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velvetures · 9 months

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Hi!!! I saw your post about taking some requests so I thought that I'll give it a shot. If it's possible, could you maybe do a Captain Price one? I haven't seen a story about him yet on your page, so I hope that this request can finally add one to your masterlist.

So here it goes: A Price x virgin!reader one. I feel like he's the type of guy to be really gentle and slow when he realizes that the reader is inexperienced, mostly due to his calm and caring nature. But once they start to get comfy, he'll get kind of rough in some way? And aftercare, I just know that this man would be an expert at it. Would help in washing them up in a tub or even cooking them a meal after. I could see that he's also a sucker for cuddles and just being close to them in general.

So yeah, I really hope that you'll consider this request and possibly write something out of it. If not, that's totally okay!!

Side note: I just wanted to say that I love your stories and that it brings me comfort, too:))

I Knew, Sweetheart

A/N: I'm so sorry this is so fucking looonngg!! I just couldn't get it right and I ended up going for "better is more" in the hopes that it'll hide the god-awful writing. :( Anyways, please don't burn me at the stake. It's my first Price fic, and I've still not got his voice or character dialed in. Summary: Reader is Price's gf, and while they've been together for a little while... sex hasn't come up. Nor the fact that the reader is a virgin!. Reader goes about bringing it up a little unconventionally, and things progress. T/W: virgin!reader, fem-reader, NS/FW 18+ ONLY, p-in-v sex, fingering, unprotected sex (don't do that IRL), established relationship, a little bit of an age-difference?, cursing?, first-time anxiety?, aftercare, probably missed something else. proofreading is for people w/ friends of which I have none.

John Price set himself apart from most of the men that he often worked alongside when it came to matters of his personal life and the ways in which he operated. A lot of people would often make jokes, saying it was nothing more than his being an “old man” who couldn’t adjust to the newer ways of life. But fuck, he wasn’t that old when it came right down to it, and yes he liked going along with the traditional ways specifically when it came to relationships, at least when he had the chance to. He’d been a lot younger at one point, not seeing how detrimental his actions could’ve been affecting the women he associated with or spent a few hours in bed with just to leave without another word sent their way.

Captain Price knew he’d made many mistakes when the heart was involved. He threw away a lot of advice he’d been given growing up -some good and some bad- all because he thought he knew better or had enough intelligence to figure it out as he went. Much of that changed when he started realizing that he wasn’t fulfilled in the slightest. For a few years, he was bitter over the emptiness. Not understanding where it came from or how the fuck he could get rid of it. Unraveling layer after layer like a frayed pair of jeans, John kept questioning how he’d come so far just to be that alone. Praying his mistakes hadn’t destroyed his chances of finding a little sliver of humanity outside of his work to motivate him. Keep him sane in the most bitter of hours, and soft when everything and everyone else around him kept adding brick after brick into never-ending, emotionless walls.

Then you showed up out of nowhere, sitting on a barstool in one of the pubs he frequented when he had some time away from his work. Close to home and nowhere near busy enough to call a bar or club; John immediately thought you looked like you’d taken a wrong turn and wound up in an old man’s hangout. It took him a few hours of watching out of the corner of his eye to finally weigh the options of being shot down, or possibly making something out of a whole lot of nothing. His offering to buy you a drink led to taking a few puffs off of his cigar outside. From there he learned just about everything about you within the first few weeks of seeing you or calling here and there.

You liked to talk, a lot. Something John was thankful for since he developed a bad habit of just staring at your pretty face instead of listening like he knew too. Fuck it made him feel ten years younger. And that was something else that made your relationship feel unusual to the Captain. More than six years in age difference didn’t sound all that significant on paper. Yet it was more interesting than either of you thought it would be initially. Aside from just simple pop culture references and enjoyment of music and other low-stakes things, your lives were on different paces. John was stable… at least as stable as his work allowed for. While you’d finally got the job you’d been dreaming of, and hadn’t been working for a full year when you met him. Everything all together challenged John, and you as well, with figuring out what you wanted from each other. How you planned -or wanted to- go about making that happen. And if being serious was something that you shared an interest in.

A few months of going on dates and John walking you home was traded for him sharing half the dresser drawers in his bedroom with you. He was gone nearly all of the time, which put a damper on things but he liked having peace of mind that you were safe and in his home. Besides, it was a short drive from his house to your work and you could stop paying half your paychecks on rent and start saving it up for anything you really wanted. At least… anything John hadn’t already bought or given you. Well… there was one thing John hadn’t given you. And it began gnawing at your mind harder and harder every time he went away for a mission and came home without the slightest inclination to do more than give you a kiss.

John Price still hadn’t asked or hinted at wanting to have sex with you.

At first, you thought it was refreshing. Seeing a man old enough and patient to understand that sex wasn’t just given but earned. Yet every time you thought there would be a moment after a date or a ‘welcome home reunion’ where he’d finally bring up the topic, your expectations fell short. Plenty of excuses floated around your brain, including the more rational ones: he was just very respectful. While others were much more self-conscious and saddening: he was getting it somewhere else, or he could see that you weren’t experienced. The age-old struggle of being a virgin past the age of eighteen.

Too old for half the population, and far too young and inexperienced for the others. Sheltered didn’t describe you. You had toys and knew how to give head as well as having been on the receiving end. But going “all the way” eluded you by some miracle or curse. Looking at John in comparison to yourself was just as attractive as it was intimidating. You knew better than to think he didn’t know his way around the bedroom. He was just too smooth. Far beyond any man, you attempted a relationship previously. You wanted to think he respected you, but at the same time, waiting for much longer for him to make a move just felt like another eternity you lacked the patience and confidence to endure. So after a long night of overthinking and wondering how you could even go about bringing it up, you made a decision that when he got back home from his latest mission, you’d be the one to bring it up.

God your hands were sweating. He was supposed to have been home two hours ago and there was still no sign of his truck in the driveway or a single message from him on the phone you had gripped between your damp palms. Everything had been just fine all day, until the sun began to set over the hillside in the backyard, leaving you less than six hours away from John coming through the door. Worried didn’t even begin to explain how your stomach was tied in knots with a low burning fire in your throat. John had been nothing short of perfect -save for being gone so often- and you knew there wasn’t a single reason for you to be so overwhelmed at the mere thought of being an adult and asking him to have sex with you. Of course… You made up your mind to omit that you’d never done it before and just hoped the Captain would be too preoccupied with something else to notice.

Noticing the details quickly got turned around on you when the front door creaked open on its hinges and you hadn’t the slightest clue that John was standing halfway through the threshold with bags slung over his back and a small look of curiosity on his face. His pretty little thing, sitting on the couch with her arms wrapped around her bent knees and a deep stare somewhere far away from the both of them. He had to admit it wasn’t the first time he had caught you sitting with your eyes “comfortable” as you liked to call it; however, it was the first time he’d seen you wearing something quite that lacy for no damn good reason before.

Some kind of black, strappy, and frilly little number. It hardly left anything to the imagination, and John had to force himself not to go into deep thought about how you’d even got into the thing without instructions. It made your figure that much more eye-catching, and after staring at nothing but rain and mud for two weeks you were a sight for sore eyes. Even a Captain had to admit his biggest weaknesses to overcome himself and improve, but he wasn’t sure in that second if he could ever overcome -much less forget- how divine you looked. Honestly, he didn’t even know you owned it to begin with. But by the way, you kept spinning your phone in your hand, he had the vague gut feeling that you had something on your mind. A little more than dinner or fussing over the possible injuries he could’ve sustained while gone.

“Waiting on someone?” He asked lowly, trying his best not to startle you too much. Right away your eyes locked on his and widened. Almost like a little rabbit cornered by a fox and no hole to scurry into. He watched a flash of sudden panic overtake you and how quickly you reached for one of the throw blankets at the end of the couch to hide behind. Price chewed his tongue, forcing himself not to smirk at you at the moment. Wanting so badly to tease you a little bit for looking so sexy in that bodysuit, but acting nothing short of the little shy church girl getting kissed on the cheek for the first time.

“J-John,” Your voice sputters on his name a bit, forcing a smile to his face. He couldn’t help it after being away for this long without the chance to hear you even over the phone for a few minutes. “You’re home a little late.”

He nods, guilty. “Delayed flight. Weather kept us from movin’ out on time.”

Careful, he dropped his bags off at the front door without the slightest concern about how long they’d sit there. More important things were swirling around in his head. Trying to decipher if you were planning something and just backed out, or if you just needed a little bit of coaxing to not be so shy. Hostage negotiation wasn’t something he thought would ever come in handy when it came to interacting with you, yet John found himself rounding around the chairs on the other side of the living room from you, and planning each step he made to ensure he didn’t spook you. That lingerie wasn’t for nothing, and he desperately needed to know what you planned on doing with it.

He licked his lips, taking a steadying breath. “What’s under the blanket, sweetheart?”

You swallowed thickly, “N-nothing… I thought - I hoped it’d look nice,” Fumbling pathetically for an excuse, you finally spit one out all under the very soft and lightly amused eyes of one John Price. “It doesn’t fit.” The second it left your lips, you internally cursed yourself.

John’s eyebrows raised, instantly grabbing onto that loose thread and pulling on it. “I’m sure you’re wrong about that…” He came closer, standing just in front of you on the couch with his hands on his hips. “Come on, why don’t you let me have a look? I’ll give you a second opinion.” His words made your heart stutter, and you weakly shook your head in response.

“I should just return it.” You mutter, scooting over to the side of him and attempting to sneak off with your protective blanket.

You’re not even close to getting away from John when he chuckles, one arm curling around your shoulders and the other getting a firm grip on the material you’re hiding under. Naturally, you don’t exactly fight to get away. But a furious blush breaks out over your cheeks and neck, feeling the preverbal trap tightened around your throat. He’s turning around and sitting down on the couch with a nonnegotiable silent order for you to take a seat straddling his lap. That alone is enough to drive you up a wall with anxious feelings. Not that you’d never sat on his lap before -actually it was quite common- but under these circumstances, there was a lot more than just a little bit of heat passing between the both of you. Very slowly, John found the edge of the blanket and slipped a hand under, searching out for your skin and eventually landing on a little bit of the lacy material stretching in a high cut over your hip. You can actually see his eyes darken, tracing along the hemline and mentally picturing what was under his fingers. Touch alone was making you squirm, avoiding eye contact and trying to keep quiet so as not to embarrass yourself even more than you already felt.

“Oh, sweetheart… fits like a fuckin’ glove.” He whispers lowly, hand palming your asscheek and toying with the thin little string that disappeared into the cleft.

“It’d be a shame for you to get all dressed up… go through all this trouble… then not let me see your hard work.” His voice lulled slow and steady, swaying your fears just enough for you to feel your head nod up and down a couple of times before letting the blanket fall off your shoulders and pool on Price’s lap. The front of the bodysuit had been well-hidden up until now, with you sitting so lady-like in his lap. But the thin straps just crossing around your tits and holding them up without a single stitch of material covering them totally, John thought he’d been shot right through the chest. Between the innocent look in your eyes, and that damned outfit making you appear about as sinful as hell, he couldn’t keep from letting out a low growl and squeezing your ass just hard enough to make you gasp.

“This is what you were trying to hide?” His breathlessness couldn’t be masked, nor could the frequent shift in his eyes between your practically bare chest and eyes. John chuckled, hands drifting towards your hips and up to rest on each side of your ribs. Pushing your tits together just a little bit, almost bewitched by the sight of you like that on his lap. “Oh, you’re such a pretty girl…” He muttered, almost to himself.

Shifting in his lap, you tried to keep your growing arousal and nervousness under control. Each touch set you on fire, and with John moving this slow you couldn’t be sure you’d live long enough to see another day. It was too good feeling a man actually appreciated a woman in front of him. Not just finding the small bits and pieces he preferred and overlooking the rest. You knew being nervous was natural, but the more John rubbed and soothed, it was getting harder and harder not to whine or ask him for just a little bit more to satiate you. Right away, John’s eyes darted up to you, and something you couldn’t quite describe flashed through his eyes just long enough for him to lip his lips and sit up a little straighter, pulling you to sit straddling just one of his thighs.

“I think I know what you want, sweetheart.” He smiled so damn affectionately that it made your heart jump. “But just so I know… why don’t you go ahead and tell me, that way I don’t miss anything. I don’t like to disappoint.” Toying with the zipper of his sweater, you suck in a nervous breath to steady your nerves.

“I want you to, have sex with me.” You hardly whisper the second part, still drawing your own attention towards anything minute that could serve as a focal point with your body shaking so badly.

“Hmm…” His thoughtful hum sends shivers up your spine, and the feeling of his hands massaging your hips makes it hard to breathe. “So I was right,” A smile crosses his face. “Well then, how about you go ahead and take care of this.” He growls a little, his fingers slowly tracing over the barely-there strip of fabric covering your core, already soaking wet with your arousal. Your little moan slips out before you can even try to cover your mouth, and John’s fingers slip away like he was purposefully trying to be mean and deny you a taste of relief.

“John, please…” You whimper, hands resting on his shoulders hoping he’ll take mercy on you.

He just shifts down to rest against the couch a little more and bounces his knee a few times, sending jolts of extreme sensation right up your clit into your lower stomach. You didn’t get it at first… what he wanted you to do. But now you did, and John almost grinned when he saw the realization, followed by the shy look you gave him. Encouragement was needed, and he was more than happy to deliver. Slowly rocking your hips back and forth along his pants, purposefully having settled you on the side that his thigh-holster was strapped to, adding two extra ridges that instantly began working to overstimulate you. It was too good, and not enough. Pushing your inhibitions just a little further out of focus and forcing you to really focus on how nothing more than his thigh was getting you to a release quicker than any toy or trick you’d tried on yourself. Impeccable alone, it was his low voice right in your ear that made everything outside of John Price holding you on his lap disappear.

“Doin’ so good, sweetheart…”

“Making me feel bad for not helping sooner… If I would’ve known how needy you were.”

“That’s it, love. Keep going, want you to let go. Right on my lap, then I’ll take care of you.”

