[justporo]

A Shuffle of Cards

Another shorter one-shot in which Astarion and Tav just waste an evening playing cards and drinking wine and the vampire learns he doesn't know everything about sleight of hand that there is to know - yet.

Pairing: Astarion / Fem!Tav (You) Rating: Teen (just to be sure)

(Gif from here!)

“How did you-?“ “A lady never tells.” Astarion snorted – you flipped him off. “Well, is it your card or not?”

Astarion groaned in frustration: “Yes, it is.” You grinned at him – equal parts proud of yourself and mischievously happy. Then you turned the card over so you could see which one it was. “Oh, Queen of Hearts – so fitting, don’t you think?”, you said and raised your eyebrows cheekily at the vampire. But he had no capacities for teasing – you must’ve gotten him good.

“Show me again!”, he demanded, his ruby eyes already fully concentrated on your slender hands again, brows furrowed critically. You rolled your eyes at him. “You didn’t get it the last six times I’ve done this, what makes you think this time will be different?” “Just show me again!” You breathed out in annoyance and went to shuffle the deck of cards again.

The two of you had gotten cozy in front of the fireplace in your living room while an autumn storm was roaming outside – right on the cliché fur rug, each seated with crossed legs on a pillow. You had been playing cards and emptying a bottle of red wine (“hm, rich taste with a bouquet of red berries and a hint of almond”, Astarion had said after taking his first sip – to you it tasted like good stuff to get wasted on), when you had suddenly exclaimed: “You wanna see a card trick?”

Astarion had scoffed in arrogance and waved at you sneeringly to go on, expecting child’s play. And now he was sitting there trying to figure out how you managed to get his chosen card right every damn time – for fifteen minutes straight. His hands were pressed to his knees, elbows up, while he leaned to you to watch you shuffle the deck artfully. His gaze basically bored into your fingers.

“Love, there is nothing yet to see.” “Maybe I just like to watch what those sinful fingers can do”, he smirked at you, his eyes moving from your hands to your face and grinning even more broadly. The warm orange light of the fire shone in his eyes and illuminated his face in warm tones. He looked so beautiful right then and there, you almost dropped the cards.

But no! You wouldn’t be distracted by him this time. He already almost got what he wanted from you all the time by working his charms on you because you were so desperately inclined to give him everything that would make him smile at you like this.

You unceremoniously placed the cards on the ground before you and spread them out. “Pick a card”, you said to him in an annoyed tone to demonstrate how much you weren’t affected by him making eyes at you, even though one of his soft white curls had fallen adorably onto his forehead now too.

Astarion pouted at your demeanor: “Not giving me the whole show, my sweet?” You slowly blinked at him not reacting further. “Come now, love, this is the last time, I promise”, he then said pleadingly and stretched out his hand to grab you by the neck and pull you towards him for a quick but sweet kiss.

You sighed in defeat and picked up your cards. “Alright, one last time.” You shuffled the deck once more, making the cards jump from your one hand to the other then spread them out in a neat curve with one swift movement – the space between all cards perfectly balanced. Astarion whistled in astonishment which made you look up at him. He smiled and winked at you and you blushed at him cheering you.

“Sooo, would you honour me with choosing a card, Astarion?” “Oh, I would love nothing more, darling!” He made a show of letting his fingers wander through the air above the cards before settling on a card and elegantly dragging it out. “Now, would you please look at it without showing me which one it is and memorise it well.” The vampire drew the card close to his chest and raised his eyebrows mockingly being overly secretive. He took a peek at his card then threw you a glance to make sure you weren’t trying to watch – you sat there waiting for him to be done with your mouth pressed into a line. “Alright, I memorised it”, Astarion said while keeping the card pressed to his chest, eyebrows still raised at you.

“Well then”, you replied and grabbed the remainder of the deck with another swift movement until you had them all in your hands. Then you split them in half and held them out to the vampire. “Please put your card back in.” He did as he was told while acting being hesitant about it. When he had placed the card down, you put the other half above it.

Astarion’s lips opened in anticipation and his eyes were trained on your hands again – now being completely serious about it.

He wanted a show, so you gave it to him – you artfully split the deck up again in thirds and made them whirl around your fingers with an incredible speed. You knew exactly where his card was at any given moment.

“No, no, no – this isn’t fair, love!”, Astarion exclaimed in desperation and pouted at you again, but you just stuck your tongue out at him and kept shuffling. When the vampire looked positively dizzy from watching your shenanigans you stopped and lifted up the top card with its face to Astarion. “Is this your card?”

His eyes widened in surprise then he angrily snatched the card from your hand with furrowed brows. “Yes”, he grumbled while you broke into laughter. “Which one was it?”, you asked him while you put down the remaining cards. Reluctantly, Astarion showed you the card he was clutching in his fingers. “King of Hearts”, he said still pouting.

“Uuh, what another great coincidence, don’t you think?”, you cooed at him cheerfully and slapped your hands on your knees. Astarion narrowed his eyes at you and kept brooding.

“You know”, you said while pursing your lips “because you certainly are the king of my heart.”

You saw it – you saw the light twitch at the corner of his mouth; you got him. “Just as much as you are the queen of mine, my sweet sweet darling”, he answered dramatically and grabbed his goblet of wine to down the rest of it in one go.

“You are only trying to distract me because you lost the last five rounds of cards”, he offered dryly while he licked a remaining drop of “rich, red berry” red wine of his lips. You watched, being mesmerized by the tiny gesture. “Well, is it working?”, you retorted while you kept watching his lips. Astarion noticed your staring and cocked his head: “Hmm, I don’t know might’ve worked better if your clothes had been off.” He leaned back on his hands and watched the effect of his comment unfold. You tried miserably not to blush – damn, would you ever gain some tiny shred of immunity against his charms?

You coughed and rearranged your sitting position. “I only lost because you keep cheating the entire time”, you threw his way to which he lifted a hand to his chest, so taken aback. “My, what a dire accusation. When have you ever known me to be dishonest, my love?” You threw him a single glance. He kept up his dramatic posture.

“Tell you what, you win the next game fair and square, I’ll show you how the trick works.”

“Deal, sweetheart!”, Astarion agreed happily, picked up the cards and started shuffling and dealing you each a fresh hand of cards.

Tonight no new chapter of my longer fic A Night of Song and Laughter (I honestly need a bit of a break, I lost too much sleep the last two weeks or so). But I still wanted to write something. Hope you enjoyed!

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x you #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #one shot

[ilyluffy]

𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || 𝐚𝐤𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 & 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you get special treatment at your piercing appointment

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: piercer!ali hayakawa x afab!reader x piercer assistant!angel devil

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut {minors + ageless blogs dni!! you’ll be blocked}

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: nipple and clit piercings, needles, abuse of power, groping, nipple play, clit stimulation, cunnilingus, pet names “sweetheart, pretty, cute”

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 0.9k+

“𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒?” aki asks, as he pulls on his gloves. you shake your head no instinctively, not wanting to seem like you’re making a brash decision. unfortunately for you there’s no disguising the look in your eyes and your shaking hands. “you sure?” aki quirks an eyebrow. “the piercings you want are difficult for some to get”.

that’s definitely true. getting your nipples and clit pierced was nothing to scoff at. it was kind of a big deal but you were too far gone to turn back now. so you reassure aki that you are confident about your choice. with that he shrugs. if you say so… who is he to argue with the customer.

silently aki motions for his assistant to come closer to where you sit on aki’s piercing table. angel like a good apprentice does as he’s told. it’s impossible to miss how angel’s eyes trail from your exposed tits to your lacy panties to hide your cunt from view. “we’re doing the nipples first huh?” the piercing assistant asks, earning a node from aki.

“remember how i told you to get them ready? how about you start preparing them” aki orders. nodding, angel ties his long red locks back before cupping your breasts without warning. your eyes go wide as he begins to massage the soft mounds as you stare at aki for some explanation. “don’t worry. we want your nipples to be nice and perky it’ll make things easier”.

you suppose that makes sense. the more angel rugs on your buds the pointier you get. so although you hadn’t expected to get groped, you let things happen. “you really need to relax if you want this to work out. trust us, we’ve done this a lot of times” aki tells you as his thumb suddenly loves to sit over your clothed clit. before you can question why he starts to rub it through the material of your underwear, aki comes up with an excuse. “this will help you calm down. remember, trust us sweetheart”.

you nod your head as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. you did believe him and have faith in the two professionals. they’d no more about this process they you would but all the stimulation was proving to be too much. the mixture of your boobs being toyed with and your clit being teased made it impossible for you to hold in your noises.

“this one’s loud” angel’s breath fans across your ear as he speaks. “should we slow down?”.

you squeal when angel finishes his sentence by pinching your nipples between his fingers. immediately aki shakes his head. “no, don’t move. stay exactly like that” he advises, using the freehand that’s not rubbing your sensitive nub to pick up his clean needle.

you have no idea what’s going to happen until you experience the few seconds of pain. the sharp tip pierces one of your nipples and allows aki to slip the piece of jewelry through. the second time you definitely see it coming. after repeating the process, angel releases your tits from his grasp.

“they look pretty” angel compliments. “that wasn’t so bad now was it?”.

you shake your head no but truthfully you’re in a daze. the combination of the tender sensation in your breasts and the coil in your stomach beginning to tighten has you in a haze. it feels like your heads in the clouds and aki can see it by the look on your face.

“how about we take a break before doing the next one. wouldn’t want a cute thing like you passing out on us” aki hums as he drags your panties down your legs. “let me and angel here distract you from how much the first two probably hurt, okay?”.

you nod your head mindlessly. by now you’re so loopy that you’ll agree to anything. you don’t protest at all when aki’s fingers begin to play with your bare clit and angel’s mouth lowers between your legs. you don’t even question anything as his tongue licks along your folds.

