#Thunder Heart Captures

[indecisivemuch]

~ Titles ~

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: You are determined to steal the title of best swordsman from Luke. You proposed a spar, which led to unsuspecting confessions and an alternate proposal/offer. (fluff, pining, playful rivals to lovers, happy ending)

Warning: some sexual innuendos but nothing explicit. Violence? (you two sparred).

Note: he’s like one of my only age appropriate crush if I’m honest LMAO. The others are all much older 😭

Word count: 4k

You wanted many things. You wanted glory, you wanted to have the highest winning streak to capture the flag, and you also wanted Luke’s head on a stick…sometimes. 

Oh yes, Luke has heard it all from your pretty mouth, and it does not get less amusing every time. In fact, the whole camp seemed to enjoy the banters between the two of you. At one point, it escalated to bets among campers on whether you or Luke would win against one another in things. Initially, both of you were shocked at the discovery. But when the surprise wore off, both of your competitiveness only amplified. Capture the flag became your guys’ war zone, and even silly things like who could finish chores quicker was a competition.

However, despite the rivalry being kind of playful, there was one thing you swore your heart upon winning - Luke’s title.

“Ah, well, if it isn’t the best swordsman,” you greeted as you spotted him approaching.

“If it isn’t the best flag captor,” indeed, you were always assigned to snag the flag due to your combat skills.

“And soon to be the best swordsman,” you added.

“You keep saying that but haven’t even gotten close.”

“I’m literally the second best.” The second those words left your mouth, you wished they didn’t. From the number of years you’ve known Luke, you could very well predict what he was going to say next, and because of that, you realized you just walked straight into his trap. You glanced up at the boy, only to see him already cheekily peering down at you with twinkles in his eyes - the sweet look of victory casting over his face.

“Ah, yes…second best,” the smugness interlacing Luke’s otherwise swoon-worthy voice made you scoff.

You never actually hate Luke, but neither were you two friends who hung out. You both were in different friend groups, rarely in the same space without making a quick remark or two, though they were all interlaced with a humorous undertone. There was a thin line between rivals and somewhat friends that you both mingled on without crossing. You would never tell him or admit it out loud, but Luke played a huge part in shaping who you are today as a Demigod. He constantly challenged you, which pushed you to take steps to become better. Over time, you two even slipped into a routine. You were each other’s sparring partners and, strangely enough, each other’s choice when it comes to quest partners.

You remember the first time Luke did it. Three years ago, you used to believe that he genuinely hated your guts and loved making fun of you for his own amusement. So when Chiron asked Luke to pick two companions for his quest, he named you without an ounce of doubt in his voice. You almost had a whiplash looking over at the boy who just called out your name.

“Not for long,” you settled on replying after rolling your eyes.

When you glanced back at him, Luke was giving you the look. The one where his lips were sculpted in a challenging and somewhat arrogant smirk, contrasting with the soft gaze that would always pair with it. It was as if he wanted you to know that despite his annoying habit of riling you up, he’d never cross any line that you would not let him, and he’d never push any buttons that you’d say were off limits. It was charming and sweet in a sense, though your mind dismissed that belief every single time and blamed it on your heart for being delusional. However, boy oh boy, your body reacted to it like Zeus has personally struck you with thunder every single time. Your lungs would collapse and malfunction for a second; your eyes would hold still and at him as if turned to stone by Medusa; your tongue seemed to have been frozen; your voice as if taken by Ursula. But amidst that mess, your heart would be beautifully embracing this feeling that it was harboring. It was something you never acknowledged or wanted to label because you knew it would be put into the universe as soon as you did that.

“I have a proposal,” you said, after forcing yourself out of that flustered state. 

“I’m listening,” Luke crossed his arms, and you almost gulped at how they bulked up when he did so.

“We spar. If I win, I get the title of best swordsman. You win, you can get anything you want,” you named the terms.

“Anything?” Luke asked, tilting his head with amusement twinkling in his eyes as you confirmed by nodding. “Ok, deal,” he drew a hand out, prompting you to shake it, which you mindlessly did. Little did you know, Luke did it on purpose as an excuse to hold your hand, even if it was for only a split second. 

It was sort of pathetic, and Luke knew it. But there was nothing else he could do. The only way he could ever touch you was either small actions like handshakes or getting punched by you. The latter happened more frequently as the two of you sparred together more. The both of you didn’t make a habit of hurting each other, but it was bound to happen when practicing combat. 

As toxic and insane as it sounded, Luke was somewhat addicted to the infrequent pain that you were inflicting on him. One, because he got to feel your touch, albeit it was aggressive. Two, the worried look on your face - the closest he thought he would feel to you caring about him as much as he cared about you. Three, waking up the next day with purple bruises left by you, which, to him, was the only substitute for the type of purple marks he wanted you to leave on him.

“Alright, let’s do this,” you retracted your hand and got into position.

“Don’t you wanna know what I’d get if I win?” something in Luke’s eyes told you that whatever he had in mind was pure trouble, and he knew you had this urge to know everything. So you purposefully ignored asking about it.

“I don’t need to know, ‘cause that won’t happen anyway,” as you turned away, Luke let out a chuckle as his eyes softened at the sight of you. He knew that you know of the fact that he knows you well. Years of bantering and shy glances over your way when you weren’t aware has also taught him many things about you. Like how you prefer tabbing over highlighting your books, or how you’d always strike on the side first when combating others but would always change it up when it comes to him, or that your smile slightly tilted to the right when you are genuinely happy, or the fact that your love language was act of service because you were always going out of your way for the people you love.

At a far enough distance, you finally turned back at Luke but was caught off guard when you saw his sword already swinging at you. Years of practice forced your reflexes into action, and you caught his sword midair with your own.

“Woah, we never agreed that it started,” you yelled, pushing him and his sword away from you and yours.

“Do monsters wait for you to be ready during quests, sweetheart?” The mocking tone should not be affecting you the way it did, but it elicited this feeling of sheer annoyance and unleashed a hunger for victory. Luke got into a fighting stance as well, “Well then, ready whenever you are.”

You practically swung at him, and your swords clashed at an alarming rate to outsiders. But you two were experts at swordsmanship. Every move was quick and with ease. However, as Luke predicted, your eagerness to win was eroding your strategic senses. Taking advantage of this, he was planning to strike your armor next, aiming to create a mark on it. But you unexpectedly dodged down, and he was not prepared enough to change his course of action. 

Within seconds of a gasp escaping your lips, Luke halted still as his jaw dropped in horror upon realizing what he had done. He called out your name, trying to come nearer to inspect the consequences of his action.

Thunder started sounding as the gray clouds finally cast water upon you two. You traced your hand along the mark that was left on your cheek, eying the blood that was now on your finger. As raindrops landed on your hand and diluted the substance, you realized your attacks in the last five minutes have been too impulsive and you needed to keep your emotions at bay.

“Y/N?” Luke called out again, though it reeked a new level of worry this time. Luke was afraid he had crossed a line. Despite sparring many times in the past, Luke had never caused harm to your face before. In fact, he has always been careful to minimize the injuries he would inflict on you.

Luke held back the urge to rub his hand over where his heart would be to soothe it as his mind wandered off to the possibility of you hating him genuinely and never wanting him around again. He never told you, but the reason he trained so hard to become the best swordsman - apart from for glory - was for you. He knew you were also good at it and hoped the title would make you notice him. 

You averted your attention back to him and drew your sword up again. 

“What? You’re scared you won’t be the only one who looks good with a scar on their face anymore?” you asked, arching your eyebrow.

“Oh, so you think I look good with the scar?” Luke bantered back, though you could tell there was an immense relief that he was feeling. Taking advantage of his distracted state, you struck again, but he managed to dodge just in time.

The fight went on for another twenty minutes. You were too focused to see, but Luke was surprised by how you chose to attack him this time. However, you miscalculated Luke’s next move and had to abruptly try to dodge his attack. But by taking a step back, you gave him the perfect chance to strike. Within seconds, he managed to disarm and send you to the ground. 

Like the last thousands of spars, the tip of his sword ended up near your throat as an indication of checkmate. You knew you could make no more moves - definitely not without your sword. You lifted both hands up slightly in a motion of surrender, biting the inside of your cheeks as you peered up at him. 

Right now, sweat and rain were dripping down the side of Luke’s face. They rolled down his scar - that goddamn scar that never failed to make you go borderline feral with visions of the kisses you’d bless them with if you were given the chance to. His dark, wet curls were clinging onto his forehead, and the same colored eyes gazed down at you. They were so cocky, almost condescending, yet so hot it made you want them to be kept on you forever. 

You hated to admit it, but he looked so hot fighting you were willing to purposefully lose sometimes.

Little did you know, it drove him to the wall that you were peering up at him like this: cheeks flushed, heavy breath, and those goddamn eyes peering through your pretty lashes that could convince him to do absolutely everything you’d ask. The sight of you made Luke want to spill his guts and tell you everything he had been locking up inside his mind.

He extended one hand out to help you up. Like always, you accepted his offer and got up from the ground.

As you were about to let go of Luke’s hand, he slightly tightened his grip, and your heart fluttered at the action. He was staring at your guys’ hands in deep thought before softly rubbing his thumb across your fingers and knuckles. The way Luke delicately did so vastly contrasted with how he was fighting you during every spar. For a second, you wondered what it would be like to be loved by him and be held so tenderly.

“It’s okay, you know…” Luke spoke, breaking the peace from the sound of rain hitting the soil beneath them.

“What? Be defeated?”

“You may be the second-best swordsman in this camp-”

“Geez, thanks for reminding me that I’m only second best,” you playfully commented.

“But you’re first place...in here.” Luke pointed right at his heart using the hand that was not on yours. You stare at it with your mouth slightly agape.

“Stop playing around with me,” you almost stuttered, refusing to believe Luke was not trying to fool you for a quick laugh.

“I’m not,” Luke rebutted and pulled your hand towards his chest, causing your heart to flutter at the action. But unlike that small kick in your heart, when your palm lay between Luke’s hand and his heart, you could hear his heart beating like an engine that had lost control. Your jaw fell agape at the contact and the speed of his heartbeat. When you looked up at him, the earnest look on Luke’s face made you know that whatever he was planning to say was indeed from his whole heart.

“Third week at camp, I got knocked down by this much older kid during capture the flag, who wanted to maim me for some reason. You swept in, pushed him into the lake nearby and pulled me to run away with you before that kid could get out of the water and chase after us. It felt like I was lovestruck or something, but I could not keep my eyes off you after that. Somehow, you always draw my attention in any crowded room,” Luke blushed at his confession, shyly avoiding eye contact with you. “But after that, I think you sort of forgot who I was because you weren’t acknowledging me at all, and so the fifteen-year-old me thought maybe I needed to throw sarcastic remarks or say stupid things to make sure that my crush would remember me and know that I exist. Hence-”

“The banters,” you finished off for him. 

“And the rivalry. It’s pathetic, I know,” Luke added.

You were in awe of viewing things from Luke’s perspective. Because from your side, you did remember that day very vividly. The reality was you were too nervous to interact with the boy again after the incident, growing shy at the thought of talking to a cute boy. So you pretended that nothing had happened.

“Fast forward to when I returned from that quest that gave me the dragon scar. People weren’t exactly different, but I could feel that they were somewhat tiptoeing around me as if I was…damaged,” Luke’s eyes hollowed for a second, and you could see that he was being sucked back into the memories. But his absent state of mind didn’t last long, and his eyes lit up again as the boy continued, “But you were the one thing that did not change. You didn’t treat me any differently. Your remarks and blunt insults became fresh air for me. I never told you, but every time we interacted back then - every time you talked to me, insulted me, or even looked at me, it felt like…I could finally breathe in that suffocating time period. Seeing you suddenly became necessary, and I think that was when I realized…”

With your hand on Luke’s chest still, you could feel his heart start beating even faster, if that was possible, as if trying to break free from his ribcage. 

“I think that was when I realized I was in love with you,” Luke’s words came out as a whisper, like an oath too sacred to be said out loud. That is not to say he wasn’t afraid to shout it out from a rooftop. Luke just wanted his first time saying it to be for your ears only. For every single time after, Luke would make sure that his words and actions were heard loud and clear to you and others, if you would let him.

You almost could not believe your own ears. For the first time ever, you saw Luke look so vulnerable. He was usually so sure of himself, almost always overly confident whenever he was around you, just to irritate you with an inflated ego persona. But right now, it felt like the curtains were closing, and nothing was left but him with his heart in hand.

This was who Luke Castellan really was - under all the armor and titles.

And he was in love with you.

You opened your mouth to say something, but words froze. You weren’t sure what to say because you believe that whatever it is you utter out wouldn’t be able to top Luke’s words. You frowned as the sparks in Luke’s eyes dulled slowly. You could feel his hand keeping yours on his chest slipping slightly. At this, you flipped your hand around to hold his in place.

“Eleven months after you arrived at camp that I…” you paused, gulping as you tried to find the words, “This boy, he tore my favorite book apart because I defeated him during a spar and “embarrassed him” in front of everybody. He’s an absolute coward, too, because he brought his buddies along, knowing he would have never won one-on-one against me. So, he had his friends hold me still as he punched me in the face and stomach repeatedly.” Luke’s eyebrows furrowed at the story. Of course, he remembered the incident. He only wished he had been there when it happened rather than in the aftermath.

“You found me bloody and bruised while I was heading to the infirmary. I was convinced you hated me back then because of all the sarcastic remarks I thought were genuine insults. So I thought you would just ignore me. But no, you stopped me. For the first time ever, I saw who you seem to really be: this caring and protective person. You were stubborn and determined to know what happened, even though I said it was not a big deal. Then you wrapped up my wounds in the infirmary wordlessly and would not leave my side until you walked me back to my cabin, where I finally told you who was behind it all.”

“Then, the next day, I found a new copy of my favorite book, candy, and new book tabs on my bedside. Later that day, I found out that his whole friend group, including him, had their hair dyed bright pink with dozens of bruises and cuts on them, and they could not even look at me. And I just knew it was you who had done all this for me, which changed how I see you - and us.”

“Is that why you left me your dessert for a month straight? After I lost dessert privileges for maiming those guys?” Luke asked.

“I did no such thing,” you tried to lie. Indeed, you were the mysterious person who left desserts next to Luke’s bed for the month after the incident. Even though you never told him, he knew it was you, and the look he was giving you right now conveyed he very well did not believe your denial.

“What I’m trying to say, Luke Castellan…is I think my heart might be a little too fond of you as well,” Luke’s jaw dropped slightly at your words. His heart almost spiked completely, losing a beat as if you caused him to flatline from bliss. Then, something glossed over his eyes, and you fully recognized it. The glint of mischief always presented itself before he said something cheeky to you. 

“You know, I think I’ll cash in my prize now. I did win after all,” Luke referred to your original spar deal. You huffed at his words and the cheeky grin he was offering you.

“Ah, right. So, what is it that you want?” Luke untangled his hand from yours and used both to cup your face slowly but surely. 

“Hmm, you did say “anything”,” Luke muttered as he glanced down at your lips, which made you subconsciously licked them. However, your action made him let out a quivering breath. Even though it was somewhat dark, you could still see that his eyes were dilated. You were pretty sure yours were as well. 

“Can I kiss you, Y/N?” Luke was holding your face like it was the world that he had in his palms.  

“Yes,” you answered almost without hesitation, and he smiled at that. “Kiss me, Castellan,” you tugged Luke’s shirt, pulling him towards you, and almost immediately, he clashed his lips against yours.

Years of yearning were unleashed as you two practically melted in each other’s hold. The rain only added passion to the kiss, like fuel to the fire. Luke lightly backed you against a tree with one hand at the back of your head, shielding it from hitting the tree trunk too hard. Slowly, his other hand trailed down from your cheek to your hips. There were so many words he was seemingly trying to convey to you through his kiss. It was as if he was making a promise upon the love he intended to deliver to you. 

One of your hands tangled in Luke’s curls, twirling them around your fingers like it was their intended purpose to exist for. The other was on his cheek, your fingers subconsciously rubbing over his scar ever so delicately, as if they were gold to be treasured rather than a blemish to be ashamed of. Luke faintly shivered at your action, growing ever so breathless at the way you touched him, wanting to scowl at himself for being affected in such a way. 

Luke pulled away first, and you could not help but grin at the sight of him: swollen plump lips, messy dark hair, and a hue of pink dancing across his face. He cupped your face with both his hands again before leaving a small kiss on your cheek near where he had split your skin and drew blood. 

“This doesn’t change anything, you know? It may not be today, but someday, I will get the title of best swordsman if it is the last thing I do. Me losing today does not mean I’m giving up,” you said, hands still playing with his hair lovingly despite the stubborn declaration.

“I would not expect any less,” Luke replied, though wanting to add ‘if anybody were to take this honorable title, I’d want it to be you,’ yet he did not utter his thoughts. You breathed out a chuckle at his words.

“And yeah, maybe someday you will get that title,” Luke paused, taking a deep breath. You could feel how his chest seemed to stutter as his cheek heated up. 

“But for now, will you settle with the title of being mine?” you almost swooned at his words and the smile that he was giving you. If only you knew, he would give you all the titles you want: best swordsman, best counselor, his, and - if someday you would ever want it - his last name, as crazy as it sounded. Hell, maybe he’d take yours. 

“Yes, only if you’d also have the title of being mine.”

“I’ll wear it with honor and never surrender it unless you ever deemed me unworthy of the title,” Luke replied, grinning down at you like he had no intentions of ever letting you go.

“Never,” you grinned up at him, hands cupping his face before drawing him into another kiss, sealing the deal of forevermore.

———————————

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[jungkookstatts]

As Thunder Rolls

[Summary]: You know Taehyung is the one. You knew it since the first day you saw him, when thunder rolled through the sky. But your lives don't collide. They might be too different to choose both.

[Theme]: Rich Reader, Law Student Reader, Construction Worker TH, Poor TH, Rich Girl Poor Boy AU

[Rating]: 18+ for sexual themes, sexual content, unprotected sex, kissing, making out, marking, angst, familial separation, topics of class, and triggering opinions of some characters

[Word Count]: 8,296

[A/N]: First TH fic!! I hope it is enjoyable~ This might be my last fic for a little bit. Going to be focusing on school and working really hard until the summertime :)

People say that when you fall in love, your life develops new meaning. They say that your life changes as you fall, and you watch it spiral out of your control over a silly feeling you can’t help.

You can say that the people, whoever they may be, are correct. Love happened to you quite unexpectedly, and completely out of the box you put your goals for the future inside.

Taehyung happened during the city's worst monsoon season in over 50 years. His rain-stained jeans and dirty white construction t-shirt clung to his skin, showing you all of his tanned glory as the rain fell angrily. You stood on the top step of your sister’s corporate building, looking down at him three steps below you.

“You got a spare umbrella, by chance?” he asked you. Caramel-colored, wet hair covered his forehead. But you could still see the discomfort in his eyes due to the harsh rain.

Looking at your own umbrella in your grip, you shook your head, telling him that this was your only one.

“You know a place around here where I can find one?” he asked.

“I’m not familiar with the area,” you explained.

“Me neither,” he smiled as he looked down at his red Converse.

There was an uncomfortable feeling in your chest. You felt bad for the guy, clearly well-underprepared for the season. Your designer coat and accessories terribly clashed with his, an obvious difference in class confronted you in the face. There was a feeling of fear, you remember. Back then, you used to be one of those people who thought terribly of people like him. Thinking that he’d ask for your Burberry umbrella and never return it. You thought maybe he’d pull you aside and forcibly rob you of your money just because his shirt had a few stains and the brand name of the city’s lower-end construction company was written on the fabric. You associated him with the worst of the worst, just because of his class. Or rather, assumed class.

But those eyes captured your soul. They were warm, and his smile sent medicine to your heart, healing all those presumed thoughts and replacing them with the benefit of the doubt.

“I think there is a 7/11 around the block,” you recalled from your memory.

Thunder rolled through the city skies, and you clutched your umbrella harder. You never liked thunderstorms. There was a sense of urgency to get home to avoid any more of this growing storm, and fast. But this guy — you wanted to continue talking to him.

He raised an eyebrow at you, looking to his left.

You raised your chest, nervously pointing in the opposite direction.

“Down there,” you corrected him.

“Ah,” he smiled. It was faint, but you noticed his upper lip formed the shape of a heart before another roll of thunder drummed through the sky. You winced, and his smile faded.

“I’ll let you be on your way, then,” he said. “Thank you.”

You nodded, and he suddenly turned his back, walking down the sidewalk in the direction of the vague 7/11 down the street. He hiked the back collar of his t-shirt over his head, creating a small hat to shield his eyes from the unwanted shower. You watched the exposed skin on the small of his back as raindrops trickled into the hem of his jeans.

Suddenly, your heart skipped in your chest, and you did something your carefully formed character would never allow.

“W-Wait,” you stumbled. The click of your heeled boots rang in your ears as you walked down the small set of stairs and onto the sidewalk.

The man turned around, his posture straightening at the sight of you.

Quickly, you went to him, covering his head with your umbrella.

“I-I’ll come with you,” you offered.

His close proximity flooded all of your senses. Your fingers visibly began to shake, and you had to remind yourself to breathe when you saw how tremendous the height difference was between the two of you.

“Thank you,” he softly said.

At that moment, you knew your life changed. You saw yourself in his eyes, maybe staring a little too long for two strangers who hadn’t even exchanged names yet. But you looked into them, and somehow the raging storm had transferred from the sky into your heart.

You became a jumbled mess after then, as Taehyung had exchanged his name with yours, along with all of his habits, hobbies, and love.

Every day after that was filled with giggles and kisses and sleepless nights wrapped in his sheets. He had shown you the other side of the world, and you accepted it with him by your side. He took things from you you couldn’t imagine anyone else being worthy enough to take. All your firsts, and what you hope, all your lasts, too.

But something had been sitting at the back of your mind ever since you laid eyes on him, creating an unsettling feeling.

He was, indeed, nowhere near the class you grew up in. Living in the worst part of the city with his younger brother and sister and parents in a small, 2-bedroom apartment. He worked overtime on most days; all of his earnings he gave to his mother was to pay rent. His brother had just become old enough to help out. However, Taehyung explained that he caught him a few times slacking — the young boy claiming that he was working but instead at the casino with his friends. His younger sister was 6 years old and by far the sweetest young girl you knew. She became someone like your own sister, someone you chose to connect with on a level you weren’t able to do with your own siblings. His father fell ill a few years ago and became unable to work a demanding job. Instead, he and his wife work at their own small grocery store on the lower level of the building down the street.

His family welcomed you generously, never once commenting on your class, never once making it a topic of conversation. They called you their daughter.

What was unsettling was not the circumstances involving his family. It was the circumstances involving your own.

You hadn’t mentioned him to your parents by choice. You knew how they would react, especially considering your father had already begun selecting the sons of his most trusted colleagues to propose a marriage. Though you are not ashamed of Taehyung, your family would most definitely be. They would never accept him as your love. It would be too tarnishing to their name, too embarrassing to taint the family with someone whose house costs less than their dining room table.

You kept Taehyung out of it, which doesn’t necessarily mean he won’t stop asking about meeting your family. He’s serious enough about you to want to take things further. But it puts you in an awkward situation, like now. Gasping into the sheets of his bed, his dick pulling out of you as cum falls down your thighs.

“Baby?” he pants, hovering over you and kissing up your shoulder to your cheek. He’s still catching his breath, as are you. He just railed the fuck out of you and still begs for conversation? You will never understand this man.

“Hm,” you ask, resting your head on your forearm in a desperate attempt to control your breathing.

“I want to meet your parents,” he bites the shell of your ear gently.

You groan loudly, tired of this topic of conversation. It seems to be the only thing on his mind these days.

In the two years you two had been dating, Tae was finally able to afford a place of his own while still helping his family. His brother stepped up and managed to land a good position at a nearby company that really helped with the family finances. Hence, Taehyung’s newfound freedom from the cramped space with his family. But ever since he moved into his new apartment two weeks ago, he’s been set on (a) “christening” every nook and cranny of his new place with you and (b) meeting your family.

“Baby, can we not talk about this right now?” you press your fingers to your temple before running them into your hair.

“We never have talked about it,” he reminds you. You pause, knowing he’s right. You’ve always swayed him away from saying anything about the topic other than simply asking to talk about it.

“Why would you want to meet my parents,” you begin. You feel him smile a little, happy to start this long-awaited talk.

“Because you met mine,” he slides his elbows under your armpits, resting his chin on your shoulder. You feel secure when he’s holding you like this, his chest embracing your back as he lets his weight rest on your body. If only the moment wasn’t ruined by the topic of conversation.

“I don’t want you to meet my parents,” you finally say. You know his heart broke a little from your words, being such a family man. But you feel obligated to be honest about this.

“What? Why not?” he crinkles his eyebrows together, pressing his nose into your cheek.

“Because, Tae,” you sigh into your palm. “They’re not…nice people.”

He lets the two of you sit in silence for a while, and you know he knows what you mean by that.

“It’s because I have no money, isn’t it?” he finally lets out.

You grab his hand, drawing circles into his palm.

“Essentially,” you sigh. It doesn’t feel good to admit that. Disappointment floods your veins for him, wishing your family was less shallow. Maybe then, your response would have been different. “You know I don’t care about that stuff. But they…they do.”

“Your siblings?” he asks.

“They’re all like that,” you continue, playing with his knuckles. “I’m the only one, it seems, that isn’t.”

He plays with your hand, sliding into your fingers to hold it.

“Do you wish you were?” he whispers seriously.

“No,” you laugh.

Finally, you turn around in his embrace, looking at his face from beneath him. This man is truly the most gorgeous person you’ve ever laid eyes on. Your palm holds the soft skin of his cheek as you search his eyes.

“Growing up, I used to be a little bit,” you admit. “But then I came to university. And I met you,” you rub his cheek with your thumb. “And you kind of flipped my whole world around.”

“Sorry,” he smiles. “Wasn’t the plan,” he pecks your lips. “I just needed an umbrella.”

You chuckle at that, pulling his face against yours to sear your lips into his. He accepts you, breathing into the kiss with chapped cherry lips and a big stupid blush on his face.

“I just want their blessing,” he clears his throat. “I-Is all.”

“For?” you peck his lips again.

“For me to date their daughter, amongst other things,” he laughs through his nose. “It’s also been…a little while.”

You do feel bad, as he had introduced you to his family about three months into dating. It’s been two years, and your family doesn’t even know you are dating someone.

“You’ll meet them when they have a reason to meet you,” you sigh against his nose. “They’re like that. It has to be on their terms, not mine or yours.”

“Hopefully, that’s sometime soon,” he says before kissing you deeply. You let him, wanting his lips to erase the scenarios you’ve let flood into your head of Taehyung meeting your family. You kiss him, asking him to heal you again, to give you the endless positivity he has within himself. But you can’t shake it this time around. You have a bad feeling about it, every time you think about making things just that more official with your family meeting him. You know Taehyung is it for you. But will your parents accept that? Your gut twists and turns at the thought, your answer spelled out for you.

___

Law school used to be interesting.

Back when lectures were shorter and the professors actually cared about their job, you had a fun time. Now, you sit through your lectures with the palm of your hand dragging the skin of your cheek upward as you lean against it. You stare at the oldest fart of a professor talk in circles, “womp wo-womp womp”, like in the Charlie Brown phone scenes. The only thing that keeps you from dozing off is the thought of your date tonight.

Last week, Taehyung had been working at this new site at this development on the other side of the city. They put in a fountain lake, with three willow trees (your favorite). Your boyfriend, of course, knew this and set up the idea of a picnic date along the new Willow Tree Lake. Just the thought alone makes you giddy.

These days, Taehyung has been working terrible overtime in an area near campus. Something about the pipes being plugged with slow-forming concrete from a newer company that started off just a few months ago. They fucked up a lot of the city’s piping, and of course, the company Tae works for has been assigned to fix all of their damage.

Needless to say, you feel like you haven’t seen him in ages. Only quick cell phone calls and tired texts in the small hours of the morning and night. You miss him terribly, and your body springs to life when the professor calls the end of the lecture. It’s your last one of the day, and you nearly run out to make your way to your car, ready to start preparing for your date tonight.

You’re met with a surprise, however, when you exit your dorm.

A chalky hand grabs onto your wrist, intertwining his fingers with yours, before pulling you into his chest.

“Hi, baby,” he smiles sheepishly.

“Tae!” you squeal, letting go of his hand and jumping into his arms. You wrap your arms around his neck, his own around your waist as he spins you in the open air of the campus. You giggle against him, quietly screaming when he goes a little fast. Eventually, he lets your feet feel the ground again, and you feel a strong urge to kiss him. It’s been so long.

“You’re so chalky,” you brush at his face, white powder smearing on his skin.

With that, he shakes out his hair onto yours, white dust falling onto your skin.

“Ah! Tae!” You shield your face from his assault. But he’s unrelenting, wrapping you in his arms and pulling you in for a kiss.

You let him kiss you, his big hands stroking your cheek. You don’t let him go on for too long, still not one to be too fond of PDA like he is.

“Oh, fuck,” Taehyung’s smile fades when he looks at your dress.

“Wha—” you look down at your dress, your white Chanel dress, covered in soot and powder and dirt, transferred from his clothes onto yours. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” he gulps, running his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I wasn’t thinki—”

“It’s okay,” you smile, holding his hand. “Nothing my dad won’t buy a carbon copy of with a good excuse. To him, I fell. Plain and simple.”

Your words don’t do much, his sorry expression written all over his face still. You cup his cheek, reassuring him.

“What are you doing here, anyways?” you change the subject.

“The pipe issue I told you about ended up going into some apartment building. They sent me up there and the ceiling fell in. Hence all the…white stuff and dust,” he shows you his powdery hands, as if his cheeks and hair weren’t enough to prove his story. “Anyway, the civil engineers ended up needing to go back to the main building and find a new plan to go about it. So they sent us all home early. Thought I would come and surprise you.”

“It worked,” you kiss him again.

“I should probably go though,” he cuts the time short. “I want to shower before our date.”

“That would be nice, you’re right,” you laugh. “I’ll see you at 7, then?”

“Mhm,” he squeezes your hand again before looking down at your dress one last time. You can tell he’s still beating himself up over it when he tightly runs his hands through his hair and sends you a tight-lipped smile as if still saying sorry. You send him one back, letting him know it’s okay. And with that, he leaves your presence.

You’re alone until you reach home a little past 4. When you walked into your house, the last thing you were expecting was your eldest sister, brother, and parents waiting for you in the dining room.

“D-Did I miss something?” you laugh awkwardly. They all seem to be looking at you, disappointment or disgust written on their faces at the sight of your dress. You do your best to hide it with your purse.

“No,” your sister starts. “But we seem to be missing the part where you let dirty construction workers make out with you in public.”

You feel your heart sink to your feet, a cold heat spreading throughout your body.

“Susanna,” you pinch the skin between your eyebrows. “It’s not like that.”

“Please, enlighten us, then,” she snobs.

You take a breath, ready to explain yourself. But your father stops you.

“Invite the boy over,” he calmly states.

“What?” all four of you say at once.

“Dad, are you crazy?” your brother laughs. “He’s a construction worker.”

“Ren, please,” you attempt to control your anger. You don’t like the way they are talking about him right now. Only mentioning his job and ignoring the rest.

“What, don’t like me talking down on your pet?” he smiles, doing his best to get under your skin. It’s working, that’s for sure.

“Seriously, darling, what are you thinking?” your mother puts her hand on your father's arm.

“The boy clearly has feelings for my daughter,” he sets down his brandy on the dining table. “And, if I’m not mistaken, she has the same feelings.”

Your sister looks at you in disgust, wondering how you could ever fall for someone so low class.

“Besides, he owes me a good explanation for destroying your clothes,” he clears his throat. “That was custom designed.”

—

You run to your car after the ‘meeting’ your family welcomed you home with. Your hands shake and tremble, trying to start the car without bursting into tears.

Without even calling him, you race to Taehyung’s apartment, knocking on his door with panic laced in every vein of your body.

He opens it, a big smile warming your heart. But it quickly fades at the pale look on your face.

“What’s wrong,” he pulls you into his apartment.

He’s showered since you last saw him. He changed into his PJs, not yet ready to get into his outfit for your date tonight. On any other day, you would be struck with the comfy boyfriend look, ready to pounce into his arms and hold him close until the sun rose. But not today. Today, you have uncertainty flowing through your veins. Could this be the end? Could this be the start of something new? What will happen between now and midnight?

“Baby, talk to m—”

“My parents want to meet you,” you interrupt him.

“What?”

“T-They want to meet you,” you say again. “Actually, my entire family wants to meet you. Today. Tonight. For dinner. At my house.”