His lips suffocated your moans and whimpers, swallowing each little pleasure and claiming it as his own. John hadn’t taken his time like this in years, but damn it was special seeing you -his pretty little thing- so needy and whining his name. So sensitive to the texture of his cargos that he was actually wondering if you could withstand something more… purposeful. God, he hoped you could. He wanted to tase you so bad after feeling just how wet you were. Fuck, even the dark khaki color of his pants was getting darker with each little jerk and grind of your hips. Thighs twitching and clenching around him like you couldn’t get the right angle, and were slowly getting more pathetically and innocently frustrated. He needed you hungry though… wanted to ensure that this was done properly. And if it meant withholding from you just enough to make sure you were desperate, he’d bite back every urge he had to give you everything right away.

John knew right away that you were a virgin. Either by just his ability to read people or by the way that you didn’t particularly use sex appeal to draw him in right when you first met. You weren’t innocent of how you looked though, and always dressed and acted much to the benefit of being seen as the valuable woman Price always believed you to be. Yet it didn’t escape his curiosity as to how you’d been able to slip through the grasps of so many disrespectful and predatory men who would’ve done anything to have taken their chance at you. Fuck, he was thankful beyond belief. He hated thinking that you could’ve needed to experience pain or discomfort at any point… but he never asked you simply out of respect and the knowledge that at some point the topic would come up. Only, it didn’t come to fruition quite like he expected. In fact, he never imagined that you’d had your first orgasm with him riding his thigh while sitting on the couch in his house. He wouldn’t change it for a goddamn thing, though.

In the moment, he’d wanted nothing more than to hear you. After hearing so many little whines and pleas for his help, he knew you’d sound so beautiful. But his own intentions fell to desire when he crashed his lips to yours, taking those cries of pleasure for himself. There would be plenty more to come for him to bask in the sound of. The first one though? He needed it. It was his to taste and keep forever. Alongside the taste of your pleasure, he relished in your shaking legs and the harsh bite of your nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to feel through two shirts. He felt your desperation just as deeply as his own, and while his cock straining against his zipper was not totally lost to his attention, John could easily stave off his own needs to make sure you were satiated just as thoroughly as deserved for coming on his pants like the good little things you always were.

“Good girl… You did so good for me, sweetheart.” His rough voice rumbled against your ear as his kissed you softly.

Petting your hair and rubbing his other hand down your quivering thigh. As much as he wanted to keep you right here and not disturb your come-down, he wanted you in bed. Needed to see you laid out like he pictured when jerking his cock after weeks of pent-up stress needed a release. Fuck he wanted to take you slow in his bed and wake up in the morning with you wrapped around him and the smell of sex on the sheets. Before you could really even catch your breath, John had you spread out on the bed with him staring down at you almost astonished. You were just as affected, seeing the heavy outline of his dick parallel to his zipper and ending just at his belt. His eyes caught your lingering, and he chuckled, biting his tongue with his back teeth before squeezing himself and shrugging like it wasn’t the hottest thing you’d ever seen him do. The little gasp you let out only gave him that much more confidence to keep teasing you as much as he’d been.

Slowly, painfully, stripping off one piece of clothing at a time and letting it drop to the floor. Eyes locked on yours like he was getting off to how you reacted to each little inch of skin that was bared to you. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought he enjoyed all of the attention on him. When in reality, he was just mesmerized by how in awe you were of him, looking like a war-torn soldier with his scars and hardened body. You were holding your breath for the moment he pushed his underwear down off his hips, standing downright predatory with his fist tight around the base of his thick and glistening cock. If you ever had a moment of hesitation about doing this with John, they dissolved in that single moment. Because your next movement was to reach your hands out, wiggling your fingers for him to come closer.

“What would you like?” He asks, coming to stand at the foot of the bed just out of your reach.

“You.” You answer a little plainly, making him chuckle.

“Not quite specific enough, sweetheart.” His eyes drop to your body hugged in that black outfit and he bites at his cheek. “But as much as I love you in that, I’d like to see you take it off.” A very easy request. Had it not been for your inability to reach the little snap at the back that kept you tied into all of the lace and straps. So, you very politely raised up and sat on your knees with your back to John and gave him the sweetest look you could manage.

“Give me hand, Captain?”

He nearly ripped the fucking thing off.

The moment he had your seduction tactic of clothing balled up in his fist, he felt the first little surge of his common sense holding him back a little bit. Base instinct screamed for him to sink into you as quickly as possible. But feeling your hands rub over his chest and your shy little kisses to his neck reminded him of circumstance. Pinned against your belly, his cock twitched in response to your teeth grazing accidentally over his collarbone. You were about to whisper an apology when John wrapped a hand around your throat to tilt your head up and suck hard just under your jaw. He liked when you did that… The thought gave you a little bolt of satisfaction. One that progressed into your hands sliding down his stomach until your fingers curled around his thick shaft, earning a warning sound of a moan deep in his chest.

“So fuckin’ soft…” He murmured against your shoulder, kissing it hotly and slowly rocking his hips against your hands. Teasing himself. Edging closer to try and raise a little bit of resistance so he wouldn’t spill his load on the bed long before he was damn well ready. Your silky little hands spreading his arousal over his length only lasted for a few minutes before John was pulling you away with heaving breaths and a flush breaking out over his cheeks.

“Too much?” You ask a little giggly when he lays you back and crawls up to kneel between your spread legs.

His reaction is one of raised eyebrows and a devilish kind of smile that makes you feel like you just made a little too accurate of a joke to be laughing. John gives you a little warning ‘tsk tsk’, shaking his head like he could try and hide the lust and affection swirling in his dark eyes at the sight of you giggling, and all spread out for him like a five-course meal the Queen of England couldn’t afford to buy. A wiser man might’ve believed himself worthy of you, enough that his dirty hands could touch you and try to give you pleasure in the way they assumed to know best. Yet John leaned over you with the knowledge that he was one of the most unworthy men on the planet, and you had so much grace and love inside of you that it didn’t matter. One little touch and you could cleanse him of every blood stain he’d not been able to clean or sinful act of revenge he couldn’t resist committing. Above all else, you’d decided in all your innocence of the world that you trusted him with your body as much as you’d already handed over your heart and mind.

John kissed you. Hard. With everything he had to offer in return for the invaluable

With that, he’s, hauling you up against him. He wants you laying right on top of him so he can sleep soundly with you right against him. He’s very quick to give you more praise and ask again if you’re feeling okay mentally and physically. You mention feeling just a little insecure, despite all of his very purposeful care throughout the whole process, but Price won’t have it.

Right away he’s kissing you softly, hands rubbing over your back and butt affectionately. Letting you know just how special he feels that you trusted him, as well as just how lucky he was to find someone like you in the first place. Holding the back of your head and gently cradling you against his lips; Tongue licking into your mouth and groaning softly when you mirror his movements, even going far enough to nip at his tongue. Using that same little hint of him enjoying your teeth on him. Just like before, you’re met with another warning sound of a growl, and John is pulling back and moving his head between your legs with a careful watch on your reaction.

“Can’t wait any longer, sweetheart.” He kissed your inner thigh sweetly. “Please let me taste your sweet little pussy.”

His words shock your body, and your head falls back with the little bit of erotic pleads overwhelming you. God, it was making you drip onto the sheets feeling him so close yet waiting for your answer. Pathetically, you couldn’t get the word ‘yes’ out of your mouth for a few long minutes. Just enough time for him to lovingly suck bruises onto your inner thighs and mean you scream out his name, squirming under his hands to try and get some real relief.

John takes pity on you, stopping long enough to let you catch your breath. “Come on pretty girl. Just say the word… I’ll make you feel so fuckin’ good.”

“Yes, yes, yes… please. I need more!” Your airy pleas fall like angel’s trumpets on his ears, as his mouth descends hungrily onto your cunt.

Licking through your slick folds and growling your own name back against your core with the sweet and alkaline flavor. Your hips buck up and you cry out, feeling his tongue lash over your clit for the first time and right away he’s got one forearm over your hips to hold them steady with the other hand held tight with his fingers intertwined with yours. His mustache tickles against your skin and you can feel him resting his head against your thigh, almost like he’s getting comfortable for an extended stay with his tongue in your cunt.

Another orgasm is ripped from you without warning less than ten minutes into John’s unyielding assault on your sensitive clit. And it’s this time that John ensures your thighs can’t wrap around his head for the sole purpose of hearing your loud and raw scream of his name. Blissed out, and shaking once again, John smiles against your pussy; Lapping up any remaining release he’d missed mere seconds before and feeling the dull pressure of your heels digging into his back.

“God, you’re so good for me sweetheart,” His praise blows cool air over your folds and you jerk a little, whining when you feel his lips return back down to you. Slowly, teasingly, he began all over again just as he did the first time.

It takes a couple seconds for you to realize he doesn’t plan on stopping. But when you do, crying for him to stop when he begins using his thumb to tease your clit while his tongue fucks slowly in and out of your clenching hole. John almost laughs, darkly and amused with your little cries and moans. Feeding off of your pleasure just to give it right back to you in the direct motivation of making you come on his tongue and fingers this time.

“F-fuck - John! Sh-shit,” Your stuttered voice falls into an unabashed groan when he teases his finger at your entrance, and slowly slides it deep into your fluttering pussy, squeezing around it tightly. Hungry for more, and weeping with each small curl of the digit hitting on your upper wall.

Your eyes roll back, and you attempt to push John’s head back to try and ease the stimulation, just to feel his hand holding you back and in place. It’s maddening, feeling so good that it’s almost bringing tears to your eyes, having already come twice -more than you typically gave yourself- and no sign of him letting you escape.

God, John was pushing you to the boundary of everything you knew about your own body, as well as giving you the first, raw, experience of just how good sex could be. Lifting your head up just to try and get a small glance at him, you catch the sight of his eyes, fiery and intense looking right back up at you with your own come soaking his mustache and the entire lower half of his handsome face. You clench around his digit again, being pushed that much closer to the edge just at the visual alone.

Your third release came as quickly as the first two, this time resulting in the delicious stretch of John’s three fingers pumping in and out of your cunt, literally slurping up your release; Almost dragging it out of you like he couldn’t stand the thought of not swallowing every drop. He whispered your name so gently as he came to rest on his forearms overtop of you, kissing your forehead with his wet lips and feeling his hair stick against your sweaty forehead.

“Sweetheart…” his tone had softened to the smallest whisper you’d ever heard from him. “Are you sure you want this? We can stop here if you’d like.”

Opening your eyes to see his handsome face and the slight of his hair in a total mess, you knew getting away with not mentioning your lack of experience was impossible. Your John… wasn’t nearly as unobservant as you’d wanted him to be. Without more than a tired little smile, you nodded. Raising your head weakly just far enough to kiss him gently, tasting yourself against your lips and feeling the slight quiver of his breath.

“Please, I want this. I want you John.”

Initially, no matter how much he’d taken care to prep you there was still a deep stretch as his thick cock began slowly entering you. Sweetly, he worked you through each little discomfort, giving you kiss after kiss and running his hands through your hair. Distracting from the little sting that had never been present with your toys, and praising you until his hips pressed flush against yours.

“Fuucckkk yes,” Price couldn’t hold back the loud groan as he looked down to see your pretty little cunt taking every last inch of his dick and squeezing so hard he could barely think straight.

“Takin’ my cock so good… Such a pretty girl, my good little thing…” His murmurs and curses slowly devolved the further you progressed.

Your body slowly adjusted to the intrusion and the gentle thrusts John made the moment you began squirming and pleading with him to move through your little hiccups. The unusual feeling of John moving inside of you slowly began to coax moans and praise from your mouth every time the crown of his cock rubbed deep against a swollen, textured, spot inside of you that built up pressure so quickly that you needed to wrap your legs around his hips to keep them from shaking uncontrollably. Each stroke got harder and harder, with John eventually pounding his cock deep inside of you, moaning and using one arm to wrap around your waist to hold your lower body still so he could bring both of you closer.

“J-John…” Your voice jolted with each snap of his hips as you tried to warn him.

Feeling that familiar yet almost destructive power of another climax rushing through your lower body. Convinced you didn’t have enough left in you to come again, you felt tears pricking your eyes, overwhelmed with immense pleasure skyrocketing you towards a final orgasm you kept denying until John’s fingers reached between you and expertly began rubbing tight circles around your clit, violently tossing you into whited-out vision, and muted hearing.

Above you, John found his own release and shared it at the same time as yours. Fisting the bedsheets to keep from grabbing ahold of you too tightly and bruising you; his cock getting squeezed so tightly from your climax that it was almost painful to stay seated inside of you. With so little arm strength left, he fell nearly full-weight on top of you and only propped himself up by his elbows to keep from suffocating you.

Utterly wrecked, and feeling more than you’d ever experienced more than you’d felt in your life, it took minutes before you could open your eyes and actually have enough of the mental capacity to realize that John was gently stroking your head, kissing your forehead and your nose, and holding you tightly to him as the strong muscle jerks and twitches in your body began to die out.

“You here with me?” Low and comforting, you smile dazedly with your eyes heavy and trying to focus on him.

You merely nod your head yes and give what you assumed was a ‘mhmmm’ but might’ve sounded more like a small animal being choked or drowned. Naturally, John’s lips spread into a very happy and amused smile, cupping your cheek with his hand and pressing a kiss to your lips softly.

“Come on, sweetheart…” John whispered, pulling your head up to his chest and gently easing himself out of you with a low sigh.

You’re once again lifted up and whisked away, this time, into the bathroom just off to the side of the bedroom where John carefully sits you down on the edge of the bathtub and starts running hot water with the lights dimmed low. Certain he’s got everything for your bath within your reach and the water is high enough for you to really sink down into in and relax, he gives you a soft kiss and promises to return after just a couple minutes.

He returns before you even work up the desire to wash your hair, and immediately takes over the task of getting you cleaned up himself. In between the lulls of soaps, and conditioners, John will pose quiet questions, asking how you’re feeling and wanting to know if there was anything that hurt you physically or was bothering you mentally. His care was intense and very personal, giving you much more confidence and comfort after having such a draining experience. Of course, you felt fantastic throughout, but when he asked if you were tired, there was a feeling that he already knew you were and expected you to tell him how he could best support you.

Other than letting your head rest against his chest. Leaving not one inch of your body neglected, from your face to your feet. Throughout the process you watch through sleepy eyes, seeing a very peaceful sort of look on his face while soaping you up and helping you rinse off and step out of the slippery bathtub into a warm towel you could only assume he’d thrown in the dryer just for your comfort.

Holding the towel around yourself, you peck him on the lips and smile, too tired to really say anything of real value. However, you’re certain John understands by the way his arms wrap you up and hold you tight to his bare chest while running his fingers through your wet hair, helping get out some of the little tangles your conditioner couldn’t quite take care of alone.