“tastes good” angel’s muffled voice echoes against your pussy. aki’s reaction is to tell him not to talk too much. as far as he’s concerned the assistant’s job is to make you cum and nothing else right now. angel was never the biggest fan of work but this he can get behind.

you start to wiggle a little as angel’s wet muscle dives inside your cunt. “stay still, sweetheart,” aki tells you as his partner explores his dinner. you try your best but it’s hard when you have two handsome men getting you off. with them both putting their expertise to work at once, there’s no stopping you from making a mess against angel’s face.

the smaller man moans as your juices hit his taste buds. he gulps it all down like a starving man, reaping the rewards of his handy work. “good job, just like i taught you” aki praises, patting angel on the head before the redhead rises to his feet. “you ready to get your pretty clit pierced now”.

you nod although you’re still very much in post orgasm bliss. you say nothing for a minute or two as aki prepares his materials but eventually you can’t help but ask. “do you do this for all your customers”.

aki opens his mouth to reply but angel ends up beating him to it. “𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒, 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔”.

2022–2023 © ilyluffy — do not repost or translate my work. likes, reblogs, and comments are welcomed

#aki hayakawa #angel devil #chainsaw man #csm #aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa smut #angel devil x reader #angel devil smut #chainsaw man x reader #chainsaw man smut #csm smut #csm x reader #apollo writes ✎

[littlejuicebox]

Naughty or Nice?

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x F!Reader/Tav Summary/Setting: The first winter post-BG3 / You became Astarion's consort and you're at a ball... he likes to toy with you. Rating/Warnings: M+ / Smut / Spoilers for the game / Cursing / Improper use of mage hand / BSDM vibes / Dom Astarion vibes / teasing, masturbation, overstimulation, exhibitionism, mentions of flogging, etc. Word Count: 3K Notes: This is 3/5 "Days of Star-mas!"

Click here to see my master list.

-----

Yet another holiday ball, how dreadfully boring.

You sigh as you tug on your dress for the millionth time before a sharp pinch on your rear stuns you into stillness. You let out a soft hum as you feel the warm breath of your lover against your ear, tickling your neck before he playfully nips at your ear lobe.

“Now be a good girl and quit fidgeting, my treasure. I want everyone to see how beautiful and desirable you look in that dress, and your hands keep getting in the way of such a delectable view.” Astarion chides, running his fingers down your bare spine, leaving a tingle of excitement in their absence.

You’re sat, as always, on the Vampire Ascendent’s lap; it’s quickly become a well-known peculiarity of your coupling that your ornate throne beside him hardly sees any use. You wriggle as the elf continues to wander his pale fingers up and down your spinal column. Apart from your neck, your back was Astarion’s favorite part of your body to display. Almost every gown he dressed you in nowadays, as his perfect, beautiful little doll, left that sinewy form around your spine well-exposed.

Tonight, he’d dressed you in another one of his custom, ridiculously expensive and more ridiculously provocative pieces, commissioned by one of Baldur’s Gate’s most revered clothiers.

The gown was a deep burgundy, hand draped to your curves and covered in countless glimmering crystals. A deep sweetheart neckline was barely held up by two dainty, useless straps. The back of the gown left your muscled form on full display; the final bits of your lower spine were partially obscured by a crossed set of laces, tied neatly in a bow and not leaving anything to the imagination as the skirt of the dress clung to your hips.

The Vampire Ascendent had called you the “perfect present” for his Midwinter Ball, and you were expected to play the part of his perfect consort as he presented you to several of the Guilds this party hosted.

Astarion’s hand grazes up your leg, fully exposed to him by the thigh high slit cut into the gown. You writhe as your lover teases you, letting out the softest gasp as his hand just barely brushes under the slit of your gown before traveling back down toward your knee.

“My perfect little present,” He murmurs as the music from the band swells, “Take a turnabout the room for me, little love. Let everyone feast their eyes on your beauty and covet what is mine.”

You knew the Vampire Ascendent always aimed to use you as a status symbol at these silly parties. You were quite the spectacle as the renowned hero of Baldur’s Gate turned into his obedient, and always provocatively dressed, consort. It was such a stark change from the heavily armored warrior woman you had been less than a year ago. The statue in the town square, made to your likeness, truly looked nothing like you anymore. You had been a fearsome, rugged, warrior… always caked in dirt and blood; but now, you were a perfect doll, always pristine and well-kept.

You groan, not really wanting to partake in the charade tonight, but Astarion gives you a little tut, and the sharp warning look on his face was enough to force you out into the crowd. The Vampire Lord may have a soft spot for his consort, but he was not above punishing her, if need be.

You slink off your lover’s lap and saunter about the Great Hall, gold chalice in hand, politely nodding here and there to several of the guild members that meet your gaze. More of them, you notice, are too distracted by the high cut of your gown and the spilling of your cleavage to actually meet your eyes. Typical.

Soon enough your pathway is interrupted by the leader of one of the Mercantile Guilds, a tall blonde human woman with an accent, whose name you’ve all but forgotten. You truly had no interest in the elbow rubbing and political chess matches that occurred at these soirées.

“Lady Ancunin… I was hoping for a moment to speak with you.”

The woman begins to ramble on, promoting her Guild, which currently holds control over majority of the sea trade to and from Baldur’s Gate. She is expressing concern over a smaller, but growing, faction and asking for support from the Ancunin House. You find the entire thing unbelievably boring, and barely stifle a yawn.

Suddenly, you hear Astarion’s voice in your ear, and your attention shoots to the high table where the vampire is lounging in his throne, sipping from a chalice, his scarlet eyes locked on you. It’s clear the lady merchant is none the wiser as she babbles on, and you soon realize the Vampire Lord is communicating to you through your blood bond.

“Now, now, little love. Pay attention and look interested. You know as well as I do that Lady Beauchamp prefers to use you as the middle person in our dealings, hoping your supposed “mutual alignment” as the "fairer sex" works in her favor. Perhaps you require a bit more… stimulation to keep you from looking so terribly bored.”

His voice reverberates through your mind, enveloping your psyche in a lover’s caress that quickly causes you to become slick with desire. You watch Astarion subtly snap his fingers at the high table, and shudder as you feel the cold tracings of a finger along your spine — an invisible mage hand, no doubt. Your eyes widen and flicker from Lady Beauchamp and back to your lover, where he is smirking in twisted delight before he turns away from you to laugh at some comment made by another one of the nobles.

The tall guild leader continues, “So, as you can see, Lady Ancunin… this faction is cause for— are you alright?”

You’re trembling as you attempt to hold some level of control over your reactions. How could he toy with you like this? The invisible mage hand has now trailed underneath your gown and started petting your barren slit with two cold, invisible fingers. Damn Astarion for never allowing you to wear undergarments and compelling you to take them off every time you tried to preserve a modicum of your own dignity.

You cough, trying to cover up the gasp that so desperately wanted to escape your throat. “Y-yes Lady Beauchamp, my apologies, it’s a bit cold in here what with the winter air. Please do continue… w-what is it you’re asking of our House?”

Lady Beauchamp’s eyes flicker over your scant, silken gown and you catch a glimpse of judgement in her eyes; you know she thinks you improperly clothed for the season. But she’s wise enough to hold back any comments and instead continues on with her end of the conversation, pleading her case for aid to you.

You are held as a hostage to your own arousal, thighs trembling as you are held on an edge your lover will not allow you jump off of. You wring your hands on the stem of your goblet, nodding at the merchant woman and trying your hardest to feign interest.

Gods you were dripping. You absently wonder if the signs of your arousal were becoming visible through your gown. Your eyes flit back to Astarion, and his gaze is fixed on you once again, a cocky eyebrow raised as he traces the rim of his goblet with one slender finger. You’re silently pleading with the Vampire Ascendent for mercy with your wide eyes and all he does is chuckle and shake his head, eyes crinkling in dark delight.

No. There would be no mercy. You feel the slickness dripping down your thighs as the mage hand plunges into you and you roll your eyes up to the ceiling as you stifle a moan.

“So… what do you think?” Lady Beauchamp asks, her head tilted in confusion. You realized too late that she’d been waiting for your answer, and that the pause in conversation had become uncomfortable enough for her to prompt you.

You nod your head slightly, barely able to breathe as you form the next sentence. The mage hand was back to stroking between your folds, and as you barely catch the scent of your own arousal, you worry that Lady Beauchamp would soon smell you, too. “I-it is much to consider, but I will plead your case to Lord Ancunin. Now I apologize but if you’ll excuse me, my husband has beckoned for me at the high table.”

Astarion has, of course, done no such thing. But you swiftly exit the conversation with the Guild leader and head back towards the Vampire Ascendent.

When you finally make your way back to your lover, he grabs your trembling hand in his own solid, strong one. He possessively tugs you closer to him, and then the Vampire Lord plants a kiss to your knuckle. He smirks mischievously, eyebrow cocking as he flits his hungry eyes to your groin. The mage hand is still continuing its ministrations and has now started to lazily circle your sensitive little nub.

“I can smell you, my treasure… and see your little trembles as you try so hard to be a good girl and keep it together. Absolutely delicious. What a tempting little treat… look at you, with your cheeks all flushed.” He coos, scarlet eyes moving up to look into yours. When you meet his gaze, you see hints of dark, possessive desire in his eyes... and a bit of sadistic pleasure as he witnesses your suffering.

You moan as the mage hand plunges into you once more, and even though the high table is now barren as everyone else has swarmed to the dance floor, you feel the pricked heat of embarrassment spreading across your face.

Astarion chuckles and drops your hand before running his fingers up your exposed thigh. “I think you’ve been a good little pet tonight. And you will soon get your reward. Go to the bedchambers and wait for me... I’ll send the mage hand with you to keep you company, of course.”