You watch him take it all in, his expression changing rapidly into emotions you can’t really put a label on. You’ve never seen this expression on his face. You’re sure it’s a bit of excitement, as he’s always wanted to meet them. But also a little bit of worry, as you’ve told him what they think of people like him.

“I-Is this about the dress?” he asks worriedly.

“Kind of!” you panic, your hands running through your hair. Frustrated tears flood your eyes. You’re just so frustrated with this situation. With your sister, with your brother and dad. With everyone but Taehyung. He doesn’t deserve this. “My sister saw us today, apparently. A-And she went to my parents, a-and they were waiting for me when I got home, along with my brother. My dad was the one who suggested you come over, and I don’t know why. I can’t read what any of them are trying to say.”

“Hey,” he grabs your shoulders. You start to cry, fat tears falling down your cheeks.

“This is not how I wanted today to go,” you cry-laugh to yourself.

“I know,” he kisses your forehead. “Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

“I don’t know what to do,” you candor as you fall into his neck, sobbing against his shirt.

His big palms rub your back. You’re sure he’s a little shocked right now. You’ve told him about your family. About what kind of people they are. You’re sure he’s scared, too. You hate this. You wish you could just run away and avoid it all.

“Let’s start with figuring out what I’m going to wear, yeah?” he gently smiles down at you.

___

Dinner is awkward. So awkward.

It’s quiet, and your leg bounces rapidly in your seat.

Your parents hadn’t let Taehyung sit next to you. Rather, he sits across from you, unable to soothe your nerves with a hand on your thigh or palm.

Your sister and brother sit next to you, your parents on either end of the table. There are two empty seats next to Taehyung, him being closest to your father.

You’re sure your siblings had interrogated him a little when your mother forced you to change into something else when the two of you got here. Clad in a pink flowy dress and a braid, you nervously made your way down the stairs and into the dining room, only to find your boyfriend in front of his seat, nodding to the space between your siblings as your own.

Since the appetizers came in, no one had spoken a word.

It’s terribly uncomfortable, and you try to distract yourself by silently telling Taehyung to put his napkin in his lap instead of next to his plate. Your brother laughs, and you jab your elbow into his side.

“So,” your father starts. His voice sends a shock down your spine. “I’m sure you have a good explanation for the dress.”

Your nerves spike the highest they’ve ever been. The dress isn’t really that important. Had it been anyone else, maybe someone your father knew or liked, the dress would be replaced without a word the next day. His pressure on the dress with Tae makes you think he will use it against him, causing you to bounce both of your legs up and down rapidly.

“Yes, I—” you start, but your father raises his palm slightly, telling you to stay quiet and let him answer.

“Yes,” Taehyung clears his throat. “I apologize, sir. I was simply being careless. I was excited to see your daughter, and had acted before realizing what she was wearing.”

“That was custom made,” your sister starts. “By Chanel.”

Taehyung doesn’t seem to recognize the name, making your sister smile snottily.

“It’s a brand,” she shoves her food into her mouth with a snobby tug of her lips.

You clutch the end of your silverware, trying to transfer all the things you wish you could scream into the piece of silver metal.

“Enough,” your father stops her interrogation. He has made it clear he would be the one interrogating tonight. “I do have to ask, though,” he turns his attention toward Tae again. “What makes you think you’re worthy of seeing my daughter?”

The table is silent, everyone’s mind empty but your own. You could think of a million reasons, maybe even more than that, as to why he deserves you. But does Taehyung think he deserves you? You thought you made it clear within the past two years that he does, but his silence speaks for itself.

After a few more seconds of being silent, your father laughs a little through his nose.

“I am aware of your financial situation so that already docks a big chunk off your worth,” he starts again.

“Father,” you try to stop him.

“Your occupation is less than fulfilling,” he continues. “Surely, you must know that affection alone cannot support her.”

Taehyung’s mouth is so dry, that he wants to drink the entire ocean. But he lets it sit in discomfort, the truth ringing through his ears like a bomb dropped right in front of him.

“You care for her, son,” he sighs. “I can see that,” your father sets down his brandy, resting his elbows on the armrests of his chair, and latching his fingers together over his lower chest. “So, why don’t we just end this here. Before it gets any deeper than it is.”

You see Taehyung’s heart drop to his stomach. You wish you could go over to him and put it right back in his chest for him, but your father continues to drop it further and further until it eventually breaks in two upon impact with the hard floor.

“I’ll give you an ultimatum, just to be sure you understand,” your father starts. “You go back to your construction work and help your parents with their grocery business. Cut her out of your life. In return, I’ll forget about the dress. About the some 70 thousand dollars you owe me for the destruction of it.”

“Father, please,” you cry, starting to stand. "It was my fault." But your sister grabs your shoulder and pushes you back down onto your seat.

“If you’re smart, you’ll understand how long that would take to accumulate on top of your other finances to return,” he continues. “If you truly care about her, you’d let her find someone who can meet all of her expectations and give her a comfortable future.”

“No,” you start, but Taehyung silences you with his gaze.

He looks to you from your father, feeling the weight of his words. You look at him, seeing how he believes every word your father is saying. You see it ring in his ears, and you know exactly what his next words are going to be.

“Sir, I—” he rasps, defeat flooding his lungs. This is not about the dress. He’d spent the rest of his life paying your father back if it meant he’d let him have you. This is about your future that he knows he can’t support; about the fact that he knows the best he can give you is nowhere near the luxury someone else can. “I just want her to be happy.”

“In this world, love is not enough for that,” Your father stands up, his hand on Taehyung’s shoulder. “I’ll show you to the door, son,” your father says.

Taehyung stills, his attention suddenly transferred to the calluses on his palms. He examines them, then the scuffs on the rim of his sleeves. It serves as a reminder, that even the best things he owns cannot match up to the expectations served tonight. He knows you don’t care. He knows you’re better than this. But surely it might become easier with time for you. Your father would find someone genius, with wealth beyond imagination. You will forget about him with time, and your wounds will heal. You’ll have an army of new cars, go to fancy banquets with designer dresses, a penthouse in the city, a smart-suit husband, and beautiful children with loads of worth to their names. He thinks about what he could give you, and it amounts to close to nothing. He’s already given you everything he has, and it’s not enough to keep you safe.

He thinks about this before standing in his seat. Your breath hitches in his throat, watching him give you up, your father’s hand on his back guiding him through the dining room, neither sparing you a glance.

“No,” you cry, standing up. Your sister tries to stop you again, but you shove her hand away.

“Y/n L/n, if you chase that boy, right now will be the last time you step in this house!” your mother slams her hands on the table.

There are words you wish you could say. So many emotions and slander and curse words you wish you could shout and spit in her face.

“I'm happy with him,” is all you can say. "I love him"

“Love is but a word,” your mother rolls her eyes. “You will forget about him in two weeks! That boy cannot support you. He can be replaced.”

“He can’t be,” you counter. Your chest rises with words, an essay might come out of your mouth, but you’re silenced when your father comes back into the room, Taehyung gone from your sight. You silence yourself, knowing you have to make a choice. Without even thinking, your feet move, and you’re brushing past your father, opening the door to you’re home and welcoming the rain.

Your parents wouldn’t have his presence in your life, banishing him from your home after he showed up in the nicest clothes he owned. They forbid him from ever seeing you again, using the price of your stained clothes as a threat if he ever were to lay eyes on you again. But you ignore that, running after him, soaking yourself in the rain once again as you chase him.

You call his name, shouting it into the street. He ignores you, and you feel you’re going crazy the more you call out his name until he finally turns around in quick anger. By this point, you two had already gone well down the street, far away from your posh, gated house. He grabs your cheeks in his palms, pressing his lips harshly against yours. You kiss him with fervor, letting the rain soak your pink dress and braided hair. He does the same, not giving a care in the world about the time he spent trying to make himself look nice for your family. He kisses you as if it would be the last time he would ever feel your lips against his again.

“We can’t do this, Y/n,” he breaks the kiss. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes close as his jaw clenches from his own words.

“Tae,” you sob, cupping his cheek. He covers your hand with his own, squeezing it tight.

“You know we can’t, Y/n,” he shakes his head, looking into your tear-filled eyes. “They will never accept me.”

“I accept you,” you sniffle. “Please don’t leave me, Tae. I accept you.”

“It’s not enough,” he whispers.

“N-No,” you shake your head.

But he already began letting go of your hand, his heel taking a step back.

“T-Tae, no,” you grab his other hand, but he forcibly makes you let go. You watch him turn on his heel, his back replacing his chest.

“Kim Taehyung,” you sob into the open air of the empty street. He does nothing, continuing his path to wherever he is going. “Taehyung!” you scream, but he doesn’t stop.

Your chest rises and falls so quickly, that you feel dizzy. Panic rises into every vein in your body, watching him grow smaller and smaller as he distances himself from you. Never in your life had you felt like it was between life or death between two choices. But god, was it clear which option had been labeled death, and which one was life.

“Marry me,” you shout. You watch his feet stop, both shoes parallel to each other. The panic in your veins slightly subsides at the fact that his distance stopped becoming larger. And then you say it again. “Marry me, Taehyung.”

He turns around, and you begin walking—running—toward him.

“Don’t say that,” he angrily breathes through his nose once you reach him.

“Marry me,” you say it again.

He looks up, despite the rain, his jaw clenched.

“I can’t go through life without you,” you cry, shaking your head. “I can’t do it.”

“You can,” he denies.

“I’m so in love with you,” you laugh, wiping the tears from your eyes. “I love you.”

His hands clench, balled into fists. God, did he love you more than the world itself. More than himself. But he can’t be selfish. He can’t rip you away from your family.

“And what about them?” he nods his head in the direction of your house.

“They can’t replace you,” you cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. “No one can replace you.”

“You can’t replace your family, Y/n,” he says. “I’m just a guy. Probably the least qualified to have you,” he laughs through his nose. “I can be replaced. They cannot.”

“They have given me a choice,” you cry. His words hurt. You wish you could make him see just how irreplaceable he is. You cannot replace your family, but you cannot replace him, either. “I already made it the minute I ran out of the house.”

He looks at you, finally locking eyes with yours. You feel the panic fade when he looks at you, and you can’t help but feel that this is right. That you’re making the right choice.

“Y/n,” he starts, shaking his head.

“I chose you a long time ago,” you go on. “The minute I shared my umbrella with you, I chose you. All your boxy smiles and shy laughs. Your job; your family. You. Your heart.”

A tear falls from his eye, his jaw still clenched.

“I can’t give you this life,” he takes your hands from his cheeks, holding them tightly between your soaked bodies. “I-I will never be able to afford law school or a gated mansion in the city. Or a white Chanel dress,” he whispers the last part. “Your life — I can’t rob you of it.”

“You are my life, Tae,” you rub your nose against his. “That stuff doesn’t matter. I want you. Forever.”

He gulps, the look in your eye speaking nothing but the truth. It scares him because of course, he wants the best for you. But he is unsure of himself, of what he can give you other than his heart. But the way you look at him, as if that is truly enough for you, makes his worries subside. You’re choosing him. Between life or death, you took a side, labeling him as life.

He grabs your waist, his arm pulling you into his frame as he sears his lips onto yours. Big, callused palms cup your jaw, holding you against his lips as if you’d try to escape. This time around, the kiss is hard, so needy and loved. You feel loved like you’ve never felt before. All the panic in your heart fades and is replaced with a need to keep him close. You assume he feels the same, his strong arms lifting you around his waist. You laugh against his lips.

“I love you,” you chuckle, almost in disbelief that you could love someone so much. He’s given you something you thought you’d never receive in the world your parents brought you into. You feel fresh with him, like you’ve been born again.

He kisses you again, confirming he feels the same before he sets your feet back on the wetted sidewalk.

“Let’s go,” he takes your hand.

“Where?” you follow him.

“My place,” he looks back at you.

You come up to his side, holding his arm as you walk in the rain. It was just a walk until thunder struck again, and the rain started falling ten times harsher than it was before. It causes you to shriek, and Taehyung only laughs, beginning a sprint while you follow after him.

You two ran to the bus stop, where you kissed some more, before the bus arrived and you shivered in the air conditioning of the large vehicle until it arrived on the other side of the city.

His place became a little bit of yours. You had unofficially moved in until now, as you stumble in his arms into the elevator, making out like horny teens until the number for the 15th floor rang in his ears and he pulled away.

The kisses you press to his neck make his whole body feel weak, his fingers unable to find the key to his apartment amongst the many in the single key ring chain he owns.

“Baby,” he whispers desperately. “S-Slow down, m’ trying to find the key,” he nervously chuckles.

You only run your hands under his soaked shirt, feeling the divots of his abs under your fingertips. Working at a construction company certainly did have more perks than one.

Finally, he seems to have found the key, slipping it forcibly into the lock and turning it until it opened the door to his apartment.

“Come here,” he lifts you up onto his hips, walking you inside his place and pushing you against the door, making it close all the way. He’s sure to lock it after tossing his keys somewhere on the neighboring kitchen counter as he kisses hot trails up your neck. They’re hasty kisses, and so so needy.

“T-Tae,” you grip his hair.

The feeling makes him groan, his hand forming a fist against the wall in pure self-control.

You slide your fingers under his shirt again, except this time, they go all the way up. You force his shirt off his skin, and he lets you take it off as his hands firmly grip your waist. He uses his new grip to support you when he moves you off the wall, his legs guiding you through his apartment as you kiss his neck once more. This time, to leave marks.

You latch onto his sweet spot so tenderly, and he grips your hips hard enough to leave his own marks on your skin.

With one hand, he pushes open the door to his bedroom before landing you on the soft sheets of his bed. You’re overwhelmed with him. The smell of his clean sheets floods your lungs as he traps you underneath his body.

You gasp when he slides his hands up your waist, his fingers coming to your back to find the zipper of your dress.

He waits for your permission, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he plays with the zipper.

“Please, Tae,” you allow him.

He nods against your neck, telling you without words that he’s going to undress you.

You sit up for him, making it easier for him to carry the fabric down your hips. You’re revealed to him in your soaked bra set. Nothing fancy, just nude colors to hide your undergarments beneath your dress.

But despite the plainness, you watch him admire your body, eyes flicking back and forth, trying to remember what you look like underneath the rest of your clothes. You help him, reaching behind you to unhook your bra yourself.

It falls off your shoulders and your skin perks with the cold air mixing with your wet skin.

“Make love to me,” you ask. “Please.”

Taehyung’s mouth goes dry. He’s seen you naked countless times. Fucked you like a rabbit in heat multiple times in just a day. But god, did hearing you ask him to make love to you settle the weight of your proposal from earlier. You really do choose him. And suddenly, he feels like it is the first time he’s ever looked at you naked. Like it was the first time he was going to enter your body.

He felt nervous. So, so nervous. But never so sure of anything else in his life. He knew he wanted you as his forever. But was too selfless to ask you to leave your prosperous life for his. For the longest time, he thought he was living on borrowed time with you. That one day, his first and only love would eventually leave him. His dreams are coming true, and he doesn’t know how to process that other than following your exact command.

“Tae?” you cup his cheek.

He sits on his knees, each one placed next to your thighs as you sit below him.

You watch his throat bob as he swallows, his face leaning into your touch. You bring him back to life, his body finally moving to trap you against the sheets again.

With soft lips, much less needy than the prior ones you two have shared today, he kisses you. He’s gentle as his hips press against yours. You gasp against his lips, the feeling of his clothed cock against your thin underwear stirring things inside of you.

You wrap your legs around his hips, crossing your ankles to secure his embrace over your own.

Taehyung groans, the friction making his desire uncontrollable as he grinds against your core.

“T-Taehyung,” you gasp, head falling back against the sheets. He takes this as an opportunity to trap the skin of your neck with his teeth, gently biting at your flesh in soft confessions of his love.

Your breasts push against his bare skin, feeling overwhelmed when he takes your pert nipple between his fingers, pinching them slightly, just enough to drive you crazy.

It’s all too much, his lips, his fingers, his hips grinding into you, sending waves of pleasure straight into your core. You just want him already. You want to feel full of him.

Your heels start the process, digging at the hem of his jeans as if you could get them off without your hands when they’re so securely fastened by his belt.

“Fuck,” he moans, finally granting your wish as he pushes off of you and unbuckles his belt.

Dark brown eyes admire you, laying on his sheets, giving yourself to him completely. You stare back at him, watching him push his jeans and boxers down to the floor, stepping out of them slowly before he hooks his slender finger under your panties.

“A-Are you sure?” he asks you, hiking your legs up as your underwear slides off your smooth skin.

“Yes,” you nod.

You hear your panties fall on the floor, joining the rest of your clothes, when he slowly spreads your legs, creating a place for himself as he falls on top of you again. Strong arms come under your shoulders, and you slide your hands up his neck, one arm securing him close to you, the other feeling a rapid heartbeat under his chest. You gasp when you feel the head of his cock brush gently against your thigh, so close to your core, but far enough away to make you want to beg for it. You, too, feel like it’s the first time all over again. When he took your virginity and your heart and wrote his name all over your skin.

“You look like you’re having second thoughts,” he shakily breathes above you, a small nervous smile on his lips.

“No,” you laugh shyly through your nose, looking into his warm eyes. You see yourself in them, and you’re reminded of the moment you first saw yourself in them two years ago.

“Are you scared?” he asks, lining himself up with your entrance. You know he isn’t referring to sex, but rather everything that comes after. Of your parents. Of everything you’ll have to sort out. But you know it is nothing that you won’t do alone. The man above you has made it clear that you will never feel alone again.

“A little,” you admit with a small smile.

“Me, too,” he kisses your cheek softly. With a push of his hips, his face falls into your neck, a small groan coming from his lips as you gasp and claw at the skin of his shoulder.

“Oh, T-Tae,” you moan sweetly, tangling your fingers in his hair as he slides out just to slam back into you once more. You feel giddy, a small raspy laugh coming from your throat as he develops a pace. He’s so perfect for you, fits you like a glove in more ways than one. He fills you completely. Over fills your cup with all of his love and giggles and smiles. You can’t get enough, it’s almost comical.

“Faster,” you whine, arching you back into him.

He obeys, grabbing your thighs and pushing them upwards until they’re hooked on his shoulders.

“Fuck, Y/n,” he moans, slamming into you with a newfound passion. Your nails slide down his biceps, some drawing blood from the feeling of his dick ripping you open. It makes you choke beneath him, your head falling back as he fucks you full of his cock. “S-So perfect.”

His nose brushes against your collarbone, using your neck as support when he leans his forehead against it. He takes a deep breath, breathing in your scent before he takes your hips firmly into his palms and holds you against the sheets. Your legs fall naturally, too weak to hold themselves up. But he doesn’t seem to care, instead using his new grip to pull you into his hips, pushing you deeper onto his length than you think you’ve ever gone before. The tip of his head kisses your cervix, and you wince in pleasurable pain when he slides out and slams against it again.

“A-Ah,” you whine, unsure how to feel about this new sensation. The man above you is sure, slowly but harshly pushing into you. His sureness makes you swell, and you feel like he is truly combining his body with your own the deeper he goes.

“Y-You,” he nearly slurs. Your pussy squeezes the head of his cock so justly, he feels his vision going blurry. Everything about you makes him explode. His dick, his mind, his heart. Everything. He can't even finish his sentence.

He goes faster, slipping past your folds with your slick sliding down your thighs and onto his sheets.

“T-Tae,” you panic, your high coming in quickly, setting warmly at the pit of your stomach just seconds away from release. “Tae, I’m gonna cum.”

“F-Fuck, me, too,” he moves faster, harder. His hands touch you, your skin following in flames the further his hands slide up your waist. He groans uncontrollably when you clench around him, your warm heat spreading down your walls as he makes love to you. “Y-Yn,” he whines.

“Say you love me,” you gasp, your voice nearly a whisper as you cream his cock.

“I love you,” he kisses your lips. It’s wet and so disgustingly sweet, you force him to lean himself into your body again, to use it to cum. “I love you so much.”

You watch him shut his eyes tight, his cock twitching inside of you, begging for release as he fights it, probably wanting to last longer for you, to give you a second orgasm before he lets himself cum.

“Cum for me, sweet boy,” you kiss his cheek.

“A-Ah,” he moans, his nose rubbing against yours. You squeak when he slams himself into you, harsh and raw, pushing past you as he fills you with ropes of white cum. “Oh, fuck,” he shakes, fists gathering the fabric of the sheets tightly as he falls into your neck, dick twitching as he cums hotly in your walls. He can’t control the noises, he’s never felt like this before. Like nothing else matters but his future with you.

His dick slips past your cervix, exiting your walls with loads of cum falling out of your abused cunt.

He falls on top of you, the two of you catching your breath with closed eyes and heavy limbs. Until you start laughing.

“What?” he chuckles with you. Your laugh is contagious.

He comes up to look at you, your cheeks red and your pupils shot with love.

“Nothing,” you shake your head. You look at him, cupping his cheek as he switches his gaze between your eyes and your cherry lips. “I-I’m just so happy.”

He laughs at that. Himself full of the same happiness.

“So?” you poke his cheek, raising an eyebrow.

“So?” he raises his own.

“Will you?”

“Will I…?”

“Will you marry me, silly,” you roll your eyes. Although it doesn’t seem nearly as sassy as it is supposed to, not with a giant smile plastered on your face.

“Oh,” he smiles back. “I guess.”

“'You guess'?!” you pinch his shoulder. He winces but laughs as he pulls you into a hug, switching himself on his back with your hips straddling his own. Cum leaks down onto his softening cock, but that is the last thing on either of your minds. His big hands feel the smoothness of your thighs, as yours play with the skin of his chest. If he didn’t know every one of your quirks, he would have taken it as you being silly. But he knows you’re just a little nervous about his answer.

“Yes,” he takes your hand, kissing your knuckles. “Of course I will. But, let me do it properly.”

You physically relax, and pure happiness floods your system.

“We never do things properly,” you remind him, rolling your eyes with a smile again.

“You’re right,” he acknowledges. “I-It might be a while, but at least let me buy you a ring.”

“Okay,” you bite your lip, hiding a closed-lipped smile. It doesn’t work, of course, and the two of you are left a stupid mess as you start your forever together.

___

[End. Do not copy. Original work of @jungkookstatts , 2024]

#th #kim taehyung #tae #taehyung #kimtaehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyungxreader #taehyung x y/n #taehyungxy/n #taehyung fanfiction #taehyungfanfiction #bts fanfiction #btsfanfiction #bts fanfic #bts imagine #taehyung imagine #taehyungimagine #taehyung oneshot #taehyung x female reader #taehyung smut #taehyungsmut #btsimagine #taehyungoneshot #bts smut #bts x reader #bts x y/n

[cosmicanakin]

more than just an interview.

pairing. hayden christensen x female reader.

outline. your nerves are everywhere for your first big interview with hayden christensen himself, but things take an exciting turn when he asks for your number.

contains. fluff, reader being a fan girl, tattoos mentioned, workplace romance, anxiety nerves.

authors note. i've only ever written for hayden's characters but never for him :( so here's a little hayden fic!

your heart races as you smooth down your skirt for what feels like the hundredth time, nerves wracking your body while pacing the length of the small room. today marked your first big interview covering the much anticipated release of ahsoka, and the lucky subject chosen was none other than hayden christensen himself.

ever since the prequels first captured your imagination as a young teen, you've harbored a hopeless crush on the actor behind anakin skywalker. his smoldering screen presence and talent at bringing such depth to a complex character left you wholly enamored, fueling artistic pursuits like drawing and even getting a tattoo tribute on your 18th birthday.

glancing down at the familiar lines inked below your left wrist, fingers tracing over them brought both comfort and fresh butterflies. would hayden appreciate the sentiment behind such a permanent mark of fandom, or find it odd and off-putting? you couldn't decide which terrified you more in that moment, the impending interview or potentially showing him such an intimate secret.

before anxiety could mount further, a light knock sounded at the door. "they're ready for you y/n." with a final calming breath you nodded, steeling nerves as best able while trailing your guide down bustling halls. rounds of cameras and crew zipped to and fro in organized chaos, only serving to heighten your jittery state.

entering the room, bright lights and microphones came into view alongside your subject for the day. hayden sat relaxed in an armchair, striking features gently illuminated while conversing easily with staff. at your approach he glanced up, meeting your eyes with a warm smile that set butterflies aflutter once more.

"hayden, this is y/n l/n, she'll be conducting your interview today. make yourselves comfortable and we'll begin filming in 5." with that your guide slipped away, leaving you alone under his keen gaze that seemed to assess every minute detail.

stumbling through introductions you both settled into adjacent seats, closing the small distance between as a PA adjusted lighting and levels. "it's truly an honor hayden, i've been a huge fan of your work for so long. thank you for taking the time today."

he graced you with another genuous smile feeling heat rush your cheeks. "the pleasure is all mine y/n, i'm always happy to chat with fellow star wars enthusiasts."

you then launched into prepared questions relying heavily on note cards to steady shaking hands. hayden spoke eloquently of the joys in revisiting ahsoka and anakin's dynamic through animation, the creative challenges of lending voice without physical presence, as well as hints of where future stories may lead the beloved character.

absorbed in the discussion, you almost missed the lull signaling a natural break between topics. glancing down to reorder cards, hayden's eyes caught a glimpse of your inked tribute.

"is that...?" trailing off inquisitively, his gaze held yours in silent permission to explain. heart thundering in your ribs, you extended your arm stiffly for closer inspection with a sheepish smile.

"oh yeah, it's a little silly. but i got this on my 18th birthday as a sort of tribute to anakin. he's my favorite character in star wars thanks to you." chuckling nervously, you shrugged awaiting judgment on such a bold permanent choice.

instead, hayden gently cradled your wrist to examine lines tracing each curve with a focus that sent shivers through your veins. his thumb rubbed absent circles causing thoughts to short circuit, breath hitching slightly at the contact.

"not silly at all, i'm truly flattered. it's not often i come across such devoted fans, let alone marks of appreciation so meaningful. thank you for sharing this with me, it will certainly remain a treasured memory."

releasing your now flaming skin, hayden graced you with a look loaded with warmth that threatened composure. frantically you shifted topics back to the interview, desperate to regain threads of coherency spinning out of control under his gaze. thankfully he indulged without further comment, captivating the audience once more.

all too soon your allotted time came to an end, both of you graciously thanking one another while crew prepped for the next guest. hayden bid farewell with a lingering handshake, flashing one last smile that left you lightheaded long after exiting the stage.

leaning against the nearest wall, you attempted to regulate your breathing and pounding heart. had you truly just conducted that interview, seen that sweet genuine reaction to a silly fangirl choice that meant the world? pinching yourself proved no dreams, only solid reality awaiting further processing back at home with friends.

giddiness prevented focus for the remainder of promotional rounds, drifting through subsequent interviews on autopilot buzzing with endorphins. by late afternoon you found solace beside a refreshments table, quietly replaying treasured memories while nibbling on a giant cookie.

"y/n!" whirling at the call of your name, disbelief flooded as none other than hayden christensen hurriedly approached with a beaming smile. had he mistaken you for another, or somehow recalled you despite a packed schedule? politeness held your tongue awaiting clarification.

"i'm glad i caught you before leaving, this day has been a whirlwind. i hope i'm not being too forward, but i was wondering if i could maybe take you out for a drink sometime? get to know one another outside of work and such. only if you're interested of course."

heart ceased functioning at the implication, mind reeling to comprehend such an opportunity unfolding before your very eyes. hayden christensen, long-time crush and the subject of your teenage fantasies, was genuinely interested in you beyond surface-level small talk of the press circuit.

"i-i would love that hayden. um just give me a second," you said fumbling for your phone with shaky hands, exchanging numbers felt surreal akin to glimpsing behind intricate hollywood veils so seldom witnessed up close.

"wonderful, it's a date then. i'll text you later this week to discuss plans further. see you then y/n, take care." with a final radiant smile hayden turned on his heel, disappearing behind heavy doors towards whatever awaited beyond this magical day.

plopping onto a chair legs feeling like they might give out at any second, you simply stared bewildered at open phone grasped tightly in palm. had any of this truly happened, or had stress and fangirl aspirations finally sent imagination into overdrive? only time would tell where genuine connection may blossom if given proper chance to take root. for now, replaying treasured snapshots on a loop would have to suffice to quell your pounding heart until destiny worked her mysterious ways.

true to word, your phone lit up later that week with an unknown number. unlocking brought a message reading simply "hey, it's hayden. are you free saturday night?" giddy butterflies exploded anew seeing his name, fingers rushing to confirm eagerly while coordinating logistics.

#﹙ kari writes 𝜗𝜚 ﹚ #hayden christensen #anakin skywalker #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars angst #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin fluff #anakin angst #hayden christensen fluff #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen x y/n #hayden christensen angst #hayden christensen x you

[xtra7s]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍 ──── 𝘙𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘦 𝘙𝘢𝘱𝘱 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Synopsis: Renee just preformed on SNL, returning to her girlfriend after the show.

Content: Renee Rapp x Fem!reader

word count: 800

a/n: literally just fluff. Enjoy lovies.

masterlist

Reneé Rapp couldn't believe her luck. She had been invited to be the musical guest on Saturday Night Live, a dream come true for the rising star. The buzz surrounding her performance was electric, and the anticipation only fueled her excitement. As she stood in the wings, waiting for her cue, she took a deep breath, reminding herself that this was the culmination of years of hard work.

The lights dimmed, and the familiar SNL opening theme played as Reneé took the stage. The cheers from the audience were deafening, and she couldn't help but smile as she began to sing. Her voice, a captivating blend of power and emotion, resonated through the studio.

The performance was nothing short of mesmerizing. Reneé's voice filled the studio, capturing the hearts of everyone present. The audience was hooked, and the SNL cast and crew couldn't help but be in awe of her talent. When the last note echoed through the room, the applause was thunderous. Reneé soaked in the applause, feeling a sense of accomplishment wash over her.

After the show, Reneé found herself backstage, still buzzing with adrenaline. She was surrounded by the cast and crew, congratulating her on a fantastic performance. Among the sea of faces, Y/N, her girlfriend, stood among the bustling crew, eagerly anticipating Reneé's return. When the backstage door swung open, revealing the beaming singer, Y/N's eyes lit up.

"Reneé, that was incredible!" Y/N exclaimed, rushing to embrace her.

Reneé grinned, still basking in the afterglow of her performance. "Thanks, baby! I'm so glad you could make it."

The couple shared a quick kiss, and Y/N couldn't hide her pride for Reneé's success. "You were born for that stage," she whispered.

Reneé smiled widely, pulling Y/N into a hug. "Thank you baby" She murmured against Y/N's neck.

As the excitement of the night continued, Y/N suggested they retreat to Reneé's dressing room for a more private celebration. The room was filled with bouquets of flowers and congratulatory notes, a testament to the success of the evening.

They sat together on the plush couch, basking in the glow of the post-performance euphoria. Reneé reached for Y/N's hand, intertwining their fingers.

"I'm so proud of you, Reneé. You were amazing out there," Y/N said, gazing into her girlfriend's eyes.

Reneé felt a warmth in her chest, realizing how fortunate she was to have Y/N in her life. "Thank you, love. And having you here makes it even more special."

The dressing room was filled with a warm glow as Reneé and Y/N shared a tender moment. Reneé, still riding the high of her SNL performance, felt a surge of affection for the person who had been there for her through thick and thin.

Reneé's lips met Y/N's in a soft, lingering kiss, a sweet expression of the love and pride that filled the air. As they pulled away, Reneé couldn't help but smile, her heart full.

"I can't believe tonight actually happened," Reneé admitted, nuzzling into the crook of Y/N's neck.

Y/N's fingers traced gentle circles on Reneé's back, savoring the closeness. "You were absolutely stunning out there. The whole world got to see what I've known all along – that you're incredibly talented."

Blushing, Reneé chuckled. "You always know how to make me feel special. I'm lucky to have you."

Y/N tilted Reneé's chin up to meet her gaze. "No, I'm the lucky one. I get to be with the amazing Reneé Rapp, the star of SNL."

Reneé playfully rolled her eyes. "Oh, stop it. I'm just me."

"Just you?" Y/N grinned. "You're the person who fills my life with music, laughter, and love. That's not 'just' anything."

The sincerity in Y/N's words melted Reneé's heart. "You're the one who keeps me grounded, Y/N. Everything feels right with you."

Y/N cupped Reneé's face, her thumb brushing lightly across her cheek. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," Reneé whispered, sealing their promise with another soft kiss.

They sat there, wrapped up in each other's warmth, sharing sweet nothings and dreams for the future. The dressing room became a sanctuary, a place where the magic of their connection transcended the glamour of the spotlight.