“I love you, John. More than anything.”

He drops a kiss on top of your head, rocking your weights back and forth in the dimmed light of the bathroom. Admiring your little form in the darkened silhouette of his much larger one.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

“You’re my best friend.”

He chuckles, finding that so very endearing.

“You’re mine too.”

yeah... the "you're my best friend" part, me and my husband do that <3 so.... that's a thing.

#john price #captain john price #captain price #mwii #cod mwii #john price x reader #john price smut #captain price x reader #captain price smut #velvetures #velvetures writes #velvetures answers #cod #anon <3

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lathalea · 8 months

Text

The Arrival

Yes, my beloved readers, it's time for another Thorin fic from yours truly!

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader/OC (pick one) Rating: G Warnings: none Author's notes: Thorin and his Company have reclaimed Erebor and started rebuilding their kingdom. Everything seems fine except for the fact that the King Under The Mountain is eagerly awaiting the arrival of someone very dear to him... Also, I want to apologise to Peter Jackson for stealing some lines from An Unexpected Journey and J.R.R. Tolkien for appropriating and rephrasing one sentence from The Lord of The Rings. I'm a hopeless romantic, what can I say? You can find this fic on AO3. For @legolasbadass 💙💙💙

Khuzdul: Iglishmêk - dwarven sign language Kurdelê - my heart Lukhdelê - my light of all lights

The King Under the Mountain, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, the second of his name, also known as Thorin Oakenshield, the king of Durin’s folk, was not a patient Dwarf—and yet he waited. He had been standing on the main terrace above the Great Gate of Erebor since the moment when the first rays of the morning sun gilded the distant peaks of the Iron Hills. His eyes, however, were turned towards the west, where the jagged tops of the Misty Mountains grazed against the pink sky. As he took a deep breath, fresh spring air filled his lungs. It was his—and his people’s—first spring in Erebor since it was reclaimed. The winter after the Battle of Five Armies passed in a blink of an eye. The kingdom was being rebuilt and prepared for the returning Dwarves, food stores had to be replenished, new trade agreements had to be signed… but among all those duties, something else kept Thorin awake until late on many a night. His memories.

The memory of a pair of hands gently resting on his shoulders as he sat behind his desk, and the sweet timbre of the voice that went with it, “Come, Kurdelê, it is time we reposed for the night, those reports can wait until the morning.”

The memory of those soft, sweet lips pressing innocently against his cheek and murmuring something scandalously indecent into his ear.

The memory of how her body felt in his lap, his arms around her waist, her arms around his neck, her forehead pressed against his, her silver laughter as she pretended to scold his rash behaviour, so unbecoming of a king.

The memory of her bare skin in candlelight.

But there were other memories, too. Their lengthy late-night conversations about anything and everything. Their secret escapades to the market, or to an inn, dressed as common folk, pretending to be a couple of travelling merchants. Their wanderings through the Blue Mountains in search of the best view of the sea in the west (his choice) and the most beautiful flower glades (her choice).

During the lengthy council meetings he had to hold almost daily in Erebor, he would recall how much her presence changed the dynamics of similar gatherings back in the Blue Mountains. Her reasoning was swift, and her no-nonsense approach to the matters of state made even the most ancient council members nod in approval. Even now, he would—out of habit—turn to his right, wishing to discuss a matter with her or ask for her insight. But she was not there, and so he would give out a dissatisfied grunt and return to the matter at hand.

He knew that the only thing he had to do was wait, and he abhorred it. But there was nothing to be done. No sane person would risk crossing the Misty Mountains in the middle of winter. Now, however, the spring came into its own right. And he sent his best men to the High Pass to oversee the approach of the first dwarven caravan from Eriador. It was supposed to bring the first group of his people returning home, merchants, masters of craft, their families and belongings… and her. The whole Erebor was waiting for the arrival of their kin—the symbol of a new beginning for the Mountain and its dwellers. Many eyes turned to the west, counting the days, making wagers, discussing the route the waggons must have taken, and the current road conditions. It seemed that in those days, only one topic existed: the caravan.

But Thorin could only think of her lovely hand in his. Of her kindred touch.

As soon as a raven brought word from the caravan, reporting that they have succesfully crossed the mountains, he could not stop himself from looking to the west, and hoping.

This was the fifth day he spent on the terrace, waiting for any signs of the caravan’s approach.

On the first day, Gloin waited with him in hopes of seeing his wife and son, but was called away due to some issue in the treasure chamber. Thorin stayed, cursing the enchanted forest (and its haughty king, for good measure) for daring to obscure his view. Sadly, neither the forest nor its king moved out of the way.

On the second day, Dwalin asked Thorin whether he was growing mawkish in his dotage, staring at the edge of Mirkwood like a lovesick whelp—a question he had to take back on the training grounds.

On the third day, Dori asked whether Thorin would rather wait inside, on account of that nasty rain, and drink some warm tea with honey. No, said Thorin, he would not. And that envoy from the Iron Hills could join him there, on the terrace, by the way.

On the fourth day, Nori, Bifur and Bofur kept Thorin company, amusing him—and themselves in equal measure—with the latest gossip straight from the taverns of Erebor (all two of them, for now). He had no idea that several hundreds of dwarves, mostly newcomers from the Iron Hills and the White Mountains, could wreak such havoc. And marry so swiftly and in such numbers. Spring was truly in the air.

Now, on the fifth day, he stood alone, and waited. Roac was circling the Long Lake below, giving out a single caw from time to time, “Still nothing.”

And then, a hunting horn rang out in the air. Thorin knew its sound all too well.

“Balin!” he exclaimed to his friend who sat in the hall beyond the terrace. “Sound the alarm!”

The elderly dwarf raised his head from above a piece of parchment, slightly puzzled.

“Call out the guard,” Thorin insisted, feeling his impatience take the better of him. “Do it now!

“What is it?” Balin rose from his seat, his scroll forgotten.

“The caravan!” Thorin gestured excitedly—perhaps a tad too excitedly for a Dwarf of his stature—towards Mirkwood, where a long line of waggons started emerging from the forest. “They will be here soon!”

She will be here soon.

Over a year passed since the last time he held her in his arms, since he braided the silky dark waves of her hair, and since he looked into the brilliant, wise eyes of the woman he loved. To him, it felt like an eternity, and in that very moment, as he hurried down the stairs that led towards the Great Gate, he made a solemn promise to himself.

When the caravan arrived, most of the Dwarves were already gathered outside of the mountain. The guards held their heads high, presenting their weapons in an honorary salute, not leaving their posts, but even they cast curious glances at the newly arrived, trying to find familiar faces in the crowd. Thorin smirked at his thoughts. They looked as impatient as their king.

He knew the protocol of such meetings like the back of his hand, requiring him to stand by the gate, look regally, and welcome the newcomers to their new—old—home. His resolve wavered, however, when he saw a familiar figure clad in a green, fur-lined gown getting down a waggon, helped by one of the guardsmen. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Without thinking, he took a step forward, and then stopped, recalling who he was and what he was expected to do. He was also not allowed to leave his post, just like his guards. Instead, he observed from a distance, admiring the way the waves of her hair fell down her shoulders as she looked around, perhaps slightly disoriented, taking in the surroundings. Thorin saw the exact moments when her gaze rested on the mossy stone shaped by his ancestors into statues of warrior kings. Then her gaze moved down, focusing on the green marble of the Great Gate. Her eyes widened, her lips formed an “O” and then moved, she spoke something, but her words were lost in all the commotion. In that very moment, she reminded him of that bright-eyed maiden he had met for the first time in a mountain meadow half a world away; the maiden who laughed at his abysmal jokes, who fit so well in his arms when they danced, and who accepted his awkward courting efforts. The time that passed between then and now did not take away her ability to wonder and enjoy the world around her. She endured so many hardships on the way from the Blue Mountains to Erebor, so many cold nights on the road, faced so many dangers, and yet she never wavered in her decision to leave the Blue Mountains behind to be with him and their people. Now, she was finally here and, at last, he felt complete. Being able to see his own kingdom—their kingdom—through her eyes, and to see how amazed she was at the view, was a reward on its own.

Thorin could not stop himself from smiling when her eyes finally met his.

“Welcome home, my…” he began signing in iglishmêk, in that discreet way they often did on official occasions when the eyes of many would rest on them.

A light flush bloomed on her cheeks, she responded with a smile, and began walking towards him, oblivious of her escort and the joyous crowd around her, forgetting about the protocol, moving faster and faster, a giggle escaping her lips, her braids danced in the wind, her cloak flowed behind her, and…

“Thorin!” she called him in that melodious voice of hers, and there were diamonds in her eyes, or perhaps it was only his vision that suddenly turned very blurry, and he opened her arms, and thought “the Abyss take the protocol!”, and he rushed towards her, ignoring Balin clearing his throat in embarrassment, because she was finally here, and he had waited long enough—and they finally met halfway.

He wrapped his arms around her and felt her pressing into him, and there was laughter, and more tears in their eyes, the diamonds of happiness, those most precious among gems, and he was finally able to finish that sentence.

“Welcome home, my wife,” he rasped out, pressing his forehead against her, breathing in her familiar flowery scent, the one he adored so much. This was her, finally her, in his arms, and only she mattered in this very moment, not the crowd cheering around them, witnessing this moment of tenderness between their ruling couple, not even his kingdom, nor the world around them—now, it was only her.

“I missed you, my love,” she murmured, holding tight onto him, as if she wanted to make sure he would not disappear, and a wave of warmth washed over him. “I can’t believe I’m finally here, with you, after all those months…”

“Neither can I,” he agreed, cupping her cheek tenderly and eliciting a small sigh from her. “It was much too long, Lukhdelê.”

“Aye, it was,” she nodded, her eyes searching his face, as if learning it anew.

“I made a promise to myself,” Thorin continued. “Never again.”

“Oh?” she tilted her head in that alluring way of hers, and he had to suppress the improper urge to kiss her passionately in front of his people.

“Never again shall we part for so long. I crave you by my side, my heart,” he stated, bringing her hand to his lips.

“Then I will be looking forward to you upholding the promise,” she graced him with a teasing smile that made his blood run faster. “We have been apart indeed for too long, and so were our people. I believe it is time for us to work on improving their morale, would you not agree, my king?”

“Your wish is my command, my queen,” he agreed and took her in his arms again, and then their lips met. Sweetness intermingled with warmth, tenderness fueled the fire inside them, and he cared not that they stood in front of the gate in the sight of many.

After all, who cares about protocol when you have to properly welcome your wife home?

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octopotto · 6 months

Text

Brain Rot: TWST Cast with Saitama! Reader

OCTO NOTE: College has been absolutely brutal. These headcanons were worked on bit by bit these past few months :(

I saw some TWST fics that used pre-exsiting characters to based the MC off of and I wanted to try w/ one of my favourite characters.

WARNINGS: NOT PROOF-READ, OOC Behaviour, this is so cringe but very self-indulgent, mc is the most sane person in this universe, you decide if mc is bald or not, yandere if you squint hard enough.

SPOILERS FOR: TWISTED WONDERLAND

**The reader will ALWAYS be Gender-Neutral!

———————————-••———————————

Life at Night Raven College would be much more peaceful if MC had Saitama’s strength lol

Problems would've been solved quicker as well.

At first glance, you don’t seem to be a threat.

To most, you look like a regular, magic-less human on the outside.

And that’s what makes you so dangerous.

Don’t fuck around and overblot unless you have a death wish.

The Overblot crew definitely had one when MC swung their fist at them.

The whole prologue would be shortened.

Fun fact: You accidentally put too much force on the coffin door to get out, thus smashing Grim in the process while he was prying it open :D

Grim, the Ramshackle ghost, and Crowley were the first group to witness your impressive strength.

And by impressive, they mean terrifying.

To Crowley and Grim at least.

The ghost were shocked but very much amused after a couple moments.

God knows how the Ramshackle Dorm was still in one piece after that.

Grim is very happy to have a strong minion to protect him

Just don’t hurt him like you did with the ghost pls. And the door lol

Crowley would be most likely absolutely be afraid and made a mental note to keep track of you.

Especially since you were almost successful to killing him in his ghost form. He’s making sure that Ramshackle gets fixed quicker.

Crowley: “Great Sevens… How do they have such monstrous strength... This stowaway is just a magicaless human! My…what have I gotten myself into?? *sobs* OH IF I WASN’T SUCH A KIND AND GENEROUS SOUL I WOULD NOT LET THIS TYPE OF BEHAVIOUR BE PRESENT ON MY CAMPUS” *more obnoxious sobbing*

You and Grim: 😶😐????

Despite scaring and almost killing the shit out of the Headmaster, you still start off as a janitor lol.

Fast forward to the Mine Incident with Ace, Deuce, and Grim—

You basically massacred that monster.

A monster that probably injured many Mages and Wizards

You destroyed it in one punch.

On that day, Ace reminded himself to never piss you off again. Ever.

He loves cherry pie, but would rather not become the filling itself, thanks.

Deuce probably was gawking at you after the shock.

Not in a bad way

But in a good way y'know?

But he’s too shy to ask for advice for now.

This is basically the start of Deuce idolizing you and your strength.

Brain Rot:

Ace, Deuce and Grim are your self-proclaimed bodyguards.

At least THEY like to think that they are.

Listen, they know that you are MORE THE CAPABLE protecting yourself in fights or in any physical confrontations.

But that’s it.

You’re basically shit at everything else.

From completing your assignments to even showing up to class, it seems like in the trio's eyes that you NEED THEM to take care of you. You all are like family now!

So they all make an effort to help you out when you need it.

No really, if you keep forgetting to submit that one potion essay that Crewel keeps smacking your shiny ass head to complete, you’re going to get left behind.

They’re more like secretaries than bodyguards lol.

The post-overblot Spelldrive tournament was an absolute nightmare.

Well, at least for everyone but Ace, Deuce, and Grim.

They were GLOATING about how they were in the lead and challenged anyone to try and top them like the smug, over-confident assholes they are.

The only reason why they were in the lead was because of you. Simple as that.

The Savannaclaw gang put up a good fight

For the first 10 minutes in the match.

All Leona could do at that moment was strategize how not to get his and his teammate’s heads chopped off by the disc you kept throwing at them.