All you can do is nod your head, before turning on your heels and swiftly exiting the ballroom. You nearly sprint to your bedchambers, certain now that the evidence of your arousal is seeping onto the gown. As you enter the bedroom, you move to rip your gown off, but the mage hand swats your hands away from the laces. It seemed the Vampire Lord wanted to be the one to unwrap his little present tonight.

For a moment you consider touching yourself, but as soon as the thought crosses your mind, you hear Astarion’s tut of disapproval within your psyche.

“Now, now, little vampling. Be a good girl and wait. Before I’m forced to have the mage hand bring out the flog."

You whine in desperation again and hear that dark chuckle within your mind. The mage hand is continuing its ministrations, now aggressively teasing your nipples as you settle yourself on the bed to wait for your lover. Your entire body is wracked with overwhelming desire, every inch of you trembling as the invisible hand continues its torture.

“How long will I have to wait?” You breathlessly ask to the air, but you know that Astarion is always listening. There is a beat of silence where you think perhaps the Vampire Lord is purposely ignoring you, but then he responds, clearly entertained by your little predicament.

“Oh… not much longer, my treasure. Patience is a virtue. I’ll see you at the end of the party.”

The party wasn’t set to end for another hour. You nearly scream in anguish as another dark chuckle caresses your mind. Pinpricks of frustrated tears begin to form as you wiggle with the mixture of anticipation and overstimulation. Gods you wanted to touch yourself so badly; you were wringing your hands together to avoid the temptation.

“Little love… it is up to you if you’re going to be naughty or nice. But you know what I will be forced to do, should you choose to be naughty.”

You whine again. An hour… you could withstand the torture for an hour, couldn’t you? Surely you could choose to be nice.

And hells, if you chose to be naughty… the pain was always worth the pleasure, in the end.

#astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x tav #baulders gate 3 #baulders gate astarion #baulders gate tav #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic idea #astarion smut #astarion x female tav #astarion x female reader #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #astarion x you #astarion x reader #bg3 smut #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #5daysofstarmas

[borzoilover69]

Jake Writing Guide : 2024 Colourised!

Ok well, this isn't the prime year 2014 but I really wanted to make a concise and easy to consume guide for how to write Jake accurately since he can be quite the fussy tosspot if you dont know where to start. [ WARNING ITS A BIT LONG I INCLUDE JAKE DIALOGUE TO HELP WITH UNDERSTANDING WHAT IM SAYING. ] First off: drop the commas, and the apostrophes. He uses largely run-on sentences and has a sort of rambly sense of words. He does however use "these" every now and then and just as it strikes him tends to *Drag out the ole roleplayisms.* when it suits the situation.

Jake doesn't really tend to use old-timey slang but he does have rather antiquated ways of speaking, with a pension for more articulated language. He only REALLY breaks out the old timey words when particularly impressed or exasperated for emphasis. Usually, these words are british slang.

Note how he goes on a ramble that is slightly self-centred. He also spins stories similiar to how Dirk does, but without the ice-cold deal. Tossing in his own spin with his own words.

This one is just really fucking funny.

When hes particularly exasperated he leans into it MORE. Just really spreads it on thick. Like if he continues to say funny words you'll forget everything else and be distracted by his whimsy.

Jake is FAR more socially aware than people give him credit for but prefers to avoid tricky subjects hes not too comfortable with until he feels suitably ready for it, prefers battles he knows he can win so to speak. He also tends to think hes overthinking it and backtrack into ignorance. He overcomplicates things same as dirk does but rather than doing Dirks "yup thats a me problem. Im going to quietly stress about it now!", jake brushes it under the rug and tries not to think about it like a college student trying not to think about their outstanding academic paper and the promise of "Yeah, I'll do it later" (doesn't)

Note his more genuine understanding of why Dirk functions the way he does, well aware of the pros AND cons of having something like a combat machine hunting him.

His awareness of Janes crush and reluctance to deal with it:

Subsequent backtracking and denial of said premonitions, brushing it under the rug. Again, stating his reluctance to get into it because it's a situation he's not wellversed. Jake doesn't like being put into unpredictable situations, he prefers the easy road that won't inconvenience him much.

Also his desire to be seen as seemingly perfect and not have to dwell on others intents. Now this is something I don't see touched on as MUCH on writing guides for Jake English (then again the majority were made in 2014 so who can blame them.) But when Jake touches on what he views as MORE TABOO feelings aka ones which compromise the go-getter Adventurer image that arent BRAVE and GUSTO and GUNS, such as weakness, hesitation, he tends to pose back to the asking party as a question and reconsider his thought process. Like: Do YOU think its ok for me to feel this way? Why do you think that? Could you imagine me thinking something like that? He cares a LOT about his image and whats acceptable for him to be and to mask his difficulty in some social situations.

He doesn't like acknowledging that which might be sort of difficult for him to come to terms with, with the ye olde character trait of repression that him and John share, believing if he keeps his feelings buttoned up, they don't need to feel embarassed (aka: avoidance)

Hes also a fair bit more snarkier than fanon gives him hooks for. His subconscious takes the form of his best friend, but its commented as being “like hal, in terms of snarks”. Jake can also be the snarky customer to Dirk AND Hal, and Caliborn too. He's a gentleman to ladies (TO A DEGREE) but with guys he's not afraid to be more cutting with it. I am begging you on your hands and knees to drop the woobified jake english and make him slightly snarky and a bit offputting and weird. Jake grew up in the middle of a jungle and burned his grandmother.

Also he seems to be slightly aware of outside forces, note him calling attention to the fact he knows things he shouldn't canonically even be able to know.

Because Jake IS a little freak. He thinks corpse puppetry is funny. He punches what he thinks is fish hitler while ranting about movies. Hes funny as fuck. Hello.

However, with all of THAT out of the way, lets focus on some of the more ABRASIVE parts of his personality. While Jake is funnily charming with his old lingo and tendency to ramble, he has issues! One HUGE one is reluctance to fully FACE things he doesnt feel he has a full grasp on. He DOESNT like going out of his comfort zone, he DOESNT like talking about his emotions to people he really cares about or thinks has fallen for his manic dreamboat pixie persona, He's well aware people fall for it. He works hard to make sure people DO. But it sort of restricts him to that persona, he can't grow from it as long as he holds onto the idea that this persona hes chasing is the only way he can BE without being vulnerable.

Jake can be OVERBEARING, and not just that, painfully unaware when he's up his own ass! This critic he gives to Dirk applies to himself! The reason why he doesn't like brainghost dirk is because GOD forbid the man self-reflect juuust a little and find something that upsets him. Nope! Not going to deal with it. Just as quickly as he is to switch the thought that everyone loves him, he is just as likely to switch to think that everyone doesnt.

Anyways, I think thats all I have to say, Jakes words speak a LOT about his character, and I genuinely love him a lot. He has some words i think about a lot and hes genuinely such an awesome guy. I'll let a few choice pieces of dialogue from Jake himself close this out for me.

This was one of the last conversations we see with him. And I still think about his words a lot.

I'll probably edit this when I get the energy. But I think i covered most of it. Happy writing!

#jake english #homestuck meta #borzoi meta #homestuck #hom3stuck #borzoi talks #astonishing roleplay guide in this year of 2024.. #boy oh boy was this a doozy..

[ramblingthoughtsofayoungadult]

Unpredictable-Limoreau x black!fem!reader fic

A/N: I was inspired a lot by the Bama Rush documentary and couldn't get the idea of a sorority girl in GOD U out of my head. Let me know if you want a part 2.

Warnings: some swearing

Words: 5.2k

Series Masterlist

Future probability cognition, the ability to see potential future outcomes, was usually a nice power to have. At 7, I knew my parents were going to get divorced before either of them considered filing. At 9, I knew my mother would focus all her energy on the agency. At 12, I knew that my older brother would take a head of surgery job in Buenos Aires, escaping the chaos at home. Despite this history, nothing could have prepared me for my second year at Godolkin.

The first day back on campus was uneventful: I survived a grueling early morning Pilates class that I envisioned would put me in Sydney’s, the Si Chi president, good graces and, later in the afternoon, I settled an argument between two Si Chi juniors by predicting that brunch would be the most successful rush event.

Being (one of) the first black high-ranking members of Si Chi could be a full-time job.

As I was re-reading the chapters for Brink’s class, my V-Phone buzzed with a text from Leah, one of the seniors in the sorority.

L: Do you know Emma?

I quickly typed back: Which one? Wallace or the girl who got the botched nj in SK?

L: Neither. Short girl with curly blonde hair. She’s here 4 u.

The yelp that left my mouth would have been embarrassing if anyone else was in the house study room. Quickly, I tucked my book under my arm and ran into the ivory and wood-paneled foyer complete with Tiffany crystal chandelier and faint instrumental piano music playing through the Bluetooth speakers. At the door, Leah’s arms were crossed over her lavender babydoll dress as she smiled fakely at Emma, who looked more apprehensive than usual.

“Emma, hi, I thought I told you to text me when you got here!” I greeted as I approached the two.

Emma’s expression relaxed when her blue eyes landed on me. “Sorry, I got distracted and then I got lost trying to find you.”

I glanced at Leah, who shot me a questioning look. “Thanks, Leah, I can take it from here.”

Leah shrugged, turned, and teleported into thin air. Emma’s eyes widened again as she stepped further into the house and I closed the door behind her.

“Sorry about Leah; she’s cagier than usual because she couldn’t get a refill on her favorites,” I explained.

“It’s fine, I’m just glad you aren’t like that,” Emma admitted.