As they whispered words of love and support, the night carried on outside the door. But in that moment, all that mattered was the soft glow of the lights, the gentle kisses, and the unspoken promise that their love would continue to grow, just like the music that would forever bind them together.

#wlw #lesbian #renee rapp x reader #renee rapp #leighton murray #leighton murray x reader #the sex lives of college girls #lgbtq

[uglyducklingofthe2000s]

rbr seb having a whole enemies to lovers with his teammate!reader

and they basically have hate sex together cus seb causes a crash leading to them both losing the race

Pride & Ego - Sebastian Vettel (RBR)

Themes/warnings: unprotected sex, rough sex, aftercare, car crash

If there's one thing Sebastian Vettel can't be accused of, it's going easy on his teammate because she's a woman. If anything he pushes her to the limit and beyond.

"Y/n don't-"

"You bastard! This is a free practice and you impede me!" Y/n exclaims marching across the the garage to the other side. "If you feel like your title streak is threatened by a rookie female, then say so! Rather than trying to embarrass the whole team on the track."

"I was off the racing line princess, perhaps you need to spend more time on the sim if you don't know where to place the car." Sebastian chuckles completely uncaring of her angry that is seething from her. "You need to learn not to let your emotions get the better of you."

Y/n rips off her helmet storming away with a thunderous exit that is caught on camera since the broadcasters are always eager to capture the growing tension between the teammates.

Christian sighs looking at the German driver who is certainly amused over the whole thing.

"I'll speak to her." Y/n's trainer, Gordie sighs moving to find where the young woman has disappeared to.

Christian nods moving to speak with Sebastian since they are confident in both the drivers for bringing results and success but y/n is young, she is only 22 and Red Bull have already seen the media say they are taking a big risk with such an inexperienced driver. But she's already got podiums and is closing in on a win if Sebastian stops making her life so difficult.

The problem is that she refuses team orders because she wants to win of her own abilities.

"Sebastian, this is a team and a team does not sabotage each other. You cannot keep this going, she is not going anywhere and you two cannot keep being enemies if we want to get the best results."

"She is being dramatic and she was not-"

"Y/n does not always follow the same racing line as you and we both know you planted yourself in the middle of that road." Christian states making Sebastian roll his eyes. "She won't allow team orders even when we offer them because she wants to fight you without our interference. You could at least learn to respect her as a driver."

-

Sebastian, of course, didn't listen when it came time to the race.

"You can get him, y/n." Alex states in her ear. "10 laps left. You can take this win."

Her blood is burning with adrenaline as she goes through another corner. Finally a straight and her DRS is enabled.

It takes focus and effort but finally she gets past him at the end of the straight with the aid of some late braking.

"You got it, keep your head down and don't set out for trouble." Alex instructs while she laughs a little in relief then pressing the radio button.

"No mistakes. I've got this." Y/n promises beginning to push since her tyres of fine and can definitely take her to the end of the race on push laps.

"Sebastian is going to fight, team orders is free to fight. You can hold this."

She expected no less. Christian may like her, but to deny the reigning world champion the right to fight is wishful thinking for y/n.

The move feels like she's stops her heart just flatline. She takes her hands off the steering wheel when the car begins to spin seeming to lose no momentum before it all stops all too quickly and pain shoots up and down her body.

Y/n pants dropping her head back as she tries to ease her own pain.

"Y/n? Are you ok?"

Her body is trembling from the shock of the hit. Everything hurts.

"Y/n? Can you hear me? Please tell me you are ok."

She knows how these radio messages always sound on broadcast. She's going to sound weak.

"Y/n?"

Finally she raises a shaky hand to the steering wheel and press the button.

"I'm ok. Sorry."

"So long as you are ok. the car is safe, turn off and get out if you can. Take your time if you need. Medical car is dispatched." Alex sighs while she continues to pant through gritted teeth.

"Ok. I just need a minute." Y/n murmurs feeling tears gathering in her eyes, unplugging her radio to cut communication because right now she just doesn't want to talk. She wants to be left alone.

Slowly she appears from the cockpit seeing the other Red Bull car already abandoned and apparently having mirrored her car in the crash since Seb's car looks pretty smashed up too.

The doctor from the medical car helps her out since they arrived promptly and get her helmet off to try and give her a proper once over. They take her to the medical centre for checks where Seb has already arrived and there's a brief glance between them.

She's almost certain she sees guilt and regret behind Seb's eyes but it's masked with a frown of annoyance on his expression. Which makes her blood boil in a rage that she's never felt before.

He took her first win. He has no right to be angry. No right to be upset. He ruined her race and there is never going to be a point that she forgives him.

She gets a rid back to the paddock where she just pushes her whole team away before locking herself in her driver's room. That's when she falls apart, literally crumpling down to the floor in tears. She allows herself a few moments of weakness before making an attempt to clean up

By the time y/n opens the door to leave she's met with another body.

"I'm not feeling well. I think I'll do the debrief in the morning if that's ok?" Y/n swallows thickly trying to keep herself from crying again as she looks at Christian.

"Y/n, you did nothing wrong. He will be spoken to...he pulled a dangerous move that could've taken you out for the next race." Christian states in a tone that nearly weakens her attempt to be made of stone right now.

"I'm fine. These things happen. I'll rest tonight, debrief tomorrow and improve the next race. I'm getting that win whether it's at the cost of his pride and ego." Y/n promises cooly. "But that crash did hurt and right now all I want to is sleep."

"Ok, you go rest and take care of yourself." Christian nods seeming almost proud of her confidence and mentality.

She exits the unit and paddock in quick succession while Christian gets to the debrief room where Sebastian is waiting with the engineers and team.

"Y/n won't be joining us." Christian states simply sitting down and watching Sebastian frown.

"Is it not required for her to be here?" Sebastian questions, always seeming to want to find a reason to pick on her.

"She needs to rest and recover from the impact of the crash. You'll be able to see just how much worse her crash was compared to what you managed for yourself."

-

Sebastian couldn't help himself from having to intrude and badger y/n. Since he knows which hotel room she is in, he has no shame as he knocks on the door.

Y/n appears after nearly 2 minutes knocking and it's one because she wants him to stop that she finally answer the door at all.

"What?" Y/n huffs opening the door since regardless of it being Seb or not, whoever it is, is an unwanted guest. "You have some serious balls showing your face here."

"We need to talk."

"No. You need to leave. Stay far away from me, both in person and on track from here forward." Y/n spits then nearly growling when Seb places his hand to her chest to push her backwards and walk in, closing the door behind himself.

"If you are going to be irrational while opening your mouth, sit and be quiet while I talk." Seb instructs earning yet another glare.

"You don't deserve to be listened to." Y/n states in a tone so cold that Sebastian can feel the sheer hatred just radiating off of her body. Tears shine in her eyes as she tries to swallow back some of her hurt. "You don't deserve anything from me."

Y/n had actually started this season thrilled to be paired with THE Sebastian Vettel, the youngest world championship in F1. She was abuzz about it. A fan of his and now all she feels is disappointment. As if she was lied to because being his teammate feels like the worst thing to happen to her.

"But you deserve to be given a free win from me?" Sebastian questions nearing her in a way that she almost steps back from but his finger knuckle catching under her chin forcing her to meet his gaze and keeping her in place as she swallows thickly.

The unresolved tension and anger is thick between them as they stare at each other.

Almost in the same speed as the crash, y/n feels the next few seconds happen at such a speed that she can't comprehend anything but Seb's lips on her own as he presses her body against the nearest wall as he pulls her legs up to his waist.

"Christian says we need to find an outlet. I think I have a solution." Seb states moving to speak in her ear. "Unless you want to oppose it?"

"Don't stop." Y/n swallows thickly not even completely sure this is what she wants. Especially when her body is still feeling so sore from the impact.

Seb moves her to the bed, throwing her onto the soft surface of the bed, which she sinks into only moving to help Seb undress her. His hands making quick work of it. Then he pauses and she frowns as she leans up onto her elbows.

"If you aren't going to do anything then you can leave."

"You never know when to just stay quiet do you?" Seb scoffs while knocking her legs apart. "You will know exactly what your position is between the two of us by the time we finish."

"A lot of confidence about finishing giving you already stopped me once today."

There's a glimmer of annoyance behind his eyes at her comment but he doesn't reply, remaining silent as his eyes redirect like he's studying her body.

Now that's when the self-conscious thoughts begin to poke into her mind. A shiver rippling down her spine under his gaze. If there's one thing Sebastian has a talent at it's quick analyse of something from just looking into it.

"You are not hard to turn on, are you? Dripping on the sheets already." Seb comments making her swallow down before she feels his fingers gathering her wetness with enough pressure and touch that it somewhat dawns on her just how much she really needs him right now.

"Seb." Y/n whimpers knowing that she's pathetically needy and while she could easily handle it herself and get herself off. She knows that is Seb does keep to his word, then it's going to feel so much better getting off from someone else.

Y/n's hands curl into fists around the sheets feeling his fingertips move to brush at her clit.

"Say please."

"Don't push your fucking fuck. I'll kick you out."

"If you believe you are still in control here, you need to look at which one of us is naked." Seb hums making he swallow thickly since he's really not wrong. But she's not about to admit that. "We'll work on your manners. I can feel how frustrated you are."

"Then stop wasting time."

Really Seb had came here to apologise, he'd even felt bad but this attitude is not going to earn much of an apology. So he'll have to fuck the attitude out of her and then maybe if he feels up to it, he'll give her the apology he intended to say.

"If you insist." Seb states finally getting his cock out which is more than ready to be inside the young woman.

He'd admittedly thought about what her body might look like under the slightly bulky suit. But he has to say that seeing it so bare and vulnerable. He can't stop himself from needing to really be inside her.

So that's exactly what he does.

Thrusting inside of her making them both moan without thought of volume or consideration for those in the surrounding rooms. Y/n takes a moment to really try and adjust but Seb is moving.

"Jesus, Seb." Y/n mumbles as he pulls her closer to himself at the edge of the bed, reaching down to rub at her clit while she feels herself completely gushing around him.

The additional pressure of her clit is pushing her towards the edge. But just as she feels herself about to hit that peak, his fingers are gone and not only that but he’s completely removed himself from her.

“You didn’t think i’d make it that easy, did you?” Seb questions making her jaw actually drop. Her mind in a buzz of anger and neediness, torn between slapping or begging him. “I’ll decide when you get to finish and for someone so certain I couldn’t manage it. You did look close.”

Seb pins one leg up as he thrusts with no warning back into her and grips a hand around her throat, not too tightly that there's a cut on air but it does have the intended effect that Seb has clearly aiming for while he pounds into her.

It takes a while for Seb to locate her g-spot but her tensing upon him finding the right angle leads to him to completely abuse it. Again pushing her closer and closer as she whines eager to finally finish but just as it's about to hit and wash over her.

It's gone again.

His body removed from his own.

"What the fuck?" Y/n growls feeling her blood boil in sheer frustration.

"I think you should work for it." Seb smiles clearly very smug about edging her and feeling a victory in it.

He repositions them so she's on top straddling him and she quickly catches on that while she might have some control, he's allowing her to do this. But regardless of him having the control here, she's going to take full advantage to finally get the orgasm she so desperately needs.

Much to her relief as soon as she's bouncing up and down on him, the angle is hitting her g-spot perfect and his hand moving to pay plenty of attention to her clit. She feels finally the build up and this time she's determined not to lose it.

Thankfully Seb doesn't seem to be intending to let up on this occasion and actually the whole feel makes her orgasm smash through her, but she finally finishes, shuddering in aftershocks as she realises that Seb also came but she was too lost in her own orgasm to even notice that she's been filled up.

Thank god for birth control.

Although the asshole didn't know that.

She drops forward on him, allowing herself the comfort of his body against her own for only a few seconds.

This is not the beginning of a romance between them, it was purely an outlet for their anger towards each other.

So she rolls off of him and sighs lying down beside him, both of them in a silence and she almost doesn't want it to be broken. Ignoring him is far easier that addressing him.

"I actually came to apologise." Seb states suddenly, catching her attention in the most effective way and very visibly shocking her. "I caused you pain in that crash, I robbed you of your first win because you were just performing better than me. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right and I know that."

Y/n sighs feeling her eyes watering because it's hard to hear. Knowing it happened and being able to be mad about it is one thing but for Seb to come fuck her then apologise.

"Just know Seb. I choose not to fight you most of the time...but if you get in my way of a win again. I'll make sure you never see P1 in a race or at the end of a race again. Whether it's at the cost my own race or not." Y/n promises as she turns her head and finds he's already watching. "I don't want to go down in history as an inter-team rivalry that took out both drivers (*cough* brocedes *cough*). So stop making it like that."

Seb looks at y/n for a moment before smiling.

"I think we might have to continue this post-race sex as a matter of diffusing any tension."

Y/n tries to hide her smile before he stands up and moves.

"Do not move, we need to clean you up."

Y/n doesn't move and when Seb returns cleaning her up and handing her a bottle of water from the mini bar. She has to try and stop her heart from outweighing her brain which tells her to remain rational and not convince herself that this might just be the beginning of a relationship between them.

"You are staring." Seb comments earning an eye roll. "I can assume that you didn't fake your orgasm for my benefit then. Something tells me you wouldn't bother yourself to save my feelings like that."

"Don't let it go to your head. I'm touch-starved."

"Not anymore you're not and you won't be in the foreseeable future."

#f1 #fanfic #formula 1 #red bull f1 #red bull seb #red bull racing #red bull formula 1 #red bull team #formula one #sebastian vettel #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel imagine #sebastian vettel x you #sebastian vettel smut #sebastian vettel x y/n #sebastian vettel one shot #sebastian vettel fic #sebastian vettel fanfic #sv5 #sv5 x reader #sv5 imagine #sv5 one shot #sv5 x you #sv5 x y/n #sv5 smut #f1 smut #sv5 fanfic #sv5 fic #sebastian vettel red bull

[naeverse]

The Black Rose

🖤 staring: Tattoo Artist Miguel O’Hara x female reader

      ◽preview: 

“Let me taste what this pussy of yours is like and then I'll tattoo that rose on your gorgeous ass.”

🖤 summary: 

At The Bloody Inks, the renowned Nueva York tattoo parlor, you meet the skilled, stone-cold and attractive tattoo artist, Miguel O’Hara. Seeking a tantalizing tattoo for your rear end, Miguel isn’t hesitant to get what he wants, especially if it’s a doll like you.

◽tw/cw:  Butt Tattoo, Cunninglingus, Dirty Talk, Face-Sitting, Lip piercings Miguel,  Needles mentioned, Oral sex, Semi-public, Tattooed Miguel, etc…

🖤  Pet names: Cariño (Darling), Muñeca (Doll), Bebé (Baby)

     ◽Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

 🖤 Word Count: Around 9.6K 

(I do not own any of the fanart or photos used! All credit goes to the original artist!)

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

You were used to getting tattoos, so what made this time any different?

You found yourself pondering that very question repeatedly, as you approached the renowned Nueva York tattoo parlor, 'Bloody Inks.' 

Since the age of 18, you've adorned your body with small pieces of inked art, from your ankles to your shoulders. Despite your familiarity with tattoos, today marked a departure from the norm as you contemplated getting a substantial artwork for the first time.

But that wasn't what made you nervous…

It was where you were getting it. 

You had a little bet with your friends about your next tattoo, and to your dismay, the idea of a butt tattoo became the central topic.

Secretly desiring one, you were always hesitant due to fears of pain and discomfort on such elastic tissue, the thought of undressing completely from the waist down only added to the nerves. 

Yet, here you were, opening the door to the notorious shop…

A bell rang at your arrival along with the crackle of a searing guitar and thunderous drumbeats playing from a speaker. The music’s furious tempo of punk music overwhelmed your senses as you were hit with the smell of ink and antiseptic, and a hint of sandalwood. You stepped inside, your black tennis shoes, on wooden scuffed floors as your eyes roamed the dimly lit lobby before you. 

A black leather sofa sat in one corner, a front desk before you, and a few sculptures and decorations covered the worn wooden floors. Despite everything inside, your attention was instantly captured by the gallery of designs that covered the black-brick walls of the tattoo parlor. 

There were many sketches and finished pieces that were put on display, an assortment of vibrant colors and intricate details bringing life to the lobby. Mythical creatures, mandalas, floral designs, phrases, and abstract patterns decorated the walls, each one telling a different story and waiting to be chosen and etched onto willing skin. 

The counter was empty when you arrived, a soft, dim glow of light hanging from chains on the ceiling cast an amber hue throughout the lobby. You stood patiently at the black desk, fiddling nervously with the bottom of your white t-shirt and pondering if you should go through with this tattoo…

“Oy! We have a customer!” 

The loud outburst from a male with a British accent cut through the rather quiet lobby, making you jump. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest whilst you overheard the small conversation between the British male and who sounded like a female coming from further in the tattoo parlor. 

“Gwendy, love, I’ve been dealing with the past few customers for a while now. Why not deal with this one, hmm?” The girl responded with a scoff. 

“Hobie, you know you haven’t done shit.” 

“Ah…you got me there love.” The British guy said with a chuckle. “Well, stop playing around and help the customer.” The girl laughed as you soon heard the sound of heavy footfalls becoming louder and louder. It wasn’t long before the identity of the British male was revealed to you. 

The black curtains that separated the lobby from the back of the tattoo parlor opened to unveil an ebony guy with thick black hair and piercings. His hair was styled chaotically on his head, but you had a feeling it was purposeful with the way he carried himself. He had unmistakable confidence and not a care in the world for anyone. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his black jeans, a black t-shirt covering his lean body as his combat boots thudded against the wooden floors. 

He came behind the counter, turning his dark brown eyes upon you, instantly making you a little intimidated. “Aye, name’s Hobie, and welcome to the Bloody Inks. Are you here for a piercing or a tattoo, love?” He asked, his slender fingers locating a pen and notepad from his side of the desk. 

You chewed your inner cheek, drumming your thumb against the handle of your small bag. 

This was your last chance to back out…

To decide to go on with life without the tattoo on your rear or to face your fears and get the beautiful inking. 

It wasn’t long before you already had your answer, giving the male before you a small smile. “I’m here for a tattoo.” You said bringing a smile to Hobie’s pierced lips. He glanced down at the notepad, his pen gliding across the page. “Can I see some ID?” 

You were used to this question and already had your ID in hand, placing it into the ebony male’s palm. He barely glanced at it before returning it to you. “Nice, have you been to Bloody Ink’s before?” He asked, causing you to bite your lip nervously. 

“No, this is my first time.” He looked up at you, his pierced lips pulled back into a smirk. “Ah, great! I’ll make sure the big boss does your tattoo then.” He said with a smile, but you couldn’t help becoming a little more anxious. The boss was going to be the one giving you your tattoo. 

The tattoo on your bottom…

You gulped, hoping the male wasn’t scary-looking or a perv. 

“O-kay!” Hobie exclaimed, pulling you from your thoughts as he finished writing. “Now, I’ll give you a book to look over the designs whilst the boss finishes up in the back,” Hobie said, pulling a black, hardcover album from under the desk, placing it into your hand, then motioning for you to take a seat on the sofa. 

You followed along to his instructions, taking the black book in your hands and moving over to the leather couch where you sat down. Hobie then left, going behind the black curtains and drawing them close once more. 

To pass the time and decide upon your tattoo, you look over the many designs inside the book. Each was skillfully sketched by hand and each held their own, unique form of beauty. Your eyes glazed over blazing skulls, graceful elephants, motivating quotes, to lastly land upon a beautiful flower. 

You gasped, instinctively reaching out to trace a finger along the intricate lines of the sketch. You could already imagine the rose’s petals on your bottom, sprouting out in full bloom across your right, no… left cheek.

The circular pistil was visible and drawn so full of detail that it felt like it was jumping out at you. A few leaves could be seen peeking out the top of the rose as you felt like this design was for you.

Like it was drawing you in…

…

..

.

“Have you decided?”

A deep, husky voice asked inside of the quiet lobby. You jumped in your seat, eyes snapping up to see someone was occupying the counter…

But it wasn’t Hobie…

A tanned male with a muscular, large build was now present. Standing tall and broad, his physique showed proof of his dedication to the wellbeing of his body due to his swell and bulging muscles. His chiseled features were framed by a strong, defined jawline, a sharp nose, and dark smoldering eyes. 

His bronze skin held tattoos that were intricately etched on his skin, each design holding a mysterious story across the backs of his hands, on his arms, and even along his chest and neck. They accentuated the contours of his muscles and added even more allure to his already magnetic presence. He placed his hands on the desk, his eyes still trained on you, his taut body dressed in a mere black t-shirt, jeans, and boots, but he made such simple clothes look like it was woven by the gods. 

You didn’t know how long you’d been gawking at him in utter shock and disbelief at the magnificence before you. It wasn't until he moved once more, beckoning to you with two inked fingers that you snapped out of your trance. 

You gulped, gathered up your bag and the black album, and made your way to the counter. 

The closer you got, the more attractive and intimidating he became. His bushy eyebrows were drawn low over his amber eyes and his mouth, holding two ringed piercings on the opposite ends of his lower lip, were pulled into a scowl. 

He looked stern, but you pondered if that was just his usual look. 

“So have you decided on what piece you wanted?” He asked again, but you were still baffled by how drop-dead gorgeous he was that you almost misheard him once more. “Y-yes.” You stammered, gulping thickly, your finger still holding the page of your desired sketch. He hummed, holding his large hand out to you, motioning to the black book. You complied, placing it open into his palm, the hardcover open to the page of your tattoo choice. 

It felt relieving to not have his stern eyes on you anymore, his amber orbs looking at the sketch you’ve chosen in the book. You bit your lip nervously, eyes trained on him whilst he looked over the design before he turned his gaze back up at you. “You know that’s an ass tat, right?” He bluntly asked which made heat rise in the back of your neck.

“Y-Yes, I know.” You replied, causing his eyebrows to rise for a brief second in surprise. “Well…Okay then.” He said, closing the book and holding the page with his thumb. “I’m Miguel, I’ll be your tattoo artist for today.”

Your heart dropped at his words. 

You didn’t know to feel excited or nervous as hell, knowing he’d be the one touching you so intimately. “I-It’s nice to meet you.” You replied, giving him a small smile. His eyes lingered on you for a moment too long as he gave you a curt nod, a gesture that hopefully meant, 'You too.'

He motioned with his head to the back of the tattoo parlor, the entrance that was covered in black curtains. “Follow me.” He commanded in a gravelly tone. You gulped, following behind him through the black drapes to venture further into the tattoo parlor. 

Instantly when you entered, the smell of ink and antiseptic became more potent, the sounds of the buzzing of the tattoo guns filled your ears along with the playful banter between the two artists from before. 

“So Gwendy, you still believe just because you're in your twenties now that you can order me around?” Hobie asked the girl from across the room. She chuckled, looking away from her male client who was getting a skull tattooed onto his leg to over at Hobie. The girl had blonde, wavy hair and black piercings that covered her face. Two studs styled her eyebrow and a hooped one could be seen on her nose. 

She smirked at the ebony male. “I didn’t say anything of the sort and stop calling me that. You know my name.” She laughed, eliciting a snort from Hobie. “Aye, but I like Gwendy better than Gwen.”  

Miguel groaned in annoyance, looking between the two young artists. “Stop this nonsense and get to work.” He barked at Gwen and Hobie which surprised you, every muscle in his backside tensing up after his outburst. The conversation ceased to be replaced with just Miguel and your footsteps and the buzzing of the tattoo needles, but Miguel’s previous words didn’t seem to affect the two artists’ since after you both left, their conversation started up again. 

Miguel grumbled under his breath, his grip on the black album tightening. You walked behind him down the hallway, his tall and broad being completely blocking your view around him. Every time you looked up, you came face to face with his muscular backside that was covered in his black T-shirt that looked to be straining against his musculature. 

You clutched your purse while walking down the hallway to watch him enter a room. When you looked over, you saw a name tag on the door that read 'Miguel O'Hara.'

‘This must be his own personal tattoo room.’ 

You thought, your stomach clenching on cue as you followed him into the room. Your eyes instantly took in the attractive strangers’ workspace, the room you would also be spending the next hour or so in.

The tattoo room seemed to be more grand, more important than the one the two artists’ Gwen and Hobie were in. The walls were decorated, once more, with black and gray masterpieces of artwork, but these were more sci-fi and futuristic than the ones displayed in the lobby.

Spotlights hung from the ceiling carefully positioned to cast a focused radiance upon the vintage leather chair in the center of the room. The space smelled strongly of ink, antiseptic, men's cologne, and…

Smoke.

But not the typical smoke from a fire, more like from tobacco.

You couldn't help but wonder if the fine male smoked. You didn't want to assume or stereotype, but he looked like he would…

Your eyes soon graced over the main attraction of the room, the tattoo chair and station beside it. The seat had a black leather cushion that looked soft and very comfortable. It appeared, overall, brand new as if no one had hardly sat in it. A steel workstation was positioned beside the hot seat, the surface covered in an assortment of tools like a painter’s palette. The main one catching your eye was the needles and the gun. 

You gulped, stepping more into the room as Miguel was rummaging through a nearby closet, the sound of metal and items clattering inside. He glanced momentarily over at the flower sketch inside of the black album before returning to get the items he needed. 

You’ve learned, so far, that your tattoo artist was a rather quiet man. He barely spoke, and merely did things without providing a reason or explanation. He rummaged through the closet, next to the cabinets of a few counters and then a small chest in the room, trying to find all of the items he needed to, what you can infer, tattoo your desired choice onto your skin.

Your eyes never left him, watching his massive build transverse around the room, moving things, picking things up, putting them to the side all whilst holding an aura of unshakable coldness that dripped from his very being. 

It was intimidating, yet alluring, nonetheless. 

Once Miguel found the items he needed, he placed them onto the steel workstation. 

With the way he was going about things, you would have thought he'd forgotten about your presence; as he was completely engrossed in what he was doing, placing a piece of stencil paper that held the floral design you wanted onto the workstation, along with black ink tubes, napkins, bottles of creams and other things.

However, you couldn’t focus…

You were highly nervous. 

You stood nearby, clutching your purse whilst Miguel covered the tattoo chair with a few gray towels, before returning to organizing his workstation, and handling his tattoo gun. His thick, inked gingers deftly glided across the metal tools and inks when he finally looked up at you. You noticed his dark brown eyes roam your figure, meeting your eyes once more as he fiddled with the needles and tattoo gun. 

“Which side?” He asked suddenly, placing the gun down on the workstation. You were baffled, confused about what he meant. “W-what?” You stammered, watching him take a seat on a black rolling stool. “You want your tattoo on your bottom, correct?” He asked, causing you to nod at his question. “Then which side?” He inquired once more. 

You gulped, biting your lip. You pondered, remembering the artwork of the black rose from the album book and how beautiful it was, briefly deciding with yourself on which side. “O-On the left.” You replied after considering. 

He hummed, nodding whilst placing a pair of black latex gloves onto his table. 

“Okay, I’m going to need you to undress from the waist down and lay on your stomach.” He directed, pressing a button under the chair with his foot, causing the backing to lean back. 

Your heart quickened and your stomach clenched. This was what you were worried about… 

The undressing part.

It wasn’t that you had an unattractive body or weren’t familiar with the acts of intimacy, it was the thought of him, a handsome stranger having his stern gaze on your sensitive area. 

How he’ll have to be studying your flesh, taking in every curve and dot whilst he worked in etching the beautiful tattoo onto your rear that made you a little reluctant. 

You hesitated, clutching your purse once more. Your nervousness started to become palpable as you noticed Miguel looking up at you. He took in your tentativeness, his stern face softening at the sight. He sighed heavily, clenching his jaw as his lip piercings caught in the ceiling light.

“Are you sure about this?” His deep and rough voice filled the quiet room, his movements coming to a halt. You chewed your inner cheek, pondering his question. “Yes…I’m sure.” You replied, causing him to click his tongue. “Then what are all these nerves coming from?” He asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The movement seems to make his pecs more defined against the black fabric. 

“I’ve seen you aren’t new to tattoos.” He said, his amber orbs probably taking in the small, tattooed quotes and patterns covering your body in minor spots before meeting your eyes once again. “So what’s the problem?”

You sighed, meeting his eyes. 

Strangely, you felt like pouring your heart out to him.

Despite his coldness, you had a feeling whatever you told him would stay in this room…

“I’ve never got a huge piece done before.” You told him, which was partly the truth. Miguel hummed, his gaze on you intense. “That’s it?” You bit your lip anxiously once more, fiddling with the zipper of your purse. “N-No…I guess I’m nervous about…

Undressing.” 

You uttered, biting your lip. However, Miguel seemed unfazed, only nodding in understanding. 

“What’s your name?” He asked suddenly which made your eyebrows furrow. “Y-Y/N.” You hesitantly replied, bringing a tight-lipped smile to Miguel’s lips. “As you can see. Y/N, for the tattoo you’ve chosen, it’s required that you undress from the waist down.” He said, his amber eyes searching the room before landing on a decoration that sat on a counter.

He stood up, picking up the small porcelain sculpture of a gray woman’s naked body. The piece looked rather small in his massive hands. 

“You see here.” He turned the female around, pointing to the left side of the gray sculpture’s plump rear end. “This entire side will need to be revealed for me to work.” He explained, lowering his finger to point underneath the left cheek. “And the tattoo would end underneath the left buttock.” He said, setting the sculpture to the side, and turning his eyes back onto you. 

“For other tattoos, I wouldn’t have asked for such things and simply allowed you to keep your undergarments on and work from there.” His tone was gravelly and rough as he spoke to you. “But I'd like to be cautious, so I ask you to remove everything.” He informed you, which made you feel better about the process, but still wary. 

Miguel, looked you up and down, tapping his finger against his thick thigh, noticing that you were still hesitant. “How about this,” He began, his words instantly piquing your interest. “I can turn around and allow you to undress and get into a comfortable position on the chair.” He said. “I’ll even give you a towel to cover yourself with.” He proposed with a straight face. “How does that sound?” His demeanor and gravelly tone contrasted greatly with his kind and understanding words. 

You thought it over for a while before nodding at his suggestion. He rose from his seat, retrieving a black towel from the closet, and placing it onto the tattoo chair that was already covered in gray towels. He then returned to his rolling stool and turned around to face the wall. “Let me know when you are done.” He said, his voice, husky and deep.

“O-Okay.” You told him, the uncertainty, evident in your voice. Your eyes took in his muscular backside that was straining against his black t-shirt. Every bulging muscle was visible through the fabric.

You bit your lip, feeling rather odd but proceeding on. 

You closed the door of his tattoo room and set your purse down on the floor. You exhaled deeply, calming yourself down before looping your fingers into the waistband of your black shorts, slowly drawing them down, your eyes trained on him. 

Miguel was completely solid and unmoving. His arms crossed over his chest and his back still facing you. He was so quiet, that you could almost forget he was there.

Well, almost…

When the black fabric of your shorts was nothing but a puddle around your ankles, you stepped out of them, tossing them to the side. You gulped, standing in just your white shirt, black tennis shoes, and panties. You heaved a quiet sigh, chewing your inner cheek.

This was the hard part…

You were about to undress completely…

You exhaled deeply, reluctantly slipping your thumbs into the elastic band of your black panties, pulling them down, and exposing your sex to the tattoo room. You hissed, feeling the cool air against your core. Hastily, you removed them from your being, tossing them to the side along with your shorts. 

It felt so weird standing in a foreign place with your rear completely unveiled.

You wanted nothing more than to cover up…

Your eyes shifted over to Miguels’ broad backside, still in its same position. 

“Everything alright?” 

You jumped at his sudden question, his voice was thunderous compared to the total quietness that had once filled the room. “Y-y-yes.” You squeaked, swiftly moving to climb onto the tattoo chair, laying on your stomach, and placing the black towel over your bare rear to conceal yourself. 

After Miguel’s abrupt question, he didn’t say anything else, and neither did you, despite being ready. It took a while for you to tell the sexy, and rather intimidating tattoo artist that you were all set. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest every time you thought you were prepared to do so. 

You rested your chin upon the backs of your hands, laying flat on your stomach. You heaved a sigh, feeling rather ridiculous at how scared you were. 

You chose to come here, just like you chose to get this tattoo. 

‘No reason to back out now.’ You thought, wetting your lips before getting the artist’s attention. “I-I’m ready.” You muttered, causing an instant creak from Miguel’s stool to be heard.

“Good.” He uttered, the sound of the wheels from his seat gliding across the black marble flooring filling the room. You soon felt his presence to your right, seeing him in your peripherals, sitting tall and large on his stool next to you on the tattoo chair. His dark brown eyes continuously glanced over at you before roaming your body, his facial features unreadable. You couldn’t tell if he was checking you out, or was merely looking at you to see if you hadn’t fainted on his chair. 