You are quite fond of Ruggie

More specifically: you were fond of Ruggie’s haggling skills.

If were had a choice to trade your god-like strength for his haggling skills and techniques, you wouldn’t hesitate one bit.

And y’know it wouldn’t be Ruggie if he didn’t take advantage of this. He would offer you advice and tell you if theres a huge sale going on at a near-by grocery store if you promise to lend him a hand whenever he needed it.

You were so tempted to say no

Not because he was shady and overall untrustworthy

You’re just lazy

This is his way to spend more time with you but he would never admit that out-loud.

If your MC is bald, instead of Floyd squeezing you, he will smack and ‘dribble’ your head as if it was basketball.

Jamil and Ace especially are amused.

God forbid you ever get a bad tan on the top of your scalp

You will NEVER hear to end of it.

Floyd also is your biggest bully.

jk but not really

Yeah he knows that you could probably kill him with a gentle tap

But when did that ever stop him?

He mainly does it because he wants to see your reactions

You’re so plain looking and your nonchalant voice and facial expressions do not help as well.

But remember only Floyd HIMSELF can do those things to you, okay? Only him.

If he ever finds out that some random NPC student was doing the same thing to you, You’re going to be finding that NPC tossed in a corner somewhere with almost all their joints mangled.

You like how generous Kalim is.

You probably helped him fan the fire off his ass in the ceremony

He’s was incredibly thankful and was able to remember what you looked like.

I mean, you literally saved him!

How could he not remember you?

You don't remember him but let’s not go there lol

Because you saved Kalim from being cooked, he always makes sure that you had enough food for the month!

He would practically beg, like BEG Jamil to make extras so you won’t go hungry.

Especially after experiencing what type of living conditions you were dealing with in Book 5.

Poor Jamil, not only is he working overtime for Kalim, but technically serving food for the person who ruined his plans back in Book 4.

Jamil packing food for you by Kalim’s request: 😡😡😡

totally did not try to poison your food on several occasions

Kalim also begs Jamil to let him deliver the food to you.

He can’t help it! He really enjoys seeing you happy when you receive something from him and Jamil.

You never complain about.

Free food = Saving money.

I mean, if you're being gifted something, why be rude and deny it?

Some students say that you were taking advantage of Kalim because of how easily you accept his gifts without anything in return.

And y'know they could be right

But Kalim doesn't mind.

As long as you're happy, he's happy :)

In Vil’s eyes, you are an enigma.

It’s like he can’t wrap his pretty little head around on how he feels about you.

On one hand, other than your god-like strength, you’re nothing special. When he first saw you he only disregarded you as another potato that’s not worth his precious time and effort on.

But on the other hand, Vil sees you as a blank slate. Something that ASKING for him to put his smooth and perfectly manicured fingers on. Someone that needs his guidance and skills.

He doesn’t care if you’re bald or have hair, it doesn’t derail him from the fact that despite you sticking out like a sore-thumb, you’re still so…plain looking.

You probably said some off-hand comment about how ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder’ to Vil and just walked off.

It might not meant anything to you

But it meant a lot to Vil.

When it came to the overblots and eventually Book 5, he felt as though he was in a spiral of questions that he himself must find the answers for.

And what were the questions that caused Vil’s current state of disarray about? You obviously.

He’s going mad

He can’t stand it.

You said that beauty is in the eye of the holder? Fine then.

He knows that he could do something for you.

Something marvellous, something beautiful.

For you and himself.

You had a new nickname for Malleus every time you guys end up running into eachother.

Malleus would always look forward to meeting you solely for the nicknames.

I believe that Saitama genuinely does not care enough to remember other people’s names that much

So that will be a trait for MC in this.

Malleus probably thinks this is a way humans show affection to each other.

In reality, you cannot for the life of you remember that weirdo's name.

Malleus: *Appears out of thin air in front of the MC*

Malleus: Greetings, Child of Man *smiles*

MC Thinking: ‘Why does this rando keep coming back? What was his name again?’

Malleus: *Anticipating their response with excitement*

MC: Uhhhh..

MC: Wassup…Horton? :D

Malleus: *Smiles at his new nickname*

It took a while for you to come up with a permanent nickname for him but he doesn't mind

In his eyes, it's your way of showing him how much you wanted to become closer companions.

Jack and Epel are always on your ass about “How to become stronger” and when you actually tell them the routine that you did at the beginning of your journey, they literally fell in disbelief.

They couldn’t believe it.

It was basically a simple workout routine

Both still believe that you’re hiding the secret of how you got to your level of strength.

Thus, joint workouts became also a thing within the NRC Campus and you are the leader.

Not by choice however.

Jack, Epel, and everyone else involved were really curious as to how you train.

I mean, look at what you can do! And you’re not even a Mage!

The first meeting was terrible due to the fact you almost obliterated the school.

One flick and the gym could’ve been in shambles.

That’s why Jack and Epel made sure to do it somewhere far and secluded.

And even then, you still created a lot of damage with minimal effort.

It’s incredible to those who look up to you.

Throughout the story, you gained some admiration and recognition along the way.

From Heartslaybul to Diasomnia, you unknowingly grab the admiration of those who either want to become stronger or see you as a hero.

Some might say that they see you as the messiah who was sent to protect the school.

But let’s not go that far.

You wouldn’t notice anyways

In your eyes they're all a bunch of weirdos.

———————————-••———————————

OCTO NOTE: Hopefully you guys enjoyed these very terrible brain-rot headcanons. I always found Saitama’s character interesting so I wanted to try out something new.

Again, I’ve been very busy so I can’t promise anything BUT I can say that there will be more Yandere FF7 fics coming soon! ;)

Thank you to everyone who enjoys my low-quality works! Hope you look forward to my new ones ❤️❤️

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openconceptpanicroom · 6 months

Text

IMAGINE BEING AN: American student at JJK

2006!Geto x fem!reader

2006!Gojo x fem!reader

Summary: Your first few months as an American at Tokyo Jujutsu High. Shoko is the best.

Note: fluff, hints of pining, flirting, culture clash antics.

Coming in as the new girl is never easy. Especially not when you’re in a completely different country with different social norms and rules.

Sure, your Japanese was passable, but you weren’t conversational yet. And there were so many rules to follow when speaking to someone. It was enough to make you mute for the first two weeks of school. Sometimes guys would approach you and you would get excited, thinking they were flirting with you… only to find out they wanted you to tutor them in English. Other students were nice enough to only talk about you behind your back. American bullies are way more straightforward. It was sorta refreshing to just be politely shunned as opposed to being loudly excluded like you were used to.

The first person to be nice to you was Ieiri Shoko. She was laidback, knew a surprising amount of English, and could see you needed a friend. She taught you better phrases to use in conversation, “So you won’t sound like a freakin’ textbook,” she’d say. You started hanging out with her outside of class too. Shoko knew good places to eat and spots in Tokyo that weren’t terribly crowded. The only problem(s) were those two guys she had hanging around her all the time.

Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru.

Those two were the superstars of the school. Two students who were guaranteed to be the strongest sorcerers alive once they graduated. Everyone adored them, except for a few sensible people. You would ask about them sometimes. Mainly things like: “Are they like, always like that?” or “How do you stay sane around them!?”

Geto was polite. You could say that much. Other than that, you found him very intimidating. This tall, lanky young sorcerer with piercing dark eyes and that mocking smirk. He had some, uh, interesting thoughts about America. Nothing you hadn’t heard before. Americans were lazy, arrogant, thought the world revolved around them. What irked you was when he said that American sorcerers “mix too much,” with ordinary folk. The day you caught him staring at you, you left class to “go to the bathroom,” and just didn’t come back. It took a long chat with Shoko to be convinced he wasn’t going to corner you in an alley and kill you. Geto would speak to you only in Japanese, and he would speak slowly. Like you were an idiot. The nicest thing he had said to you in those early days was a bit conceited. He’d complimented you by saying, “I’ve heard of your family. They’re a modest bloodline, I wouldn’t have assumed you came from them… they must be proud of you.”

Gojo was the most irritating. Surprisingly loud and cocky, totally unlike most of the boys you had met so far. And, unlike most boys, he would not stop pestering you about American pop-culture. He knew absolutely no English, except for dated quotes or catchphrases from movies. Sometimes he would shout your name just so he could say something corny like, “Stay golden, Ponyboy.” You were certain he was making fun of you. And, like Geto, you were very intimidated by the most powerful student in school.

He also had no concept of personal space and had made it his mission to get you to talk. Which meant a lot of him popping up out of nowhere and slinging an arm around you. There were a lot of jealous girls that assumed you were dating. All he wanted was to have bragging rights that he got you to talk. Needless to say, Gojo was devastated when he found out Shoko was talking to you outside of class. It had been a nice day, Shoko was going to meet up with you at a park to get sorbet and chat. Then Gojo found her.

“She talks to you? To you?!” Birds took off to the skies. An elderly woman shot him a dirty look, dropping her handful of birdseed before hobbling away.

Shoko took a drag of her cigarette, “Yup.”

Gojo flopped down onto the seat next her. She hoped he wouldn’t be too obnoxious, this was a public park “But I was supposed to be the one to break down her walls!”

“Maybe if you weren’t so pushy, she would talk to you,” she deadpanned.

They continued to bicker, with Gojo insisting he had been nothing but an excellent ambassador of good will and Shoko calling him an idiot. You had showed up to hang out with Shoko, only to freeze when you saw Gojo. Just as you tried to sneak off, you bumped into Geto. This casual hangout with Shoko had turned into a foursome and neither boy was letting you weasel out of it.

Thankfully, Shoko kept you calm enough to have a good time.

With how sheltered Gojo had been, there were aspects of his own culture that were novel to him. There were lots of movies and tv shows that were new to you both. Not to mention junk food. Gojo needed Shoko to help him translate certain things, but he was actually a fun guy. He kept you laughing most of the time. If only he would stop hugging you from behind like he was your boyfriend. Geto was quiet, trying to absorb the sound of your voice. Listening to how you pronounced words in English and Japanese. He would never say it out loud, but he found your interest in the temples and folklore to be cute. He did join Gojo in teasing you. Both boys tried to get you to call them by their first name. Insisting “No, no! It’s fine! No need to be formal. We’re all friends now, right?”

You took a swig of yuzu flavored cream soda and said in Japanese, “I know what first names mean here. We aren’t close enough for that, people at school would think we’re dating.” With a pout you added in English, “And no hot guy is worth getting torn to shreds by a jealous fan club.”

Geto only leaned down to you, smirking as he said, (in English) “Then you can call me Suguru… in private.”

You gagged on your drink. This was how you found out Geto Suguru knew five different languages fluently. Gojo begged Geto and Shoko to translate what was said. You just focused on calming down. What a lovely start to an awkward friendship.

#jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jjk #shoko ieiri #geto suguru #gojo satoru #geto x reader #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader

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houseofripley · 2 months

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HEYY

Can you do a rhea x fem!reader story where rhea and reader are in Highschool and have both had feeling for eachother for the longest time and both haven’t confessed but all that changes because rhea ask reader to prom and they end up kissing and it leads to something else (ifykyk😏) (smut n a lil bit of fluff too🙏)

Starry Prom Night

Rhea Ripley x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT, Kissing, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Scissoring, Praise, Cheek Cupping & Kissing Galore, INSANE PLOT BUILDING FOR NO REASON LOL SORRYYYYYY IM A YEARNER (im serious this is like 67% plot building)

WORD COUNT: 3,731

A/N: this is just pure sapphic yearning on my end LMAO anyways anon i had so much fun writing this even though its all over the place!!!

also can you tell where i got impatient with all the plot building lol

“Rhea, I seriously don’t know how many more of these cheesy signs I can’t take. I think I’m gonna go insane.” You grunted, rolling your eyes to the back of your head.

Prom season was in full swing. It was third period and you had just witnessed what had to have been the seventh promposal of the day. This year would be the mark of your and your best friend, Rhea’s senior prom. Senior prom was a date thousands of dreamed about, wanting to show up and show out one last time before waving goodbye to their highschool years.

Every girl except you and Rhea. You both despised the thought of prom. Why would any sane person spend hundreds of dollars on an outfit just to spend their night drenched in sweat in the school gymnasium?

Fuck that!

“Romeo O Romeo! Will thou spend your Saturday night with I, drinking punch next to the locker rooms?” Rhea mocked, elbowing your arm.

You shook your head, pressing your lips together trying to keep your laughter silent. The commotion of classmates was soon drowned out by thoughts as your eyes met Rhea’s, causing your tightened lips to curl into a small smile.

Rhea’s blue eyes never failed to warm you. Everytime you gazed into those beachy eyes you were brought back to the day you first met the girl. Seventh grade, first period, language arts. A quiet blonde girl sporting a Pierce The Veil shirt was assigned to sit next to you. Nobody knew anything about the girl besides the fact she had just moved basically across the globe. You spent the entire period thinking of what you could possibly say to her, because what do you even say to a kid that was just relocated from South Australia all the way to some shitty suburban town?

“Cool shirt.”

And it fucking worked somehow. You were immediately attached to her hip. The two of you grew closer with each day that passed. You were inseparable. She was everything to you. Sleepovers every weekend. ‘Study’ sessions that were spent play fighting with each other. Singing pop-punk songs at the top of your lungs till your throats were raw. Dying your hair the same shade of blue at three in the morning. She was even at your side while your parents scolded you the morning after for said blue hair.

Jesus Christ. Lost in her eyes again? Snap out of it already!

“Yo, Alice in Wonderland, you okay?” Rhea playfully questioned, breaking your trance by poking at your thigh.

“Just…thinking. That’s all.” You softly chuckled. You were telling the truth, you were just thinking. Just thinking about her. Thinking about her touch, her hands, her pierced nose, her lips, her stupid cool shirts.

══════⋆☆⋆══════

“Jesus, someone’s eager to get out of here.” You laughed, trailing behind Rhea who was booking it over to her small black Lexus.

“Dude, can you blame me? It’s like everyone has some sort of prom fever. I am not letting it catch me.” Rhea complained, ducking into the vehicle.

You made your way to the passenger side of the car before hopping into the seat next to Rhea. “I counted eighteen of those damn signs today.” You babbled, resting your arm on the center console before trailing on, diffusing the topic, “Anyways, let’s go thrifting or something. I don’t wanna go home.”