I paused to finally hug her and she nearly crushed me as she wound her arms around my middle. It felt like forever since I had seen Emma, even though it was at my dad’s annual 4th of July barbecue. When I pulled away, Emma eyed the book in my hand.

“You’re reading before school starts. Nerd,” she teased.

   I playfully pushed her shoulder. “We’re in college, we have to take school way more seriously now. Besides, a requirement for Si Chi is at least a 3.8.”

   Emma tapped her chin. “Let me guess, you have a 4.0.”

  I smiled and tugged her further into the house. Of course, I had to give her a tour of the house and introduce her to the girls we passed. When we finally got to my room, Emma collapsed on top of my pastel blue comforter, dropping her bag on the matching rug.

  “I know Si Chi is a top house, but you basically live in Barbie’s Dream House,” Emma beamed. “How do I get in? What do I have to do? I will do literally anything or anyone.”

   I rolled my eyes and set my book on my desk. “I’m glad you like the place but, you haven’t even met your roommate yet. What’s her name again?”

  Emma pushed herself up on her elbows with a huff. “Marie Moreau. I tried to find her on social media, but she doesn’t have any: No X, no TikTok, not even an obligatory Facebook.”

  Social media presence was basically a requirement at GOD U these days so it was a bold move for someone to show up without any. It could mean Marie was hardcore about her studies or…

  “She might have strict parents,” I pointed out, sitting next to Emma.

  Emma raised an eyebrow. “They better not be weird, cult-y parents. I guess that would be my luck too: have a psycho roommate my freshman year.”

   “Hey, no one could have had it worse than me: a slob who always had boys over and threatened to gut me in my sleep,” I argued.

   “But, you saw all of that coming,” Emma argued.

   I shook my head. “Only the part where she stood over my bed with a knife in hand.” I sighed and pressed my hands into the covers. “I’m so glad I don’t have to deal with that ever again.”

   “Really, because some of these girls are giving unhinged,” Emma replied.

   “The nice thing is I either pick up on the signs or ‘see’ their breaking point,” I explained.

   Emma nodded and pushed herself off my bed to start exploring my room. As she started messing with my checkered Moschino teddy bear figurine, my phone buzzed on my desk. When I grabbed it, I saw it was a video call from Cate.

   “Hi, what’s up?” I greeted, holding the phone at the most flattering angle.

   “I’m trying to entertain myself while Luke preps for training,” Cate admitted.

   “What, you’re not totally entertained by your star boyfriend?” I teased.

   Cate rolled her eyes. “No, I can’t wait for this to be over. You’re coming, right?”

   I shook my head. “Sorry, we have a rush event at the same time, including a choreographed dance.”

  “Ooh, did you choreograph it?” Cate asked.

  “I might have helped a little.”

  “Well, I’m pissed I’ll miss it but make sure to have someone send me all the cute videos and pictures,” Cate requested.

  “Sure.”

  There was some yelling in the background and Cate rolled her eyes.

  “I have to go but we’ll talk later.”

  “Bye!”

  When I hung up, Emma was staring at me with her mouth gaping, the teddy figurine dangerously close to slipping from her grasp and onto the hardwood floor. I crossed the room as quickly as I could and carefully placed the figurine back on my dresser.

  “Emma, I love you but if you break anything, I will lose it,” I warned.

  “You know Cate Dunlap?” Emma asked slowly.

  “Oh, yeah, she’s my peer mentor. Dean Shetty paired us up last year since our powers are similar,” I answered.

  “So, you’ve met Luke Riordan? Like, you’ve been in his presence?”

  “Yes,” I answered slowly.

  “And you didn’t faint or throw up from his glory?”

   “Emma, he’s a regular person. His powers are insane but he is also human, just like us.”

  “No, I’m a regular person. Luke Riordan is, like, a demigod or something. Is he better looking in person?”

   I hesitated and busied myself with grabbing my rush outfit from my closet and setting it on my bed. Then, I stared at my shoes, feeling Emma’s eyes bored into the back of my head. I closed my eyes and focused on the event tonight, the potential sounds and people. Seconds later, I got a decent image of my Si Chi sisters and I dancing in front of the house, surrounded by freshmen girls in Princess Polly and House of CB. I focused all my energy on looking at our feet and tried not to groan when I saw red high-top Converse.

   “Every time,” I muttered as I opened my eyes.

   Two more years, just two more years of going along and I would reap the benefits: a strong ranking, a decent contract, and my pick of the most eligible supes. I just had to keep playing the game.

   I grabbed my platform red Converses and set them in front of my bed, sheepishly turning to Emma. “Yes, Emma.”

     She squealed. “I knew it!”

     I laughed at her joy as she bounced in her Vans. “Go to the training today and see for yourself.”

   Emma’s expression deflated slightly as she walked closer to me. “I wish you could come, you could introduce us!”

   “There will be a next time,” I stated.

   “Promise?” She held up her pinky and eyed me as I slowly wrapped my manicured one around hers. She opened her mouth but was cut off by an alarm going off on her phone. “Shit, I have to go film a video!”

   “You’re still doing Little Cricket?” I asked.

   Emma shushed me loudly and her eyes filled with panic. “Not so loud and definitely not in this house!”

  The girls probably already know all about it, I thought.

  I flipped my waist-length box braids over my shoulder and laughed as she rushed towards the door. “You don’t know where you’re going, let me walk you out!”

  She paused for a split second and gave me some time to catch up to her. However, I led her through the quickest route back to the front door and she gave me a quick hug before she took off. I laughed as I closed the door behind her.

  “Some things never change,” I mused.

   When I got back up to my room, I realized she left her backpack and groaned. She would have to learn to be more responsible if she was going to survive more than a week here. So, I grabbed my purse and her backpack before traipsing the campus. Fortunately, Emma had texted me her dorm information before she got on campus.

   “In case of an emergency,” she’d insisted.

    The freshman dorms were not as bad as I remembered them but I cringed at a few musty speedster jocks I crossed in the hallway. A brief premonition helped me duck to avoid an ice user’s power going out of control when I finally made it to Emma’s door. First, I rapped on the door three times.

    “Emma, it’s me, you really have to keep a better eye on your stuff!” I called.

     After a few seconds of no answer, I knocked again.

     “Seriously? I can’t always be looking after you,” I teased.

     Finally, the door swung open, revealing a pretty black girl with big brown eyes and long brown dreads that were pulled partly away from her face. Her eyes widened at me and I smiled.

     “Sorry, I’m looking for Emma, she left her bag in my----”

     Emma cut me off, appearing next to the girl, “I was wondering where that went, thanks!” She grabbed the bag from me.

    “Oh, uh, come in,” the girl said, stepping aside.

    I nodded and wandered further into their dorm. It was small, like most freshman dorms, but Emma’s side offered pops of color and coziness. The other side was more basic, probably because the girl just moved in.

   “Marie, this is Y/N, my best friend, Y/N, Marie,” Emma introduced as she plopped onto her bed.

    I turned to Marie and extended a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

   She hesitated slightly before shaking my hand. “You too.”

  “Don’t worry, Marie, you’ll get used to her hotness,” Emma advised.

   My cheeks warmed as I whirled around to my friend. “Emma!”

   “It’s true!”

   The embarrassment floated in the pit of my stomach as I faced Marie, who looked somewhere between surprised and amused. “Sorry about her, she speaks without thinking.”

   “It’s okay. How do you two know each other?” Marie asked.

   “Her mom represents me,” Emma answered.

   “Oh.”

   “She’s the one who helped encourage me to make a YouTube channel and is helping me get into more commercials until my big break,” Emma continued.

   I sighed as I sat in Emma’s desk chair. “We’ve known each other since I was four and she was three.”

  “Do you want to be an actor too?” Marie asked.

   I shook my head. “I tried it when I was little but it wasn’t for me.”

   Emma’s eyes lit up and she sat up on her bed. “You should have seen her, she was so cute! She was that toddler in that one diaper commercial----”

   “Emma,” I softly begged.

    Marie laughed. “Now, I’m curious.”

    “Please don’t look it up, it’s not worth it anyway,” I insisted.

    Marie shrugged and sat on her bed. “My curiosity might get the best of me.”

    “Why did you have to mention that stupid commercial?” I whined at Emma, who laughed at my pain. “Anyway, what’s your major?”

     “Crimefighting,” Marie answered.

     I straightened up. “Me too.”

    “So, you’ve had classes with Brink? How is he? What’s he like?” Marie rambled.

    “Well, he’s really tough on first years and makes his tests almost impossible to pass,” I admitted.

     “Really?” Marie asked.

     “But, I can help you if you want; I did pretty well last year,” I offered.

     As soon as the words left my mouth, I questioned where they came from. Marie was a complete stranger, yet she was one of the easiest people to talk to. Normally, I stumbled over my words in front of new people, and this was…new.

    “That would be great, thanks,” Marie replied.

     Emma leaned forward. “Y/N, you are way too modest. She was in the top ten of the first years last year and she has a peer mentor and meets with Brink on a regular basis.”

     Marie snapped her attention to me. “Wait, what?”

     I shook my head. “She makes it sound more impressive than it is.”

    “No, I’m not; she hangs out with the Top Five all the time.”

    “Top Five?” Marie asked.

     Emma and I turned to her, stunned.

     “You don’t know what the Top Five are?” Emma asked slowly.

     Marie shook her head, growing tenser the longer we looked at her.

    “Godolkin ranks all the students based on their Q score, which is basically the strength of their powers, academics, and social media engagement. The Top One Hundred are the only ones published every day,” I explained.

   “And the Top Five are the only ones everyone really cares about since they’re the ones most likely to make it into the Seven,” Emma added. “It’s on the GOD U app.”

    “I don’t have a phone,” Marie admitted.

     Emma balked at her. “How have you gone this far in life without a phone?”

     Marie shrugged. “My parents wouldn’t let me have one.”