“You seem…tense.” He commented in his usual dead tone. You looked over your shoulder at him to see his large hands attaching a black ink tube to his tattoo gun. His black tattoo arm sleeve was visible under the projecting light of the ceiling as his amber eyes were trained more on what he was doing rather than you. 

“Y-yes. I’m still a little nervous.” You confessed, feeling your hands begin to tremble slightly. Miguel looked up at you, the light bouncing off his two lip piercings on his lower lip. “If I start and your body is not relaxed it’s going to hurt like a bitch.” He said bluntly, setting his tattoo gun onto his workstation. His words didn’t help, only causing your heart to quicken in pace and freak you out even more.

Because how could you possibly calm down? 

It felt utterly impossible… 

You weren’t nervous about the needle, or getting tattooed to begin with. You were experienced when it came to the inking process. What was working the nerves was the thought of his stern gaze and calloused hands feeling up your bare bottom. His gloved thumbs pressed into your rear, his amber eyes trained on every piece of you from the waist down which was making you nervous as hell. 

Miguel eyed you, taking in your troubled expression as you lay upon his tattoo chair. Your bare bottom, covered in a black towel and your chin resting on your hands. 

“Let me relax you.” 

He abruptly said in almost a commanding voice rather than as a proposition. His suggestion made your heart skip a beat. You couldn’t help the naughty thoughts that came to your mind at the thought of him ‘relaxing’ you. 

"And h-how would you do that?" You asked, watching him rise from his stool, his imposing figure casting a shadow over you. 

"I'm going to give you a massage." 

He declared. Your eyebrows furrowed at the unexpected proposal, your entire body suddenly heating up. "I've never heard of a tattoo parlor doing something like that." You admitted, feeling him adjust the chair's height to match his towering 7-foot frame, bringing the seat up to his waist.

"That's because you've never been to the Bloody Inks before," he said, a hint of amusement found in a usual cold voice. "There's a reason we're notorious in Nueva York, Y/N " he explained. "If we did what every other parlor did, we'd be just like any other tattoo shop…

Isn’t that right?”

He whispered, his voice sending shivers down your back. “I-I guess so.” You replied as without warning you began to feel his thick fingers on your shoulders, caressing small patterns into your blades. You gasped, the feeling instantly making you melt into the chair. 

“You okay?” He asked, every touch of his thick fingers against your tensed muscles making you shudder. “Mhm.” The hum being pulled from your very being and coming out more forceful than you attended whilst Miguel continued his massage.

Miguel’s tattooed hands were large and strong, tracing the contours of your muscles and pressing gently into them. Suddenly, you winced slightly, the tension resisting his skilled touch. “Relax,” He uttered, his voice a low rumble that reverberated from the depth of his broad chest. You shakingly nodded, eyes fluttering closed at the wonderful sensations. “O-Okay. I’ll try.” You replied, trying to calm yourself. 

You shakingly exhaled, feeling Miguel’s hands move down your back, his soothing caresses focusing on the crease that began the arch of your ass. 

“Damn, there's a lot of tension here.” He commented, adding more pressure into his fingers and kneading the soft tissue in that area. You let out a contented sigh, his large hands enclosing around the sides of your waist. His thumbs pressed into your skin through the fabric of your white t-shirt, rubbing small patterns into your lower back. You groaned softly, the sensations he was bringing to you felt so good. 

His touch, mysteriousness, voice, coldness, everything about him was so hot. 

His fingers soothing places in your back that you didn’t even know existed, bringing you closer to tranquility. 

“How do you feel?” He asked, pressing and running his palm along the center of your back, making you shiver. You exhaled deeply, your limbs feeling heavy and relaxed. “Mmm, good. It feels good.” You replied with closed eyes. 

“That’s good to hear.” He said, his hands leaving your body. 

“But I can’t help but notice you are still tense.” 

Miguel said, making your eyebrows furrow as a sense of emptiness filled your being without his touch.

“W-what do you mean?” You inquired, entirely puzzled. You didn’t feel a single bit of tension in your backside. A feeling of pure relaxation filled your being, leaving you confused about what he meant by such things. 

But it wasn’t like you were skilled as a masseuse yourself, so you could be mistaken. 

“Yes, you are still tensed.” He uttered, running his fingers along the center of your backside, over the curve of your ass to rest a hand on your rear that was covered in the black towel.

 “Here, it needs my attention.” 

You were shocked and in disbelief, instantly becoming speechless; but despite your bewilderment, Miguel continued talking. “It’ll only make sense to massage where I'll be working. It’ll help loosen the muscles of your rear, making tattooing it less painful.” He explained, but it still didn’t stop the huge blush that spread across your face. You didn’t know how to respond, stuck between your own uncertainties and desires. 

“T-this will be… beneficial?” You asked shakingly, trying to push past the naughty and erotic things that were filling your head. Miguel hummed. “Yes, I’ll be tattooing your left buttock, so it’ll help make the tattoo process smoother…

For you, I mean.”

You bit your lip. The butterflies, going rampant in your stomach. You didn’t know what to do or what to say, but then the realization that he was going to have to see and touch your bottom anyway when the actual inking process began led you to put your worries to the side and agree.

“No. I don’t mind.” You said, thankful that Miguel couldn’t see how red you were due to your face being away from him. Miguel hummed, his previous touch seeming to linger upon your skin. 

“I’ll have to remove the towel. You okay with that?” He asked, which made your heart skip a beat. You shakingly exhaled, nodding. “Yes.” 

You felt him lift the black towel from your bottom, the cool air rushing over your bare rear. You sucked in a breath as before, Miguel didn’t warn you, his warm hands groping your cheeks and instantly beginning to knead the fat of your ass.

This time, the sensations were different.

On your backside, the massage was more relaxing and tranquil, but on your rear, it felt more personal, more…

Intimate. 

His touch made you feel pleasure beyond anything…

You bit your bottom lip harshly, trying to muffle the erotic cries that wished to escape whilst Miguel’s calloused hands worked wonders on your rear. His fingers pressed firmly into your left cheek, squeezing the fat before moving along the sides. It was a process that you pondered if it was professional or not, but it wasn’t like you cared.

His fingers knead into your soft flesh, like dough, making you see stars every single time. You were slowly becoming wet, your arousal spilling from your exposed sex to gradually coat your thighs and drench the gray towels underneath you.

The massage was good. 

Dangerously too good…

A sudden moan broke free, filling the tattoo room when he roughly groped both of your cheeks in his large hands, spreading them apart. You instantly blushed horribly, embarrassed beyond anything. 

“O-Oh my gosh, I-I’m so sorry.” You briskly replied, wanting nothing more than to hide. You didn’t know how the hell Miguel would react. 

Would he cease his wonderful massage?

Tell you to leave?

Would things get hella awkward now?

You felt like a complete idiot, mentally facepalming yourself for giving into the pleasure of a total stranger. 

But to your surprise, Miguel did something you weren’t expecting. 

He chuckled. 

For the first time since you met the menacing and large Latino artist, he showed an emotion that didn’t make you feel so freaking intimidated. The sound of the small, deep laughter that passed his lips was honestly breathtaking, and you wanted nothing more than to hear it again. 

“No need to apologize.” He replied, drawing your attention back to him and his wonderful massage. His touch on your rear became more soft and gentle like he was taking his time with you. 

“It just shows I’m providing you what your body needs.” He replied, moving his hands onto your thighs, caressing them with his thumbs before running his hands up to fully cup your asscheeks into his hands. You moaned softly, your body instinctively arching up into his waiting palms. Miguel snickered, giving your ass another squeeze when everything stopped. 

His movement on your rear ceased, his small laughs, movement, everything! 

You lay there, waiting for anything to happen when you suddenly felt his pierced lips against your ear. 

“Let’s drop the act, Cariño.” 

He whispered, his breath warm on your face and his piercings, cold against your skin. Your heart dropped, and your body instantly became hot.

 You tried to speak, to deny what he was saying, but your quivering lips wouldn’t form the words. 

He snickered at your speechlessness and how flustered you were, the sound sending tingles throughout your entire being and going straight to your throbbing core. 

“Let me relax you how we both desire, Y/N.” 

He hummed, resuming his touch on your rear, but this time it was different. It was purposefully more erotic. He gave your bottom a sensual squeeze with one hand, his other moving up to stroke your hair. 

You couldn’t believe this was happening. 

It felt surreal. 

Something you'll fantasize about your sexy tattooist…

But Miguel’s fingers running through your hair, massaging your scalp whilst continuing to tease and knead your right asscheek with his fingers made you think otherwise. 

You were speechless yet again. You didn’t know how to respond, but your body was doing the speaking for you. 

Your juices dripping down your thighs and soaking the gray towels under you, spoke volumes on its own. You shakingly exhaled, trying to calm your excitement.

Miguel chuckled, his fingers continuing their tantalizing play on your rear, tempting and taunting you to give in to the sexy artist. 

You bit your lip harshly, eyes fluttering as he, teasingly, brushed his thumb across your slick folds. You gasped at his attempt to entice you more.

“Mmm, you are soaking, Muneca.” He growled against your ear, his lip rings brushing your lobe and making you shudder. He sucked in a breath, running his fingers up and down your slick folds, coating his digits in your never-ending arousal. He groaned at your wetness, cupping your mound, to circle his two fingers around your sensitive bud. You moaned helplessly, trembling with pleasure.

“Muneca, you want this, just as much as I do.” He uttered, pressing his fingers more against your throbbing bud, eliciting a cry to escape your lips and making you wetter. 

“Let me relax you.” He whispered, his deep voice filled with desire as he removed his hands to place them on your hips, caressing gentle circles against your sides.

“Let me taste what this pussy of yours is like and then I'll tattoo that rose on your gorgeous ass.”

He proposed once again. His words alone made your stomach clench in want. The gray towels underneath you completely soak with your arousal. 

You couldn't stop yourself. The desire blinded you as your head slowly nods at his erotic proposition. 

“P-Please.” You practically begged; voice tainted with desperation for more of him. You felt his pierced lips pull into a smirk against your ear.

“Good girl, Y/N.” He praised, nipping softly at your ear before pulling away. His touch left you cold and empty.

“On your knees. Ass up.”

He commanded, his coldness resurfacing right before your eyes. His sternness was even more attractive and made your core throb in anticipation.

You bit your lip, lust blinding your every action, thought, and word as you rose on the tattoo chair. As he instructed, you stood up on your knees and forearms with your ass thrust up into the air. 

The cool air continuously brushed along your heated core, making your breathing hitch every time. The position gave him a full display of your wet folds and the gradual drip of your arousal down your thighs. The sight alone revealed your evident desire for him which made you excited, but also ashamed. 

This sexy stranger was intimidating, scary, and someone you would, normally, never align yourself with. 

So what was different about him that had you practically soaking his chair? 

In your peripherals, you saw Miguel move. The mere motion snapped you out of your thoughts as his massive being disappeared from view. Instantly, you became anxious, oblivious to his next actions.

A sexy groan escaped his lips, feeling his amber eyes trained on your exposed sensitive area. “That's a pretty pussy you got that.” He purred, making you blush horribly. You buried your face into your inner elbow, embarrassed for liking the compliment from someone as sexy as him.

Miguel chuckled. “Does someone like my praises? You are a naughty one, Cariño.” 

He snickered. Your face, reddening even more. His fingers continued their dance along the skin of your ass, your breathing becoming more shaky and your body burning hot. 

His words and touch alone were enough to make you lose control. Beads of your essence running down your thighs. 

“Cariño, I've only known you for about 30 minutes, yet, there is something about you that fascinates me. Something that I love so very fucking much….

Want to know what that is?”

He asked, his voice deep and husky, yet sending a shiver down your spine; his fingers ghosting along your skin. “Y-Yes.” You shakingly inquired, curious about his answer, but also anxious for him to cease his teasing and touch you.

He chuckled at your cluelessness, running his nails along your bare rear making you shiver. 

“I love that despite your obvious hesitance and, dare I say, fear, you give into your wants, Muñeca 

Your desires.”  

He uttered, the pads of his fingers barely touching you, but forming goosebumps, everywhere along your skin. 

“I-I don't understand.” You breathlessly and honestly replied, trying your hardest to look over your shoulder at the large male but failing every time. 

“You don't understand, bebé?” He purred, his fingers leaving your bottom. “Then let me turn those gears in that sexy head of yours.” He whispered, his heavy footfalls slowly walking to stand in front of you. You gulped, glancing up to see him right before you, the growing bulge in his black jeans being the main attraction. 

“You come into my shop for an ass tat, yet you were nervous as hell to get it.” He acknowledged. “But despite your nerves, here you are on my chair with that sexy ass all ready for me." He said with a smirk. His hand moved to run through your hair, massaging your scalp with the pads of his fingers once more. 

Your eyes fluttered, sinking more into the soft leather, your rear rising. “And even now, I intimidate you, don't I, Cariño?” He asked, his male cologne and the faint scent of cigarette smoke filling your nose, increasing your desire for him.

Regardless of your lust, Miguel did intimidate you. His massive body, bulging muscles, stern-drawn face, tattoos, lip rings, and cold aura made you nervous around him. 

That you couldn't lie about... 

“Y-yes. You do.” You confessed, eliciting a deep hum from Miguel. “Yet, you are giving yourself to me.” He whispered, moving his hand from your hair to take your chin into his calloused fingers. He turned you to look up at him, your eyes darting to take in his chiseled cheeks, massive neck tattoo, enticing rings on his plush lips, smoldering amber eyes, and dark brown hair that loomed over his eyes.  

He smirked, his canines peeking out from his lips. “You are delivering yourself to me on a silver platter, Y/N.” He rasped, caressing your chin and holding your stunned gaze before pulling away. You were left breathless, gasping for air, you didn't know you were holding. 

You tried to track him, his huge, menacing form returning behind you and out of your sight. “So love, despite your worries, reluctance, and inner thoughts telling you to stop and turn back. 

If you desire something, you go through with it...” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. You wondered if Miguel's observation of you was correct. 

Were you the type to follow your desires, even though everything in you was telling you otherwise? 

You pondered, if the sexy stranger was right, despite only knowing you for a short time. 

But that thought soon became nothing but mush in your brain when his sudden grip on your asscheeks made your entire mind go blank. As if dipped in warmth, your body instantly melted like chocolate under his fingertips, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Miguel hummed, his breath brushing along your heated core, only making you wetter. 

“And I love a woman that knows what she wants,” He uttered, pressing a kiss to your left ass cheek, making you gasp, 

“What she needs…” He whispered, pressing another kiss to your other eliciting another soft moan from you.

“I can tell you are going to be tasty…” 

He rasped before finally giving you what you desired and swiping his tongue along your folds. 

You cried out, slumping against the tattoo chair whilst Miguel licked at your rear. He groaned, squeezing your ass and pressing his face more into your bottom, licking, sucking and completely devouring you. 

You moaned uncontrollably, gripping the leather seat tightly. “O-Oh gosh.” You whimpered as Miguel continued his pleasurable assault, running his skillful hands up and down your spine, brushing your shirt up to feel more of your skin. You were becoming hot and increasingly wet, your love juices spilling from your entrance to be swallowed by Miguel’s eager mouth. 

With every suction of his lips and the swipe of his tongue, it made your mind complete mush, time and space becoming non-existent. “So delicious, Muñeca.” He groaned, sloppily ravaging your core, and fucking you with his tongue. 

The tattoo room was filled with your whines and whimpers, Miguel’s low groans, and the squelching of your wet pussy. Your entire body was clenching and squirming the closer you got to that sweet end. 

Like his hands, Miguel’s mouth worked wonders on you. His tongue moved rapidly across your pussy, seeming to be everywhere at once. Swirling your throbbing bud, thrusting into your entrance, and lapping your delicate pussy lips. a

When it came too much to bear, Miguel held you close, preventing you from moving away from him. It only made you tremble, the pleasure consuming your entire being.

“M-Miguel, I-I’m close.” You cried out, pressing your face into the tattoo chair. He hummed, the vibrations rumbling through you and making your stomach tighten even more. “You want to cum, pretty girl?” He chuckled, moving from your desired spot to kiss along the skin of your bottom. His hooped, lip rings brushed along the skin of your ass and made you even more wetter. 

You moaned softly, frantically nodding. “Yes, yes. Please, Miguel.” You whined, wanting him to bring you to your release. You felt his pierced lips pull into a smirk. He pressed a kiss to your right cheek before returning his skilled mouth to your puffy pussy lips once more. 

You gasped loudly, his tongue darting erratically along your dripping folds. The feeling was more extreme than ever before as he continued, tugging and lapping at your sweet pussy. 

You were so wet, your thighs dripping with your arousal like a relentless rain, its non-stop downpour completely soaking your legs and the gray towels underneath you. You gritted your teeth, the burning in the pit of your stomach becoming too much to bear, begging for a release. 

Everything felt so good, you wanted to hold on, to feel more of Miguel’s tongue and hands that roamed your body, caressing you in ways that increased the pleasure by 10-fold; 

But you just couldn’t…

With a loud cry, you climaxed hard onto his waiting mouth. Your vision saw white, eyes rolling as your sticky juices covered his pierced lips and ran down your legs. Miguel groaned in pleasure, gripping your cheeks harshly, widening you and licking you clean, whispering, 'So good. Such a good girl for me,’ over and over again. 

It was like music to your ears. 

Your eyes fluttered as he finished; tugging away from your pussy lips with a wet plop. You were dazed, falling flat against the tattoo chair, and trying to calm your breathing and come down from your epic high. 

Faintly, you could hear Miguel’s boots against the black marble flooring, moving around to stand beside you, coming into view once more. 

With glazed eyes, you looked over at him, breathing heavily. His chin and pierced lips were completely covered in your arousal. Like a king who had just feasted on a buffet fit for royalty, he used his fingers to wipe it off in satisfaction. “So delicious, Muñeca.” He praised again with a smirk. Your entire body and face flushed at his erotic compliment. You were speechless, not at all knowing how to respond.

For a moment you just stared up at him, still trying to figure out if what just happened, happened. 

His amber eyes roamed over your form once more, lingering on your bare rear longer than anything else. He growled, stepping closer once more. “But don’t think we’re done here, Muñeca.”

“I want more. 

Just one more taste” 

He uttered, the words surprising you, but not as surprising as what he did next… 

Everything was a blur, his large being moved so quickly it was hard to follow, especially in your dazed state. 

You soon found him underneath you on the tattoo chair, his massive body laying under you and your puffy pussy lips right over his waiting mouth. His large hands roughly groping your rear, and holding you tightly in place.

Certainly, you wouldn't be able to get out of his hold, even if you tried. 

You gulped, staring down at him between your thighs in shock. Your mind, not keeping up fast enough. “M-Miguel, w-what-” 

“Let me relax you, chica.” 

He cut you off, gripping your ass in his large, inked hands and pushing you down onto his mouth once more. You cried out, his mouth even more intense than ever. 

Your eyes fluttered and rolled as his tongue circled your clit, teasingly applying more pressure and making you whine. Your fingers, instinctively, found his dark brown hair, gripping and tugging at the chocolate strands and making Miguel groan. 

He caressed your bottom with his large, calloused hands, sucking at your sensitive bud with his hot, wet mouth, expertly flicking it. You moaned helplessly. “M-Miguel, g-gosh. It feels so good.” You cried out, instinctively, grinding your hips against his mouth, chasing another steady rising climax. Miguel's eyes fluttered close, savoring your taste on his tongue as he lapped and sucked at your sticky folds.

Your breathing quickened, his piercings grazing against your sensitive skin with every lap of his tongue against your entrance. You were slowly losing it, feeling him gradually ease his tongue inside of you before thrusting you repeatedly with the wet muscle.

You moaned loudly, rutting your hips and continuously brushing his nose into your clit, his tongue continuing its torment. A strangled moan erupted from your throat, the pleasure becoming too much. You shook uncontrollably, gripping his hair tightly and squirming on his mouth.

“A-Ahh, Miguel, I-I can’t-” You tried moving off, but Miguel firmly held you down on his mouth, his tongue, darting in and out of your entrance, fucking you with his warm, wet muscle. 

The familiar feeling of scorching heat began to rise in your stomach. You gritted your teeth, his metal ringed, lip piercings brushing against your pussy lips with each suckle. He reached around, parting your lips and sticking his tongue deeply into your opening, messily lapping and sucking you.

Your love juices soaked his lips and chin to be sloppily devoured by Miguel. The room was filled with the erotic sounds of your pussy’s squelches. Silent moans passed your lips, as your head limply fell back to be caught by Miguel’s large hand. 

He took your chin in his tattooed finger, pulling you back down towards him. He moved his mouth from your heated core as his intense dark eyes met yours. “I want your eyes on me.” He said, his breathing rather stable, despite almost drowning in your pussy for what felt like an hour. His tattooed hand caressed your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I want to see you cum, Muñeca .” He whispered, pressing kisses along your inner thighs and nipping softly. You bit your lip, a soft moan passing your lips at his pecks. You weakly nodded, almost completely dazed. 

He smirked, pressing a long searing kiss to your thigh. “Hmm, good girl.” He uttered parting your pussy lips with two thick fingers and attacking your swollen clit once more. It took everything in you to keep his intense gaze. His dark brown eyes stared intently back at you whilst his tongue and lips moved in a frenzy along your pussy. 

Your body trembled horribly, fingers gripping his hair tightly to stabilize yourself. 

“M-Miguel.” You whined his name over and over again. The desire to tell him of your reached peak was on the tip of your tongue, but the pleasure was too overwhelming; leaving you unable to say such a thing as your release unexpectedly slammed into you. 

With a loud strangled moan, you orgasmed for the second time. 

Your body shook uncontrollably as your thighs squeezed around Miguel tightly. Your juices gushed out onto his eager mouth whilst a sensation of pure bliss sprouted throughout your being.  

Your eyes rolled as silent and breathy moans busted from the depth of your chest. Miguel didn’t cease his torment, continuing to suckle on your puffy pussy lips, swallowing all of your sweet nectar. His lips and chin were completely drenched in a mixture of saliva and your love juices, but it didn’t seem as if the massive tattooist cared.

Until he was satisfied, Miguel continued to slurp messily at you. You were highly sensitive, squirming on his mouth and whimpering uncontrollably as he held you down with a firm grip on your thighs. When his thirst was satiated, you were relieved to hear a deep hum of delight escape his glistening lips and soon feel him effortlessly lift you from his mouth to rest your bare bottom on his clothed chest. 

You were breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath. When you finally came down from your high, you glanced up to see his dark eyes peering back at you. His gaze was intense and stern as always, but your attention instantly went down to his mouth and the mess you’ve made upon it.

His tanned lips and piercings glistened with your arousal. Your essence dripping down to coat the entirety of his chin. Your entire face burned up at the sight.

“Oh my gosh, I’m s-so sorry.” You hastily apologized, still a little jittery from your explosive orgasm. You reached over to grab the black towel that was left discarded on his stool to try to clean him up.

“Don’t.” 

He simply stated, capturing your wrist in his large hand to halt your movement. Your eyebrows furrowed, watching him take the towel from you and toss it to the side.

You were confused, your eyes taking in his mouth and chin that was still covered in your juices. His pierced lips pulled into a smirk, his hands moving to caress your bare ass.

“I want to taste all of it, Muñeca. I'm not letting none of you go to waste…”

For the next hour or so, the room was filled with the buzzing of a tattoo gun and Miguel’s deep voice occasionally trying to soothe you.

“Beautiful Muñeca. You are doing well.” 

“I promise you, this rose will look good on you when I’m done.” 

“Just a little longer, I’m almost finished.”

He whispered, his gloved fingers pressing into your flesh as he applied the last finishing strokes of black ink onto the rose on your rear. You bit your lip harshly, gripping the leather cushion when finally, the buzzing of the tattoo gun ceased. The needle, no longer, harshly pricking of your sensitive skin.

“I’m finished, Muñeca.” He said, placing the gun to the side and soothingly, caressing your waist. You exhaled a sigh of relief, your eyes a little teary. 

“You did well, Cariño.” He praised once more, proceeding to clean the tattoo, applying an antiseptic ointment and covering it, all whilst speaking to you.

“Although, you’ve surprised me.” He said with a chuckle. “I thought you’d become a crying little mess on my chair.” He teased, making the two of you laugh. “I won’t lie, I thought so too.” You confessed, feeling him finish up putting a protective sterile bandage over your freshly inked tattoo. 

“I wouldn’t have let that happen on my watch.” He said with a smirk, motioning to you with a finger for you to stand up. “Carefully.” He sternly said, giving you a pointed look. His voice had its usual coldness but also held a hint of affection in his tone. 

That maybe the sexy tattooist might actually care about you.

You gave him a small smile, watching him begin to pack up his tattoo items and place them back into his closet. You followed Miguel’s words, cautiously rising up and off of the chair. You winced softly, your left cheek a little sore. 

You walked over to the body mirror in Miguel’s tattoo room, turning around to admire the fresh inking on your rear through its sterile bandage.

It was beautiful…

Just like you thought.

The black rose was wonderfully sketched and etched onto your rear end. Its petals, pistils, and leaves, were all defined perfectly and coated the entirety of your left cheek. 

You couldn’t stop looking at it, finding something else about it that you loved. 

Large hands settled on your waist, snapping your attention from your tattooed bottom to up at the hot male through the mirror. He smirked, meeting your gaze through the glass. “It’s sexy, isn’t it?” He asked, caressing your sides as you smiled, nodding. 

“You did really well, Miguel.” You complimented, both of your eyes, taking in the intricate linings of the rose on your rear. “I’m happy you like it.” He said, cupping your chin in his fingers to turn you to look up at him.

“But make sure you properly treat it every day. I’ll send you a list of aftercare instructions.” He said, his amber eyes taking in your face whilst he spoke. You bit your lip, nodding. “I will.” You replied. He smirked, glancing down at your lips before meeting your eyes once more. 

“Good, now kiss me.” He said in his cold tone, but his amber eyes held a look of fondness in them. You smiled, cupping his face in your hands and leaning in to press your lips against his.

You moaned softly upon the impact, his metal lip rings, smooth and cold, only making the kiss even hotter. You passionately kissed his lips, savoring the feeling of his lip rings and the taste of his plush lips against your own. 

When the two of you pulled away, breathing heavily from the heated exchange, he smirked, squeezing your waist before stepping back. “I hate to tell you this, but I have a client in the next 10 minutes.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’ll see you next time, Muñeca, for your check-up.” He smirked, handing you a business card with his contacts and the address of the Bloody Inks on it. 

You smiled, taking the card from him, your hands touching during the small interaction that sent a spark straight through your being. 

You couldn’t help but wonder if Miguel felt it too…

There was an unmistakable pull that was drawing you towards him. You didn’t want to leave him, despite only meeting him that day. 

The desire to snuggle up in his muscular arms, to feel his touch on you once more was overwhelming, but he was right. 

It was time for you to depart…

So after carefully getting dressed back into your panties and black shorts, you pressed one final kiss upon the sexy tattooist’s pierced lips. The kiss oddly felt unending, but not long enough when you finally pulled away from each other, leaving you, even more, hungrier for him than before.

You exited out of his room, walking through the tattoo space of the shared artists of Gwen and Hobie who thanked you for coming, to then leave the tattoo parlor altogether. 

You walked down the sidewalk, feeling like a completely different person. You twirled the business card that Miguel gave you in between your fingers. A feeling of bursting adoration for the beautiful inking that adorned your left cheek, knowing it was created by the sexy tattooist. 

To you, the stunning piece of art wasn’t just a tattoo. 

No…

It was the marking of a memory of a day when a serious, cold, sexy, and dedicated artist came into your life, revealing a different side of yourself- a daring, more confident side that would forever be engraved in your mind. 

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel excited to see the sexy tattooist again, anxious for all the fun you and Miguel would get up to on your next visit to the Bloody Inks…

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed 'The Black Rose.' Make sure to like, comment, follow, and reblog!! Love you guys!

<3 Taglist:

@oscarissac2099 @powerful-niya @szapizzapanda @mcmiracles @mreowmoreww @thedevax @jadeloverxd @lazyotakuofficial @migueloharacumslut @nattywattyy @homewreckingwreck @kinkybandages

(*All rights reserved. DO NOT repost/translate/copy any of my work.*)

#miguel o'hara #spider man 2099 #across the spiderverse #the blue panther #miguel ohara #miguel #miguel smut #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x fem!reader #miguel o hara #atsv miguel #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel x reader #miguel x y/n #spiderman 2099 #astv miguel #miguel x you #miguel x reader smut

[dyeher]

“We should get married.”

The sun is too hot. You’re too sweaty and dehydrated and horny and miserable to even entertain Mikey’s lackluster proposal. It’s not even a question. It’s a statement.

He looks serious too, and hot and sweaty and delicious. You want to lick the stray beads of sweat that have collected at the base of his throat.

But you can’t because it’d be unprofessional. So, you ignore him. Adjusting the lens on your camera to snap a few more pictures of him in the natural light.

There’s a giant hibiscus tucked behind his right ear and his head is tilted up to face the sky. He’s glowing. Between him and the orange hibiscus you’re not sure who the sun is loving more.

“Did you hear me?”

“Don’t move,” you instruct, ignoring him again. He’s turned to you for acknowledgment and the light catches in the strands of his hair. It frames him in a halo of light, and in this position the hibiscus pales in comparison to him. Him and his entirely too beautiful face. His upper body flexes lightly with the movement, exposing his tattoos for the camera and when he lifts a brow at you, your mouth goes dry.

“Don’t ignore me.”

“It’s too hot Mikey,” you complain. You’re still snapping away because Mikey is moving and every shift in the muscles of his arms as he turns toward you fully, the clenching of his abdominal muscles, you aim to capture them all.

“This was your idea,” he points out.

He’s right. It was your idea and you don’t regret it. Not when you get to see him like this (because there are very few people who can see him like this and you’re truly honored to be one of them).

He sits back, pressing his hands into the soft grass behind him and elongating his torso. His jacket falls open wider and more of the small tattoos scattered across his torso are revealed. You snap a few quick shots of him from the neck done.

“I know,” you smile as you sink onto the grass next to him to click through the last five pictures you’d snapped. They’re your favorite so far.

The first is a body shot that highlights the golden pendant that’s nestled in the hollow of his throat. There’s a small butterfly tattoo on his left collar bone and Roman numerals on his right. The tattoo above his Adam’s apple matches the wording in the pendant. ‘Monster’ printed in typewriter font.

The second is a torso shot. His skin is damp from a thin layer of sweat and the sun casts his normally pale skin in a golden glow. You’d managed to capture a bead of sweat as it trickled down between his abs.

The third makes you freeze.

“Delete that,” Mikey says from over your shoulder. The heat from his body seeps into your thin shirt as he plasters himself to your back.

He’s smiling in the picture. His head tilted downward as he looks at you through his lashes, a secretive smile playing on his lips. It’s breathtaking. You’d captured his entire top half. The flexing muscles in his arms, the bunching of the muscles in his shoulders.

“Nope!” you giggle, holding the camera out of his reach. Mikey glares playfully at you.

“The only way—” he lunges, eyes locked on your own, and snatches the camera from you, ignoring your indignant yelp“—you’re keeping this is if you say yes to marrying me.”

You squint, folding your arms in front of you. “You’re not serious.”

Mikey places the camera down carefully and turns his attention to you. “I am.”

He reaches for your hands and drags you into his lap, guiding them to his shoulders and settling his own on your waist. Your eyes narrow further as he pulls you closer to him. “I’m very serious.”

You’re a little taller than him like this and when he tilts his head up to look into your eyes the hibiscus falls free from behind his ear.

“I want to marry you,” he continues. “And then you can take as many pictures of me as you want.”

You swallow, your heart suddenly thundering as Mikey continues to stare at you. “As many pictures as I want? Do you promise?”

Mikey chuckles. “I promise.”

You eye him skeptically.

He presses a soft kiss to your chin. “I’ll even let you post some of them.”

Your eyes widen. “Really?!”

He presses a kiss lower to your throat, his hair tickling your chin as he nods.

“You’re not trying to trick me into saying yes right?”

Mikey lifts his head to level a blank look at you. “Would I need to trick you?”

“Fair point,” you acquiesce.

He leaves a kiss on your right cheek and then the corner of your mouth and when his tongue comes out to lick along the seam of your lips you sigh.

He takes advantage of that and kisses you deeply. When he pulls away you blink dazedly at him.

“Ask me to marry you again after I’ve had a shower,” you blurt.

Mikey’s brows furrow. “What?”

“I’m too sticky and sweaty and hot to think straight and your cock is right—” you roll your hips, dragging your clothed sex along his erection “—there! I’m not thinking straight.”

Mikey chuckles. “How about after I’ve fucked you ?”

You pause. “In the shower?”