Rhea shrugged in agreeance before pulling out of her parking spot. She knew things were tough for you at home. You had recently come out as lesbian to your parents. They weren't unsupportive but they weren't exactly supportive at the same time which had built quite a bit of tension in the household. You came out to Rhea just about two years ago, who was more than supportive. She was your number one defender, always there to threaten whichever classmate that dared to ridicule you.

You knew absolutely nothing about Rhea’s sexuality. Hell, even Rhea knew nothing about her sexuality. She only knew one thing, that she liked you. She didn’t even know when she caught feelings for you, it was like the sentiments were there since the moment you first spoke to her. She hoped as time went on the flutters she’d feel for you would pass on but recently she couldn’t seem to even push the mere thought of you out of her head, it was killing her.

The drive to the nearest thrift shop was comfortably silent…silent if you ignored the Black Veil Brides cd Rhea had blaring…

Entering the store the pair of you let out scoffed laughs as the first thing catching your attention was a large display of second hand dresses. Shaking it out of your heads and ignoring it at first you carried on to wander the isles, grabbing whatever caught your eye to try on later although you’d inevitably end back up to the racks of long dresses. You weren't a big fan of dresses but you wanted to waste as much time as you possibly could, so you decided to browse the gowns with Rhea.

She pulled a deep maroon dress, the form fitting glittered bodice was paired with a looser, more freeing skirt. “Try it on!” Rhea pushed, shoving the dress into your arms.

“I’d look so stupid in this.” You gave Rhea a bewildered look.

“Oh c’mon just try it!”

“Rhe’ when have you ever given a shit about this stuff?”

“Dude you’re the one that wanted to waste time here…” Rhea playfully scorned, diverting your question.

“Urgh, I hate when you’re right.” You huffed, shuffling towards the dressing room.

“How ridiculous do I look?” You pouted, opening the door of the changing room before shuffling to the closest mirror.

Rhea stood behind you, peering over your shoulder as you silently studied yourself in the mirror. You looked at Rhea through the mirror as she opened her mouth to speak but stopped herself in her tracks. “I mean it’s cute but where in the world would I wear this?” You shrugged, adjusting the straps as Rhea chewed on her cheeks.

“Wear it to prom.” Rhea timidly broke her silence.

“Why would I go to prom, Rhe’? First of all it would be so lame and second of all I’d have nobody to go with. I’m just gonna put this back.” You mumbled, turning to make your way back into the changing room.

A hand grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “Go with me…” Rhea blurted out, sounding scared of her own words. Her statement caused you to turn to face her with a puzzled expression, Rhea herself even looked surprised at what she just said. Fearing your rejection she quickly added on, “Ya know, like as a joke and stuff. We can make it not lame…”

“As a joke?” Your heart that was skipping beats just seconds ago was immediately let down.

“Yeah. It’s just a stupid idea we don’t hav-”

“No, let's go…as a joke.” You interrupted Rhea’s nervous deflection. “We’ve got nothing better to do.” You shrugged on watching Rhea’s anxieties fade into the distance as her classic cheeky smile crept upon her face.

After you swapped out of your dress you returned to Rhea who was holding up a silky black dress with a deep slit in the skirt. “This’ll work. I’m too lazy to try anything on.” She chuckled while shrugging.

“That's ballsy Rhe-Rhe.”

══════⋆☆⋆══════

Tonight was the night, you were sat atop Rhea’s bathroom counter, finishing up your makeup while Rhea was shuffling around her closet searching for a pair of shoes. It had been four weeks since Rhea ‘asked’ you to prom and you simply couldn’t keep your mind off it. Although you two planned this whole thing as a joke, something shifted ever so slightly between the two of you, maybe it wasn’t a joke, who knows. Rhea had your heart in your throat at every moment and you were the topic of every thought that popped into Rhea’s head. More than ever the both of you were head over heels for each other, just terrified the other wouldn’t reciprocate those shared feelings.

Your parents were completely unaware you’d be attending prom. You had informed them you were staying with a friend before immediately storming off to Rhea’s house. Rhea’s parents hadn’t a clue either, they were under the impression tonight would be just another night of the two of you doing nothing for hours then sneaking out to go for a drive at three in the morning. There truly wasn’t much reasoning behind this secret, you guys just wanted to have this night for yourselves without pestering parents.

“Urgh! At this point I’m gonna go barefoot!” You could hear yet another pair of shoes be tossed to the floor. You slid off Rhea’s counter, stepped out of her bathroom and over to her closet. She was already in her dress tearing through a pile of shoes on the floor. “What has gotten into you Rhe’?” You leaned against the doorframe laughing at the fact that Rhea of all people was stressing over shoes.

Rhea rolled her eyes ignoring your banter. “Would it make me a hipster if I wore converse?”

“Oh absolutely, I dare you!”

“You know I will,” Rhea retorted, picking up a black pair of the canvas shoes.

You chuckled before turning to return to the bathroom, letting Rhea know you were gonna change. You got into your dress with ease up until you came to the zipper on the back. You groaned in annoyance, reaching behind to your back attempting to wiggle the zipper to no avail.

“Rhe’, can you help me real quick?” You asked while popping your head out the door.

“Hm? What’s up?” Rhea turned around and questioned before making her way up to you, trying to keep her gaze from falling down to the hand placed on your chest, keeping the dress from completely slipping from your body.

“Zippers stuck,” You pouted, turning around. Rhea’s hand swept across the base of your neck, sweeping your hair to the side. You watched her through the mirror as she began fumbling with the metal, ultimately getting it to slide up your back.

After an awkward exchange of bashful looks the two of you finished getting ready in each other's company. You sat next to Rhea slipping into your shoes while she tied off her converse, took a handful of polaroid pictures together, then eventually snuck out Rhea’s window to begin your hike to the school.

══════⋆☆⋆══════

“Ouu! Ripley’s got a date!” Was whistled out by a classmate as you and Rhea made your way down the congested hallway, making Rhes roll her eyes.

“Shut up dickhead! We’re here as a joke.” Rhea rebutted, flipping the guy off as she carried on down the hall.

Here as a joke but her flushed cheeks and sweaty hand gripping yours told a slightly different story.

“Dickheads always running their mo-” Rhea muttered, stepping into the crowded gymnasium.

“Shh. It’s fine, you shouldn’t worry about them.” You cut off Rhea, giving her hand a squeeze as you examined the starry night themed room. The area was dimly lit by blue leds and strings of fairy lights. Blue curtains decorated with paper stars draped over the majority of the walls while an array of tables adorned with bottles of fairy lights surrounded a dance floor full of teenagers.

You both seated yourselves near the stage where a live band was playing. Your legs pressed against one another as you fell into an array of conversations. Thirty minutes had managed to sneak by before your meaningless conversation was cut short by your biology teacher.

“You girls gonna sit here and chat all night? Go dance!”

“But dancing is lame, Mr. Brown.” Rhea groaned while you both turned to face the man.

“I promise you that in ten years you’ll regret not doing anything at your senior prom. Seriously, go dance!” Your teacher stood behind you giving his words of advice. Rhea peeked over to you looking for your opinion. You gave her a ‘why not’ shrug before rising from your seat.

“But I don't even know how to slow dance.” Rhea whined to herself under her breath as she stood up. “If we have to dance, we’re dancing in the corner cause I’m gonna look stupid.” She stipulated.

You guided Rhea over to a secluded section of the dance floor near a wall, reassuring her that you also had no clue on what you were doing.

“We’ll just do what everyone else is doing, Rhe’.”

“I think this right,” Rhea unassuredly giggled with a racing heart, taking a hold of your left hand while wrapping her free hand around your waist. You shook your hair to cover your flushing cheeks as you brought your right hand to rest on her shoulder. The pair of you began swaying to the music while trying to hold back laughter, both in slight disbelief at your current situation. Prom was the last place either of you ever expected to be attending.

You were already trailing back into the pit of those sapphire eyes, drowning out all external noise you missed Rhea humming about how beautiful you looked. You were too occupied taking in the essence of your childlike crush to take notice of the grip Rhea had on your waist tightening. You were fully prepared to stare into those eyes all night, but Rhea was eager to run a risk.

A set of warm lips fell onto you abruptly, pulling you by the waist into a desperate kiss. All five senses rushed over your body, sending a rush of adrenaline through your bloodstream, placing you in awe too shocked to move.

Rhea forced herself to pull away, letting a sigh of relief out before the panic settled in, “Shit. I, god I’m so-”

Your thoughts had just now grasped what just happened.

This was a kiss that spent years in the making…you were not just gonna let it end like that.

Your hand slipped to the back of Rhea’s head, pushing Rhea back into the kiss, forcibly putting an end to her apology. She immediately fell back into your lips, closing her dilated eyes. While her tongue slid across your bottom lip begging to deepen the kiss, her hands slid up to cup your cheeks. Time slid away as the two of you fell into each other in your isolated corner of the gymnasium.

Rhea pulled herself from your lips breathless, her parted lips forming an open smile. She wanted more. You attempted to collect your thoughts while catching your breath. Both of you were attempting to draft a response while gazing into each other, because what do you say after tasting your best friend of five years?

“Cool.” You nodded

Rhea shook her head scoffing out a laugh, still making an attempt to regulate her breath. She took grip of your hand, giving it a squeeze before beginning to pull you into the hall without speaking a word.

“Wher-”

“Just follow me!” Rhea cut you off, rushing through the halls as she dragged you behind herself, both of you trying not to stumble over your dresses.

She halted in front of the nurses office before fiddling with the keypad on the door, “God bless modern technology,” She muttered, managing to get the door open as you watched in disbelief. “Don’t even ask.” She chuckled, scanning the hall to make sure you were in the clear before tugging you into the room.

Once Rhea’s foot forced the door shut her lips directly got to work pinning themselves to your neck, nipping at the delicate skin.

“Shit Rhe’, there might be cameras.” You pushed through a stunned whine.

“There's none…” Rhea couldn't even pull her lips away from your skin as she spoke, “Wouldn't stop me either way, I’ve waited too long for this.” She grunted, dragging her kisses to your collarbone. “Now please tell me I can keep going.”

“I don’t think I could ever tell you to stop.” You pulled Rhea’s face to meet your eyes, whispering your confession. There was no need for Rhea to open her mouth, the look on her face alone told you that was exactly what she needed to hear.

“You have no fucking clue how long I’ve waited for this.” Rhea growled, grasping your cheeks as she pulled you over to the nurses twin sized treatment bed.

She brought her legs to straddle over you, lowering her chest to hover over you. Rhea was attached to you like a dog, her lips were sloppy against yours as her hands snuck to pull up the skirt of your dress.

Rhea brought herself between your legs, in a rush to finally get a taste of your core.

“Please…I’m begging you, please don't make me wait more than I already have.” Rhea looked up at you pleading.

Your heart was in your throat as you fervently nodded. “I wanna hear your voice,” Rhea begged, whispering out your name.

“Rhea, please just do anything, I need, I need you.”

With that said she hurriedly slid your panties down your legs, tossing them to the foot of the bed. Rhea was making it clear that tonight was her time to shine.

“Fuck, you’re perfect…” Rhea murmured, awed at the sight of your soaked cunt. Her arms tangled themselves around your legs. After years her tongue finally made contact with your delicacy, she preached a string of curses, finally getting what she was after. You propped yourself on your elbows to catch the sight of Rhea exploring your brand new world. You could feel a smirk between your legs as her eyes met yours, thirstily watching you watch.

“Tastes so good.” Rhea praised, sweeping her tongue through your folds before bringing herself to round your clit. You chewed on your cheeks to hush the moans escaping your throat as Rhea wrapped her lips around your sensitivity, allowing her to lightly suck at your skin. Your legs made an unsuccessful attempt at wrapping around Rhea’s head only to be overtaken by her hands, prying them open, giving her full access to devour your aching heat.

The stealthy addition of two fingers into your emptiness was only amplifying the wobbly knees her mouth alone had created. Her fingers began steadily massaging into you, causing an arch to form over your back. The mixture of Rhea’s roaming tongue and grinding digits already had a knot forming in your stomach.

“Fucking Christ Rhe’, where the fuck did you learn all this.” You struggled out through moans. Rhea let out a soft chuckle as she continued to take your clit into her mouth, rolling her tongue piercing over your sensitivity.

Rhea gave your cunt one last kiss before she brought herself to face you. Now that Rhea had finally gotten a taste of your mouth she couldn't get enough, she had to return for more. Your lips once again blended together, your moans now slipping into Rhea’s mouth as her fingers curled inside your core.

“God, you sound so beautiful.” Rhea admired, pressing her warmed forehead against yours while her digits continued toying with your clenching walls. Her thumb was soon added to the mixture of pleasure as it rubbed rhythmic circles over your bud.

“Rhe’, I want to feel you against me,” You opened your eyes, pulling from her kiss while your hips rolled against her working digits. “Please.”

Rhea nodded, her eyes full of adoration, she’d do whatever it took to please you no matter if it took minutes or hours. She let her fingers come to a declined pace before withdrawing from your warmth. She stood up, licking her fingers clean before riding her dress up her legs and dropping her panties. She rushed to return to the bed pulling your leg into the air before propping a leg of hers next to your hip.

Rhea settled her heat against yours, letting out a heavy breath. She gradually started rocking her hips against you, mixing your slick together. You watched as the new sensation of pleasure washed over her, causing her jaw to drop open and her eyes to roll to the back of her head.

“Just…just like that.” You whimpered as you began to grind your hips at a matching pace, chasing towards your climax. Rhea’s arm clung to your leg that was situated in the air for support as the sound of quiet moans and the rustling of dress fabric bounced around the room.

“Feels so good, fuck.” Rhea quickened her motions, moaning out the nickname she created for you through heavy breaths.Rhea pushed herself further against you chasing her own high as you squirmed beneath her grinds.

“Rhe’, I’m gonna cum.” You whined out, reaching for a hand to cling to. Her hand met you halfway, instantly taking you into her grip she pulled you up to meet her face. She was back to those oh-so passionate kisses she could now never get enough of. “Please, Rhe’!” You cried against her, her movements bucking against your cunt.

Rhea nodded into your kiss signaling for your release, her own climax just seconds away. Your series of moans brushed against Rhea’s lips as your orgasm washed over you, hers quickly following. Muffled whines echoed around the room as Rhea’s thrusts against you faltered.