     “What about emergencies?” I asked.

     “Someone else always has one,” Marie countered.

     Something was off about her statement and I knew that if I focused on it long enough, I would get a premonition about her. However, I decided that it would be rude to do that in conversation and tabled it for later.

    “You’ll get through it,” I said.

    “So, what ranking are you, Y/N?” Marie asked.

    “Last I checked, I was number twenty,” I recalled.

     Marie and Emma’s eyes widened at me, and I shrunk a little under their gaze. It really was not that impressive considering how intense the nineteen other people above me were.

    “That’s amazing!” Emma cheered, leaping off her bed and hugging me.

    “How did that happen?” Marie asked gently.

     When Emma pulled away, I replied, “Well, right before summer break, I had a premonition about a case Brink had the class working on all year.”

    “You solved a crime?” Marie concluded.

     “I just helped with a tip,” I insisted.

    “Please, Y/N, don’t act like you haven’t solved cases before,” Emma stated.

     I narrowed my eyes at her and Emma smirked in reply. Marie held up her hands and shook her head.

    “Wait, as in plural?”

     “It’s really not a big deal. With all the forensics, psychology, and ethics classes you’ll take, you’ll be solving them too.”

      Marie looked unconvinced but did not push it. “So, what’s your ability? I’m sorry if that’s rude to ask.”

     “No, it’s fine. Future probability cognition, I can see potential outcomes for the future,” I explained.

     “That’s amazing,” Marie complimented.

      “Eh, a lot of times it means I get blurry images in my head but it’s helpful sometimes. What about you?”

      “Blood manipulation.”

       “Whoa, no offense, but that is such a supervillain power,” Emma thought outloud.

        “Emma!”

         “I said ‘no offense’!”

        Marie laughed. “It’s okay, I get why people would think that.”

       “Can you give us a demonstration?” Emma asked.

        Marie nodded and grabbed a switchblade from her cargo pants’ pocket. In a graceful motion, she cut one of her palms and held it out in front of her. Seconds later, a circle of blood floated in the air like water, swirling each way. Marie smiled at our expressions and the blood slowly flowed back in her palm and the mark healed.

       “That was awesome!” Emma cheered.

       “I think Brink will like you,” I added.

      “Thanks. I think it’s your turn, Y/N,” Marie said.

       I hesitated. “Well, mine is definitely not as impressive as yours and I can’t promise I’ll see anything…positive.”

     “That’s okay,” Marie insisted.

     “You can use me as a demonstration,” Emma offered.

     I turned to her and closed my eyes. My mind wandered to images of her face and the sound of her laugh. Eventually, I saw an image of her rolling around her dorm bed with some guy. Then, all of a sudden, she was small and---     “AAAH!” I jumped from my seat, both underclassmen looking at me confused.

     “Is it that bad?” Emma asked.

     My eyes looked everywhere but my best friend and my hands unconsciously flexed. “Whatever you do, do not bring a guy here in the future.”

   “You don’t want me to get laid?”

   “I don’t think you would want to experience what I just saw.” I shivered at the thought.

    “Have your powers made you respond like that before?” Marie asked.

     I nodded. “It’s rare, though, and I have help to get a handle on it.”

     Slowly, I sat down and focused on the orange circle rug on the floor. Suddenly, I wished Cate was there to wipe that premonition from my memory. My stomach churned and I swallowed thickly.

     “Oh, Marie, you have to come to the training with me today,” Emma announced.

      “What training?”

     “The Top Five have public training at the beginning of every year. This year, Luke Riordan is up first,” Emma explained with a grin.

       “Luke’s a big deal?” Marie asked.

       “Hell yeah, he’s number one!” Emma chastised.

        Marie turned to me. “Are you going?”

        I looked up at her and wondered if she seemed kind of hopeful. “No, I have to do rush tonight.”

      “On top of everything else, she is also the secretary of Si Chi, the top sorority on campus,” Emma bragged.

      “Wow, are you always this busy?” Marie asked.

     “Not always. Things calm down once rush is over.” My phone beeped in my bag and I grabbed it. “Speaking of which, I have to run and get ready.”

      “But you already look nice,” Marie commented.

      “Thanks, but I need to be up to Si Chi standards. Have fun at the training and Emma, please try not to act up too much.”

      “I can’t control what will happen once his clothes burn off.”

       “What?”        I shook my head. “I’ll see you around.”

    The next day, I was shocked awake by a series of texts from Emma.

          E: Emergency, pls come 2 my dorm.

         E: Srsly, Marie needs ur help.

    Immediately, I wondered my Marie would need my help. When I reached out to Emma last night, she was busy gushing over Luke and never mentioned any issues. Also, I didn’t see any posts about her on social media which calmed my nerves.

    After texting her I would be there soon, I slowly pushed myself to sit up in my head and pushed my silk sleep mask up over my scarf. Then, I meditated for a few minutes, breathing through all the chaotic thoughts and scenarios that included strangers and people that I knew. Just when my temples began to throb, I stopped and made my way into the en-suite bathroom.

   About thirty minutes later, Emma shoved her dorm room open and pulled me in. She was wearing a gray GOD U t shirt and matching shorts, her curly stuck up in random places.

   “Where the hell have you been?” she whispered.

   “I got here as soon as I could,” I defended. “What’s going on?”

    Marie stood from her desk, a deep frown on her face, and made her way towards us. “I’m not in any Crimefighting classes; it’s all performing arts!”

    I cocked my head to the side. “That’s weird. Can I see your schedule?”

   “It’s on my phone.” Emma handed it to me and I started scrolling through Marie’s schedule.

   “Did you register for any performing arts classes?” I asked.

   “No, I registered for all the first-year Crimefighting classes,” Marie insisted.

   The frustration was thick in her voice and I wondered what was keeping her from punching a hole in the wall.

   “Is there anything I can do?” Marie asked.

   “Sorry, I don’t know. I’ve never heard of this happening.” I paused for a moment and smiled. “But I might be able to help. I have a meeting with Brink today and if you come with me, I could introduce you and we could get this all figured out.”

   “Really? Do you know how it will go?”

   “Let me try.”

   I closed my eyes and focused on Brink, the Crimefighting building, and Marie. The images were as blurry as a Monet up close and all the audio was muffled as if everyone was speaking underwater. When I opened my eyes, I shook my head at Marie.

   “Looks like it’s up to fate,” I commented.

   Marie deflated and I did not know whether to comfort her or not.

   “I’m sending good vibes your way,” Emma offered.

   “Thanks, we’ll need it,” Marie replied.

    As much as I wanted to push back, I did not like not knowing how this would turn out. My heart drummed in my ears later that day as we walked to the Lamplighter building. At the very least, the sun was beaming on everything, making Godolkin look shinier than usual. It was the perfect day for the white cherry-printed sundress and denim jacket I wore with platform white sandals. My braids flowed freely around me under the cool breeze.

   When we walked into the building, I let out the breath I did not know I was holding in.

   “You okay?” Marie asked.

   “Yeah, why?” I replied.

   “Your heart rate picked up,” she observed.

    I paused and looked at her. “You can hear my heartbeat?”

   She nodded. “Sorry, I know that’s kind of weird.”    “Nothing’s weird at this school but, that’s good to know,” I assured.

   I made a mental note to be more intentional in meditation as I led Marie to Brink’s office. The Lamplighter building was practically empty since most students were sleeping off hangovers. However, Jordan Li wasn’t most students and was at their usual post, the desk outside of Brink’s office, eyes focused on their laptop. They were in their feminine form, hair slicked back in a low ponytail.

   A small smile etched its way on my glossed lips at the sight and I turned to Marie, whose eyes widened at Jordan.

  “Let me do the talking,” I whispered.

  “Sounds good,” she answered, nodding.

  As soon as we got in front of Jordan’s desk, I waved my hand in front of their face to no avail. With no choice, I grinned as I slammed my hands on the desk and called their name. Immediately, Jordan jumped in their seat, yanking their earbuds out as they exclaimed an expletive.

    I laughed as they rolled their eyes at me.

   “Seriously, freshie?” Jordan commented.

   “You can’t call me that anymore, I’m a sophomore,” I sang.

   “It doesn’t have the same ring to it,” Jordan teased.

    My cheeks warmed at their words and I gripped my Longchamp tote closer to me in an attempt to get a grip on myself.

   “By the way, I loved your little dance from last night,” Jordan added.

   “You saw that?” I rasped.

   “Rushtok is so big that no one can escape it.” Jordan glanced at their laptop. “You’re early, as usual.”

   “I like to be punctual but, I also have someone who might be your new favorite freshman,” I replied.

    “Impossible,” Jordan scoffed.

     I nodded to Marie, who slowly moved to stand next to me. “This is Marie Moreau. Marie, this is Jordan Li, Brink’s TA.”

    Jordan glanced at Marie, a smirk disappearing from their face. “Hi.”

    “Hi, it’s so nice to meet you. You’re so awesome; your powers are incredible,” Marie confessed.

    Jordan smirked. “I’m glad I impressed a freshman.”

    Marie looked taken aback and glanced at me.

   “I brought Marie with me since there’s been a mix-up. She applied for Crimefighting but she’s in all the performing arts classes. So, I was thinking that you’d be able to help,” I explained.

    Jordan looked back at their laptop and started typing again. “I know, I’m the one who rejected her.”

   Their words hung in the air and I could feel a lump starting to form in my throat. As smart as Jordan was, they were either unaware of how deeply their bluntness could cut or they did not care. After knowing them for a year, I began to lean toward the latter.

   “What?” Marie muttered.

   “Why?” I questioned.

   “She has no social media presence and, even though her scores are decent, she needs a following,” Jordan rattled.