Mikey groans, head falling against your shoulder. “Sure, I’ll ask you again after I’ve fucked you in the shower.”

“And I’ll say yes.”

“You fucking better,” he says. “I’d hate it if you forced my hand.”

You pretend you don’t hear the threat in those words.

#mikey x y/n #mikey x reader #mikey x you #manjiro sano x you #manjiro sano x reader #mikey fluff #manjiro sano fluff #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev fluff #tokyo rev x y/n #tr: beyablade.

[ferrariregina]

champagne kisses | cs55 × reader

pairing: carlos sainz jr x reader

warning: none just pure cuteness, oh just that oc cries. a lot.

summary: after carlos wins the singapore grand prix the first thing he does is run into your arms

the checkered flag signifying the end of the race waved frantically in the wind as carlos crossed the finish line first. your heart pounded against your chest, mind exploding with euphoria. he had won, he had actually won the singapore grand prix! the cheers were deafening, the applause thunderous, but all you could hear was a melody of his dreams finally turning into reality.

tears of joy rolled down your cheeks, subtly blending with the sweat beads that had formed due to the humid singapore weather. you wiped them quickly as if stashing away precious pearls. seeing carlos win was an emotion that words fail to fully capture. it was happiness and relief in the rawest form, a testament to relentless passion, hard work, and an unyielding belief in your dreams.

carlos gracefully descended from his car, his hands raised in victory and his face beaming with pride. his eyes scanned the frenzied crowd, eventually finding your ecstatic and teary one. he ran straight towards the barricades, manoeuvring through his team members who understood who he was looking for. with a gentle push from them, you moved towards the front, your heart pounding like a wild drum.

the world around you became a blur as he shifted his helmet. leaning forward, he removed a stray hair stuck on your lips. his eyes shone brighter than the singaporean lights as he planted a triumphant kiss on your lips making the crowd around you erupt into fresh cheers.

underneath those night lights, with the taste of victory sweet on your lips and carlos' laughter ringing in your ears, you savoured the feeling of unadulterated happiness.

hoisting the trophy above his head, his face broke into a radiant smile, one that lights up the night brighter than the floodlights around the circuit.

and then, as a bottle of champagne is handed over to him, carlos does something that steals your breath away. shaking the bottle high, he pops the cork emphatically. champagne sprays in a golden mist, anointing the triumphant podium while a cheer erupts from the crowd. a moment of deliberate pause, he turns towards you.

with a devilish grin, carlos catches your eye, pointing the champagne bottle in your direction. lifting it to his lips, he takes a pull from the celebrating bottle and then directs the streaming alcohol toward the gleaming podium. he winks, a private celebration of yours own.

a camera zooms on you as you stand amidst the crowd, your face landing a punch of joy, a warm flush creeping up your cheeks. a laugh bubbles from you, choked between tears and giggles. he has won, and he wants the world to know who he is sharing his victory with. lifting your hand to your lips you blow him a kiss. his eyes sparkle with joy and triumph as he continues his champagne shower.

that night, under the gleaming floodlights of marina bay, with the taste of tears and champagne on your lips, you share a victory. embracing each other in the raw emotion, the gloating joy seeps through you.

getting down the podium he runs towards you again, picking you up he places another kiss but this one much more passionate. a kiss that made you go to heaven and back.

p.s.this picture of carlos did something very unholy to me;)

xoxo

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[abibliophobiaa]

Chapter Eight: Feels Like

summary: in the aftermath, revelations are made (7k words).

warnings: allusions to sex, medical complications.

eddie munson x pregnant!reader || strangers to friends to lovers, unplanned pregnancy, and then they were roommates, forced proximity.

masterlist | previous chapter, next chapter

——

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

Three words. Three simple words — and yet the most terrifying ones. The ones that changed everything. That marked a turning point, a declaration, a fork in the road. On one side, turn back — run to safety, to what you knew, the easier route. On the other, push onwards, accept change — take a flying leap into the air with nothing but faith to catch you.

And the look, the look on Eddie’s face. The pure, unadulterated fear at the way your features couldn’t dare to hide the swimming emotions that choked off your airway. The face that had betrayed you as he cupped your cheeks in his hands and captured your tears with his thumbs — as his brows furrowed at the pout of your bottom lip.

“Sweetheart…”

But it was too late. Caught up in the moment or not, caught up in the bliss of a post-sex haze — he’d said the words and they were there now. Out in the open. He couldn’t just will them away, couldn’t pretend he’d never said them, couldn’t turn back the very hands of time.

“You love me?”

You whimpered. Felt your heart cleave down the center at the way his mouth mashed against your forehead, those broad arms of his curling you against his chest, right where you could feel his form trembling down to the bone marrow. Could hear the thunderous beat of his heart clamoring through the tee shirt your fingers bunched up within your palm.

“I —”

His mouth opened. Shut again. Opened once more to speak, to say something, to hopefully quell your screaming fears tumbling one after the other within your mind, but as he did so the doorbell rang. A resounding ring that offered the distraction you needed to drown out the disquiet in your soul.

You dressed in the silence that echoed within the room. Donned a pair of sleep shorts and pulled on your too-big hoodie. Padded down the hall with Eddie on your heels, slipper-covered feet clapping against the floor.

Before your fingers met the handle on the front door, Eddie called your name. Frowned softly as you whirled around to look at him, those lips of his marred by hurt you'd put there. Had never meant to — had never wanted to, but it happened all the same. With a slow exhale, you leaned up onto your toes and pressed the softest of kisses to his lips. Caught the hitched breath in the back of his throat.

As you pulled back, your resolve shattered at the brokenness there. At the way he regarded you like you were already distancing away from him — or maybe it was him distancing himself from you. Either way, you could see those walls building up behind his eyes. Watched as he erected the surface brick by brick to protect himself. Couldn’t even blame him, because you knew you’d done the same for months now.

Eddie went and opened the door at the second ring. Lingered behind as you shrieked when, there on the front step of your home, stood none other than Micah and Jeremiah, their bags in hand and car parked on the curb, seemingly packed for a day or two.

You were all a blur of limbs and tear-streaked cheeks, your arms looped around Micah’s neck, her arms around your waist. Her hand pressed to your belly when you stepped back, jumping up and down excitedly when Elena made her presence known. “There’s really a baby in there! Still can’t get over it.” She nearly squealed, as Jeremiah looped an arm around your shoulder and Eddie’s and tugged you both in close.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, not complaining, definitely not at all complaining. And even so, it was wholly unexpected. The last time you’d spoken with the girl, she’d been uncertain of if or when she’d be able to make it into town.

“Eddie invited us to stay with you two, actually. Wanted it to be a surprise,” Jeremiah said, clapping the man you’d been living with for months now on the shoulder gleefully. “Got yourself a good one here.”

I love you, Eddie had said. The words and the timbre of them, the way they sounded on his lips, filled your ears once again. Silenced everything else around you as Eddie helped lead your best friends further into his home and gave them a tour. You remained at Micah’s side, mind far away as you followed along with them, drawing comfort from the way Elena pushed at the palm you kept positioned over your midsection.

“You okay, babe?” Micah asked as you all settled down in the living room and the guys opened up cans of beer, sleep suddenly a thought pushed far away from your fatigued mind.

“Just in shock,” you muttered, far away, watching Eddie’s profile as he laughed at something your best friend’s boyfriend had shared. Eddie’s dark eyes met yours, and you heard it again: I love you. A mantra, a steady beat, a promise. “I just…can’t believe you’re here.”

Not a lie. Not quite, at least. And yet, Micah frowned. Reached over and laced her fingers within your own. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Not really. No. Not at all. You held your breath as Eddie offered you a weak smile — as you smiled back, knowing you needed a moment with him, and yet also acknowledging that now wasn’t the time. Not with your company for the next few days.

I love you.

His words screamed into that faraway, tucked-into-the-shadows shard of your heart. The place where the idea of ‘love’ had gone and ceased to be. The place where hurt had watered the seeds of resentment over the mere concept of it.

“No…no, it’s fine.” You assured her, and she seemed to accept the words, knowing better than to push you for answers. “Do you want to see what Eddie did with Elena’s room?”

A distraction.

You needed a distraction.

“Sure, babe,” Micah whispered, squeezing your hand tight as you excused yourselves from the room.

She didn’t press you any further.

——

May morning light streamed in through Eddie’s bedroom window. After hours of chatting with friends, you’d both made your way into the bedroom in silence, freshly washed faces and brushed teeth gleaming in the moonlight streaming through the gently parted curtains.

Neither brought up Eddie’s words. You wondered if it was for your benefit, or to protect his own heart. Like he couldn’t fathom seeing the look on your face once more, and the answer you’d unwittingly given by not saying anything at all. And even if you wanted to talk about it, you didn’t know how to bring it up now. The moment had passed, the harm was done, and the guilt that filled your heart overwhelmed every other thought you might have had in your mind. Because Eddie had gone and invited your best friends to Hawkins. He’d wanted to give you a slice of your home away from home, before your lives completely changed from what you once knew.

Even now, he held you close. The nearness of his body against your spine a comfort, a warmth you’d grown accustomed to, his breath dancing along the slope of your shoulder, where the strap of your nightgown had slipped down a bit. One of his broad hands rested against the curve of your hip, always seeking you out, always seeking touch — even in your sleep. When it happened, the endless need for close proximity, for touch, you weren’t certain, but it became familiar. As simple as breathing, even when love was not.

His other hand lay sprawled over the curve of your midsection. Rumpled up the silky fabric of your dress, edging the lace up higher on your thigh. Most mornings, he’d rouse you with kisses against every inch of you he could reach until you hummed into him, the press of him, hot and hard at your backside. Often you’d roll over, and then onto him, watching his umber eyes blow out dark, nearly black, with the rising sun as you sunk down onto him and rolled your hips over his. Other mornings, he’d wake you with his head between your thighs, or your mouth on him, a previously spoken agreement between both of you.

Today wasn’t like that. There were no long, drawn out languid kisses and wandering hands. No sighs as he inched his mouth along your throat, the huffs of his stuttering breath as your fingers slid beneath the band of his sweats, no pleas for more as his guitar string calloused fingers teased at your center.

Instead you were met with silence and persistent heartache over the memory of the flicker of pain that crossed Eddie’s features the night before.

Later, after an awkward exchange in bed wherein Eddie grumbled to himself he’d make everyone breakfast, you found yourself cornered at a local spa by your three best friends, their introductions full of giggling and excited energy. You were hardly surprised — Micah and Chrissy were very similar, two kindred souls, and Robin loved Micah from the moment they’d all met.

Still, it brought you joy knowing they all got along, their conversation easy as you all slipped into fluffy robes and sat around as massage therapists rubbed at your shoulders, eyes nearly closed from the bliss of it. Eddie had arranged the whole thing; a morning out with your closest girlfriends, getting your nails done, massages to follow. You’d gone with a pale pink on your fingers and a matching shade on your toes, similar to that of your daughter’s bedroom.

Eddie, who always went above and beyond to make you smile. Had given up room in his home, had been there for you the moment you told him you were having his baby, had stepped up in ways you’d never thought imaginable. Eddie, who loved giving the most of himself, had always done so for as long as you’d known him, who was still doing that now.

Elena was a lucky little girl. You both were. And it hurt you to dwell on it — the realization he’d done this, had planned it some time ago.

“We need to have an intervention,” Chrissy stated when you later arrived at a restaurant for an early lunch, her palms splayed over the table. “You’ve been in your head all morning. And don’t say you haven’t been, you have that little forehead wrinkle —”

“She does get a forehead wrinkle when she’s overthinking,” Micah added, nodding as she sipped at her mimosa. “I knew something was up last night. She’s been all giggly over the moon because of all the sex she’s been having, and suddenly it’s all grumbles and sad looks —”

“Well this just got interesting,” Robin mused, leaning back against her chair. “You didn’t tell us you and Eddie were christening his household.”

“You two are his best friends. I — it’s weird. And that’s…that’s not important,” you said hurriedly, tossing a french fry into your mouth. “I’m just…he just…hetoldmehelovedme.”

“I’m going to need you to take a deep breath and say that slower,” Chrissy said with an uneasy giggle, “because it sounded like you spoke another language for a second there.”

“He told me he loved me,” you told them, sipping at your cup of seltzer water, shrugging like you hadn’t just dropped a major declaration on them.

“Okaaaay, and?” Micah urged, waving a hand in front of her face impatiently.

Robin frowned. A soft and impossibly understanding looking thing that had her reaching across the table when your lips twitched downward. “Honey…”

“I didn’t say anything at all,” you admitted, fighting the urge to cry. Swallowed the watery sob that tickled the back of your throat. “He told me he loved me and I just…I sat there. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t speak — but it was too late. He looked so sad. And I feel terrible; I am terrible.”

When no one said anything, all around the table giving you looks with varying degrees of pity behind them, you continued, “I was scared. I'm still scared. What if he wakes up one day and decides I’m not what he wants anymore? What if he realizes he made a mistake?”

Chrissy exhaled, clambering up and off her chair to move to your side, arm looped around your shoulder. “Can we play the tape forward again?” She glanced at your friends, asking, “Don’t you think we should play the tape forward?” Micah nodded, Robin agreeing with a squeeze to your palm still curled within her own.

“Scenario one,” you said, exhaling shakily, “We continue this, he realizes this isn’t really what he signed up for, and he goes on his merry way. I have to watch him date other people, bring them around our daughter, and move on without me.”

Scenario one was always the negative route, and Chrissy nodded as you finished, offering you a comforting nod. “Okay, now scenario two,” she said, knowing it was her turn for her little exercise. “What if you two are it for each other? You raise Elena together, go on the road together, make new memories, fall deeper in love. You watch that little girl one day go off to college and start her own life, and you’re still just as in love, and maybe you’ve gone through some trials in your relationship since then, but doesn’t everyone? Isn’t every relationship worth fighting for? And you’re happy. Both of you are genuinely and completely happy and you’re together.”

“Also, Eddie isn't like those in your past. He’s not your family that walked away, not your friends who have come and gone, he’s not all those heartbreaks that have come before,” Micah added, offering you a kind smile. “I mean, he did all of this to make you happy. The man put together our whole outing and made sure Jeremiah and I had a place to stay while we were here. I think anyone who spent two minutes with you two could see how much that man loves you and your little girl…who isn’t even here yet.”

“Love shows up,” Chrissy said, “let Eddie show that he will.”

“Dingus Two found his girl,” Robin mused, poking fun at Chrissy’s husband with a cheeky grin. “But here’s the big question: do you love him?”

There it was. The question that had been plaguing you for weeks now. Did you love him? Did you love Eddie Munson? The easy answer, the one that came to your mind swiftly, was yes. A simple word, but along with it the heaviest of weights. You loved him — truly and deeply loved him. It had only taken a matter of weeks to fall for him, only a matter of weeks to solidify just what he’d meant to you, and a matter of weeks to realize what was at stake if you ever lost him.

“There’s your answer,” Robin teased, pointing at the small smile gracing your lips.

“God, I’m so stupid,” you groaned, curling a palm over your forehead.

“You’re not stupid,” Micah argued, running around the table to curl you and Chrissy into her embrace. “You just needed some time. You deserve this. You’re worthy of this. And I’m so proud of you, babe.”

Chrissy practically squealed as she rubbed at the tears collecting on your bottom lashes, all bright smiles and sparkling eyes. “I love you so so much,” she enthused, giggling brightly, “but…today isn’t over yet, and we’re on a time restraint. Eddie’s next request on your day of pampering is to find a dress, any dress, for dinner at my place.”

Your brows arched. “I have dresses back at our place —”

“He wanted you to pick out a new one,” Micah said, teasingly wagging her brows.

So with a renewed hope burning in your gut, your friends and you finished lunch, gathered your things, and headed to the department store where they tossed you dozens of dresses in search of the perfect one. And finally, as you laid a long black dress with daisies along the fabric along your form, you stepped out into the waiting area of the fitting room to three beaming faces, all of which cheering on your choice, your mind still whirling with the knowledge that Eddie had done all of this because he loved you.

And you loved him.

——

“No way…”

The words died on your lips as you walked out into the backyard after your girl friends and saw the array of people seated and chatting around the tables set out across the Harrington’s backyard lawn. There, along the interior of a tent set up above a table positively overflowing with baby gifts, was an archway of pink balloons, and against the table a hanging sign that said baby girl in pretty block letters.

And there, organizing packages against the table that partygoers handed him, was the man who was responsible for all of this. For your friends being here in Hawkins, for the evening you had with them at the spa and out for lunch, for the baby shower you’d just stumbled into.

Beside you, Robin, Chrissy and Micah were all glowing smiles. Little cheers and clapping hands as you took in your surroundings, from Steve and Jeremiah at the grill, to “the kids” seated around a table, waving as you entered, friends from work, Joyce and Hopper who you’d become friends with over the weeks, Wayne, who tipped a beer in your direction with a smile that crinkled at the corners of his mouth and eyes.

Eddie turned then, looking handsome as ever in a pair of ripped blue jeans and a black tee shirt that showed all of the tattoos you’d trailed your fingers over these last few weeks. He’d tied his hair back, little curled tendrils falling around the sides of his face, swaying in the gentle breeze as he walked your way and leaned down to kiss your forehead. Forehead, you noticed, with a pang of disappointment.

Still, your fingers curled in the front of his shirt, sandaled feet wiggling against the grass as you whispered, “Was this your doing?”

“Chrissy helped,” he said, gesturing to the blonde who merely mouthed that she loved you at Eddie’s words. “We invited all of the family.”

All of the family. Because when you glanced around the party parameters, family was all you saw. People who had been strangers months ago, and were now the ones you leaned on, the ones who loved unabashedly, the ones who had been there when no one else was. The ones you chose, and the ones who made you realize that, in a world of frequent hurt, there were people who would always walk beside you no matter what.

These people. And at the center of all of that — Eddie Munson.

“You didn’t have to do all of this —”

“I wanted to,” he said, brushing another kiss along your forehead. “We all did.”

“Now come on,” Chrissy said, practically bouncing on her toes as she rushed over to clasp your hand in hers, “there are guests to greet, and a special chair with your name on it for the mom-to-be. Let us spoil you!”

The evening passed in hazy pastel pinks that mirrored the sunset against the sky. Lilac purples as you pulled out baby girl outfit after outfit. Pretty olive greens on little sleepers and baby blankets. In dusty oranges, like the colors of the rainbow binkies, bibs and bottle tops you received.

Micah sat beside you writing down the endless things you got, while Chrissy and Robin giggled conspiratorially to themselves as they plastered the endless ribbons and bows on packages to a makeshift hat that you definitely knew would be atrocious by the end result.

Eddie lingered by Steve and Jeremiah at a lone table, his legs kicked out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest, a smile plastered on his face. It made your heart skip in your chest, watching him watch you. Made you want to run over and tell him the three words that rattled around in your brain all afternoon with every new gift opened.

You loved him, you loved him, you loved him.

Later, as Eddie pushed the gifted stroller you got, filled to the brim with packages, into his home you thought about telling him. The words bubbled up on your lips as he and Steve worked on unloading everything into Elena’s room. As you started to put away the things you knew you could, while you tossed all her new clothes into a hamper to be washed before she arrived.

Steve leaned over to give you a hug before he announced he was heading out for the evening, and Eddie thanked him with a clap against his back and a tight squeeze, before the man wished you both goodnight and offered a final congratulations for the little girl everyone had celebrated that evening.

You slipped into your shared bedroom in uncomfortable silence, Micah and Jeremiah driving back home to the city and leaving you with a quiet home once more. It had been a tearful goodbye, your hands on her cheeks and hers on your midsection as she promised she’d be back as soon as possible to meet Elena. Jeremiah had even whispered in your ear he’d gotten Micah a ring and, after you demanded him to show you, thanked him for being the best brother by choice one could have, and a loving soon-to-be uncle.

“I’m going to spend the night at my uncle’s…” Eddie announced as you clambered up and onto the bed, blankets tugged high against your thighs.

“What?” Your head tilted to the side, not quite understanding, even as Eddie grabbed a few of his things and began tossing them into a backpack.

“I just…I think I need a minute?” He swallowed thickly, and your heart ached with it. With the understanding of what he was saying. “Just — just need to, ah, clear my head, you know?”

“Eddie, I…”

But you understood. Had seen the look on his face clear as day — the hurt there. He’d laid his heart out for you, gave you the power to do with it as you would, and you’d remained quiet. In your silence, he’d gotten his perceived answer.

“Just for the night,” he stated, a pair of his sweats tossed into the bag with a ratty old band tank top. “I’ll see you when I get off from work tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay…” You said, even thought it was far from okay.

None of this was okay.

You wanted to scream, to cry, to shout that you loved him. And even so, you knew now wasn’t the time. Not when he’d already made up his mind, stewed in his hurt, and ached with the full force of it. He was allowed all of what he was feeling — deserved to sit in his emotions and their fullness.

Still, it did nothing for the sting of rejection in your gut as you followed him down the hall, watching his backpack thump against his narrow back. Did nothing to quell the ache in your chest when he turned around and cupped your cheek in his palm, eyes dark and focused on yours, full of love and sadness all the same. Leaning up onto your toes, you brushed your lips against his, the barest of touches, a shuddered breath falling from your softly parted lips.

For a moment his resolve wavered, hands pulling you closer, breathing a little ragged. Flickered across his features as he leaned back down and kissed you again. But your fingers reached up and gently rubbed along his sternum, forehead nuzzling against his, and he took a step back, fingers curling around the front door handle.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, night pouring into the home, anguish seeping into your blood.

“See you tomorrow,” you muttered back a little brokenly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as he slipped out and shut the door behind him. “I love you.”

A whisper, a little too late, but not at all untrue.

And then, without Eddie’s laughter and voice to fill the home, silence.

——

Something wasn’t right.

Then again, a lot hadn’t been right since Eddie walked out last night to spend the rest of his evening at Wayne’s. Waking up had been miserable with the lack of Eddie’s warmth along your back. That and you missed the sound of his voice, that first slow breath he always let out when he leaned over and kissed you long and gently, like he’d poured all of the time he’d spent missing you in his dreams along with it, overflowing with emotion.

But this wasn’t just the persistent ache in your chest that had been there since Eddie closed the door behind him. This was a cramping feeling that throbbed low against your stomach, like your menstrual cramps but stronger. Breath falling from you in a groan, you walked over to the front desk library check out area, hand on your back, your coworker, Holly’s, eyes nervously fixed on your face.

“That’s five,” she pointed out, sliding out a chair and rolling it over for you to sit down on. Once seated, her hand curled around your shoulder, a contemplative look on her features, “I think you need to get out of here and go to the hospital. I’ll take care of everything —”

“I can’t,” you gritted out through clenched teeth, wincing at the pain, “It’s too early. I'm only thirty weeks.”

“Exactly why you need to go,” she said, and you nodded because you knew. “Please, just…get checked out. We can take care of everything around here.”

You tried calling Eddie at the nurses office, but the phone only continued to ring, the guys likely in the back working. Tried again when Steve popped his head in and said Chrissy would take you to the hospital, hugging you when you’d whimpered you were scared. Tried a final time when you got to the hospital, terrified when you were immediately hooked up to various monitors and pricked with what felt like dozens of needles.

“It’s going to be okay,” Chrissy reassured you, when the doctor’s said they needed to keep you there to try and stop what looked to be preterm labor. Words that terrified you, because they were the ones that immediately dropped like lead in your stomach, worry for Elena tightening your chest. Choked off your breathing. “And he’ll be here soon, okay? Robin raced over there to get him. You’re going to be just fine, I promise.”

Her fingers swept back and forth over your knuckles, words a comforting whisper that quelled the frantic beat of your heart in your ribcage.

Mind whirling with thoughts, you closed your eyes and tipped your head to the ceiling, trying to breathe deep. Elena would be okay — she wouldn’t come today. Everything would be absolutely okay. The doctor’s were going to do their best to make sure of it. Chrissy was here, you weren’t alone, everything was fine, and Eddie would be here soon.

——

To say Eddie Munson hated hospitals was an understatement. The last time he’d been here, him and his mother had gone in, and only one of them made it out. This time, the two most important people in his life were here, one of which was likely scared out of their mind and he’d been gone. He’d left and something had gone wrong; he’d left and regretted it from the moment he’d closed the door. Had almost turned back around and rushed back into the house, claiming your lips with his, wanting you laying prettily against a mountain of pillows on his bed so he could whisper he loved you into your mouth once more.

But he hadn’t. He’d driven away and watched his house grow smaller in the distance, slept at his uncle’s, and missed your phone calls when you’d needed him the most. Had nearly shit himself when Robin rushed in without warning, earning the attention of all his coworkers, and said you were in the hospital.

“I need —” Eddie rasped out through frantic breaths as he greeted the front desk worker, chest rising and falling rapidly. He gave your name, at which the woman asked who he was to you, and he quickly added, “Husband. I’m her husband.”

The walk down the hall seemingly shaved years off of his life. Heart thundering away along the pale walled hallway, shoes tapping against the floor. He hadn’t had a chance to change, hair still pulled back, jumpsuit still on. Oil stained his fingers black, despite the hard scrub he’d given them before leaving for the hospital.

As he entered, his heart squeezed at the sight of you in a gown, an IV in one hand, a cuff around the other bicep, all teary eyed as he appeared in the doorway.

You’d barely managed to open your arms fully to him when he rushed forward and curled you into his arms, hand cupped around the neck to draw you into the safety of his chest, rocking you back and forth as you weeped into the fabric of his tattered jumpsuit.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” Chrissy murmured, backing up out of the room, “I’m going to call Steve and Robin. They’ll want an update.”

As soon as she left, Eddie pulled back a bit and cupped your face in his hands. Brushed a kiss to either side of your cheek and rubbed at the tears that had spilled down your face. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m so sorry.”

“You’re here now,” you whispered, leaning your forehead against his.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He promised, his kiss on your lips bruising, and yet you sighed into it all the same, urging him onward. Gripped him tighter, his tee shirt hidden beneath his jumpsuit fisted in your palm. “Never again. I promise. I love you, I love you, and I’m so fucking sorry and I’m so —”

“I love you, too,” you whimpered into his neck. He pulled back, hearing the hitched breath you let out. The sob that followed. “I’m scared out of my mind, because of what you mean to me, but I’m going to be brave because this is worth it — and I love you. I wanted to tell you yesterday but —”

He kissed you again, urgent and searing. Felt you melt into his frame, arms looping around his neck, curling into the hairs at the back of his head. The heart monitor near the hospital bed spiked, and he grinned to himself against your lips, feeling your chuckles against his skin. Your sides shaking where he cupped them in his palms, the sides of his thighs pressed against yours, body leaning as much as he could over yours with the elevated bed.

“You love me?”

“Yes,” you giggled brightly, your smile splintering his heart into a million shining pieces, “I love you, you dork.”

God, he could stay like this forever. Pressed his forehead against yours, fingers laced with yours in your lap, breathing in the space between you two. Relishing in the comfort of the newness of love — basking in it. But a knock sounded at the door and Eddie was reminded of why you were here. Fear had him shifting on the bed, his mouth pressed to your knuckles as the doctor explained their course of treatment. You’d be staying under observation, medicine already ran through your IV in hopes of stopping things from progressing any further. Prognosis looked good, which had Eddie and you beside him exhaling deeply in relief. Otherwise, outside of the scare, Elena looked perfect.

He remained at your side for the next twenty four hours, only stepping away when nurses came in to check yours and Elena’s vitals every so often. Chrissy and Steve popped in to check on the both of you, offering to bring in food or a change of clothes or whatever else you needed.

Even Wayne and the kids had stepped in, running over to Eddie’s to clean up the place so that when you went home, you’d be able to get to rest.

Bed rest, that was. For the next few weeks, however long Elena decided to stay put, you were on ordered bed rest. Eddie thought your pouting adorable when the doctor had told you all the things you wouldn’t be able to do. Had held your hand when you whined about it after, not wanting to cut out of work just before the school year had ended (you’d grown fond of the kids). You’d also gone on to grumble about how you weren’t allowed any strenuous activity, head pressed against the dashboard in his car when you’d later come to realize that also included any sexual activity as well.

“It’ll be okay. It’s only a couple of weeks,” Eddie said, running a hand along your back when he pulled up in front of his house, kiss after kiss dropped against your temple. “Come on now, got to get you into bed. Doctor’s orders.”

“You’ll stay with me?”

“You’re not getting rid of me,” he promised, opening his car door and rushing around to greet you on the other side. “Except for when I have to work, but then Chrissy and Robin and the kids will be taking shifts.”

“You all really don’t have to do this,” you said, easing yourself down onto the ground, squeezing Eddie’s hand in yours. “I’ll be okay on my own for a bit.”

“I know that, but you don’t have to be. We want to help; we love you.” He laughed, coaxing you in front of him along the walkway. “Plus, you need to slow down. The doctor said so.”

Inside, Eddie watched your face light up as you walked down the hall and slipped inside his bedroom. He peeled back the comforter and tucked it around your hips once you settled down, before rushing around the other side and slipping in beside you.

His hand glided up and over your hip as you shifted to face him, along the curve of your waist, across the span of your arm, and then rested on the hinge of your jaw. Warmth seeped into his fingers, your lips soft against his when you leaned over to kiss him. As if you still couldn’t believe he was there, like you expected him to vanish, like you hadn’t fully realized he’d be yours forever if you’d let him.

And then, as your eyes started to droop in tiredness, you asked, “You love me, Eddie?”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I love you.”

The other cheek. “I love you.”

Your forehead. “I love you.”

Your chin, where you giggled. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he whispered, running his nose down the length of yours.

He’d reassure you every day if he had to, helping to heal your heart piece by piece — to prove to you that people stayed.

That people still chose love everyday and meant it.

Stay, when his father hadn’t.

Stay, when his mother hadn’t been able to.

He’d do it all just to have you here, like this.

——

Late June, Six Weeks Later…

——

“Why the pout?” Eddie asked, wandering into the living room where you were presently wrapped up in a blanket, thankful for the AC blowing frigid air into the heated home.

“I tried to go for a walk and couldn’t see my feet. I called Chrissy to see if she’d be able to help me, but then we ended up making ice cream sundaes instead.”

“Baby, you haven’t seen your feet in weeks,” Eddie said, dropping down onto the couch beside you, palm running over the hill of your midsection, still in awe as ever that he’d be meeting his daughter in just a few weeks.

“That’s mean.” You pouted.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, a gentle kiss brushed against your lips, “Also, it sounds like your day was better than mine.”

“Hardly,” you huffed out, snuggling into his side, “it’s the same as the past six weeks. I wake up, I say goodbye to you, someone comes to visit, I walk to the bathroom to pee seventy five times, I go to bed.”

“Only a little while longer now,” Eddie promised.

But he knew it had been hard. The initial days were an adjustment. For someone who’d been used to doing all the time, you’d had a hard time adjusting to being unable to do many of the things you’d done before the scare.

It helped that Micah and Jeremiah got engaged soon thereafter; gave you something to focus on, something to be excited about. After that, you enjoyed the company of the kids. Mike, El and Will would come over and play cards with you. Dustin and Suzie would bring board games, and you’d argue with Dustin when he assumed you were cheating (bedrest had just made you really good at board games). Max and Lucas checked in, back in town on a visit. Joyce and Hopper brought food. Steve and Chrissy popped in with Melody. Robin came with Vickie, always with new gifts for their new niece (no matter how often you reminded them she had enough clothes).

Soon enough, you became stir crazy. Resorted to working on puzzles, coloring in coloring books, watching your favorite movies over and over again. Walks were limited — not more than a few minutes allotted, just to make sure you didn’t overexert. That, and Eddie watched you like a hawk. Wanted to make sure you were okay at all times.

Part of you wanted to find it annoying, but it only endeared you to him further. Being in love with Eddie was easy. So easy you wondered why you’d feared it at all in the first place. He was attentive and doting, affectionate and patient, hilarity ensued and yet grave when he needed to be.

As much as you hated being stuck inside for the past six weeks, you’d loved that intimate time spent with Eddie, enjoying the fullness of your relationship before Elena’s arrival.

“Come on, let’s get in bed,” Eddie mused, climbing up off the couch, extending a hand your way.

“I need a solid cuddle,” you grumbled, hand on your lower back as he helped you up on wobbly feet. “My back is all crampy today.”

“You’re cramping?” he asked, sounding a little worried, his voice growing softer.

“It’s nothing,” you reassured him, rubbing at the place that twinged once more, “Just discomfort of being a million weeks pregnant with your restless kid.”

“Oh, so she’s my kid now?”

“She is when she stomps on my bladder like she’s at one of your metal shows,” you teased, slipping beneath the covers of the bed. “Can you believe we’re the same two people who met on Halloween?”