After riding out your highs together, Rhea squeezed herself next to you on the tiny bed and rested her hand on your thigh, giving it a soft squeeze. “I swear to god if you say cool.” Rhea looked over at you giggling.

“Unfair!” You joked, resting your head against Rhea’s chest. You both fell into silence simply taking in the moment, reflecting on everything that had just happened. Rhea peppered small kisses to the top of your head as you toyed with the fabric of her dress.

“We should probably get outta here before somebody finds us.” Rhea suggested, breaking the silence.

“Wanna go dance again?” You teased as you turned to face her.

Rhea quickly shook her head, “I’m never gonna dance again. I was so bad.” She laughed, “How about we go find a parking lot and makeout under the stars, hm?”

“I seriously would have never expected you to be all smoochy, Rhe’.”

“Look, I have like five years of kisses to make up for!”

#this one is such a mess sorry lol #i fear i yearned too much #rhea ripley smut #rhea ripley fanfic #rhea ripley #rhea ripley oneshot #rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley fluff #rhea ripley fanfiction #wwe x reader #wwe smut

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roseghoul26 · 18 days

Text

Chapter 1: In A Faith-Forgotten Land

Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Synopsis: A fic based off the song “ivy” by Taylor Swift. After a startling introduction to the man, Arthur Morgan became the most important part of your life. Married at a young age to an older, wealthy man to help your family, you were trapped in a loveless marriage, your only sense of escape with the rugged cowboy. Will you be able to keep your affair hidden, or will your husband find out, and destroy the last thing that made you happy? Tags: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Strangers To Lovers, Infidelity, Fem!Reader, She/Her Pronouns Used For Reader, Period Typical Misogyny Author's Note: welcome to my first ever non-oneshot fic! hope you enjoy! Chapter List

The first time you met Arthur Morgan, you had quite literally crashed into the man.

It wouldn’t have been that big of a deal; you would’ve just said your apologies and went on your way, never to see each other again. And that’s what would’ve happened, if it wasn't for the fact that it was in your house, during the middle of the night, while he was trying to rob you.

You were no stranger to robberies, your house being a prime target for thieves; it was secluded, sitting in the rural area between Rhodes and Saint Denis; it was rich-looking, with three visible floors and a basement; and it had low security. The last issue you had tried many times to get resolved, but to no avail. Maybe this time you’d get your husband to spend the extra money for guards.

Normally, would-be thieves would be too loud as they entered, alerting either you or your husband of their presence, and he was able to scare them off before they could get their hands on anything.

This time, though, you hadn’t heard a single thing. The only reason you were downstairs in the kitchen was because you needed a glass of water. In the darkness, the only source of light being the candle in your hand and a few oil lamps outside, you hadn’t seen the form of the man, bumping straight into him as you rubbed sleep from your eyes.

The two of you stood deathly still, watching each other with bated breath. You hadn’t made a noise, even though the smart thing to do would be to start screaming your head off. Something about this felt… different, for some reason. You slowly brought up the light, making sure to not startle the intruder, just in case he had an eager trigger finger.

You weren’t able to gleam many details of the man, mainly because of the low light, but also because a bandana covered the lower half of his face. He had medium length hair, the color indiscernible, and he wore a simple blue button up and a pair of jeans. The most interesting thing you saw on him, though, was his hat. It was visibly well-loved, the leather ripped and worn from years of use, and you were able to make out a clear bullet-hole on the rim of it. A piece of rope wrapped around it, the material frayed and barely hanging on.

It was when you opened your mouth to speak that he moved, bringing a finger up to his covered lips in a hush gesture. “Don’t scream,” you heard him mutter. Whatever voice you were expecting the stranger to have, it certainly wasn’t that. It was low, gravely, with a pleasant drawl that had you shivering. Or maybe it was the cold. You were only in a nightgown, after all.

You shook your head fervently, creating wind that threatened to blow out the fragile flame of your candle, trying to express to the man without opening your mouth that you were in fact not about to cry for help. He seemed to relax at that, but it was difficult to tell what he was feeling, the only gauge being his eyes and hard to read body language.

“So,” you began, holding your free hand up reassuringly when he tensed up again, expecting you to go back on your word, like any sane person would do. “So,” you tried again, “what do you need?” You made sure to keep your voice as quiet as possible, not wanting to alert the other person in the house.

The stranger cocked his head, rightfully confused by your question. You confused yourself with your own question, but it was the only way you could think to proceed the conversation. “I ain’t quite sure what you mean, miss.”

“You're in here for a reason, so what is it? What do you need?” When you were met with silence, you were starting to get impatient. Hell, all you wanted was a glass of water and to go back to your warm bed, but now you had to deal with a stranger in your house. You half-debated just leaving him to his devices and dealing with the consequences in the morning. It’s not like you cared about the expensive items in your house; they didn’t even belong to you. “Money? Food? Shelter? Or are you here to extort Mr. Kerrigan?” You added with a chuckle, but only you seemed to find it amusing.

When he continued to stare at you like you’d grown a second head, you sighed. “Look, if you aren’t gonna say anything, then you should leave. He could wake up at any minute, and he isn’t going to be so nice about this.”

That seemed to do the trick, pulling him out of whatever deep thought he was in. You watched his eyes dance around, before he slowly started to back away. You saw that he was wearing spurs, which made his silent entry that much more bewildering. “You don’t gotta-”

Your name being called had you both freezing, and you saw him bring his finger up again. Turning your head to look up the staircase behind you, you were able to see the silhouette of your husband at the top, glancing down at you with hands on his hips. You heard him call out your name again, annoyance evident in his voice. Even without the attitude, it was much less pleasant sounding than the strangers, but now it was downright irritating. Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you responded with a soft hm?

“Everything alright down there?”

Glancing back over at the intruder, your mouth gaped uselessly as you tried to come up with an excuse that would keep him upstairs. The man stood ready to bolt, not quite sure what you were about to say. “Yeah,” you stuttered out before he got even more annoyed. Your husband, Hans Kerrigan, was someone who did not wait for an answer. “I, uh, stubbed my toe,” you offered lamely, not sounding confident even to your ears.

Turning your head back to the staircase, you half-expected to see him descending, but were pleasantly relieved when you saw him still standing at the top. “You sure?” He questioned, and you nodded, even though you knew that he wouldn’t be able to see it.

“Yeah. I’ll… I’ll be back up in a minute.”

After a moment of tense silence, you heard him sigh. “Alright. Just be quiet.” With that, his figure disappeared, and you let out a breath of relief. Turning your head back around, you were surprisingly disappointed to find empty air. For a moment, you stood there, fully convinced that you had just imagined the whole scenario.

The fading scent of gunpowder and tobacco told you that it was real.

Bewildered, you went to the front door, testing it with a few quick turns. It moved easily, no longer locked like it was hours prior, and you were sure to fix it. The next rational thing to do would be to plant something behind the door, because the intruder clearly would be able to lockpick it right back open, just as he had done the first time.

Instead, you turned back toward the kitchen, continuing out on the task you had originally set out to do. You were definitely not as thirsty as you were minutes ago, but you still poured a small glass just for the sake of it, and you set down the candle on the counter. Sipping slowly, you couldn’t get the man out of your head, for multiple reasons. The most obvious reason was that he had broken into your house, so of course you were going to be thinking about it. But you would be a liar if you said that there wasn’t something… alluring about him. His voice was already plaguing your mind, and there was an almost kindness about him that you weren’t expecting that had you replaying the events in your head.

There were so many things that he could’ve done to hurt you, but he didn’t. Not once did he reach for a weapon, remembering now the gun belt hanging loosely from his hips. Not once did he seriously threaten you, only telling you to not scream for help. Not once did he make any move to restrain or hurt you, keeping his space. You knew that it was crazy that something like that would be the epitome of kindness for you, but it wasn't like you were seeing it anywhere else. He was probably the nicest interaction you’d had in the last year, maybe even longer. God, did you enjoy the company of the man who broke into your house?

Having long since finished the small cup, you set in gently on the countertop, the glass ringing out with a soft noise. Not quite ready to go back to bed, you made your way to one of the windows that lined the front of the house, glancing out into the night-filled yard. Trees swayed in the wind as you gazed over the yard, and it looked undisturbed, the only sign of life being a small skunk that skittered across the grass. After closer examination, however, you were able to see a light trail of footprints in the dirt path leading to the front door, one set heading toward it and another moving away. You hoped that the wind would carry them away by the morning.

A couple minutes of watching out the window turned into several, your mind preoccupied with thoughts of the man. It was only when a cold draft from the window hit your body, causing you to shiver. Right, you were only in your nightgown. Running your hands up and down your body, you tore yourself away, quickly making your way back up the stairs after grabbing the candle.

Skipping the first room that greeted you when you reached the top, you opened the second room’s door slowly, extinguishing the candle's flame with a puff of air. Your bed greeted you, and you were able to see the shape of Hans under the covers, back facing your side of the bed. Stepping softly across the wooden floors, you slipped under the silk sheets without making any noise. The bed shifted under your weight, and you froze, waiting to see if you woke the man beside you. When he didn’t stir, you settled in fully, still warm from when you were laying in it earlier.

You really did try to fall asleep, trying to think of anything besides the stranger, but you found yourself going back to him in your mind. You really shouldn’t be thinking about him this much, but you found yourself not caring. This was the most interesting thing to happen in a while, so you were going to enjoy it while you could.

As you tossed and turned in your bed, you were eventually able to fall asleep, your dreams luckily free of the stranger. Yet one thought rang through your mind the entire time.

You needed to see him again.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Rhodes was a quaint town, red dust painting every surface available, and contained a few businesses that provided a livable amount of money for the town.

You hated it.

It was definitely a quaint town, old-fashioned in every sense of the world, stuck in pre-war ideas and mindsets. The dust was irritating, staining anything remotely light a deep russet red, which took hours to get out. And the businesses there would be fine if they weren’t blindly loyal to the Gray family, and showed nothing but contempt for outsiders.

You would’ve liked to stay home today, as it was far enough away from the godawful town that you didn’t have to deal with it, but here you were, stuffed into a tight carriage with your husband across from you. He needed to run into the town today, needing to talk with the bank there about something you weren’t quite sure about. He purposely kept you out of his business affairs, claiming that it was no talk for a lady.

You knew very little about your husband’s job, besides for the fact that he was very wealthy and very powerful. You also knew that he ran some kind of distillery of sorts, but that’s about it. Whenever you asked, he shrugged you off.

So you had kept your mouth shut when he woke you this morning, bringing you to accompany him during his short trip. Like normal, you had gotten ready on your own, Hans disappearing into his office. You had felt a strange calling to wear a blue dress today, and you kept your hair free of any pins and ribbons, not quite wanting to put the effort into your appearance today. You were tired, but you hadn't been able to remember why.

It was when you had headed downstairs, past the locked door of his office, that you remembered. A large, dusty footprint dirtied the kitchen floor, which you normally kept pristine. It had all come back to you then like a wave, the strange man in your house. His voice, his demeanor, the clothes he wore, everything. With a gasp, you had quickly swept away the mark with your stocking-covered foot, most likely dirtying the garment, but you didn’t care. You just had to get it out of sight before Hans came downstairs.

You had barely managed to make it disappear before you heard the creak of the stairs as he descended them, an indiscernible look on his face as he regarded you. After exchanging your usual morning pleasantries, and after you had made him a cup of coffee, the two of you had set out , boarding the carriage that he had hired for the house. Even after two years of marriage, you still hadn’t wrapped your head around the sheer amount of money Hans had.

Tucked into Ringneck Creek, your house was surrounded completely by thick forest and shallow water, with ample amounts of wildlife that were enjoyable to watch. The natural formation of the ground had been altered, though, when the house was built, having created a path that connected it to the main road, but it was still quite a ways from it. It made the ride to towns that much longer, though.

So now here you sat, fiddling with your bag as you watched the passing greenery.You had about a ten minute ride to Rhodes, and about twenty to the bigger city of Saint Denis, so you settled back into your seat, your husband staring out the window in a similar manner, as there was never much to talk about between the two of you.

It was crazy to you, that you’d been married for only two years, because it sure as hell felt longer than that. And it wasn’t like you had a choice when it came to marrying the man across from you. Your parents needed the money, at risk of losing their entire tobacco industry that they created, so they had married you off to Hans Kerrigan, the rich businessman who’d been a bachelor longer than you’d been alive. He needed a wife, and they needed money, so it was an easy decision, one that you had no say in. Archaic, yes, but necessary.

Hans Kierrigan was at least twenty years your senior, with silver hair to account for his age. He wasn’t completely unattractive, no, but he certainly wasn’t your type, one big reason being how much older he was to you. A thick beard covered his lower face, and you had yet to see him without it. He had dull, steel-colored eyes, and his brow was always furrowed, like he was constantly deep in thought.

He wasn’t a terrible husband, but wet paper had more personality than him. He only cared about one thing, that being money, and trying to talk to him was like talking to a wall. You think you’ve only heard him crack one joke during the entire time you’ve known him, and it was when he was absolutely hammered. He provided for you, keeping your necessities fulfilled, and sent monthly allotments of money to your family to keep them afloat. In return, you remained loyal to him over the past years, you looked after the house, took care of him when need be, and were expected to bear him a child, which proved to be a more difficult task than imagined. You were also expected to keep up public appearances, Mr. And Mrs. Kerrigan the talk of towns, the American Dream couple.

He wasn’t mean, having never raised a hand to you or screamed at you, so for that you were grateful. He never touched you, quite frankly, and when the two of you were intimate, he would limit contact as much as possible.You knew that other girls in similar situations couldn’t say the same, so you counted your blessings, no matter how small they were.

However, just like any man, he had his flaws. He wasn’t a person to wait for things, expecting to receive them on a golden platter, and he never took ‘no’ for an answer. He was also extremely controlling, some days worse than others, and you always needed his permission before doing something. You wanted to go into the city? He was accompanying you, limiting you to certain areas. You wanted to send a letter? He was reading them, making you re-write them if he didn’t like the content. You wanted to learn how to garden? That time he had laughed in your face, and you never asked again.

Needless to say, you weren’t happy. You felt trapped, lonely, and like your life was coming to a complete standstill. You had dreams and aspirations before this marriage. You wanted to inherit the family’s business, you wanted to go to school, you wanted to travel the world. Hell, you had wanted a true relationship with someone, never having one before Hans. And now those dreams were buried in the dirt, rotting. You almost envied them.