   “Isn’t that a little biased? Do you know what her powers are? If you knew, I think you would be open to making an exception,” I argued gently. “Besides, she can still get a following online. With her face, it will take no time.”

    As soon as the comment left my mouth, I froze. I had no idea why I said that, maybe Emma’s tendencies had rubbed off on me.

    “Sorry, the decision’s final.” Jordan did not sound apologetic at all and I thought I saw them trying not to smirk again.

   “You can’t do that. Let me talk to Professor Brink,” Marie requested.

  “There’s no point, he leaves all admission decisions to me,” Jordan said. “You should learn from your friend. Y/N here has ten million followers across her social media and solved the Glasgow Ripper case and a twenty-year-old cold case before she got here.”

   Marie whirled around to me. “You solved the Glasgow Ripper case?”

   “I just gave them a tip and it was supposed to be anonymous,” I muttered.

    “Nothing is anonymous with Vought,” Jordan countered. “Plus, you led them to key evidence.”

    “They would have solved it…eventually,” I admitted.

   Based on my original estimate, it would have taken them three years and I always felt horrible whenever they showed the victims’ families on the news. The tension in the space was thick as Jordan and Marie glared at each other. I wracked my brain for something, anything to say.

   Fortunately, Brink took care of the tension when he burst out of his office, gun in hand, and shot at Jordan. Marie yelped as Jordan switched to their male form and absorbed the shot.

   “Wow, every time,” Brink admired.

   “If you keep it up, I’m going to run out of shirts, sir,” Jordan replied, smiling.

    Brink turned to Marie and me. “Oh, Y/N, you’re here, early as always.”

    “Hi, Professor Brink. How was your summer?” I asked.

    “Busy. And yours?”

    “Good. Um, Professor, I don’t want to take too much of your time, but this is Marie Moreau and there was a mix-up with her schedule,” I started.

    Professor Brink nodded and turned to Marie. “Is that so?”

    Marie quickly explained the dilemma, narrowing her eyes at Jordan but was able to stay as calm and professional as possible. I glanced at Professor Brink’s expression and while he looked pleasant, I dreaded his words.

   “Well, if Jordan rejected you, that’s final. I trust their judgment,” Professor Brink affirmed. “You can serve as a hero in many ways; Crimefighting is a select group of students who show high aptitude in several areas. That does not mean anyone else is less valuable. Maybe we will see you on Dancing with the Stars one day.”

   Marie’s face fell and her body tensed. I might have started crying if I was in her position but her eyes stayed dry. I gently put my hand on her shoulder.

   “We’ll figure something out,” I muttered.

   She did not look convinced and as I politely followed Brink into his office, I prayed that I would get some sort of helpful premonition. Then again, why did I want to help this girl? I knew her for less than twenty-four hours. Nothing was making sense.

    Later that day, I practically ran a hole into my bedroom floor as I ruminated over my next steps. My meeting with Brink was unremarkable and I couldn’t stop thinking about how to get Marie into crim. She was obviously a strong hero in the works, even if Jordan didn’t see it. One way to help would be to get her into a decent house on campus since that was one of the only viable routes outside of making it into the Top 100 to get noticed on campus. However, Marie did not strike me as the sorority type.

    Then again, I could help her with donors at fundraisers since they loved throwing their money to make themselves feel better. As I thought, my mind somehow circled back to Jordan. It was fun getting a rise out of them after everything last year. They were not as rude to me as they were to Marie, but they were still terrifying last year. They always had a critique for someone and had reduced numerous kids to tears before the first semester ended. Somehow, I impressed them last year and they started being nicer to me. It probably also did not hurt that I had befriended Cate.

    “Ugh, it’s hopeless!” I huffed, plopping onto my bed.

    Even when I tried to get premonitions, there was nothing helpful; just Jordan and Marie arguing while I attempted to settle things.

    What was this year turning into?

      My phone rang, jolting me from my thoughts, and I answered without looking at the caller ID. “Hello?”

    “Do you have any rush shit tonight?” Cate asked.

    I sat up and eyed her in the video call. “No, all the presidents and VPs are meeting tonight so we’re on our own.”

   “Great, so you’re free to go out with us,” Cate concluded with a grin.

  My heartbeat picked up at the thought of going out with Cate and the others. Any time I went out with them always ended in an interesting story, from the time Cate got us all out of a really embarrassing ticket to the time Andre and Luke drunkenly dueted “Never Gonna Give You Up” in a Korean karaoke bar.

  “I know that face, you’re thinking too much,” Cate warned.

  “Not in a bad way, in a good way. Where are we going?”

  “Don’t worry, just wear something hot and meet us in the parking lot at ten.”

  “Okay.”

  I hung up and set the phone on my dresser. Maybe this would help me clear my head or get me out of my head. Sometimes the thoughts could be suffocating but I would get a break tonight. I closed my eyes and wondered what would happen tonight. Slowly, clear images of a dark club and the sound of a thumping bass flooded my mind. The club was crowded but I saw myself dancing with Cate and…Marie?

#gen v x reader #jordan li x reader #black!reader #marie moreau x reader #limoreau x reader

[lialacleaf]

To Care For A Woman

Chapter 4

Simon Riley x Reader

Summary: You join the army as a last-ditch effort to avoid destitution, but when you sustain an injury protecting Lieutenant Ghost and earn yourself a medical discharge, you're stuck all over again. Or maybe not...

Warnings: Tension, Simon wants to care for you, small reader, a little bit spicy but not NSFW, man worrying about a woman's safety, typical cannon violence, deception, I'm sorry it's unedited...

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

You were beginning to feel like Simon was hiding something. When he went out on missions he was insistent that you didn’t contact him. At all.

You never once wondered if there was another woman involved, Simon was too good to you for it to be that.

He was just so closed off when it came to the topic of work, and you weren’t sure why. Maybe he was battling PTSD, and trying not to let it color your relationship.

It had been six months since you had married Simon, two of which he’d spent deployed somewhere. Your parents had asked if you were coming home for the holidays, and you told them you would be working.

They still believed you had a job. In a way you did. When Simon wasn’t home you did light house chores, now that Dr. Radcliffe had cleared you for more movement.

Your leg was still weak, and running was out of the question. You’d begged Simon to let you get a dog but he’d bit his lip, given you a pained look, and explained that it wasn’t fair to the animal if you couldn’t care for it properly.

You’d nodded in agreement but it had hurt all the same. You were lonely when he was gone.

“So what are we doing for the holidays?” You asked as Simon washed the dinner dishes and handed them to you to be put away.

He shrugged as he scrubbed pasta sauce off one of the plates. “Haven’t celebrated in a while,” he admitted, handing you the next clean dish.

“Do you ever visit your family?” You asked.

“Have you ever been to Cambridge?” He went about scrubbing the cup your tea was in.

“I’ve never been to the UK, just the parts of Europe the 141 has taken me. Is that where you’re from?” You asked in excitement.

“No, I grew up in Manchester,” he said, passing you the cup.

“Is your family in Cambridge now?” You asked, feeling as if the conversation had gotten slightly off topic.

“No.”

You blinked in confusion. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to spend the holidays in Manchester with your family?”

“It doesn’t have to be Cambridge, London is nice too,” he added, drying his hands on the spare dish towel. “We’ve got a few weeks to decide anyhow.” He gave you a quick kiss on the forehead before disappearing into the bathroom.

You gaped slightly, blinking in confusion. What just happened? Had he really just swept your questions about his family under the rug with the distraction of a holiday vacation?

Maybe it was only fair. You’d made no effort to introduce Simon to your parents, but that was different. You were a daughter, not a son. If your parents found out their little baby girl had been injured, and married off to some strange man, your father would blow a fuse.

You knew very little about Simon though. The only thing you knew about him was his strange relationship with Ghost. Why was someone as sweet as Simon even mates with someone like Ghost?

~

Simon had started taking you into town once a week. He didn’t like to keep you cooped up, and Dr. Radcliffe had warned him you’d end up in trauma therapy if he kept you isolated during recovery.

Simon was relieved you didn’t display much interest in going to the mall. You were perfectly happy to go to the park and pet dogs, or go to the bookstore for hours on end.

You were begging to accumulate a small library, and sooner or later he’d need to build you a bookshelf.

“Out for the weekly book haul I see,” Jesse, the store owner said as you approached her counter, most of your books in Simon’s arms. You grinned at her as she scanned your latest finds. “You’re practically keeping me in business at this point.”

You shrugged and gave Jesse a bright smile. “You had new stuff in the gardening section, thought it might be helpful for the herbs we just planted,” you said, flashing Simon a grin.

He didn’t give you much of a reaction, but that was normal when he was in public. He wasn’t exactly fond of strangers, but he tolerated Jesse for the free cups of tea she bestowed on the two of you when you sat down to read in her cafe.

She’d never asked for the details of your relationship with Simon, but she always chuckled softly when he handed over his debit card without so much as a grumble for your somewhat expensive taste in books. A man that supported his partner's love of books was a good man in her opinion.

Jesse placed your books in a bag and handed them to Simon with a smile, unbothered by his flat expression and aversion to talking more than what was necessary.

“Have you decided where you want to go for Christmas yet?” He asked as he helped you load into his truck.

“Maybe we should stay home this year. I was just thinking it’d be harder to travel with my leg, and you already don’t like crowds, I can’t imagine how busy London must be this time of year…” you trailed off as Simon buckled into the driver’s seat. “But I would like to put up a tree!” You added.

Simon raised a brow at you as if he were amused by your declaration. “A tree?”

“Yeah! A Christmas tree! And we could have some of your teammates over-“

“They’ll be with their families,” he stated quickly.

Your smile fell. Oh. Right. “Maybe just the Captain then?”