“Honestly?” He crawled in next to you, fingers trailing along your temple. A light kiss pressed against your lips. “I wanted you from the moment I saw you, Buttercup. Maybe we skipped a couple of steps along the way, but I wouldn’t change any of it.”

“I wouldn’t either.” And it was true. All the imperfections, the hurdles, the joy and laughter, the good and bad — you’d do it all again to get to this point. “I love you, Eddie.”

You said it all the time now. Randomly throughout the day, over dinner, in the morning, cleaning dishes in the afternoon. The words were still new, still so precious to you. Just as the man who held them near to his heart was.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

It was a whisper against the crown of your head as you rolled over, smiling at the familiarity of his arm slinging around your form, his chest against your back. Your anchor, for months now, as you slipped into rest.

Hours later, however, you woke to the bed feeling wet, Eddie’s hand against your shoulder, your head spinning from the pain that ached low, eyes blinking rapidly to adjust to the bedroom lamp being turned on abruptly.

You winced, and Eddie ghosted a kiss against your temple. “Eddie…” The searing pain followed, cutting off the rest of your statement.

“You think it’s time?” he asked, swallowing back the groan forming in the back of his throat as your fingers curled around his fingers and squeezed hard, the bones sliding together painfully. “Right — right, dumb question. Ow. Let me grab the hospital bag. You stay there, don’t move.”

It wasn’t like you wanted to anyway.

Panicking, he rushed around the room gathering your things. Tossed the hospital bag onto the bed, along with your slippers. He traded his sweats for a pair of jeans and pulled his hair back, as you slipped on a hoodie over your sleep shorts. When another pain lanced through you, you hunched over the bed a bit, gripping Eddie’s forearm as he appeared at your side.

“You have everything?” you asked through gritted teeth, straightening as the pain started to subside.

“Diaper bag, change of clothes for us, car seat…” he rambled off, coaxing you to walk down the hall, “the woman I love —”

“That was corny,” you laughed, sniffling at the tears that formed in your eyes when he opened your car door for you once outside.

His thumb brushed at your cheek. “Just trying to keep a smile on that face, Buttercup.”

As you buckled yourself in, he rushed around the back, clipping in the car seat like Steve had shown him a couple weeks ago. The hospital bag was tossed in beside it and the door shut, your eyes following his form as he darted around the vehicle and got in your front driver’s side. He still hadn’t fixed his van, so your car would be the baby mobile for a bit.

As he settled down, a kiss was dropped to your forehead and a palm cupped your cheek, those dark eyes of his searching your weary, fear-stricken face. “Ready to meet our girl?”

“I’m ready.”

——

our happiest little epilogue is next. thanks for being patient, i have been having a hard time again health wise, but you all make it less daunting. 🥹🩷

#lunaloveseddie #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x pregnant!reader

[queenshelby]

The Slave (Part 3)

PAIRING: TOMMY SHELBY X VIRGIN READER

WARNING: NON-CON, CAPTURED READER, SLAVE READER, TOMMY GETTING OFF ON PAIN

NOTE: AGAIN THIS WAS A REQUEST AND I FELT A LITTLE UNCOMFORTABLE PUBLISHING IT...VERY DARK!

In the end though, after a torturous week, you did escape. During one of Thomas' business trips, you snuck out of the opulent mansion and ran as fast and far as you could, without looking back, without knowing where you were going. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, fueling your weary limbs with strength and determination.

You couldn't believe it when you finally found refuge but the peace and quiet in your life was short lived when, after as little a five days, he found you.

Thomas Shelby, with his piercing blue eyes and sharp features, was relentless and refused to let go of his property.

"Get into the fucking car," he roared, his voice booming like thunder through the quiet streets of London as one of his paid police officers had given up your location, 

Fear gripped your heart like a vice, your legs turning to jelly as you took off running once again. You wanted to scream, to plead with him to leave you alone, but the words got stuck in your throat.

Your lungs burned and your chest ached as you desperately tried to put some distance between you and your pursuer.

But it was no use. Thomas Shelby was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted, and he wasn't about to let you slip through his fingers.

As he tackled you to the ground, you could feel the breath being knocked out of your lungs. He pinned your arms behind your back, his breath hot and heavy against your neck as he whispered filthy, degrading things in your ear.

"You belong to me whether you like it or not," he growled. "You think you can escape from me? I own you." Thomas' grip tightened around your wrists, causing you to yelp in pain as he dragged you into his car.

You struggled in vain, your kicks and punches proving futile against his strength and determination and within hours, you found yourself locked up in an even less favorable place than before.

Like an animal, he had chained you to a wall inside the confides of Arrow House. Only a mattress on the floor, accompanied by a bucket of water were available to you now until you had learned your place.

As time passed, you slowly realized that you were stuck and with the tight ropes wrapped around your wrists you could no longer resist as the seasoned gangster made every effort to break down your inhibitions.

"Now look at you, eh," Tommy said as, a few hours after he had captured you again, he entered the room where you were curled up, naked, on the dirty mattress on the floor.

You were still handcuffed, your wrists raw and sore from struggling against your bindings. You looked up at him with terrified eyes, tears streaming down your cheeks.

He strode across the room and knelt down in front of you, his smoky scent engulfing you as he placed a hand on your thigh. 

"You think you can escape me?" Tommy sneered, tracing a finger up your inner thigh. You whimpered, trying to pull away from his touch, but he only gripped you tighter, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. "You belong to me now, Love. There's no going back."

With those words, he forced himself upon you, his rough hands grasping at your delicate body as he pulled you on to your knees.

"And I think that, perhaps, you still need to learn your place, eh?" Thomas smirked, as the cruel glint in his eyes sharpened as he pushed your head down.

"Now tell me, who is your master Love? Tell me, who do you serve?" he asked again, tightening his grip on your hair. "Say it, Love. Tell me who your master is."

"You, sir," you replied softly, on the brink of tears.

"What was that? I can't hear you. Speak up," he demanded, his voice brutal and commanding.

"You sir," you choked out, your voice trembling as tears streamed down your cheeks. "You are my master."

He gave a twisted kind of smile. "Good girl," he murmured, releasing his hold on your hair.

"Now lick my shoes and beg for forgiveness for your disobedience," he commanded, his voice dripping with malice.

Your heart sank as you realized just how low he would make you stoop. 

"No," you protested, shaking your head as you tried to pull back.

"No, don't touch me," you cried, your voice pleading and desperate, but he paid no heed. Instead, he grabbed your hair, pulling your head back so you had to look at him.

"Do it," he growled lowly, his eyes burning with a dangerous fire that made you flinch.

"No!" you protested, struggling against him. "Get off me!"

But Thomas was too strong. He pushed you down onto the bed before spinning you around, flipping you over on to your stomach.

"Fine, have it your fucking way then," he snarled before attaching your bound wrists to one of the anker points in the wall. "You'll understand soon enough, Love, that this is how things work in my world."

With that, he abruptly pulled you onto your hands and knees, the cold hardwood floor biting into the skin of your kneecaps. You winced in pain but didn't dare make a sound. After all, you knew exactly what kind of person you now belonged to.

"Keep still," Thomas commanded in a hushed tone before running his hands roughly over your hips, squeezing and bruising your delicate flesh.

He then unbuckled his belt and removed it from his pants, folding it in half and taking a step back from you. You flinched instinctively, anticipating the pain that was about to be inflicted upon you.

Thomas brought the belt down with a loud crack, its impact sending a sharp pain shooting through your buttocks. You cried out, tears springing unbidden to your eyes, but he didn't stop there. He continued to lay into your flesh, the sound of leather against skin echoing around the room, punctuated by your cries of pain.

Each strike left another welt on your ass and thighs, your skin rapidly becoming a canvas of crimson marks.

When he finally stopped, your whole body shaking and sobbing, you felt him kneel down behind you. His hands gently stroked your heated skin, tracing the lines of pain he had inflicted.

"Ssssh, there now," he murmured softly, his voice almost soothing in its intensity. "Are you going to obey me now or am I going to have to belt that sweet little cunt of yours as well?"  Thomas' voice was a husky whisper, his fingers brushing against your sensitive folds.

Your heart was hammering in your chest, but you knew better than to argue with him, especially when he was in this kind of mood.

"Y-yes, sir," you squeaked out, your voice shaking with fear and anticipation.

Thomas gave you a cruel smile as he stood up and took a step back. His eyes were glued to your exposed body, his gaze searing a path from your battered ass to the pink petals between your thighs.

"Good girl," he said before taking position in front of you. "Now, you will lick my shoes and beg me for forgiveness and then I will give you a good hard fucking, just as you deserve." Thomas sneered, that familiar glint in his eyes.

You knew better than to argue so, with tears streaming down your face, you began to lick and kiss his shoes. Each swipe of your tongue was filled with resentment and hatred for the man standing above you. Soon, your saliva coated the leather as you pleaded for his mercy.

He watched you with a sadistic grin, seemingly enjoying every moment of your degradation.

Thomas leaned back against the bureau and undid the button of his trousers. His erection sprung free, long and hard, as he began to stroke it once you had finished licking his shoes.

"You are mine now. Mine to do as I please whenever I want. You will learn to love this life, or at the very least, you'll learn to play your part."

He stepped closer, his manhood brushing against your cheek.

"Open up and let me in, little one," he commanded. "I know you're hungry for it."

You hesitated for a moment, but the fear and disgust warring within you were easily swept away by the desire to please him. To survive.

You parted your lips, allowing him to guide his cock between them. The taste was foreign and slightly repulsive, but you swallowed hard and began to suck.

Thomas sighed in pleasure, his fingers weaving through your hair as he held you in place. He controlled the pace, sometimes slow and gentle, other times hard and fast.

His free hand fondled your breasts, tugging and pinching at your nipples until they were aching and sensitive. You whimpered and moaned softly around him, your own hands clenching into fists at your sides as you fought to maintain control.

"That's it, Love," Thomas groaned, thrusting shallowly into your throat. "Just like that... take it all in."

His fingers tightened in your hair, tugging harshly as his hips began to shift back and forth, setting a hot, punishing rhythm in which your mouth was expected to follow.

Your eyes watered at the force, but you dared not pull away or try to stop him; you'd learned quickly enough that your obedience was non-negotiable.

He pushed further into your throat, the tip of his shaft hitting the back of it as he began to moan, his fingers tugging harder on your sensitive scalp.

Saliva dripped from your chin as you struggled to breathe around him, coughing and spluttering slightly as he relentlessly thrust into your mouth.

Thomas' thrusts became more erratic, the head of his cock sliding against your tongue repeatedly. His free hand gripped your shoulder, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pushed himself as deep as he could.

You gagged, tears streaming down your face, but he didn't seem to care. He continued to thrust into your mouth, his hips jerking violently as he reached his climax.

"Right down the hatch, eh," he groaned as his warm and sticky cum shot into the back of your throat, causing you to swallow convulsively, trying to keep back the bile that rose in your throat.

Thomas eventually pulled out, his cock softening in front of your swollen and bruised lips.

You sighed in relief, your body shuddering as you fought to catch your breath. It tasted foul, but you knew better than to protest; the consequences would surely be far worse.

Thomas stroked himself a few more times, admiring his own erection before shifting back into position behind you.

"Wider," he grunted, forcing your legs apart with his knees. You bit back a whimper as he settled himself between your thighs, the tip of his shaft pressing against your entrance.

"That's a good girl." Thomas patted your bottom approvingly. "Such a good little whore."

He pushed inside you, and you cried out at the intense pain, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Look at this swollen red cunt of yours," Thomas muttered, pleased with what he saw. "You're mine now. I'm going to make you scream until you can't scream anymore."

You tried to move away, but his grip on your hips was too tight. He thrust deeper, causing you to howl in pain. Thomas savored the feeling, savoring the control he had over you.

"Please stop," you pleaded, but Thomas was relentless, merciless in his pursuit.

He kept thrusting deeper, harder, his fingers digging into your hips as he claimed you. Each move sent a sharp pain shooting through your body, one that you couldn't ignore.

"What's the matter, Love?" Thomas taunted, his voice thick with lust. "Can't take it?" He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. "You're going to take it, you're going to take all of me."

You whimpered as he continued to plunge into you, his movements becoming more urgent, more primal.

"Please pull out," you begged, tears streaming down your cheeks as his cock scraped against the abused walls of your pussy.

"You want me to pull out?” Thomas sneered, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "Alright then, I will pull out and stick it up your arse instead, eh?" Thomas grunted, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled out of your pussy and teased the entrance of your backside.

"There, does that feel better, Love?" he taunted, pressing against your tight hole.

"No, please! Don't do this!" you begged, your voice shaking as you started sobbing uncontrollably. 

"Ssh, don't fight it, Love." Thomas whispered as he forcefully pushed past the tight ring of muscle that guarded your backside. You screamed in agony, tears streaming down your cheeks as you tried to pull away.

"Ah fuck yes," Thomas hissed, his voice thick with lust as he forced himself deeper inside of you. "I knew you'd like it rough."

"No, stop," you cried, your voice hoarse from screaming. But Thomas only laughed in response.

"Come on, Love. You know you like it," he sneered, grinding himself deeper into you.

The pain was unbearable, but you knew that fighting him would only make things worse. So you lay there, limp and sobbing, as Thomas took his pleasure from you.

"Your arse is so fucking tight," he groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic.

"My cock barely fits inside," he bit out, gripping your hips tightly before lifting you up a little in order to fuck you harder.

"This ass was made for me, for taking my cock," Tommy told you, his voice almost guttural as he dug his fingers into your soft flesh, bruising you as he fucked you relentlessly with nothing stopping him, certainly not your tearful sobs and pleas.

"And I am going to fill it up with my cum now, eh?"

Tommy grunted, reaching around to fist your hair with one hand while the other continued to molest your breast.

"Shall I paint your insides with my seed, Love?" he asked, thrusting mercilessly into you, causing you to whimper in pain.

You felt your body being pushed to its limits as Tommy rammed his cock deep inside of you, again and again, totally ignoring the tears streaming down your face and the sobs you struggled to suppress.

The excruciating pain in your anus threatened to consume your entire being, and the sensation of him ripping through you was unbearable.

However, you knew that you had no choice but to endure it - Tommy had made it clear that your life as his sex slave would be filled with this kind of suffering.

"Goddammit Love," Thomas muttered, his thrusts faltering as he felt his orgasm building deep within him. "You're so fucking tight."

Then without warning, his grip on your hips tightened viciously and he buried himself deep inside of you, crying out loudly as he came, filling you up with his hot and sticky semen.

You gasped as he jerked inside of you, the feeling of his release overwhelming you. But even as he emptied himself into your body, Thomas showed no signs of tenderness or consideration.

As soon as he caught his breath, he withdrew from you with a grunt, leaving you feeling sore and violated.

Despite the pain, not a single word of protest escaped your lips. Instead, you bit back a whimper, trembling uncontrollably as you tried to hold yourself together. But as his semen dripped down your thighs, you couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of despair wash over you.

Tommy had bought you as a sex slave, but the reality of your situation was far more brutal than you could have ever imagined. You were his now and you had no way of escaping again.

#cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #tommy shelby #cillian murphy imagine #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #cillian murphy x reader #peaky blinders #cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby #tommy shelby au #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction

[pforpedro]

COLLIDE

Pedro Pascal x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: Smut (no spoilers ;)), 18+ content, fem!reader, reader is aged up. MINORS DNI.

Summary: once a platonic soulmate, always a platonic soulmate… right?

“Just… Fuck…”

A shallow groan was all you could muster as your ears burned to the sound of your alarm wailing on your nightstand that had been lulling away to itself for what felt like the last hour and a half. There was no way it was six am already, it had to be your mind playing tricks on you.

*BUZZ, BUZZ* *BUZZ, BUZZ*

“ALRIGHT!” You shrieked, throwing your arms outright to support your aching body as you rose from your warm grave of blankets and soft pillows, grasping your phone in anger. You muttered sour nothings as your eyes stung from the sudden bright light, finger hovering over the screen ready to spam the ‘STOP’ button on your six am alarm.

“The fuck?” You whispered into the darkness of your room as your eyes finally adjusted to the light, reading the time that shone on your phone screen. 1:23am, seven missed calls from Pedro. It wasn’t unusual for Pedro to spam you with calls, so the panic in your chest slowly dissipated once your mind reigned in on the situation at hand.

‘call me as soon as you get this’

You swallowed, blinking softly as you read the message. Strange. No lighthearted emoji at the end, the tone was harsh. It lit a fire of discomfort in your chest. You made no acts of hesitation as you sat upright in bed, feeling the chill from your open window riddling beneath the curve in your sleep shirt and settling into the skin of your back. You worked quickly as you dialled, pressing the phone to your ear and awaiting an answer. Pedro was never usually so serious, he was a man who never fell short of a good laugh, so you knew in your chest that something had to be wrong.

The line dialled for a while, longer than you would have anticipated. The sense that something was wrong consumed the air around you as you sat patiently waiting for a response.

The sound of a car door slamming made your skeleton pounce from the seal of your skin, head spinning to your bedroom window behind the frame of your bed. Headlights shone bright down the driveway of your one level apartment setting your adrenaline rushing into fight or flight mode.

“What the fuck?” You grunted softly as you spun, setting your feet down on the cool carpet of your bedroom floor and moving to the slight crack in the open window, drawing back the curtain slightly to reveal the world outside.

The headlights once illuminating the walls of your bedroom dissipated and the sound of the running engine was killed as your eyes locked onto the vehicle. There was no one in sight.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

“Jesus!” You whispered harshly, flinching to the sudden sound coming from your living room. Adrenaline now rushing you lunged for the baseball bat hanging on the wall by your bed, holding it tightly as it swung by your thigh as you made haste for the living room where your front door way located.

There was never anyone in the right frame of mind that came knocking on your door in the middle of the night. You practically lived in the centre of no where. Ready for trouble you grasped your keys, bat by your side, and unlocked the door. As the lock turned you grasped the handle, raising the bat over your shoulder as the frame swung wide.

“What do you want?!”

“Jesus!” The tall male took a step back, shielding his body from the eager stare of your bat that remained high above your shoulder, ready to swing, “it’s me! It’s Pedro! Lower the weapon!”

“Shit!” You dropped the bat to your side once again, exhaling in relief as your heart thundered against your rib cage, “shit I’m sorry, what- what are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night,” you asked softly, eyes squinting to capture his features in the dark.

The friendship between yourself and Pedro had blossomed over the course of the last nine months during the production of the HBO series ‘The Last of Us’, you’d only been cast as an extra but your personalities clashed in the most wonderful way. You were only in one episode, but after discovering your platonic soulmate, he’d invited you to set almost every day, hence the six am alarm.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to intrude, when you didn’t answer your phone I got worried,” he spoke softly with a hint of guilt and worry laced in his words.

“Well… I mean it is like past one am,” you chuckled softly but the action wasn’t reciprocated, “are you alright? Do you wanna come inside?”

“No, no it’s fine, I’m sorry for bothering you so late.”

“Dude, you’re here now, please just come in,” you argued gently, standing to the left and inviting him into your home. With weary eyes he stepped forward, passing by you as you stood holding the doorframe. His scent consumed you as he passed, filling your chest with comfort and serenity.

Pedro was much older than you, well, so he always told you he was. When you were laughing along after he told you a stupid ‘dad’ joke, the age gap didn’t feel so big. You were 26, he was 47, age really is just a number. People always asked if you ever saw Pedro as a father figure when you shared photos of you on instagram and twitter. You’d never really thought of him that way at all, he was your best friend. A should to cry on.

Reaching for the light switch, you dropped the bat by the wall and pulled your sleep shirt down a little to cover the panties you were wearing, “so is everything okay?” You asked light heartedly as you watched him take a seat on your couch, resting his hands in his lap.

“Kinda… my uh, my apartment bathroom flooded,” he said as a-matter-of-factly, “so they’ve been doing repairs all night and I can’t sleep,” he sighed softly, glancing over to you standing by the kitchen counter just left to your joint living room.

“Jeez, you call an emergency plumber?” You asked as you grasped two beers from your small refrigerator, holding each between your fingers as you sauntered over to the couch, grasping the blanket that was laying on the back.

“Yeah they said one of the pipes burst or something?” He screwed his brows together in confusion, “I don’t know, sounded big whatever is was,” he sighed, rubbing his hands over his jeans as you offered him the beer which he politely declined.

“You’re not driving home you can crash here, take it,” you nudged his fingers with the rim of the bottle gently, ushering him to take it from you. He looked at you in slightly dismay before taking the bottle from your grasp.

“Thank you, I’m sorry I really don’t mean to intrude-“

“Pedro, shut up,” you chuckled, “its the least I could do after everything you’ve done for me,” you smiled, popping the cap of the bottle against the coffee table, “I must say though one beer and then I’m back to bed because we gotta be up early,” you raised your brow as you tilted the tip towards him earning a smile in return before pressing the cold bottle to your lips and taking a sip.

—

“For the last time, P, no!” You giggled harshly as he snatched the blanket from your grasp, “bed, now! You’re my guest, I will take the couch! Really, I don’t mind!”

“You’re not sleeping on the couch!” He smiled softly, “go to bed, please, I insist.”

“For fuck sake,” you sighed with a smirk, “you know what, fuck it, we’re sharing the bed.”

“Y/N I-“

“Ah, ah!” You imposed, “look it gets really cold in here at night and you’re like a human radiator, I could use the extra heat,” you shrugged as you grasped the blanket from his hold, “I promise I’ll keep to my side of the bed.”

You’d shared a hotel bed one time with Pedro before, much to his dismay as you starfished all through the night and took up the majority of the room. He’d joked about it for weeks after that.

Pedro followed you to the bedroom cautiously, watching as you flicked on the lamp by your bedside and threw back the quilt to reveal the mattress underneath. Your bed was only a double, but it comfortably fit two people at the best of times.

“Do you need a change of clothes? You’re not sleeping in jeans, right?” You asked as you turned to him, eyes wandering up and down his frame as he stood in the doorway.

“You have clothes that will fit me?”

“Don’t underestimate me, my friend,” you smiled, clambering over your bed and opening your closet door. Breaching your tip toes, you reached for the top shelf, hand wandering around the empty space for a small pile of clothes your ex had left behind.

As you searched, standing by the doorway Pedro couldn’t help but admire the view. The way your sleep top rode just high enough to reveal the line of your panties that sat just above the crease of your cheek. A subtle shade of salmon, his favourite. His eyes felt as though they deceived him, he couldn’t be checking you out right now. It was far too inappropriate.

“These should do,” you grunted softly as you dropped back down to the base of your feet, folded clothes in hand. “They reek of perfume because… well, I don’t need to explain,” you shrugged it off with a lighthearted smile and crawled back over the bed towards Pedro, kneeling as you stretched your arms towards him, “here.”

“Thanks,” he took them from you gently, brushing his hand against your skin.

“You can change here, my bathroom floor is freezing at night, don’t worry I won’t look,” you smiled sheepishly, dropping down to the comfort of your mattress and shielding your eyes beneath the quilt as you turned your back to face him.

Closing your eyes you were once again sealed into darkness and silence. Moments passed, the sound of feet shuffling along your carpet passing through the air. It was subtle, comforting knowing you had someone by your side even for just one night. It had become rather scary at times living alone in the middle of nowhere. Having Pedro here made you feel safe.

A few more moments passed as you began sinking deeper into the bedsheets when you heard the sound of his belt buckle clanging gently as he began to undress his lower half. The platonic scent in the air suddenly shifted and your hairs stood on end. In the split of a second you because hyper aware of what was happening. As though you had been on autopilot this entire time. Pedro was stripping right beside you… where those butterflies in your stomach?

The mattress dipped suddenly, succumbing to the weight of the man that crawled into bed beside you. The chill of the air sank deep into your skin as he lifted the quilt, allowing some of the heat to escape.

“Do you want me to leave the lamp on?” You asked softly as you peaked your head out from beneath the quilt.

“That’s up to you, I don’t mind.”

“Well I usually sleep in the dark,” you lied, knowing most nights you were too afraid sleep without at least your lamp creating a safety barrier around you. Sitting up slowly you reached over, fingers stretching out to grasp the wire attached to your lamp to flick the switch.

Pedro couldn’t help but notice, it was right there, practically mocking him. Your salmon coloured panties had rode right up, slipping between the crevice of your cheeks, your ass on full display. Guns blazed inside his mind as he fought wars to draw his eyes away, feeling the heat bubbling in his veins, blood rushing south. This was wrong. He couldn’t think of you this way.

As the room fell dark he sighed deeply, “I think I’m gonna take the couch.”

“What? Why?” You turned suddenly, eyes filled with confusion, although it was hard to tell in the dark.

What did he say? Tell you that he was developing feelings for you? That his crush for you was crossing boundaries?

“I… I just…”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“God, no!” He shook his head, “No, no, I just feel…” like I want to kiss you, pepper my hands along the skin of your thighs, draw them over my hip while I fuck you deep into the mattress, like the real reason I’m here tonight is because I just wanna be close to you, “bad.”

“Well stop,” you sighed, “stop beating yourself up, I want you here,” you reached out into the darkness, placing your hand on his chest. The subtle action made his breath hitch, feeling the chill in your fingertips pressing into his chest.

“Okay,” he swallowed tightly, agreeing to disagree“we should get some sleep.”

—

The night passed by like water running through a clogged stream.

Pedro couldn’t sleep. Not while he was resting beside you. Head against the headboard, his back pained from the arch in his spine, he couldn’t help but stare. You looked angelic in the dim moonlight that passed by your window. Your hair a subtle mess, breaths shallow, chest rising and falling to the beat of them. Your scent consumed him, from the fabric softener oozing out of the sheets to the scent of your shampoo so close to his frame. You looked so comfortable. It was as though if he slept now he would miss out on these moments that he may never have the liberty of seeking again.

He wasn’t sure when this had all started, he couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t consumed by the giddy feeling of developing your first crush whenever he was around you. Every word you spoke had him in tears of laughter and every touch of your skin made his cheeks burn. It was all until he was reminded just how far you where to reach. How distant he really was. Watching you interact with people your own age made him feel almost guilty for developing feelings for you, what if one day he confessed? What would you say? Would you be disgusted? Would you find it creepy that an older man had feelings for you? He knew you saw him as a friend, but what if maybe, just maybe there was something more hidden beneath the surface?

“Mmm…” you hummed softly, rolling onto your back beside him.

“Jesus,” he cursed beneath his breath, eyes drifting down to where your shirt had rode significantly high above your waist revealing your bare stomach to the room. You looked angelic.

In a moment of hope Pedro took the leap of faith. Tonight was perhaps a one off, he may not get another like it. Sliding down, he shifted carefully, cautious not to wake you as he turned to his side, faces practically touching. He draped his arm over you gently, feeling the cold in your skin as his fingertips graced your stomach.

Almost out of instinct you turned to your side, sighing heavily in the midst of your slumber as you shifted, arching your leg up and over Pedro’s hip, pulling him close and sealing your bodies together.

You were right there.

Lips practically ghosting one another, noses bumping every time you exhaled. He’d never been so close. Never had the luxury of seeing every inch of you from this angle. The weight of your leg over his hip bared no ill comfort, he wanted so desperately to rest his hand against you, pull you closer, let you feel his heat.

“You m’kay?” suddenly you spoke, speech slurred as you referred to the erratic breathing fanning over your face. So caught up in his feelings Pedro hadn’t noticed the danger lurking beneath, becoming hyper aware of what had brewed under the actions of his thoughts.

“M’ fine,” he answered gruffly, attempting to sound as though he had caught at least a moments worth of sleep.

“You’re burning up,” your eyes fluttered open as the words slipped from your lips, shifting your hand that was locked between your bodies.

No, no, NO!

You felt it. It was too late, you were there, you knew, you were touching it…

You didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Your mind was racing, heart thumping. Was your mind once again deceiving you?

Your ears pricked as you listened to the sound of Pedro, swallowing harshly as he shifted away from your touch.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he spluttered as he made his descend to the edge of the bed, trying to escape your presence. The weight of embarrassment rode hard on his shoulders, knowing you had just unclothed his darkest secret in the midst of a single touch.

The sudden grip on the back of his shirt stopped all motion. You didn’t know what you were doing, but whatever it was it felt right. Whatever had happened, happened, and it had set fireworks alight in your stomach. High on adrenaline, with what felt like a pinch of… lust.

“Stay,” you whispered out into the dark, tugging softly on his shirt, asking him willingly to come back into your touch.

“Come here,” your voice was sharper this time, more demanding as he fell into your touch. Rolling over from where he had once sat, his nerves collapsed under the sudden presence of your hand against his cheek. Pedro wasn’t sure what was happening, but he let it. He trusted you to trust him, he feared if he spoke this would all come crashing to an end.

“Tell me what you need.”

If he wasn’t shaking with lust before, there was no doubt about it now. Your heart leaped to the sound of his sudden rapid breathing, eyes shining in the dim light as he looked to you for answers, hands reaching out to touch you.

You got the message.

“Kiss me,” you whispered, eyes fluttering as you dipped your head towards his embrace. You watched as he leaned forward, snapping your hand to press against his mouth, “but only if you mean it.”

He grasped your fingers softly, clapping them in his large hand, “Mi’ amor, I mean it,” he spoke as he tore your hand away from his lips. There were seconds between the moments the words were spoken to the moment his hand was against your hip, pulling you close to feel your skin as he kissed you tenderly.

The moan that erupted from your chest at his touch sent Pedro into a frenzy, breathing hot into your mouth. He was weak for you. What had started so subtle and sweet, soft and slow, was quickly picking up in pace. His hands kneaded your flesh, fingers pressing into your skin pulling you effortlessly closer to feel him, smell him, taste him.

While his hands worked your body, your own found their way around his neck, pulling and tugging, wrapping your fingers in his curls as he shifted to tower above you. Now trapped in his embrace, you’d never felt so alive.

His lips were softer than you would have imagined, he treated you like fine china. Peppering kisses along to the side of your mouth, gradually mapping their way to your chin, throat, collar bone. He was working his way into dangerous territory, consumed by the reality that his lips where finally gracing your skin.

“Pedro, wait…” you whispered, pulling him back down to earth with a single touch. His head shot upright to look at you, doe eyes staring you down with ease, asking what it was that you wanted, needed.

You stared at him longingly, keeping him locked in a trance, watching his face as you drew your foot from the end of the bed, up between his thighs. You watched his jaw clench tightly as your foot bumped his cock, feeling the hardened length through the fabric of the sweats you’d lent him for the night.

He whimpered softly as your touch dissipated, hands clasping his muscular shoulders and pushing with force, asking him to topple onto his side. He followed suit and didn’t have to be asked twice, heart racing as he watched your body follow chase close behind, legs swinging to brace his torso.

“Fuck,” the sounds he made where heavenly, whimpering like a pathetic sub as your heat pressed against his cock, your arousal beginning to soak through your panties purely to the sounds he was making. His hands made haste for your waist, hungry for movement, cock begging to be touched.

“Let’s take this off,” you suggested, fingertips lacing into the fabric of his shirt as you tugged gently. In a flash he sat upright, chests bumping as he grasped the shirt from the hem and lifted it above his head with ease. You stayed there for a moment, eyes wandering the land of one another’s faces, drawing one another in like a sirens call.

“I lied,” he whispered huskily as your arms stretched upwards, lacing around his neck to keep him close.

“When?” You asked wearily, fear in your tone that what was happening was just a dream.

“My bathroom is fine I just… I just wanted to see you,” he tilted his head to the side nonchalantly, ghosting his lips against your cheek, “I can’t lie anymore, Y/N,” he whispered, your eyes fluttering closed as the hairs of his subtle moustache trailed along your jaw, your name on his tongue sending shivers down your spine, “I like you. Like really… like you.”

“Pedro,” his words made you breathless, hips shifting to deepen the feeling of his length sliding between your folds even through the fabric separating your skin. To the calling of his name you felt the warmth radiate deep within your bloodstream as his large hands engulfed your hips, drawing your motions to continue, egging you into the act of sexual desire.

“Tell me to stop,” he spoke softly, almost asking you to make what was happening all go away if you wanted to. If you didn’t want this now was your chance to say so… but you couldn’t have wanted anything more than this. His lips were wet as they touched your skin, littering soft kisses along your jaw and neck, listening to your heart build into rapid beats.

“Don’t stop,” you managed to muster through heavy breaths, “don’t ever stop loving me.”

Hands flat, you braced the warm skin of his chest, desire, lust and adrenaline taking over. His hands followed his falling torso, landing flat against the pillows beside his head as your lips flew down to kiss him. It was everything a kiss should be, heated, wet, embracing the sensation of being so close to one another. Your nose was filled with the scent of his cologne making your clit pulse with desire.