The only moments you found yourself feeling some semblance of joy was when Hans went away, which happened quite frequently, and for long periods of time. During those days and weeks by your lonesome, you felt like you were able to move more freely, and you did things that he normally wouldn’t allow. You snuck into the city under the cover of the night. You had a little garden hidden behind some trees, where he was never going to find it, because he never explored the woods surrounding the house. If you had people to write to, you would’ve sent them countless letters. But even all that couldn’t combat the loneliness that you felt. It’s teeth sunk into your heart, poisoning everything you did with a melancholic venom.

But if your family was thriving, then you would force a smile on your face every morning. The eldest of ten siblings, it was your responsibility to make sure your family would have a successful future. If halting your own life meant everyone else got to continue with theirs, then you’d stay. But you missed them, not having seen them since the day your father had approached you with the marriage certificate in his hands and Hans trailing behind him. You knew they had moved houses soon after you got married, so if your husband would even let you send a letter to them, you had no idea where to send it to.

But you knew that they were well, which was all you needed to know. Sighing lightly, you felt Hans cold eyes on you, forcing you out of your thoughts. “What’s wrong?” He asked, the question coming from a place of habit rather than care, and instinctively you felt a smile force its way onto your lips.

“Nothing’s the matter,” you lied, and it sounded more confident than your lie last night. “Sorry.”

Either satisfied with your answer, or he simply didn’t care that much, he nodded, before returning to glance out the window. Every conversation with Hans felt scripted like that, and it was exhausting. Refraining from sighing again, you joined in looking out the window, you were startled to find the familiar shapes of Rhodes outside, the journey being pretty much over.

It only took another half-a-minute before the carriage was coming to a halt outside the bank, which was on your right. On your left you saw a prison wagon drive past, with two men on horses accompanying it. It wasn’t unusual for there to be a prison wagon in town, a lot of bounty hunters picking up work from the Scarlett Meadows Sheriff’s Office. What nearly caused you to stumble in surprise as Hans helped you out of the carriage was a familiar hat adorning the driver of the wagon. Yet again, you weren’t able to get a good glimpse of him, and Hans’ voice halted you from following the stranger with your eyes.

“I’ll be in there for a bit,” Hans explained, gesturing to the bank. “Go ahead and wait for me right out here.”

“Could I run to the store? I need some things for dinner tonight,” you felt the lie tumble from you before you could stop it.

Well, it wasn’t a complete lie, you did need to buy some supplies, but it definitely wasn’t what you were expecting to do today. He seemed to buy it, relenting after some thought. “Alright,” he started backing away toward the bank, “meet me over here when you’re done. Don’t take too long.” He paused for a moment. “You got enough money?” He asked, nodding to your bag which you held in one of your hands. It was kind of a ridiculous question, but you nodded anyway. Without another word, he walked into the bank, finally leaving you to your lonesome.

As quickly as you could without drawing attention to yourself, you crossed over to the store before avoiding it completely. The men had all dismounted their rides, their horses hitched up on to the post outside of the office. A group of four men stood at the base of the stairs, deep in conversation. The only person you were able to recognize was Sheriff Leigh Gray, who was partially facing you as he talked with the three unrecognizable men.

At least, two of them were unrecognizable.

That familiar hat became even more clear as you approached. It looked even more worn in the sunlight, the brown leather turning a sandy tan in certain spots. The owner of said hat had his back to you, but you were still able to hear his voice clearly. It was just as you remembered, gravely and low and you could listen to it for ages. You couldn’t help the smile that graced your lips as you approached, and you forgot how nice it was to have a genuine one. Your wish of seeing him again was happening faster than you thought it would.

You realized you had no idea what you were going to say to the men, causing you to second guess what you were doing. It’s not like you could go up and say Hey, weren’t you in my house last night? Luckily Leigh saved you from having to come up with anything, his concerned expression turning to a welcoming one as he finally saw you.

He clapped one of the men he was talking with on the shoulder, who had longer black hair that fell to his shoulders, slicked back with pomade. “You remember me tellin’ you ‘bout the Kerrigans?” The men gave partially-interested noises in response. “Well,” he gestured to you with his free hand, and the black haired man followed where he was pointing, turning around to face you completely. He was richly dressed, wearing something you’d see your husband wear, not a bounty hunter. Weird.

The other man also turned. He also had brown hair, with a thick beard similar to Hans’. He was chewing on a piece of straw, and you watched him play with the repeater in his hands, antsy. The only one who didn’t turn to you was the man with the hat, but you heard him hum inquisitively to Leigh as you halted a few feet behind the group.

“Let me introduce y’all to Mrs. Kerrigan.”

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader

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thedelusionreaderbitch · 5 months

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Poly! Jegulus x gn! Reader - When there is no logic, look deeper

A/n: I decided to go with a different analogy for James's and Regulus's relation than I normally do (and what everyone else normally does.) So have fun with this little drabble!

Summary: Your relationship with James and Regulus through Remus's perspective.

Warnings: Swearing, brief mentions of child abuse, brief mentions of mental health issues (if you squint,) I think that's it? You have been warned!

The Three P's:

[Pronouns used: you/your] [Pov: 2nd person] [Pairings: (romantic!) (poly!) jegulus x reader, (romantic!) wolfstar, (platonic!) marauders]

I do NOT support J. K. Rowling, or any transphobic/homophobic things she says (or anything she says really), or TERFS!

Regulus and James fit together, in a neat messy puzzle. James's darker skin contrasting with Regulus's more pale, like the sun and it's moon. Recently, Remus had been reading some muggle plays of man named Shakespeare, and just by looking at the two, he could tell that he would've written down every piece of their love story, until he knew it by heart.

The enigma, the question, he just couldn't find the answer to was you, because Regulus and James were different sides of the same coin. Slytherin and Gryffindor, light and dark, sun and moon. You just didn't fit as nicely into the big picture.

That's what he used to think anyway, before the marauders and everyone else had gotten to know you. To Remus, he used to think of you as a temporary escape for the two boys, as you were the only one out of the three who had a normal life. It was harsh, but it was the only answer to the equation he could come up with.

Remus's life hadn't been full of answers, maybe that's why he tried to find the solution, so there would be no more variables. So he didn't have to attempt to find the solution later, when they most needed it most. So maybe, just once his life could be left with more answers than questions.

Action reaction, like getting bit by a werewolf - he was one of them now. Finding Sirius, James, and Peter on the train - becoming friends. Gaining feelings for Padfoot, confessing them and becoming a couple. (Okay, maybe there were multiple steps to that equation.) Everything had a solution, something he liked to find to keep himself sane. When everything else in his life was swirled with insanity.

You fitting into the equation didn't follow a path of logic, it was completely and utterly crazy.

Now, he sees what he didn't before, the way you would stay with James even when the smile slipped from his lips. How you would listen to Regulus, and give him space to talk about his family troubles, why he stayed.

You would let James cry, and make Regulus giggle, the planets didn't just revolve around the sun now. Now the moon and it's star revolved around you.

You were a nebula, because when a person looked at you, they gasped in wonder. Everything unknown and beautiful was you, a glittering cloud of normalcy and love. Nurturing but fleeting if need be.

One time, Sirius said he and his brother were the stars, and you only laughed, shaking your head.

"Regulus is like the moon, for so long we thought we couldn't reach him, until we did."

Remus's boyfriend looked startled, Remus could agree with the feeling. How had you, just made sense of someone so complex, with so many strings and layers, with just a sentence?

The werewolf wanted to see how you would respond if he asked you about everybody at Hogwarts, about the ministry, his family. Instead, he asked you about your other boyfriend.

"James?" You smiled softly, and for some reason it warmed Remus's heart, that when you thought about his friend, you immediately were happy. As if just thinking about him was enough to revel in his sunlight.

"James is the sun, he's bright, but sometimes his brilliance gets the peoples eyes, it can annoy them. Until he gets farther away." You still had a pleasant look upon your face, but your eyes were brightly alight with sadness. "Then it's winter, and they long for summer again, because then the sun could be there to warm them a second time. Regardless of its blinding sunlight."

Remus thinks, that was the moment that he started to understand why James and Regulus had both fallen for you. You were the beautiful unknown, a nebula, out of reach, but oh, so beautiful to gaze upon.

Remus still didn't quite comprehend how you fit into the grand scheme of things, but he thinks, he starting to see the big picture.

Words 670

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Hp Taglist: @regulusblackswhorecrux

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dameronology · 3 months

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moment's passed (matt murdock)

summary: based on say don't go by t.swift (x)

warnings: excessive use of the f-word. angst.

this is one of the from the vault songs that just fucking HITS me. i have been crying to this since it came out tbh. i hope you enjoy xx

-jazz

You had Matt Murdock.

Until you didn't.

Things had been sweet at first; he was a weathered lawyer who needed some light in his life. Somebody to come home to; somebody to properly love for the first time in his fucking life. It wasn't like the high he was chasing with Eletkra Natchios, or the familiarity he'd sought out with Karen Page. He got both things from your relationship, but you were...different. You gave him highs; you could make him feel like he was home and on a rollercoaster all at once. It was a feeling Matthew wanted to keep for the rest of his life. He would have been stupid not to. But wasn't that the thing about Matt? He was incredibly smart, but also incredibly fucking stupid. Almost bound to take someone for granted. He'd done it with Foggy, hadn't he?

Five years. That was how long you made it before cracks began to appear in your foundations. You'd loved Matt for his Daredevil side at first; maybe he could go too far, but he'd always known when to stop (right?) and you admired him for it. For his bravery, for his candor, for the way he protected the city. It was like a dark and sexy secret that you prided yourself on keeping. It tied you together. You were part of it now. You were the person that Matt could come to about his darkest fears and worst nights. You were the person whose side he would curl up into during the night, craving someone to protect him for once. There was always the worry that he would go into deep and truly lose himself, but every time Matt found himself on the precipice of doing so, you would be there to hold him back - to keep him sane and to stop him letting Matt Murdock and Daredevil blur into one person.

You were only a human being, though. So was he. Matt could save the city and everything in it but you couldn't save him from himself. Save him from coming home at 6AM - your agreement had always been 3AM at the latest - and sliding into bed beside you without a word, or save him from waking up in a bad mood and refusing to talk to you about it. No matter how many times you begged him to just spend one night in, or to not leave himself three hours to sleep before work. It all fell on empty ears and that hurt when he had fucking super hearing. Comforting cuddles at night turned into whispered touches and soon, those touches became backs turned to one another. Long conversations turned into polite niceties than eventually faded into silence. The happy relationship - breakfast together in the morning at the table and takeouts on the sofa at night - became a burden. A horse you were both flogging because staying together in silence was slightly less terrifying than whatever the alternative that left you alone was. Soon, you were the only one flogging said horse. Matt had dropped his stick a long time ago and turned away. He'd walked into the depths of Hell's Kitchen and you weren't sure he was ever coming back.

This wasn't your fault. Maybe it wasn't his fault either but hell it was his burden to bear. You'd done nothing but love and support him and what did you get in return? Silence. Iciness. Long, tense moments of forced conversations.

You got used to it eventually. Every night, he'd come stumbling in at 4,5,6AM, skin littered with bruises and wounds; some from that night and others reopened. Matt's skin was thick with scars now. They were forming a new Daredevil suit across his arms and legs and back and there was no taking it off. It was always there. Always a reminder.

Matt was laying with his back to you; you watched with open eyes, as his breathing went from shallow and tense, to something a little deeper and softer. He was falling asleep. Tough fucking luck, Murdock, you thought, it's time to talk.

You brushed a hand down his back - Matt arched like a cat, suddenly waking.

"Hey, Matty."

He sighed heavily. "I was sleeping."

"I know. I'm sorry. I just wanted to see how you were-"

"- I'm tired," Matt huffed. "Go to sleep."

"I'm tired too," you murmured. Tired of this. Tired of this silence. Tired of you.

"Sleep too, then."

"I will," you whispered. "What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?"

"I'm working all day. Probably late."

"Okay, goodnight," you said. "I love you."

Silence.

The morning came and still, Matt barely spoke to you. He ghosted past you in the morning, hands fumbling for a clean shirt and pants. His shoes were pulled on and coffee made, and he was out the door before you'd even risen for work. That was purposeful. He never left earlier than 8AM and it wasn't even gone 7:30. Maybe he didn't want to talk. Maybe he just wanted to talk to anyone that wasn't you - which was funny, because you'd barely had a conversation in weeks.

You had lunch with Karen later that day, about four doors down from the Nelson & Murdock office. Whatever dalliance she'd had with Matt was in the past - you two were good friends. She was level-headed and candid. You needed that in a friend. She always said what you needed to hear, even if you didn't want to.

"So, I'm gonna see this guy for a second date, I think," Karen was saying something. You were gone, eyes blankly staring past her. "But I'm not sure, because - hey, are you listening to me?"

"No," you admitted. "I'm sorry. I had a really shitty night."

Her face fell with concern. "What's going on?"

"Matt's losing himself to his night job," you admitted. "I haven't had a proper talk with him in fucking months. I don't think he's touched me since people liked James Corden, Karen. Do you know what a long time that is?"

"Jesus," she muttered. Without another word, she pulled out her diary and flicked through it. "Look, it says he's got his whole afternoon wide open today. He went home at midday I think."

You faltered slightly. Either Karen was mistaken or Matt was a fucking liar and had fed you bullshit about being busy this afternoon. The worst part was that you knew Karen never made mistakes when it came to her secretary job. She had a Pinterest board for everything and her Google calendar synced up to ten different devices. She probably wasn't wrong and lying to you, although a new development, was pretty in line with how Matt had been lately. It felt like the final nail in the coffin. The thing that sealed your relationship's fate.

"I..." you muttered. "Okay. Will you hate me if I ditch early to go and talk to him?"

Karen shook her head. "No. Go."

That subway ride was the longest of your ride. It felt like every stop was twice as long; like every red signal lasted ten years. Had the walk from the platform to the barriers always been this long? Had the street from the station to your apartment been this stretched out? Your feet had never hurt more as you sprinted up the stairs from the lobby to your apartment. The door was on the latch - Karen was right, he had been home - and you booted it down with ease. Matt jumped up from the sofa as you did.

"What are you-"

"- you're a fucking liar!" you snapped.

There was a lingering silence for a moment. Matt was a man of few words but he had very rarely found himself speechless.

"I'm done," you muttered.

"Done with what?"