Simon bit his lip but nodded. Price was aware of the situation, and the least likely to spill the beans. He supposed inviting his Captain over for a holiday meal would be alright.

“Speaking of family,” you began carefully, “Can we stop by the post office next week? I’d like to ship my parents' Christmas presents,” you requested softly.

Simon glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “Would you like to see your family?” He asked, and you shook your head.

“No, I…” you trailed off, unsure of what to say.

“You haven’t told them.” It wasn’t a question. He’d heard your phone calls with them. They still thought you were working for Price.

“It’s…it’s not that I don’t want you to meet them. It’s just that I don’t want them to worry, and I know that they will.” Simon nodded, grasping your hand gently in his. “I’ll figure something out…eventually.”

“I have to go for a mission next week, but I’ll be back before Thanksgiving. We can put up the tree when I get back. I’ll…leave the truck with you, you can make it to town on your own?” He asked.

Your eyes widened in surprise. You hadn’t expected him to even offer, but now that you thought about it, it was a little ridiculous to expect you to stay put while he was gone. It was your left leg that was injured after all, you could still drive.

“Yeah, I know the way. Thanks, Simon,” you said, offering him a brilliant smile.

“Just be careful,” he reminded you. He’d leave a pistol with you just in case. The holidays were always more dangerous. He was starting to regret not getting you that dog. He would have to look into putting up a fence, but that was a long term project that he’d need a longer break from work to accomplish. Like hell he was gonna pay some stranger to come out to his home where his wife was to do the job.

Once the truck was parked and your books were unloaded, Simon went about doing his chores while you made lunch. At some point you heard the buzz of his saw outside. He seemed to always have some sort of project going.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the other night as you went about piling chicken salad on two croissants. Why was he so closed off concerning his family?

You eyed you bedroom door, wondering if you should just leave it alone, or put your detective skills to work.

You left your plates on the counter as you slipped into your bedroom. Simon didn’t keep many personal items, therefore your nightstand was always a little more cluttered than his between your laptop, medications, and other odds and ends.

You weren’t exactly sure what you were looking for. All you really knew about Simon was his name and that he’d grown up in Manchester. Your search would likely yield little result.

At least that was what you thought until you were starting at a death record. A death record for Simon Riley, bearing the same date of birth and identification information that was on your marriage certificate.

“Y/n?” You jumped, your head shooting up to see Simon in his sweaty work clothes standing in the doorway. “Gonna hop through the shower before lunch…everything alright?” He asked, noticing how pale you’d gone.

“I…um, yeah, yeah I’m fine.” You sputtered, closing your laptop screen. “I’ll go finish lunch,” you said, limping back into the kitchen.

Simon watched you, his head cocked to the side, before he shrugged, and stripped down to get a shower.

You tried to ignore the knots forming in your gut. Simon Riley was dead, and you had no unearthly clue who this man was. Did Ghost know? Had he unwittingly sent you right into the arms of someone dangerous, or was Ghost well aware of who Simon really was?

Your hands shook as you went about finishing the lunch preparations, and you quietly set the table, hyper aware of the other person in the house.

Simon was still in the shower, you had time to go back for your laptop. You quickly made your way into the bedroom, lifting the screen as you sat on the bed.

Your eyes scanned over the obituary with concern. Simon Riley…served in the royal army…died in a fire…no body…wait…no body?

You scrolled down a bit until you got to the photo at the bottom of the page. It was your Simon. You felt your throat tighten.

Why was your Simon supposedly dead? It made no sense. The man in the picture, albeit a little older, was currently showering in the bathroom.

You scanned through the rest of the obituary, noticing the mention of his family. Each name was highlighted, and you risked clicking on the name of the previous Mrs. Riley.

You felt like you were going to hurl when you were greeted with an even more morbid obituary. His entire family was gone. Murdered. Stolen right out from under him. It suddenly made sense. His overprotective nature was simply a trauma response. It still didn’t explain the falsified death certificate, but it was a start.

It wasn’t until you were staring into the photographed eyes of Tommy Riley that it clicked.

Tommy had brown eyes, practically identical to Simon’s. There was one other person you knew of with those eyes. One other person who’s voice sounded so similar to Simon’s, even if it was a little rougher.

Was Tommy…Ghost?

AN: OOOOOH Ya'll excited? We get spicy next chapter...

Tag List:

@warenai @livynicole @ghostlythots @hilowhiho @mrmountainman @miamia89 @shiraya92 @crocodilefeet2707

@zzariyahchan @gaida-511 @misshoneypaper @soldierlass @dazaiscum @mockerycrow @kaysav608 @classygardencroissantcolor @innerskylover @kristalhi @hotaruteba @tzutology @sushiumex @l3xiluve @immajustlikeok

@iplayghoul @linoskitten11 @zollaris @whore-for-anime @migeuloharaslxt @blog-luvdance @embermdk @buttercupmuffins

@corpsebridenightamare @15382663884 @discowizard88 @strawberryjambrrread @lieblinqs

@waves-against-a-cliff @saturnknows @elliesbabygirl @vynz0ne @teapartydreams @thesinsoflust @vantedaes @berryjuicyy @lovergyal @01trickster10 @coolcatyarb @nirvanaaaonly @innerskylover @thriving-n-jiving @whoisjazy @yeoldedumbslut @vinithechocolatevampire @starlettemoony @die-prophetin @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @emily-roberts @mokyoenthusiast

@betelrus @shiftedvoid @beebeechaos @bitchoftoji @katbug37

@thatgirlboss1 @homeofthe-80s-90s-andnow

@illyanam1011 @hrchyysnz @chxosangxl @animarix @happy-mushrooms @pearlm00n @cathnoneofyourbusiness @ray-rook

@novausstuff @copiasratscheese @i-feel-violated @itsagrimm

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost mw2

[deepouterspacecandy]

Whispering Pines

I plan for this to be a two-part piece, at least, as there are many mushy and maybe even spicy things planned for it—but today is my birthday and I’ll be away from my computer for a few days to celebrate. I really hope you enjoy reading it in the meantime. Big fluff, 18+ only.

In a world where infected roam the earth and surviving has become a daily battle, life is as good as it can be. Perfectly fine, by your standards, until Abigail Anderson entered the picture.

From the moment you saw her shredding all competition in the gun range, she stirred something inside of you that now clouds your mind and distracts you from almost everything else.

The term “crush” makes sense to you now, with the overwhelming burden of longing and unseen affection absolutely crushing you into miniscule particles of dust, drifting hopelessly at her feet.

Your infatuation has pushed you into a range of activities you wouldn’t have pursued otherwise. While it has undoubtedly made you a more capable soldier, it is unfortunate that the attention your accolades have received is not something you can reciprocate, even if you wanted to.

It’s not just her striking smile, or her perfect blend of rugged and soft features—not the sheer strength she exudes when she ambles through the chow hall in her tank top, cargo pants so snug across her muscular thighs it makes your knees weak.

It’s just her. A beautiful amalgamation of countless quirks and habits that, for some wicked reason, forces your senses to impossible heights when you desperately need them to subside.

“Are you hearing me right now?”

“Shit, sorry,” you say. “Go again.”

You lower your head apologetically, Manny’s face expressing absolute scandal when he notices the broad-shouldered goddess that diverted your focus from him. His very best friend and comrade, naturally.

When he waggles his brows at you and calls Abby over, your stomach swoops so low that the rapid beating of your heart contradicts the notion of standing still.

“Manny, don’t—Manny! Oh, Jesus Christ.”

With a brief, calculating glance at your fidgeting form, he meets Abby halfway, abandoning you in line.

As you lose focus on your surroundings, panic draws emphasis to the position of your hands. You become acutely aware, contemplating whether they should rest in your pocket or if that would come across as too deliberately cool.

You avoid watching them talk amongst themselves, the air thick with secrecy, because obviously if you don’t see her, she can’t see you and then you can vanish without a trace, escaping to a haven that grants respite anywhere but here in the damn burrito queue.

When you reach the front of the line, you snatch up your lunch with such speed that the person serving you may have mistaken your haste for a bad mood as you swiftly exit through the nearest doors and into the hallway.

“I can’t believe you,” Manny pants, trying to catch his breath as you fumble with your overcrowded keyring. “The first woman who’s ever tried to escape my charm.”

“I find that hard to believe,” you snicker. Metal jingles aggressively as you struggle to enter your apartment. “God, what’s wrong with this damn thing?”

In a display of cunning, Manny unveils a spare key, undoubtedly gained through some act of thievery, and shoves you aside. With a kick, he swings the door open and stretches his arm above your head to hold it for you.

“Do I even want to know?” you ask, gesturing at the stolen key.

“Probably not,” he chuckles.

He rests against your kitchen counter and, realizing you won’t ask him to go, hops onto the hard surface. He devours his meal, one enormous chomp at a time, legs casually swinging as you wander through your suite, trying to regain your appetite.

“So,” Manny says, balling up the wrapper before tossing it at your head. “You’ve got it bad for my girl, huh?”

“You’re actually the worst, do you know that?” you say. “I hope you never get laid again.”

Laughing uncontrollably, Manny tries to catch the messy wrapper you toss back at him, causing him to nearly tumble off the counter.

“That’s what you get, sucker!” you exclaim. “Looks like you won’t be making the softball team, after all.”

With a snort, Manny jumps down from the counter and starts rummaging through your mini fridge, in search of something to wash down his lunch.

“We’ll see after this weekend who is the real sucker.”

“What does that mean?”

With a voracious gulp, he drains the last drops of your juice rations, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He’s finally seeking retribution for all the snacks of his that you’ve been helping yourself to.

“Manny, what did you do?” you groan.

An abrupt knock at your door startles you, as Manny’s knowing look turns your mouth bone-dry.

“I’ll go wash up. You better get that,” he says.