“Are you… sure… you wanna… do this?” Pedro asked between heated kisses, lips drenched in saliva, bodies heated with sweat. You refrained from answering, instead, peppering your kisses along his jaw whilst sliding your body eagerly down his stomach, leaving subtle licks in your path. You travelled cautiously and with ease until your lips met the line of his sweats, teasing your fingers beneath the fabric and pulling harshly.

In coordination with your hands, Pedro lifted his hips, allowing you to tear away the two layers of fabric separating you from what you desired to see. And what a sight it was.

Once stripped free of his sweats and boxers, your eyes feast upon the sight before you. His cock lay heavy against his abdomen, twitching and pulsing from the cool air surrounding it. Tip swollen and mewling pre cum, he looked delicious. You’d had your speculations in the past, passing thoughts that crossed your mind in your lustily fleeting moments about his size. Catching the outline once or twice behind the tight jeans he wore, but nothing compared to the true sight before you.

His thighs tensed suddenly as you braved your weight upon them, lowering yourself to your stomach between his legs. He was larger than you would have expected, thick and long, a slight curve towards the tip. He could rearrange your insides with ease.

“I’m sure I wanna do this, P,” you noted, eyes glancing up to see his face, staring down at you, jaw slack, panting harshly, “be a good boy… let me taste you.”

“Oh my god,” the words slipped like hell on ice as you licked a bold stripe from base to tip without a hint of hesitation. He wanted to watch, he wanted to see you tasting him, but his eyes couldn’t help but close, rolling back mindlessly into the back of his head.

There was a lot of ground to cover, your tongue running dry as you reached the tip until you felt the sweet taste of his cum, leaking down onto his abdomen. You couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your lips the moment you touched him, watching his body spasm with pleasure as your fingers wrapped around his base, squeezing generously.

“Put your hand in my hair, look at me,” you ordered, watching his eyes open quickly, head falling down to look at you.

“What?”

“You heard me,” you smirked, pressing your tongue against his tip making him shudder, “fuck my throat… daddy.”

“Mama…” his tone shifted the moments that word was spoken, hands lacing into your hair, pushing your lips down and around his swollen length. Your clit pulsed violently as he used you, drawing your mouth down as far as you could reach, drool spilling from your lips.

Moans filled the room as he bucked his hips, feeling his tip hit the back of your throat causing you to gag softly.

“Shit,” he cursed, drawing your mouth from his length and watching the strings of spit fall that connected your lips to his tip. Your eyes half dazed, a fucked our expression on your face, “I’m sorry, baby-“

“Do it again,” you half choked, grasping his wrist and pushing his hand back towards your head, “use me, let me pleasure you.”

He sat forward suddenly, the hand once in your hair now clasped softly around your jaw, “this isn’t the way I’ve thought about us,” he mumbled softly, “you’re not mine to fuck, you’re mine to love,” his words danced around your heart strings as he drew you close, kissing you tenderly. As much as your soppy mouth send shivers down his spine, Pedro knew deep down inside he wanted to see your face fall apart as he pleasured you. This wasn’t a time for him to have all the fun.

The kiss was heated, tongues fighting for dominance and all the same filled with such love, a feeling you hadn’t experienced in so long. He lifted you with such ease, holding you tightly against his chest with his right arm, while his left departed down between your bodies, sliding your panties to the side.

“Let me make you feel good, mama,” he whispered huskily before you felt his tip run through the slick of your folds, finding your entrance as though he knew your body like the back of his hand. Your mouth clasped wide as he dropped you leisurely, allowed your heat to stretch around his length, mewling arousal down to his base.

“Mmm, Pedro,” you gasped, tone high pitched as your finger nails dug into the skin of his back.

“Ssh, it’s alright baby,” he cooed you, pausing his moments, “you can take it… that’s it,” he lulled, voice soft like a lullaby as you sank further onto his cock, hips finally meeting at the base, “that’s my good girl.”

You were panting, there was no stopping it, the air in your lungs had been pushed from reach.

“I feel so full,” you jolted slightly as he shifted, whimpering against his lips, “I need you, please, fuck me please, please”.

“Ssh, Ssh, Ssh,” he shushed your slowly, hand planting flat against your back as he lowered you carefully, his cock shifting inside you as he dropped your back to the mattress, now towering above you, “let me here you, mi’ amor.”

“Fuck!” He shifted his hips suddenly but gently, drawing his length from the clasp of your heat before filling you up once again, setting a steady rhythm.

“That’s it, good girl,” he praised you endlessly, rolling his hips to meet your clit, grunting as your pussy clenched around him, “being such a good girl for me, all mine,” his lips attacked your throat, hand gliding down the outer side of your thigh as you tilted your head backwards to give him endless access. Your foot met his back, leg now arched upright helping his cock to hit deeper, finding spots you weren’t even sure existed.

Your head hung by the end of the bed, exposed to the room and yet you felt so warm, so safe writhing beneath him. The way he caressed you tenderly, sucked softly against your neck, fucked you like he loved you, you’d never felt pleasure like it.

“You feel like heaven,” his voice was rough, hitched slightly as his pace grew erratic, speed beginning to pick up, “makin’ me so weak.”

“Pedro… I’m close,” you gasped, feeling the coil beginning to twist in your stomach, “you’re… you’re in my fucking stomach!”

“Mama, don’t-“

“Fuck, I can feel you so deep,” you ignored his request, feeling his grip around your hips begin to tighten.

“Y/N, please, I’m begging you.”

“Feel so b-big, ugh, daddy… Daddy, please!”

“I swear to god,” he panted, picking his head up gently to rest against your forehead, “stop it. You’re… you’re gonna make me…”

“Don’t hold back, give it to me, please Pedro.”

“Fuck,” his breath hitched, voice wounded with pleasure.

“Cum for me now, cum with me and next time I’ll bend over for you-“

“Baby, don’t!” He begged.

“Let you feel my pretty cheeks… b-bouncing off of your hips.”

“Y/N, Y/N I don’t want this to stop, please don’t… don’t make me-“

“Cum, daddy, please, breed me.”

“JESUS!” He yelled, voice strangled with pleasure as his hips stilled, core pressing harshly against your clit causing your pussy to clench around him like a vice, snapping the coil and opening the floor gates. His groans sent your mind into a frenzy, pushing deeper and deeper with each spurt of his hot seed, pulling you impossibly closer as he kissed your forehead tenderly.

Aside from the heavy breaths, the room fell silent. There was nothing in the world apart from his eyes on yours, foreheads pressed together, the taste of each other lingering against your tongues. In the moment of serenity you felt all of him, the way his cock twitched inside you, the way his hands gently rubbed the skin of your outer thigh, slowly lowering your leg back to the safety of the mattress. It was as though in the moment of darkness and still, two souls had collided.

“Are… are you okay?” He asked gruffly, lifting his head to feel the cool air hit the sweat on his brow.

“More than okay,” you nodded, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck to pull him back towards you, locking your lips together once more, “thank you.”

“What for?” He chuckled, resting his hand beside your head.

“For everything.”

—

The morning sun hadn’t yet breached the curtains by the time you awoke. Still subdued in darkness you turned to reveal an empty bed, the space beside you once occupied now stone cold and alone.

“Pedro?” You called out to the room, voice cracked, legs aching from the nights events. Grasping your phone from your nightstand you sat up once more. Only seven minutes until your alarm, one text message from Pedro.

‘I’m at the store picking up some plan B, don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.’

And for a moment you were afraid it had all been a dream. A smile crept onto your face as you read the message over and over again, falling down to the pillow with your phone in your hand. Your nose pricked at the sudden scent against the pillow, his scent. You relished in it, shuffling your head deeper to feel him closer.

Was this what falling in love felt like?

Maybe he wasn’t just your platonic soulmate after all.

—

Thank you so much for reading, feel free to leave a request! love you 🤍

#pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #daddy pedro #pedro pascal #submisive and breedable #daddy issues #x reader #maturesexy #18+ only

[ollieink]

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐃!

childe x fem!reader ( wc 4.8k)

inspired by 'pretty poison' written by the very talented vent1k1n on ao3, literally so good. never thought strip russian roulette could be so smeggsy wtf.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 | dead dove: do not eat, non-con, rough sex, size difference, bit of gunplay, spitting, forced orgasm, corruption, yandere undertones, threats of murder, childe is a menace, reader has a petite body, dash of angst, russian roulette, mafia alternate universe, betrayal, please don't read if you're not comfy with these themes.

"Tartaglia is heartless."

That's what papa's soldiers said after he asked for your hand in marriage. It was a way for both ruling families to finally come to terms. Some were against it, others hopeful. And you had to admit, Tartaglia was hypnotizing. You saw him from afar one time, two times, a couple of times—from across the bridge that separated papa’s territory from his. He was the ocean come alive, all the good and all the bad. When he crossed that bridge to meet you, everything people warned you about him burnt to the ground.

Your chest fluttered on the wedding night, but it wasn't what you thought or hoped it would be. Tartaglia merely wished you a good rest before departing to his room. Of course, this wasn't a marriage of love ( you'd gotten carried away in your fantasies ), but rather a strategic move on both mafia families. Even then, the painful sprout of thorns in your chest didn't go unnoticed. Maybe it did for him. Or perhaps he did notice and just didn't care.

Papa didn't want you seeing all the bad things he did, so violence was a thing that happened from a distance. It was the same with Tartaglia. He'd tell you to go to your room when his men came in for a meeting, reassure you everything was okay—that you didn't need to worry your pretty head off. Perhaps he truly cared about you ( even if it wasn't the starstruck love you hoped it to be ), and that fleeting period in your life was the happiest. That is until you peeked into the basement of his manor, and a pair of dead blue eyes looked back.

You’re not supposed to cry over a stupid boy.

The sky has given way for a thunderous storm. Loud cracks of thunder light up the city, matching your heart's ferocious churning as you think over and over again: why, why, why? It pours rain as you pound on various doors for refuge, but everyone knows better than to open them at this hour. Crossing the bridge is a death sentence; Tartaglia’s men are stationed there, and they'd surely capture you on sight.

Afraid that he’ll catch up, you run into the city’s emptiest corner—an unsuspecting alleyway where the city lights can't reach. There’s nothing but rubbish here: overflowing dumpsters, shattered alcohol bottles someone must've thrown in a drunk daze, vulgar graffiti on the walls. Buildings tower overhead, placed so close together only a few people can walk through at the same time. The path winds 'round and 'round. You aren't sure where you're going, as long as you get away from here.

More lightning cuts through the pouring sky, and amidst it, a sweet voice calls out for you.

“Darling~”

All the hairs on your body stand, and you run faster than ever before. He's still using that sickening term, as if you really do hold a special place in his heart. Even if it wasn't real, you were content being something he felt obligated to take care of—because you couldn't help the way your heart fluttered when his hand tightened over yours, how he looked standing bare feet in the ocean shoreline. And you were happy being just an afterthought to him. But this is too cruel for you.

"Come back to me, darling. I'm sorry if I scared you."

His footsteps are getting closer and closer.

The alley takes a quick turn, and what you see next crushes all hope of getting away. A wall.

No, no no no no.

There must be another way out, but everywhere you look is a dead end. When the heavy footsteps finally stop a few meters away, you turn around. With a violent crackle of thunder, light briefly fills the alley; it barely makes a dent in Ajax's dark blue eyes. The electric crashes through the sky reflect off the taut muscles—wet with rain—on his arms. His black shirt, soaked all the way through, clings tightly to indents of hard flesh on his torso. And a smile haunts his face, kind like you remember.

"Why are you running away from me?" Ajax takes a step closer and reaches out a tempting hand. It's his left one, and the two rings on it are evidence of your weak union. "Let's go home, my love." He beckons in that familiar, gentle tone he only used with you. It made you feel special, but now you know it's just a trick.

“Bastard!” You scream with all the broken pieces of your heart. “You were just using me! I saw what you did to my father’s men in your basement, what you said about killing me! It’s a low move, you know—to murder someone in their sleep.”

Your words stir a devilish grin from him, and all traces of sweet, sweet Ajax disappear in an instant. "Ah, so you heard that too." He steps closer again, and the cobblestone wall hits your back. "It's a shame, ya know. If you weren't so nosy, I would've let you alive for a bit longer. Maybe we could've had our first kiss on the lips too, hmm? Bet you would've liked that. I know I would—you were always so kind to me. A bit too kind."

"Get away from me! If papa finds out about this, he'll kill you!" you scowl, hoping to get some leverage over this situation. But Tartgalia is a proud man. He simply laughs, as if you're a child throwing a silly tantrum.

"Well, he isn't here right now is he? It's just you and me." As his hand lifts, a flash of lightning exposes a revolver nestled against his palm.

"Ajax. . . ?"

Even his name sounds unfamiliar. The remaining bits and pieces of your heart break, not instantly, but in a way that hurts much more—slow and agonizing, holding onto hope that you know doesn't exist.

Blue eyes sweep up your body, savoring your disheveled appearance under this stormy night. Your plush thighs look so squeezable, and oh, that teeny tiny waist that's just begging to be held down.

“Let’s play a little game. It'll be fun."

Despite his voice sounding playful, the cold smile twisting his mouth wrecks shivers through you. He opens the gun to reveal six bullets settled ominously inside. “Each piece of clothing you take off, I’ll get rid one bullet. You have ten minutes before I pull the trigger, darling. Let's see if you're alive then. And if you are, I'll let you go. Promise." He chuckles at the way your eyes widen fearfully; it’s just too adorable. “Go on, I’m waiting.”

There's no way you're going to listen to him. He already messed with you enough—from the wedding vows, the delicate cheek kisses, and late-night strolls along the beach. All of it was just a pretend game for him, and the thought boils your blood just as much as it hurts.

“That game's stupid. I’m not doing anything for you."

“So, you’re gonna play tough, eh?” Tartaglia hums, unbothered by your disobliging attitude. In fact, the smirk on his face gives you the impression that he enjoys it. He points the revolver aside, and with a spark, fires it. A shrill noise reverberates through the cramped alleyway, and you jolt as the bullet whizzes past your cheek. “I won’t miss next time.”

Angry tears sting the corner of your eyes. “You’re fucking disgusting."

"You have ten minutes, sweetie. Or would you rather just let me end it all for you right now? I promise it won't hurt." There's a slight pause, then Childe's grin widens even more. "Or perhaps you want to spend your last moments as husband and wife? I know we never got the chance to be really intimate."

He'll shoot you if you try to run. For a split second, you consider trying to reason with him. Maybe he really did feel something—even if it was the most empty-minded feeling that ever crossed his cold heart. But that hopeful thought quickly vanishes. Ajax doesn't exist. He never did.

Finally, with a long exhale, you hesitatingly begin to slip off one heel.

“Mmm, good girl.” He takes out one bullet, letting it clang against the floor and roll by your feet. His gaze feels sharp along, glued to every movement, every nook and cranny of your exposed skin. When you get the other heel off, Childe hums cheerfully and drops another bullet. Papa always told you to be brave, but you’re shaking uncontrollably under this heavy aura of death. Your fingers tremble as they loosen your dress, and when the ribbons slowly but surely come undone, all the silk cascades into a bundle of light pink. A slight sigh comes from Childe the moment your adorable, white undergarments are revealed—so untouched, so innocent. Your skin suddenly feels too uncomfortably tight under his heavily inspecting eyes.

Childe chuckles as you hug yourself ( to cover up and protect yourself from the stormy weather ). Seeing you like that—all vulnerable and small—it's just too cute. He lets go of another bullet, and it lands with a sharp ting.

"Come on, take it all off," he playfully orders.

It's a decision between pride or life—an easy option for most, but difficult when it ends up in your hands. "Go fuck yourself." When you make no effort to strip any more, merely scowling at him with dewy eyes, the blue-eyed man breaks into wild laughter.

“You’d rather die than let me see you naked? Ah, how cute, but. . .” He closes the metal cartridge, spins it, then lifts the gun back up to you. “I’d think twice if I were you.”

"If you lay a finger on me, papa won't let you get away!" you glare at him, but all it does is stir a snicker. Suddenly, Childe steps forward and kicks your knee out. You hit the floor coarse with wet dirt. “Hey—!” Tartaglia wastes no time listening to your protest. He carelessly turns you over with his shoe, then presses the underside of it onto your stomach—a sharp contrast to the way he always treated you like glass. It was that side of him you learned to love, not the heartless man everyone viewed him as. Perhaps if you'd been smarter, you would've seen right through him. How love is but a fool's game to him. And how it was always his plan to use you.

A flash of thunder lights up the sky behind him, and the rain falls harder.

Your face contorts with rage. “Fuck you!"

“Quite the dirty mouth for such a sweet girl," Childe coos, kneeling down to harshly grab your chin. "Haha, you look so cute when your cheeks are all pushed up like that."

He leans in, and suddenly, a pair of lips capture yours—sweet and creamy as if he just finished a glass of honey. His tongue breaks into the wet cavern of your mouth, exploring the darkest corners. You feel the metal of his piercing, how it presses against your tongue. Each groan he makes resonates deep within your chest. Determined to resist in any way you can, you bite down hard enough to split open his bottom lip.

Tartaglia jerks back with surprised laughter, dragging his pierced tongue over the blood. "I always expected you'd like it rough, darling. But it's fine—I like it too." As if taking your defiance as a challenge, he curls his hand into the back of your hair, and with a harsh tug, smashes your lips together in a desperate frenzy.

"Mmph!" The sheer force of his kiss muffles your voice. He forcefully pushes down your jaw, giving him enough room to shove his slithering tongue inside again. Saliva trickles down into your throat, and his mouth hums against yours; it urges you to amuse him more. You refuse at first, but as his disgusting saliva builds up from just how sloppy the kiss is, you're forced to take tiny gulps, and those gulps soon turn into hesitant swallows.

After a long moment, he finally pulls back. “That’s right. Drink it up, filthy little thing.” In a fit of rage, you spit on his face, and he recoils to wipe it off his cheek. Instead of seeing anger on his face, there's nothing but the flushed look of unhinged amusement. He suddenly jams his gun into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, and you gag at the sudden intrusion. He hovers a finger over the trigger with a smirk on his face. “Wanna try that again?”

Tears blur your vision, but they're quickly blinked away. You won't let him win. You won't let this bastard get the better of you.

"That's what I thought." Childe moves the gun to the side of your head, showing exactly who's in charge. His other hand settles upon your pelvis; it nearly folds across the entire width. "So tiny. . ." You flinch as his touch moves lower, caressing all the subtle curves and dips of your flesh. "Ever been this intimate with anyone, darling?" He plays with the band of your panties, letting it smack against your hip after every tug. The ginger coos, as if your reaction was somehow an answer—the way you tremble, the way you glare at him with such lovely flushed cheeks. "Mmm, guess not. But that makes it more exciting, right?"

He suddenly turns you around, easily jerking your limbs until you're sitting on his lap. His hand falls from your neck, between the valley of your breasts, then to your sensitive bundle of nerves. Thorns sprout from the pit of your stomach. It's tingly, prickly, threatening to swallow you whole from the inside out.

"Don't touch there!"

Tartaglia lets out a low chuckle, pushing the barrel of the gun carelessly against your jaw. "Stupid girl, don't you see what position you're in? I'll show you what a man can do to someone so weak." The pads of his fingers are rough, so embarrassingly intimate as one traces your slit. "First, I'm gonna put my cock in here." He slips a gloved finger inside, and you keen at the unfamiliar disturbance. Tiny hands grip onto him tighter, desperately searching for purchase with each scarlet mark it leaves on his skin. You want to scream at him until your throat bled, but all you can muster are pathetic little whimpers.

His voice dips lower, husky with sweet poison. "Then, I'm gonna fuck you like this." His finger slowly drags in, out, in, and out. Each movement is earth-shattering, something you've never experienced before. It renders you completely useless. And despite how much you try to fight it off,fs you're losing yourself to him—body squirming, hips bucking disgracefully against his gloved hand.

"Think you can handle the real thing, sweetheart?" Childe's teasing remark reduces you to a mess of shame and boiling hot anger. You want to tell him to shut up, but your teeth are gritting together to prevent any more noises from coming out ( you don't want to feed his bloated ego any more than this ). However, as he curls his finger and hits a sensitive wall of flesh inside you, an embarrassing mewl chimes from your throat. "Heh, this wet already with just one of my fingers. Didn't realize my wife was so slutty."

"Ah!" You pitifully claw against his shirt, squeezing your legs together to make the electrifying feeling stop. But Childe doesn't give you time to rest. He holsters his gun and forcefully spreads your thighs—smeared with wet dirt, gravel, and slick—before shoving in another finger. The added friction makes you kick your feet in protest. "Nghhh! No, st-sthawp, Ajax!"

Childe's ears perk up at how his name sounds along your pretty tongue. It was something he shared with you after a night of heavy drinking. He never planned to reveal it, but the alcohol influenced him more than he thought. And perhaps it was also because of the way you looked while basked in silver moonlight.

"I hate you!" With an infuriated shriek, you pound against his chest, but that only seems to rile him up even more. His fingers hit even harder, deeper, faster. "Agh! Mmmf, n-no. . . I hate, nghh, h-hate you!"

Tartaglia lets out a snicker. "But you look like you're loving what I'm doing to you. It's not good to lie, you know that, right?" The repulsive, sopping noises of him toying with your cunt mortifies you. There's some pain, pleasure, and an exhausting sense of weakness as you're unable to do anything but lay there. "If you come on my hand, I'm gonna have to punish you for lying~"

Your stomach coils up into a wad of throbbing nerves. The lack of control is terrifying, but you still try to be defiant. "I'm not, ah, going to—!" After a harsh thrust of his fingers, with a loud cry, your body releases all that tension onto his glove. Everything goes blank for a second as your chest heaves up and down. It's so dizzy, the world is spinning.

"Mmm, looks like you need to be taught a lesson on how to be a good girl." His fingers pull out with a squelch, going to unbuckle his belt. There's a very noticeable bulge in his pants. And when he wrenches the restrictive garment down, releasing his hard, massive, swollen cock, new profound terror seeps into your guts. He's planning to put that disgusting thing in you; the thought is horrifying. You try to scurry away, only for his toned arms to push you back down. "Don't run from me." With a smirk, Childe turns your little body around to face him. His weight presses against you, slowly until you're both on the ground. The rain hits his back, droplets rolling down his sharp jaw and onto your face. "This might be a bit rough on your tiny body."

Before you can comprehend his warning, he pulls your soaking wet panties to the side and snaps his hips forward. The painful disturbance makes you wail, your cramped insides trying to resist Childe's member with all its might. It burns. White hot, like a metal rod dipped in lava. For a second, your body shuts down, vision blacking out before startling back awake.

"N-No, hurts. . . 'Jax!"

He jerks his hips, forcing his big cock deeper.

You're gonna die. He's going to kill you.

"Tight—" he hisses, then sucks in a breath that shifts into laughter. He's enjoying it; the cold sweat dripping down your face, how you kick, whimper, your sensitive insides gripping him so intensely. "Hahaha! I can't fuck you stupid if you're gonna keep clenching down me like that." He's smiling, like this is all some kind of joke. However, when you suddenly squeeze even tighter around him, that attitude breaks a little. Teeth gritting hard, Childe buries his head into the shallow dip of your shoulder. He's holding you so close with shivering arms—you can almost confuse it with love. The tender kind you prayed for, something that consumes you whole as if passing through a cloud heavy with rain.

After composing himself, he finally lifts himself back up to look you in the eyes. His face is contorted into a look of pleasure: red cheeks, eyes sharp with wicked amusement. "Ghh. . . W-What did I just say?"

You squeak as he rolls his hips, slipping in a few more inches you didn't realize existed ( it already feels so full ). When he makes a small pump to adjust to the wet heat, your eyes squeeze shut at the throbbing pain. It's too big—the tip feels like it's going to tear through your cervix. But just as you think it's pushed all the way to the hilt, your eyes go wide as he forces in a few more inches inside.

"Ahhh!" You glance down, horror flooding your veins at the sight of there being more to take in. His cock stretches past your limits, making your stomach protrude a little with its shape. The filthy sight burns hot shame throughout you. He's really inside. Not wanting to look at it anymore, your eyes wander elsewhere, but Childe isn't merciful enough to give you that salvation. He takes your chin and forces it forward.

"Look at me."

It's cold enough to see his heavy breaths come out as wisps.

The ginger flutters his eyes, taking a moment to savor the feeling before he fucks you loose. “Such a needy hole for me. So tight, and so fucking warm." When his member draws out slightly, the glossy sheen covering his hard, veiny skin makes you dizzy.

“Let go of me!” you command him, holding back the hot tears brewing in your eyes. In an attempt to relieve the pain, you lift your hips off the hideous thing, but a strong hand grips your waist and jerks you back onto it.

“Mm, now what did I say about not running away?”

Childe pulls himself out to the tip.

Knowing what's coming next, you shout, "W-Wait!" A screech claws out of your chest as he slams back inside with a heavy, wet squelch. Searing pain unfurls inside your weak body, the excruciating thrust of his thick cock too much to handle. You tremble as he withdraws again, agonizingly slow as if to see what other cute reactions you're capable of making. "No, stop—!" He doesn't listen, chuckling as you scratch the muscular jut of his shoulder blades.

“Haah, fffuckk, that’s good,” he admits, thrusting hard back inside with a grunt—so brutally you think for a moment that something split inside you. It’s his massive girth that stretches your insides uncomfortably, the way he’s so much bigger, how he didn’t bother being gentle. The tears you’ve been trying to hold back spill out, and you scream as he sets an unforgiving pace. His body is much bigger, stronger than yours. He easily rocks you back and forth—like you're just some fuckdoll for him to use whenever and however he pleased. All your cries and the way you slam your fists against him are ignored. “Aww, are you crying?” His voice drips with mockery.

You hate it. You hate it so much.

Your hands push against his chiseled stomach. "Get out of me!"

Tartaglia laughs in a way that makes your cheeks burn helplessly. "You're still fighting? Don't you see it's useless, stupid girl." He squeezes your wrists together and pins them above you. There's no way he can possibly hold you down with just one hand, so you struggle, and struggle, and struggle. But nothing budges him at all. His lips are back on yours: kissing hungrily, teeth biting, tongue not wasting any drop. The hot and slimy kisses trail to your collarbone, leaving thick trails of drool. It's like he's salivating at the thought, the feeling, the everything about you.

"I'm not your toy!" you scream at him.

The blue-eyed man lets out a stuttering breath, followed by a snicker. "But you're my wife, which means we're bonded together for the rest of eternity. Remember our vows? Until death do us part." He groans, shifting his weight back a little to get a full view of your adorable face—all red and tear-streaked. “Haaah, you’re so cute when you make that stupid face. That kind of expression would drive any man wild, so don't go showing anyone else." Childe lowers himself to whisper in your ear. "Or I'll get really mad.” He grabs the plush of your thigh, jerking it onto his shoulder to better fuck you into the concrete.

"Ah! Stop, Ajax!"

"That's right, say name name just like that. Go on, cry it all out," he grunts. The shameful wet noises of his hips pounding into your cunt—over and over—fill up the alley. You want to block it out and only listen to the crackles of thunder, the rain as it swallows you up in a bitter cold. But each thrust of his dick breaks your resolve little by little. You’re afraid of someone stumbling down this path and seeing you like this, but you also yearn to be saved.

"H-He. . . lp." It hurts to say anything; your throat is hoarse from all the screaming and pleas for him to stop. "Papa, help me. . ."

The moment you call out for your father, Childe's grip tightens into steel. A punishing thrust rips a cry from you, trembles wrecking through your lithe figure. "Pay attention to me." His voice comes out a low growl. Your vision that was starting to black out returns abruptly. "Who's fucking you right now? Who's making you their bitch? That's right, me. So just forget about everything else and only look. at. me."

There's something so harsh about his words and it confuses you. You've never him like this before—the way he's looking at you with those terrifying eyes.

He glances at the slick gathered between your hips. "We're making such a mess. Finally consummating our marriage after all this time, hm?" Childe takes your left hand, and in a surprising gesture of intimacy, kisses the rings on it. You watch in disbelief as he lifts your hand to his cheek, nuzzling against it—like your warmth is his only flame in the middle of a freezing winter. A strange look dawns his face; you can't pinpoint it no matter how hard you try.

You flinch from his touch despite how gentle it is. "N-No, stop. . . I can't do it anymore. I'm gonna die."

Something flickers across his face, but it's quickly covered up with a smirk.

"Mmmf, you're tightening up again," he heaves out. There's no smile on his face anymore, a concentrated expression taking its place. You feel every bit of his sweat on you, as well as the way your ribcage rattles with how resonating, deep and full his moans are. "I s-should've been, agh, doing this more often while I—ghh!—had the chance." Suddenly, his eyes narrow, cock quivering. "S-Shit, 'mm close. Gonna fill you up nice and good. You'd like that, yeah?"

When you shake your head frantically, he takes out the revolver again and aims it between your eyes, hand trembling slightly from the intense pressure wrapped around his cock. “I’ll blow your, nghhh, p-pretty brains out after I fill you up.” That dark promise widens your eyes in fear; the adorable reaction makes him bursts into wild laughter. But from the way he bites his lips soon after, eyes filled with desire, it's clear that he's struggling to keep himself composed. “Ah, that look on your face; it’s too good! There's still two bullets inside. I’ll do it, darling. I’ll really kill you.”

"Ajax," you plead with a cracking voice. The look on your face must've been priceless ( maybe it was the despair, the defeat, the betrayal, who knows ). His body suddenly shakes with hearty laughter.

"Ha, hahahah! You can be so, so, so cute when you want to be." Childe lets out a low groan. With one last violent thrust, he releases all his cum—in hot, sticky spurts that leave you shivering—deep deep into your womb.

Everything goes numb, the loud thunder and pouring sky becoming white noise.

You stare up at Childe as he spins the revolver's cylinder one more time. The bullets in their cartridge rotate with a clinking noise, metal on metal, beckoning death from its slumber. There's a chance you'll die, and a chance you may walk out of here alive. But your heart is broken, and no one can survive without a functioning heart.

Childe smiles; it isn't playful but rather weak. "Ha, don't look at me like that. It makes me feel kind of bad. But don't worry! If you survive this, I'll let you go like I promised earlier."

He presses the nozzle against your forehead slowly—perhaps to prolong your despair, or maybe it's because of something else. You think you see something change in his blue gaze, but those eyes are still dark—as heavy and cold as a thousand seas. Even then, you find yourself clinging to that tiny spark of light.

"I love you."

The words spill out from your mouth.

Tartaglia sucks in a sharp breath. His eyes widen, filling with some strange emotion you've never seen in them before. After a bit, he squeezes them shut, as if your words seared his flesh. "Don't say things like that either." He finally looks at you with an unclear expression, one that surely isn't warm but not cold either. "It makes me feel like I'm gonna do something I regret."

His finger moves to the trigger.

And you wait for what's to come.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

## 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐘 | thank you for reading! got sick and tired of proofreading, so you'll probably find grammatical errors or clunky sentences. but wow i actually managed to write something kek.

( 10.21.23 ) ( © ollieink | my box is always open ! )

#( general ; ollie's writing ) #childe x reader #yandere childe #yandere #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #smut #childe smut #yanderecore #yancore

[dreamyzxn]

⋆⁺⋆ ⁺₊⋆ ☁︎Self-aware!CRK x Reader

they waited and waited for so long, where have you been now?

Time flew by, days turned weeks and weeks turned into months and that app you downloaded remained untouched. You almost forgot about it, but then a thought crept into your mind... why not give it a go and open the app for a little while? Who knows what kind of adventure awaits you in there!

soon then as you opened the app, a silly sugar gnome appeared in your screen as they greeted you, attempting to rouse you from your slumber. How adorable! However, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for neglecting the game for several months.

upon tapping the bubble chat to continue, you were woken up by the sugar gnome. Shortly then, a cookie by the name of Gingerbrave appeared on your screen, extending a warm welcome back greeting and surprising you with various missions and new mails.

The experience of being pleasantly surprised by the cookie's missions and warm welcome evokes a sense of happiness within you. This feeling has reignited your interest in playing the game, reminiscent of the initial excitement you felt upon downloading it. then a,

"Whoah, welcome back!"

exclaimed Gingerbrave with a huge grin on his face. He was positively beaming as he directed his attention towards the exciting quest called 'We Missed You!' story, as you completed the quest, you then let out a small chuckle and just when you thought it couldn't get any better, a surprise gift appeared, accompanied by a warm welcome from Wizard Cookie aswell.