With a leisurely pace, he saunters down the hall, his footsteps creating a gentle rhythm as he heads towards your bathroom and out of sight.

Thunderous knocks continue to echo through the room, causing your thoughts to scramble. You smooth out your shirt and fuss with your hair, taking a few calming breaths before flinging open the door.

A pair of bright, curious blue eyes greet you on the other side, setting your cheeks on fire. Swallowing hard, you stand there speechless, desperately grasping for something significant to say. Knowing what Manny told her would provide some helpful context, but that shithead has left you in the lurch twice today.

Abby sizes you up, her attractive face adorned with a growing smirk that spotlights her confidence.

“Hi,” she says with a warm smile, extending her hand for a friendly handshake. “I’m Abby.”

“Hey, yeah—I’ve noticed. I know,” you blurt, feeling yourself internally recoil at the gibberish spilling from you like a waterfall.

As you both stand there, the handshake lingering for an unusually long time, Abby’s amusement at your expense only seems to intensify. As she patiently waits for you to decide when it ends, her eyes crinkle cheerfully at the edges. By the time you pull away, your whole body feels sweat dappled and flushed.

Manny shouts from somewhere inside the apartment, sending your shoulders straight to your ears. “Are you going to invite her in already—where are your manners?”

His outburst earns a gratuitous eye roll from Abby, who then tilts her head with empathy towards you.

“Would—you like to come in?” you stammer.

“Yeah,” she says. “That’d be great.”

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

A few times each year, Abby takes charge of organizing events for the younger generations on the FOB. She leads a series of survival challenges—scavenger hunts, fishing and hunting, target practice, crafting competitions, herb, and plant identification—to help keep morale up and to preserve strength in the community.

Although you haven’t taken part, you’ve heard positive feedback from soldiers and their families on base. It’s a good thing too, since Manny has kindly stepped in and volunteered you to help Abby with the next one.

“I know it sounds corny, but it really helps build teamwork and keep everyone active,” Abby explains, referring to a relay race she wants to set up outside the walls.

“No, not at all—it sounds awesome,” you say.

“I was going to go solo, but if you want to come along, I’d appreciate the extra hands,” she says. I usually camp for a few days and build everything myself. It’ll be nice to have some company out there.”

Abby’s fingers find a loose thread that is spindling out from a tear on her jeans, and she starts to fiddle with it. Manny clears his throat, prompting you to join the conversation rather than staring at her like she’s an enchanting extraterrestrial.

“I love camping!” you squeak, putting Manny on the verge of collapsing with laughter as he hears the sheer excitement in your voice.

It wouldn’t be completely terrible if the couch swallowed you whole, but despite your nerves, Abby does a decent job of making you feel relaxed in her presence.

“Yeah? Do you have a tent and everything?”

It’s clear that the universe is conspiring to make you look like a fool, so of course you don’t have camping gear of your own. To be honest, you’ve always been thankful for the opportunity to choose your work while off base because every time you observe your unit setting up camp, it reminds you of how complex it all seems.

Your inclination is to prioritize keeping everyone fed and using your expertise in weaponry and stealth. If you attempted to pitch a tent with only tarps and some rope, someone would inevitably wake up in a puddle.

“I’m not so great with the tent erecting stuff,” you say, mentally cuffing yourself the minute you hear yourself speak.

You’ve never uttered the word erecting in your life before now.

You avoid glancing at Manny’s face, aware that he’s eagerly anticipating the chance to mercilessly ridicule you. With a sugary, lopsided smile, Abby boldly extends her middle finger towards her best friend. You can bet that he is making all sorts of faces behind your back.

“We can share mine,” Abby offers. “If that’s cool with you.”

“Sure, that works for me,” you say with a nod, trying like hell to stay composed against the heat climbing your neck.

Abby bites her cheek to suppress a smile.

“Good, it’s all settled,” Manny says, slapping your back. “Just you and Abby, all alone in the great outdoors.”

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

“I’m going to kill him,” you grumble.

Upon hearing the news of Manny finally pairing you and Abby together, Nora is giddier than you’ve ever seen her. While assembling a medical kit for your camp out, she gives you a cheeky look.

“That girl needs her shit rocked,” she says, bouncing her flawlessly manicured brows. “If you want my vote, I say you send her home to us limping.”

“Oh, my god! I’m never going to get my face to calm down.”

You press your palms to your forehead, desperate for a cold cloth.

Nora’s bright, warm giggles fill the room, matching the kind-heartedness she emits.

“There’s no way Abby isn’t dreading this,” you say, passing a roll of gauze to Nora’s outstretched hands. “You should’ve been there—it was like I forgot how to talk or something. I’m so embarrassed.”

“Well, if I know her as well as I think I do,” Nora says with a grin. “She probably found your mess pretty damn cute.”

“You think so?”

“Totally. She digs the dorky ones,” she shrugs, handing you the fully stocked medical kit. “Just be real with her, okay? Everything with Owen did a number on her. I’d hate to have to kick your ass when you get back.”

“I don’t think this is that kind of trip,” you say. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

Leaning against the desk, Nora twirls a pen in her hands, lost in thought. The Salt Lake Crew, as you understand it, formed an unbreakable bond, strengthened by the shared experiences and obstacles they encountered while growing up together side by side. Though some challenges they faced have become distant tales, her face still carries the etching of the profoundness of their connection.

“I’m going to tell you something because I trust you, but please don’t make me regret it.”

The sound of the pen tapping against Nora’s thigh is quick and incessant as she gathers her thoughts. A small puff of air escapes her as she studies you intently from a distance.

“Fuck it,” she says, her lean hands gripping the tabletop. “Abby gets these—bad dreams, okay? Not all the time, but when she does, it can be rough. It’s why she goes out there alone.”

“Oh,” you breathe.

“Yeah. So, it’s a pretty big deal that she’s bringing you along this time,” Nora explains. “Please be good to her.”

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

The two of you venture outside the gates in the early morning, the scorching heat prickling your neck. The drought-stricken summer is the hottest you can remember in ages, dry grass crunching beneath your boots as you trek on.

You bring your shirt up to swipe at your sweaty face, drawing Abby’s gaze as it travels down your body.

This time, it’s her face that flushes with a rosy hue as she realizes you caught her stealing glances.

“It’s cool of you to help me out,” Abby says, redirecting attention. “Even though it’s boiling out here.”

“I thought about bailing, I’m not gonna lie,” you chuckle.

The heat and Abby’s quick pace are leaving you out of breath, but you’re determined to keep up.

“Why didn’t you?” she asks.

You reflect on Nora’s words and how she pleaded with you to treat Abby honourably. Her advice was to be authentic, and even though vulnerability can be frightening, you’re going to bite the bullet.

“I’ve wanted to get to know you for a while,” you admit. With the sun piercing through the trees, blinding your vision, you tightly clutch the straps of your backpack and hang your head. “I hope that’s not weird.”

Abby stops in front of you, and it momentarily obscures the bright rays of sunlight, offering you instant relief. The freckles sprinkled along her sun-kissed skin become more prominent, enhancing her natural beauty. She’s so pretty it makes your chest ache, and your thoughts run wild.

Kneeling, she hunts through her bag and pulls out a crumpled ball cap. When she stands up and carefully places it over your head, making all the necessary adjustments, flutters stir between your ribs.

“This hat is weird,” Abby says, her soft smile contrasting with her words.

Before continuing the journey, she pauses to fix a few messy tendrils of your hair, her touch lingering behind your ear for a split second. It’s enough to overlook the blazing temperature outside, mistakenly convincing you it’s only a sensation within your body.

“What about you—where’s yours?” you ask.

Despite her attempt to hide it, her smile is unmistakable as she tilts her head away.

“It looks better on you.”

“I highly doubt the accuracy of that statement,” you quip.

If you had known she was such a sweetheart behind closed doors, you might’ve summoned the courage to approach her differently. Life is brief, and it dawns on you how much time you’ve squandered in fear.

Amused, Abby shakes her head and then gestures for you to follow her. You would willingly accompany her to the deepest depths of the earth if she wanted. Fortunately, you’re already experiencing a preview of that, with the summer heat threatening to sear you like a salmon steak.

Abby jogs ahead of you, her eyes hooked on something beyond the treeline. You match her speed, eager to discover what has caught her interest.

She leads you to a lake, with its surface as clear as crystal, mirroring the vibrant emerald hues of the surrounding trees. Wildflowers bloom at the water’s edge, cradled between pebbles, their petals a delicate splatter of yellow and purple. A family of ducks glide gracefully across the surface, leaving ripples in their wake.

You wish you had something to offer them.

“Please tell me we’re going swimming,” you say, spellbound by the lush oasis and the promise of a refreshing dip. “I haven’t been to the lake for years.”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Abby says, beaming at you. “Have you ever gone skinny dipping?”

Her teeth graze anxiously over her bottom lip, examining you—her watchful eyes appearing filled with hope that she didn’t unintentionally cross a boundary.

“Only in my bathtub,” you say with a nervous giggle. “But I guess that doesn’t really count.”

“You’re a total dork,” Abby teases. “It’s kind of growing on me.”

“I’ll take it,” you say, delighting in the way she impishly scrunches her nose at you. “So, are we doing this or what?”

“You first,” she says, her eyes gleaming mischievously as she flicks at the brim of your hat.

When you toss it aside, Abby lifts her shirt up and over her head, balling it up to pitch on top of her bag. Her smooth, honey-blonde braid sways between her exposed shoulder blades as she widens her stance, unfastening her leather belt. Her back is a landscape of tight, defined muscles that leave you feeling dizzy.

Abby’s gaze meets yours as she looks back, a trace of wonder dancing in her eyes.

“Like what you see?” she asks.

#abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby x you #tlou abby