As you delved deeper into the game, a sudden light giggles escaped your lips again, instantly lifting your spirits. It was as if a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, and you couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, playing this game more often could be the key to unlocking your happiness again....

as you continued playing the gameplay, it appears that you have failed to take notice or acknowledge the fact that your cookies are watching you with great delight, sporting broad smiles on their faces. They are astounded by your return after all these days and find it to be a most delightful occurrence. The cookies are now eager to capture your attention and bask in your presence.

mainly, Pure Vanilla Cookie is thrilled to see you again! With a huge smile on his face, he knows that you, a human outside of their own world, have returned. Despite being just a silly pixelated character, he is determined to make a difference and show you his worth. He won't give up until he proves himself to be a valuable part of your experience and same aswell for other cookies.

"I-I can't believe it! is it really Baker?!"

"they're back! oh thank earthbread!"

"Our Baker has returned! they have returned!!"

the air was electric with the sound of many voices, all talking with an excitement that was palpable. The crowd had gathered to welcome back their dearest baker, and they were positively bursting with joy. It was clear that they would do anything to spend their lives with this beloved baker, who had captured their hearts.

"Please remain calm, everyone." Pure Vanilla exclaimed, urging everyone to hush up and lend an ear. he patiently waited for their undivided attention, ready to address the situation at hand. Finally, the cookies heeded the king's call and directed their focus towards him. with unwavering obedience, they followed his commands and maintained a hushed silence.

"Now that our dear baker has finally returned, we must celebrate and welcome them!" with a cheerful and enthusiastic tone, he conveyed his message to the audience, announcing the return of their baker and urging them to make preparations to warmly welcome them back.

the roar of the crowd echoed through the stadium as they erupted in a thunderous cheer, their voices rising in unison to create a symphony of excitement and energy. It was a moment of pure joy, as the crowd continued to cheer, it was clear that this was a moment that made the cookies feel so much alive more than before!

The cookies are eagerly planning to celebrate their beloved baker's return, spending quality time with them, and most importantly, doing everything in their power to bring you back into their world.

You were completely immersed in the game for a solid hour, but as fatigue started to set in, you knew it was time to take a break. With a sigh of satisfaction, you exited the app and gently placed your phone on the table. as you stood up, you stretched your limbs and made your way towards the kitchen to grab a bite to eat.

now that you've just returned from a quick snack break, plopped down on your comfy couch, and grabbed your phone. But as you excitedly opened the gameplay, something strange began to happen. glitches started popping up on your screen, causing you to freak out a bit, you managed to keep your cool and reassure yourself that it was just a pesky bug... right?

"That's odd. It's probably just a minor glitch," you reassured yourself as you clicked the start button. Suddenly, your phone screen was illuminated with a blinding white light, but you remained calm for a second. This now freaked you out alot as you began to wonder if this is the end of your phone.

just as you were about to let out a scream, you suddenly found yourself sucked into the depths of your phone, and everything around you went pitch black.

...

As you slowly emerged from your slumber, you attempted to pry open your eyelids, your vision was a bit blurry and couldnt see who was trying to wake you up but all you could think was... a figure of familiar cookie, as you sat up and rubbed your noggin with a slight groan, "what the?..." you couldn't help but wonder if you were still dreaming.

"—ke up... Rise and Shine my dear—!"

The words echoed through your mind, jolting you awake. As you shook off the grogginess, causing a slight disorientation as your sight gradually sharpened. cookie...? wait... Pure Vanilla?!

you can't believe your eyes as you stare at the cookie in front of you. Did it magically appear out of nowhere? Is this some kind of illusion? a prank?! this must be a dream! right?! You blink, hoping to snap out of it. Pure Vanilla extended his hand, ready to help you up. But as you looked at him, your mind was still reeling and you hesitated to take his hand. You tried to figure out what's happening and your heart was racing.

The cookie patiently awaited your gesture to take his hand, as he sought to establish a sense of trust with you. Eventually, you reached out and grasped his hand, allowing him to assist you in rising to your feet.

as you rose to your feet, you couldn't help but take in your surroundings with a sense of bewilderment. everything feels so weird! the sky is normal... you then return your gaze back towards the cookie which appeared to be grinning radiantly.

"a-are you real?" You stammered, your finger trembling as you pointed towards him in disbelief. "t-this has to be some kind of joke... right?" You whispered the final words, feeling as you were about to lose your mind but then Pure Vanilla emitted a slight chuckle and stated, "Oh my dear, don't be silly, this is real indeed and this is no joke. " The cookie spoke in a gentle tone as he patted your head.

what?!... real??... theres no way you're here... could it be possible you're stuck in the game..!? how! just how!?

i literally have this draft saved.💀🏳️

anyways, hope u enjoy ig, bad ahh grammar LMAO

#crk x reader #cookie run x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #self aware cookie run #help this was back in 2023 and i somehow forgot to publish it LMAOO #pure vanilla cookie x reader

[waffles-art-writing]

JOKER - Task Force 141 x Reader

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First post - please ignore any mistakes as I write this on my phone at like midnight most of the time haha. Be Nice :’). Anyway, enjoy! Sorry if any of the slang or anything like that is wrong. I’ve never lived there (I’m in Australia)

GIF: thewriterg

Proofread: Half-assed proof-read sorry.

I got inspo for this from the song “Joker -Rory Webley”.

Summary: Joker (you) gets captured on a mission. Ghost and Soap search high and low for you as Gaz and Price gain as much information as they can about the man they suspect has taken you. Will you make it out and get back to your team?

Pairing: Task Force 141!Platonic x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.4K Roughly - kinda long sorry

Age Rating: 16+ Preferably, unless you can handle goreish stuff- otherwise anyone can read it

Codename: JOKER

Key: Y/N - Your Name, Y/N/N - Nickname. L/N - Last Name

Warning/Info: third person??, descriptions of injury, blood, weapons, normal COD stuff, mentions of Torture, Kidnapping, Childhood trauma, angst?? I think… FLUFF, Soft!Ghost. If theres anything I need to add please say so :)

EDIT: If this gets enough traction or if you guys want! I am more than happy to make a part two or turn it into a whole mini series :) Thanks for all the likes and reblogs <3 (Here’s the part Two)

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The rolling thunder in the distance rumbles, you can feel it through the ground. The air is thick with the feeling of rain, but not a single drop has touched the dry and dusty earth you are currently laying on. You’re watching the rest of the team work their way through the small village, your thermal scope making them glow like glow sticks at a rave. “Joker, how copy?” Price’s voice crackles to life in your ear, you press the button on the comms to reply. “Hear you loud an’ clear Cap” you reply, clicking the button to the pressed position to keep the comms open, you’re watching Ghost and Soap clean house in one of the larger ruins of a house.

“Do you ‘ave eyes on the target yet?” Price’s stern voice rumbles in your ear again. You adjust the scope to get a larger field of view, scanning all the windows in the dilapidated village. Your eyes narrow as you watch a figure poke their head around a wall not far from Ghost and Soap’s position. “Not yet Sir, but there's a shifty guy looking for Ghost and Soap” you comment “Ghost do a one eighty… some guy is looking for you from the building with a red door.” You pick up a low grunt in response from Ghost as Price acknowledges what you’ve said. You’re zoned in on watching any and all movement not yet spotting who you are looking for.

Sweat forms on your brow as you continue watching for any shifty people, the balaclava you wear has red paint smeared on it like a smile like the joker from Batman, the fabric is not helping with the heat. The faint sound of dirt shifting draws your attention from the scope, you push yourself to your knees while spinning around to face the source of the sound. Your glock raises steadily as you lift your arms in front of yourself, the pounding of your heart is deafening, blood pumping quickly, breathing quickens. You scan your surroundings, you’ve perched yourself just in front of a moderately sized group of boulders, shrouded in twiggy bushes.

The little amount of sun casts harsh shadows on the ground as you rock yourself up into a crouched position, your feet light on the ground as you stay close to the boulders. Your breathing falters as you see a shadow not matching up to a group of bushes and rocks in front of you. You whip around to the sound of more footsteps, your vision blurs, you feel your body go numb, black spots decorating your vision like snowfall. The faint sound of Ghost’s stern voice and Soap’s concern calls can be heard as your vision fades to nothing.

“Joker, do you have a visual?” Ghost asks as he looks over the wall he’s crouched behind, Soap just a few feet away. “Joker? Lass, can you hear us?” Soap barks out as he looks over his shoulder towards Ghost, his brows knitted together as he watches Ghost try reaching you again. “Price! Can you reach Joker?” Soap quickly questions through the comms, his mind running a thousand miles a minute as he tries to figure out what happened to you. “You two need to get the fuck out of there now, Joker’s been compromised.” Price barks through the radio, his voice commanding as ever as he himself looks over to Gaz who is desperately trying to figure out why you're not responding. “What?” Soap breathes out as he looks up towards the hill you were perched on, trying to see if you’re still there but to no avail. Ghost is quick as he spits out commands to Soap to follow him to the rendezvous spot you all agreed on if something went south.

“Sir, the locator she has is saying she’s still where she was before the comms went dark.” Gaz states as he types furiously across the keyboard, his eyes flicking between maps and coordinates. “The fuck is going on Gaz?” Price asks as he looks over the younger man’s shoulder. Price runs a hand down his face as he watches the white dot on the map blink, his heart skips a beat when he watches the light go out completely. “Fuck! No, no, no. Come on” Gaze mumbles as he tries to get the locator back online, his attempts falling short of the goal he wishes he reached. “Ghost, Soap, can you see Joker anywhere at all?” Price curses under his breath as he watches Ghost and Soap’s lights nearing the rendezvous spot. “Nothing… What the fuck is going on Gaz?!” Soap sneers down the line, Ghost staying quiet as he looks around, looking where you would’ve been coming from up on the ridge line.

“I don’t know, her locator is offline.”

“I thought you couldn’t turn ‘em off without smashin’ ‘em or disconnectin’ from our comms?” Soap growls out.

“You can turn them off if you know the correct button order but they are hard to get to without the proper tools”

“What do ya mean Gaz?” Ghost questions.

Gaz rubs his brow as he looks at the map again. “She either had to have the patience to disconnect it without breaking it, or someone broke it…” his words hang heavy over everyone’s head, everyone knows you’re not the patient kind, nor are you one to smash her own locator without telling them beforehand or without good reason.

“She’s been taken…” Soap’s voice cuts through the silence, everyone knows deep down that's what has happened yet they don’t want to believe it. “You two go search where she was, try to find anything you can on what happened to her. We need to get her back.” Price growls out, he marches out of the room where he was with Gaz, his footsteps echoing around the building.

Your heart is thumping, body aching, throat dry as the Sahara Desert. Your eyes hurt like they have been stabbed with nails. A small groan escapes you as you attempt to move, nothing happens. Your vision is blurry as you look down at yourself, noticing the rope around your wrists and ankles, securely tied to the chair you have the opportunity to sit in. “Wha- What the hell…” your voice is scratchy, hoarse, but clear. Your head snaps up, your eyes widening as you notice the balaclava you hardly ever took off is now missing, it's gone, your face on full display. “Welcome to the waking world Joker… or should we call you Y/N?” Your breath hitches as the voice sounds out from behind you.

You attempt to look at the man who spoke, your attempt failing as a hand comes to grip your hair holding your head forward. “Get your hands off me!” You scream, attempting to loosen yourself from the binds and get away from the bastard that's behind you. “Oh don’t be so harsh now” “Get your fuckin’ hands off of me you bastard!” “Now, now Y/N don’t be so… callous” his voice drips with a sickly sweet tone, your skin crawling as you watch him walk around to the front of you. You stare at him, brows furrowed, jaw clenched as you see it is the same man you were tasked with finding and killing.

“Cat got your tongue?” His eyes roam your body, the shirt you are wearing now sticking to you from sweat, your combat pants covered in dirt just like your shirt. Boots gone. “My eyes are up here you arsehole” you sneer as you watch his eyes trail back up to yours. They are dark, not dark like Ghost’s cold and calculating stare. They are dark like a man with sinister intentions, a predator who’s on the verge of snapping and turning into a hellbent rabid dog.

“Why are ya doing this? If you want information ye ain’t getting it outta me you sick bastard. You’re just a coward hiding behind a name.” Your voice darkens as you stare him down “You won’t even survive five seconds out there if it weren’t for yer’ guards or yer’ stupid little posse that kisses the earth ya walk on!” The man stares at you, his movements blur in the low light of the dark room. The cold blade of a knife traces along your cheek. “I wonder how you got these scars…” his voice trails off as he follows the pale scar that runs along the apple of your left cheek going towards your nose. The scar is from your early years in the armed forces, you were sparring with a fellow comrade which ended up with you face in the dirt and cutting your cheek on the end of the rough mat you were on.

“How about this one?” The tip of the knife pushes against the corner of your mouth, a small scar going to the side, almost like it’s extending your smile by a fraction. You’ve had it since you were young, you were using a stake knife, you were playing around with the knife and using it like a fork. Your parents were out and they left a steak for the babysitter to cook, yet the sitter was distracted by her phone. You accidentally moved the knife slicing the corner of your mouth open. Your parents ended up scolding you while you sat on a bed in the overnight section of the local doctors surgery.

“That’s none of ya fucking business” you sneer as you lean away from the blade. “Well I’ll now know where this one will come from, hold still… let’s match the joker smile that’s on your mask to your pretty little face shall we?” “No, no no no no no no!”

Boots splash in the puddles of mud, rain falling heavily from the clouds overhead, grumbles of curses can be heard throughout the group as they march through the drenched ground. Soap is quick to push the door to the safe house open, Gaz not far behind, followed by Price, Ghost a few strides out. Price immediately heads to the wall decorated in maps and sheets of information, Gaz opening the laptop on the closest surface. Soap looks over to Ghost. His shoulders rigid, eyes set in a hard stare, hand in tight hold around the strap of the rifle case you decorated with patches from all the places you’ve been.

The gun was gone, you were gone, but the case was still there sitting in the dirt.

Soap and Ghost looked around the area you were in, just as they were getting close, the clouds opened up the heavy rain fell, it drenched the earth quickly like a burst fire hydrant. Ghost was the one to spot the case hap-hazardly thrown into the bushes off to the side. Ghost knew you adored making at least something personalised, make it seem less… daunting…

Ghost places the case on the table, keeping a hand on it as Soap steps up next him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “The lass is probably already on her way back to us L.T…” Soap quietly states, his voice low. “She’s strong… she’ll be back with us in no time”. Ghost looks to Soap out the corner of his eye, watching the Scotsman walk off towards Price. “She better…” His voice is low, a small hint of worry dancing in his tone as he runs a gloved hand over the patches on the case.

The taste of iron rests on your tongue. Blood.

Throbbing, stinging pain burns across your face. Pain.

The burning feeling of aching muscles flows through your legs, arms, back… Just everywhere.

All you see is red, the colour of blood, the smell of death. The corpses of men littler the corridor you stand in, the men that once beat you to a bloody pulp, talked down upon you like you’re some barnyard rat.

Sound of blood rushing fills your head. Your feet drag across the ground as you limp over the dead men towards the door, the door that leads to the outside world, to your escape, to your freedom… to your team.

Rain, water, cool air, wet ground. You let the rain run down your face, your hair a tousled mess as it clings to your forehead. From sweat? From rain or from blood? You don’t know and you don’t care as you stumble through the slippery mud. Your mind is flooded with the desire to get somewhere warm and dry, to be surrounded by your team, your friends, your found family.

The dark silhouette of the safe house can be seen amongst the other small village buildings, the safe house isn’t far from where the mission was taking place, it was for convenience. It was just over half an hour by car, but by foot it was just over seven hours of nonstop walking. Your feet are red with blisters from walking across the earth. You were lucky enough to find a quad bike off to the side of the run down building you were held in, but it quickly ran out of gas within the first 10 minutes of riding it. You were close to giving up right there and then, you were barely able to stay upright, your grip on the handlebars was almost non-existent. You dumped the dead bike in a ditch, not giving a shit about how out of place it looked.

Four hours of nonstop walking, rain, mud, wind and the occasional moments of running to avoid being spotted by someone driving past.

Tears rim your eyes as you approach the front door of the safe house, inputting the code in the keypad, your breathing ragged as you nudge the door, the creaking of hinges sounding out, muttering can be heard from behind the door leading into the main common room. Using your good shoulder, the doors open quickly and the voices go silent as they turn to the sound of the doors opening. Your eyes are half lidded, your right hand clutching your left bicep. “I-.. I’m sorry…” your voice comes out mumbled, your legs quiver as you feel yourself tipping forwards.

Ghost turns to the doors, his back once to them, his eyes widened as he sees your tired, bloodied and dirty face. “I-.. I’m sorry…” his feet moving before he even realises he’s moving, Soap right behind him. “I’ve got you kid, I’ve got you…” he mumbles as his arms wrap around your waist, his grip firm but careful to not hurt you any further. “Lass…” Soap’s voice is soft as he approaches you and Ghost. Your face is pushed up against Ghost’s chest, blood still dripping down your face. Your hands clutch to Ghost’s tactical vest, the rough surface rubbing against the deep gashes that drag heavily across your cheeks. “J-Johnny…” you whimper out as your hazy eyes focus on the blue eyed Scotsman next to you. “I’m here Lass, don’t worry.”

Only you and Ghost have the pleasure of calling the ruthless Sergeant Soap MacTavish ‘Johnny’.

Everything around you is muffled, nothing is coherent enough for your fizzled mind to make out. You feel your body get scooped out from under you, your head leans into the junction of Ghost’s neck and shoulder. His broad frame keeps you stable and warm, Soap is rushing ahead to the kitchen moving everything out of the way on the small island bench. “Shit, kid, what did they do to you…” Price curses, his question comes out more like a statement. “I… I didn’t tell... I didn’t s-say… anything” your mumbled words slur as you lean into Ghost more. “Don’t close your eyes L/N. Keep those pretty eyes open.”

‘Did he call my eyes pretty?’

You whimper when Ghost places you on the kitchen island, grabbing the med kit from Gaz who was running in from getting it from the bathroom. Price is standing to your right, Gaz next to him. Ghost to your left, while Soap wraps a tourniquet around your left thigh.

“We gotta cut your pants lass, I know you like these ones” Soap chuckles lightly as opens the pant leg up to your thigh. He’s quick to clean the bullet wound that marks your flesh. Ghost has gone quiet, his whole body rigid from head to toe, his hands working quickly to rip open your shirt, not hesitating to run his hands gently down your ribs. “Gaz, get a bowl of warm water” Soap barks out as he realises what state your feet are in, his touch is firm but careful.

Your body feels numb, the men around you are fuzzy, your eyes roam Price’s face as he holds your shoulders down when Soap says he’s gonna have to dig the bullet out. You don’t move, other than a pained and strained cry leaves you as you feel Soap pulling the bullet out. It wasn’t too deep. Thank god.

“Joker, look at me girl. Keep your eyes on me, that's it sweetheart.” Price’s voice is stern, commanding, as he desperately tries to keep you awake. “I’m sorry C- Cap…” Price shakes with his head lightly, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I know, kid, I know. You just need to keep talking, okay? Can you do that?” You nod your head slightly, cringing when Ghost touches a bruised rib while applying anti-inflammatory cream to it, hoping to ease the pain. “Ow- you arse…” you mumble as you glance at Ghost, who’s eyes squint slightly like he’s smirking. “M’sorry, keep your eyes on Price for me.” He says gently as he takes a damp cloth to your cheek. You flinch away harshly, tears falling down your face even quicker now. The adrenaline is wearing off quickly, the pain from everything is bubbling to the surface.

“No. No no no” you whimper out as you try to hide your face away from Ghost’s touch. Price and Ghost swap positions naturally. You glance up at Ghost whose face is now upside down when he looks at you, your eyes blurry with tears. “Kid… Love, you gotta look at me. I need to clean your face to see where you’re bleeding from.” His voice is muffled by the Balaclava, and hard skull mask adorning the dark fabric.

“He- He said let’s m-match the mask… make my f-face match my mask… he-” your pained voice states, tears streaming down your face, Price’s grip on your hand and shoulder tightens. Gaz’s hand’s still from cleaning the cuts and scrapes around your ankles and feet. Soap halts his bandaging of your thigh, they all stare at you with stormy eyes, filled with rage. Ghost’s hands cup your jaw gently, his fingers twitching with adrenaline from the rage, his eyes darken as he stares into your teary and puffy eyes. “I’m gonna fucking kill him…” he sneers lowly, your voice sounds like a small kitten when you speak.

“You can’t….” “Why can’t he kill ‘em Lass?” Soap questions as he secures the bandage around your thigh. “He’s… he’s already dead… I killed him.” Your voice breaks when a sob racks through your body. “He’s dead, in a puddle of his own blood… I killed him…” you repeat, “… he’s unrecognisable now…” you lift your hand to place it on Ghost’s forearm. Your hands shake as you do so, Ghost snaps out of whatever trance of rage and concern he was in. He nods his head, Price has gone to call for a medic evac, Gaz and Soap continue cleaning any other wounds you have.

You lean into Ghost’s touch, allowing him to clean one side of your face at a time. The gashes are reasonably deep, not deep enough feel from the inside of your cheeks thankfully. “I can’t stitch these L/N… the doctor will have to do that. All I can do is cover them with gauze and tape…” he sounds sorry, only slightly, his eyes still burning with anger but there is some softness of concern in them. “Just… just do what you can Ghost…” the man nods as he gently sits you up, allowing him to see if the wounds will bleed when you are up right.

You sit there, eyes heavy and dull. The dried tear stains are still on your cheeks as Ghost gently applies antiseptic cream and gauze, followed by medical tape. You wince at his touch. You feel like you just got your wisdom teeth removed, your head cloudy, your face aching, eyes sore.

“Ghost the heli will be here in five minutes, is she ready to move?” Price barks out as he walks over. Gaz and Soap throwing anything dirty and used away in the trash. Ghost looks from Price to you, his eyes scanning your body from head to toe. Noticing the skin around your ribs already turning a dark blue and purple. That’s gonna hurt. Your hands shake as you push yourself to stand on the ground, as soon as your feet touch the ground your knees give way.

Ghost is clutching you to his chest, you whimper as you clutch to him like your life depends on it. “Doesn’t look like it, Sir.” Ghost states as he keeps his arms under your arms, to keep you upright. “Well, gotta carry her then.” Ghost just nods as he leans back, making you look up at him. “Johnny’s gonna carry you okay?” Ghost states as he sees Soap approach you two, one of his shirts in hand and a blanket. “… O-... Okay…” You look over at Soap and let one of your hands reach out to him, doing a grabby-hand motion.

The Scotsman chuckles as he moves over, slipping the spare shirt around your head, slipping your arms through it gently. Ghost wraps the blanket around your shoulders, making sure you’re snug once you’re in Soap’s arms. “Comfy there Lass?” His low chuckle makes you smile as you lean into him more, letting your eyes close. “Yeah… just tired…” you mumble as you nuzzle into his neck, his cologne comforting you in a way. “Don’t sleep just yet, we gotta get you outta here.” He states as he walks to the door, following Gaz and Price. Ghost behind you with your belongings and Soaps rifle and his own. “Keep talkin’ to us, love.” Ghost states as he makes eye contact with you, you nod your head gently. The sound of the chopper overhead is loud, the wind from the blades and the rain makes you bring the blanket up more, making you curl in on yourself.

“Can they go any fuckin’ slower?” Soap laughs at your complaint about waiting for the chopper to land. “I don’t think so or they would stall Lass.” You chuckle with Soap as he tightens his grip on you as you approach the chopper, a medic is there waiting, you groan as you realise that Soap has to put you down. You wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly to show you don't want to be out down. “No.” The medic looked at you confused, she was ready to help you with your injuries. “Lass we gotta put-” “No. No. No.” You cower further into Soap’s chest as you see the medic reach for you. “Fuck off!” You growl, Soap’s arms wrap around you further as he gets comfortable in the chopper. Ghost sits next to him, Price is up by the pilot, Gaz on the other side of Soap.

The ride back to the main base of operations is quick, there's mostly silence amongst everyone, other than the medic who keeps asking questions about your injuries. Soap mainly answers, Ghost pitching in when needed. The whole time you kept your face hidden in Soap’s shoulder or neck, keeping the blanket up by your face.

You wouldn't let go of Soap until you were in the medical wing, laying on a bed. But even then you wanted at least one of the boys to be in the room. The nurses and head medic came in and out the entire time, asking questions upon questions, preparing you for further treatment of your condition. You eventually fell asleep after getting some pain medication and proper medical attention to all the injuries.

But when it came to stitching up the gashes that made you look like the real-life Joker from Batman, you requested Ghost or Soap to be there. They both ended up being in the room, Ghost and Soap were standing to your left, your face turned towards them, having the left side already dealt with and covered. The head medic did whatever he could to help lessen the scarring. Ghost was like a brick wall, unmoving, cold eyes as he watched the medic. Soap was letting you play with his hands, and fingers, which allowed him to play with yours in return.

Blinding lights.

The smell of cleaning products.

Beeping. Bloody Beeping.

Your eyes crack open, your nose scrunching as the blinding lights flood your vision. Your head feels heavy, and your body aches. You hear the sound of the heart monitor and another softer sound. You look around the small room, three figures can be found in the room. Soap and Gaz leaning their heads on the bed. Your right hand is held in Soap’s as he snores softly, Gaz leaning on his arms that are crossed on the bed, out cold. Ghost in the armchair in the dark corner of the room, his chin to his chest, safe to say he’s probably asleep. The door to the room opens softly, you see Price closing the door with his foot.

He smiles when he sees you awake, he approaches and places two paper cups on the table next to you. His hand falls to your shoulder, a light squeeze in greeting. You smile up at him, your free hand wrapping around his. “Got you some juice, they said not hot liquid for a week…” he mumbles softly as he hands you the paper cup. “Thanks, Cap.” You softly say, barely above a whisper, your voice scratchy from just waking up. “Those two-“ Price points to Soap and Ghost “-have been here the whole time, Gaz got up to get food for them but otherwise he's been here most of the time.” “And you?” “I came just after you passed out, Laswell sends her regards as well.” You nod in acknowledgment, your eyes finding sudden interest in the liquid in your cup.

“You did good kid, I’m proud of you.” You look up to Price who is now sipping his coffee, tears form in your eyes as you nod your head. “Drink your juice kid, get some sleep too.” He states as he ruffles your hair.

You are safe, protected, inside, warm and dry. Surrounded by your team, your friends, your found family.

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#fanfic #x reader #soap cod #ghost cod #soap mactavish #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #soap mw2 #141 x reader #task force 141 #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #cod x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #x yn #soap x y/n #ghost x y/n #soap x you #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #x you fluff #ghost fluff #soap fluff #simon riley fluff #fluff #angst with a happy ending

[the-xolotl]

Thundering Rain

Qí Yù | Rafayel x Reader

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: You and Rafayel cozy up during a cold storm to enjoy each other’s company when you realize he got up for something but didn’t come back to cuddle you.

—• TAGS: Domestic fluff, kinda ooc Rafayel (? if you squint), no use of Y/N, use of the pet name my love, beta read (imagine that)

A thunderstorm had been raging outside for hours now and you are thankful, for once, about the harsh seasonal changes because not just did you enjoy the rain and the majestic flashing of light that occasionally lit up the otherwise dark gray sky, you didn’t have to go to work. You could enjoy a leisure day indoors, listening to the calming sound of the rain hitting the window and the deep thunder clapping after each rapid flash of light with a warm blanket and hot beverages.

It’s true you loved your job, loved the adrenaline of being a hunter, the thrill of battle, but it was nice to sit back and relax for a bit. And some reprieve was definitely due after these past few weeks, Linkon City had been seeing more and more Wanderers roaming inside the more civilian populated areas, your team along with some back ups had been dispatched as first responders almost every time; it’s been busy to say the least.

And Rafayel had definitely not appreciated your constant absence. You don’t blame him, you missed him too. Because your job wasn’t just turning monsters to dust and protecting innocent people; each attack meant a lot of paperwork, desk work, meetings. It meant time away from home and away from your already clingy, needy lover.

Who, speaking of, had suspiciously gotten up from cuddling you in the sofa and hadn’t come back.

The now cool spot behind you made you realize his absence. But as you were about to get up to look for the purple-head you heard his voice, “Stay where you are, how you are, for another 30 minutes…” Rafa trailed off.

He didn’t even ask politely yet you remained on your spot no questions asked and turned your head back to look outside the large, tall window that gave the perfect view to the backyard. “So that’s where you’ve been the whole time,” you chuckled softly, of course he was.

“Inspiration should never be wasted or ignored. The best master pieces ever created were in spontaneous bursts of creativity,” He stated as if it was the most honest to god truth. Yeah, alright.

Amused you simply retorted, “Is that a fact?”

“Most likely,” he shot back before taking a small pause, “Besides, you barely noticed after almost an entire hour I didn’t come back beside you.”

The last part sounded more begrudging, you didn’t have to look at him to know he’s pouting. You couldn’t help but giggle, “Yeah, my back was getting cold. That’s how I noticed you were still gone.” Rafa let out the most offended scoff, he didn’t even dignify with an answer.

The room falls silent again save for the rhythmic pattering of rain, it’s then you realize he’s actually concentrating and you can’t help the little leap your heart makes. “Are you painting me?”

“As I was coming back from the kitchen the scene and atmosphere looked perfect so I just had to capture it,” he explains, “I haven’t had the opportunity to play around with darker tones or paints in a while and I recently acquired some very high quality materials to produce stunning shades. Very rare finds, honestly.” The Lemurian continued on to explain how and where he’d manage to obtain them, of course pointedly mentioning that he needed something to do in your absence because it was just so so boring.

More than half an hour had past, that’s for sure, as you filled the time with more banter and teasing remarks.

“Rafa can I move now? I’m going to have neck pain and be stuck in this position forever if I don’t get up soon,” you whine loudly, “The painting won’t be needed to immortalize this moment then.” He only tsk’s at you, calling you over to see the painting.

“Holy shit you weren’t kidding, the pigments are so rich!” You know little to nothing about art, any scattered knowledge or artsy lingo has definitely come from listening to your boyfriend talk about art. You study the painting detail by detail, from top to bottom. He really does deserve the fame, not that you’re biased.

Rafayel smiles big like a satisfied cat (ironically) at your praise and expression of awe.

Though the more you steady the painting the more you realize the gloomy tempest going out outside was definitely not the focus of this piece like you had originally thought, despite the fact that the oversized window gave the perfect opportunity to capture it so.

Instead you realize most of the spotlight was you. Rafayel had clearly taken his time; each curve of your features was perfectly drawn and shaded, the way the light made light and dark contrasts against the little skin that was not covered by the quilt, the shine in your eyes that reflected the lighting that occasionally flashed and the hair that framed your face. The content of your expression clearly denoting how engrossed you’ve been on the weather outside, he even included the faintest curl of the corner of your lip. And you looked cozy as hell with the blanket all the way tucked up to your chest and your hands wrapped around the (then) steaming mug of coffee.

A heat crept up your cheeks and chest. Is this how he saw you? Is this what his eyes see when he looks at you? Truly? You must’ve had your thoughts written in your face because he breaks the long silence with in a soft voice, “You are the inspiration of the painting, my love,” circling back to one of his earlier comments. You turn to face him fully, meeting eyes as he was already looking at you, as soft smile that matched the softness of his voice spread across his lips.

“It’s going to be part of the next exhibit, on a very special spot.”

“I’m sorry what?” You lamely ask, astonished but still in a monotone.

Rafayel had the audacity to laugh in your face as he gave the cavas a few strokes with the brush to accentuate some shadows. “It’s not finished yet, of course. I will accept no less than perfection,” he says slowly, words as methodical as his painting technique, “Specially when it comes to you.”

If you weren’t blushing before you sure are now. You shove him gently when he takes the brush off the painting, attempting and failing to hide how much he managed to fluster you.

Another long pause passed, but this felt more intimate, watching him closely add some details, switch between different size brushes for finer details. Rafayel sure went into his own bubble when he worked, yet he is always somehow very aware of his surroundings. At least at the moment he was.

“Not a lot of people get the privilege to watch me like this, so up close, let alone live. Are you feeling how privileged you are?” The tone of playful arrogance brings you back and pops the bubble of comfortable silence. But it does make you giggle.

These little moments make you fall deeper in love with him.

⟢ A/N: feels kinda funny posting my writing for the first time in the internet tbh. i usually only write for my friends/myself so i hope you enjoy my lil rot. it’s been raining so much in my area it gives me a very cozy vibe.

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© 2024 the-xolotl — all rights reserved. do NOT alter, translate, or repost my works on any platform without my consent, do not claim my content as yours.

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⤷ dividers : cafekitsune ✰

#love and deepspace #rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #qi yu x reader #qi yu #fanfic #writters on tumblr #fandom #domestic fluff #painting #oneshot #lnds #character x reader #romantic #romance #rain