"I'm done with you," you said. "I'm done with us. With this shitty relationship. Do you know how long I've been trying? How long I've been begging you to give me some kind of attention? Months, Matt. I've been dying for MONTHS and you haven't cared."

"I haven't been ignoring you-"

"- please don't lie to me," you cut him off again.

The silence returned. You might have been half way out the door for months but Matt had been the one holding it open. The worst part was that you loved him to your very core and if he just said the words then - stay, don't go - or even any fucking word in the human language that hinted at a glimmer of hope, you would have thought twice. Maybe your apartment was a ghost town now but it was haunted with what used to be. Maybe there was a chance to go back to that. Just maybe. You would take maybe.

The seconds passed. One, two, three. You counted them as they went, right up until you hit sixty. The dreaded one minute mark. That was more than enough time to beg. You could have done it in thirty. But he'd said nothing. The silence now said more to you than Matt had in the last three months.

"Do you have nothing to say?" you quietly asked.

"Right," you murmured. "I'm really done then."

"Just...think about this?" Matt said. His voice wavered slightly. There it was. The thing you'd been wanting to hear. It was just one minute too late.

"Moment's passed, Matty,"

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock imagines #matt murdock x you #matt murdock one shot #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock fanfic #daredevil x reader #daredevil imagines #daredevil x you #daredevil imagine #daredevil one shot #daredevil reader insert #matt murdock reader insert

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onewildwrites · 6 months

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Please Please Me [Calvin Evans x reader]

Word count: 3.9k

Summary: You persuade Calvin to spend a little less time at the lab and a lot more time with you.

Warnings: 18+ no minors, smut, masturbation (m), oral (f receiving), brief thoughts of somnophilia, praise kink, brief mentions of breeding kink (but no really because it’s mostly just taking about cum and creampies lol), pet names (sweetheart, honey, little wife), no use of y/n, fem reader, a little fluffy ending!

A/N: This took me an embarrassingly long time to write so I hope you enjoy, and please don’t forget to comment and reblog🫶

Calvin Evans was an incredibly dedicated chemist. He seemed to care more for his work than anything else in the world.

Late nights were almost always spent in his lab when he could be sure his scientific process would not be disturbed, more importantly there would be no Donatti banging on his door asking when his latest experiment would be done.

His commitment to his work is what many (even those who weren’t particularly fond of Evans) would list as one of his greatest strengths.

Not you though.

Definitely not you.

You didn’t want to be misunderstood, you were truly proud of Calvin and his work. He was a brilliant man who deserved every bit of praise he got. You would accompany him to every award ceremony and never grow tired of hearing speech upon speech about what a wonder he was in the scientific community.

But you were getting very tired of spending most nights in your home alone.

Every night for the past month at 1:35am on the dot, you would be awoken by the feeling of the right side of the bed sinking to the weight of his lanky body. He would apologize profusely for waking you so late, and proceed to move to the couch in the living room.

In the beginning you hoped you could at least have a brief moment of alone time with Calvin in your shared morning before he went off to work. But of course he had already left for his early row by the time you opened your eyes.

Even weekends weren’t sacred anymore since moving some of his lab equipment to his home office. Calvin would leave his office when you alerted him dinner was ready, you two would stick to light small talk ( “How’s your research going?” “This is delicious” “Anything interesting in the news lately?” “Have you heard about what happened to Mrs.Jones down the road?”) Cavin would eat quickly, finishing before you were even halfway through your food, thank you for the meal and quickly peck your cheek before going right back to his office.

Like any sane person you were growing impatient with your husbands never ending busy schedule. A woman has needs just like any man does and Calvin should know that very well by now.

Much of your early relationship was spent exploring all the ways you could please each other. After all, Calvin was a scientist and he would reason the best way to find out was to experiment. That meant hours wrapped up in your white sheets, christening every surface of his home, trying things you never would have even fantasized of doing in your wildest dreams.

You missed that time desperately now and you had a plan to get it back.

–

Calvin was never good at picking up on social cues. Luckily most people thought he was simply pulling their leg when he took a joke or a sarcastic comment seriously. But he knew something had changed with you the moment he stepped into your shared home that Friday night.

He still made sure to close the door with extra caution so as not to wake you, even though he ended up almost constantly waking you when he slunk into bed anyway. Going through his usual routine of removing his sweat soaked running clothes, grabbing a pair of clean pajamas, and jumping into the bathroom for a quick shower.

After thoroughly removing the feeling of grime from his skin he makes his way towards your bedroom rubbing his tired eyes. He knows he has only himself to blame for his recent exhaustion but he’s never been great at putting anything before his work, and that includes sleep.

As he expects there you are sleeping sweetly, your left hand resting gently under your face. No matter how many times he sees you sleep he knows he will never get bored of it.

Calvin was quickly pulled out of his state of adoration when he realized something was off with the usual picture he was used to coming home to. You were sleeping on your stomach with your leg sticking out from the duvet. And Calvin may be downright lousy at picking up social cues but he always noticed a change in his surroundings.

You most certainly never had to worry about Calvin failing to notice a change in your style or a new haircut because he was the first to comment on it. “This new dress looks lovely on you.” he’d say while kissing the exposed bit of your shoulder.

In all the years he had known you, you never once slept on your stomach (it was a deeply inconvenient position for cuddling according to you), and you definitely never let your limbs hang off the bed (some old superstitious fear you had as a child that stuck with you into adulthood).

He decided to investigate further, even if it turned out to just be him reading too much into it.

Striding over to your side of the bed he looked for anything else that might be out of place. Your breathing was normal, the book on your bedside table was laying in the same place you put it all other nights, and your nightly glass of water sat empty. He was about to scold himself for being overdramatic when his eyes caught the lack of fabric on your shoulders.

Maybe you purchased a new sleeveless nightgown, Calvin tried to reason with himself. Maybe it was just a particularly low neckline or perhaps the fabric matched your skin tone so well he just wasn’t seeing it, after all the room was dark. Yes, that was possible.

Of course he couldn’t leave it at that - oh why didn’t he leave it at that and go right to bed? “You’re being ridiculous,” he scolded himself like a child in a whisper. “Just take a quick look, there’s no harm.”

Carefully he reached for where the blanket met your exposed back, making sure not to graze your skin, as much as he wanted to.

Sure enough there it was, you, completely exposed to him. The sides of your breasts pushing out against the mattress and your round ass on full display. “Shit…” the words fell out of Calvins mouth before he could stop them. He felt like a stupid teenager getting his first glance at a nude woman all over again.

Thoughts of temptation filled his mind. What would happen if he did touch you? If his hands slipped down towards the space between your thighs. Would you wake suddenly furious that he would ever wake you from your peaceful sleep? What about encouraging him to join you and take off his towel?

Of course he wouldn’t ever be sure of the real answer as Calvin could not bring himself to touch you while unconscious. It would be downright ungentlemanly.

He shook his head to clear his mind of the thoughts.

Calvin was lifting the edge of the duvet to cover you back up when you began to move. Panic filled him as he froze completely, fearing what you would think if you caught him ogling you in your sleep. Luckily enough for him your eyes did not open, but something unexpected did come out of your mouth.

At first Calvin thought he was hearing things, maybe the exhaustion of all these long nights in the lab were finally getting to him. Although that was a strong possibility in his mind there was no doubt the noises he was hearing were coming from you. Noises he was all too familiar with. Soft, breathy, moans.

This was not a sound Calvin knew you could make in your sleep. So similar to the sounds you let out when he was on top of that if he closed his eyes he would swear that’s where he was. While being swept up by his own imagination he nearly missed the words you spoke. “Mmph…Calvin…”

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. He could no longer ignore the growing bulge under the towel wrapped around his waist. Dropping the blanket back over you, he rushed back to the bathroom.

Leaning against the sink Calvin ripped the towel from around him, freeing his hard cock. Bringing his right hand up to his mouth he spit a glob of saliva into the center of his palm. Wasting no time at all he reached down and grasped the base of his throbbing length causing a gasp to escape him. “Fuck,” He moaned, his voice trembing with arousal. Calvin couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this desperate for a release.

Reminiscing about the last time he had gotten you all to himself Calvin began working his hand over his cock. The way you bit your bottom lip when you were close to orgasm, how soft your ass felt in his hands, or how you begged him so sweetly to cum inside of you. “Oh honey,” he groaned with teeth clenched. The more he thought about you the closer he got to the edge.

Keeping his arm still Calvin started bucking his hips forward, fucking his fist while picturing you on your knees below him. Your big doe eyes looking up at him with an innocent glint was his weakness. How was someone even able to look so naive with a cock between their lips? “That’s it, God you're so good to me,” he could no longer hold back.

Picking up his pace Calvins mind went blank, only the sensation of his impending orgasm could be felt. A jumbled mix of curses sprung from his lips as he watched the cum shoot from the tip of his cock onto his fist.

Calvin remained silent in the bathroom, the only sound to be heard was the heavy panting noise of him trying to catch his breath. After a few beats he decided it would be best to clean up the mess he had made, put his pajamas on and get out of there as soon as possible. God forbid you wake up for a late night bathroom trip and see him like this.

Walking back out to the living room he began to wonder how loud he had been, did he wake you with his erratic moans? Choosing to take a quick peak and make sure he hadn’t embarrassed himself further he gracefully nudged your bedroom door open a sliver. Clearly the universe was looking out for old Calvin because there you lay, sleeping soundly.

Letting out a breath of relief Calvin moved back out towards his bed tonight – the couch.

If only Calvin had stayed watching you a little longer he would have seen the sly smirk spreading across your lips.

Everything goes according to plan.

–

The sun peeked through the blinds, shining directly onto his eyelids when he woke in the morning. He had been too distracted last night to set his usual 6am alarm but he welcomed the extra rest. Honestly after the night he had Calvin was surprised he slept at all.

Figuring there was no time to waste if he still wanted to go on his morning row, Calvin sat upright on the couch, wiping the sleep from his eyes. While rubbing his eyes Calvins nose picked up an array of once familiar scents: eggs, toast, bacon, and…was that pancakes? It had been so long since you last cooked breakfast for him –again Calvin knew that was completely his fault.

Cavin was starting to forget what your warm meals tasted like, becoming accustomed to eating the cold leftovers whenever he returned home. Perhaps he could skip the row, just this one time…

Strolling towards the kitchen with a smile on his face Calvin nearly tripped himself when he caught sight of you. Standing as he expected in front of the stove top, humming along to whatever song was playing in your head while carefully flipping pancakes. What he did not expect was the lingerie you were wearing while doing it. He’d obviously lost track of time while eyeing you as you noticed him, slack jaw and all.

You fully turned towards him with a smile, “Good morning sleepyhead.”

–

How you wish you had a camera near you now. The look on Calvins face was priceless. You had never seen him so stunned before, and that includes the first time you agreed to go on a date with him.

“M-morning,” he stuttered, clearly trying (and failing) to fix his uncouth expression.

His gaze wandered across the outfit before him. A light pink set, silk top decorated with a delicate bow in the center of the chest, short ruffled bloomers, completed with a transparent tulle robe.

You turned back towards the stove. “Did you sleep well? I missed you last night. It’s always so lonely in bed without you,” you said, exaggerating the sadness in your voice.

That seemed to snap Calvin back to his normal self, “I’m sorry honey, you know I just worry about waking you up,” the genuine concern in his voice almost made you feel bad for playing it up so much…almost.

“Well you woke me up anyway, so why didn’t you just join me, hm?” You had a feeling you could see the panic on his face without even looking back.

A hitch in his breathing and a sudden step towards you let you know you were spot on. “When exactly did I wake you?” he questioned.

“Oh you know, when you were playing with your cock in the bathroom,” you stated it simply like you were telling him something he already knew. “I have to say I was very disappointed you didn’t invite me Calvin, you know I hate to think of all the cum you wasted without me there to clean it up.” You shut the burner on the stove off, moving the final pancake off the side with the rest.

Finished with the task at hand you looked back at Calvin. No longer the anxious face you were anticipating, no this was a look you recognized instantly, arousal.

Calvin licked his lips, “You dirty little minx,” wrapping his hands around your waist he swiftly pulled you towards him. His hot breath fanning across your face, “You planned all this out didn’t you?”

Batting your lashes at him you whipped out your best virginal response, “I have no idea what you could possibly be accusing me of Dr.Evans.”

He tilted his head to the side, “Are you sure about that?” His hands were now grazing further down your back causing an involuntary shiver to run over you. “So you didn’t sleep naked last night hoping it would drive me crazy? How about moaning in your ‘sleep’ expecting me to get hard?”

You shook your head at every accusation. Watching Calvin grow more impatient with your antics was only egging you on.

He let out a huff, “No? Not even wearing this skimpy thing to cook breakfast in?”

“How do you know this isn’t what I usually cook breakfast in? It’s not like you’re ever around when I do it anyway.” The facade you had put on dropped quickly.

It was clear a lightbulb went off in Calvins head, “Is that what this is about? Have I been neglecting my pretty little wife's needs?” He moved his head into the crook of your neck, his nose pressed against your pulse.

Now it was your turn to stutter, “M-maybe…” Your eyes closed at the feeling of him being so close to you.

His lips moved to graze your neck, making his words jumbled, “Well I think I know just how to apologize for it.”

You were about to ask how when suddenly Calvins lips crashed onto yours, pushing every coherent thought from your mind. Caught off guard you forget to move your lips with his. He pulled away briefly to let out a hoarse whisper, “Kiss me,” The command was so gentle it seemed almost like a question.

You could never deny him of what he wanted. Moving back into the kiss you meet him with equal lust, like you both had been deprived of touch for years. God you missed this, the soft groans passing by your lips as your tongues melted against each other. You noticed a growing hardness pressed to your upper thigh. “Getting excited over a little kiss Calvin?” you teased. Your forehead rested against his, nudging his nose with yours.

“Can you blame me? I mean look at you,” Calvins right hand moved up from its place on your back, undoing the tie in the middle of your robe. You shook it from off your shoulders, letting it fall on the kitchen floor. Calvin took a step back to get a better look at you, making you whine at the loss of contact. “So perfect for me,” he said, like there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that it was true.

“What are you doing?” You asked as he sunk slowly onto his knees.

His hands pulled at the back of your thighs, squeezing the soft skin. “I’m thanking my beautiful wife for putting up with me.”

Your eyes rolled at his dramatics. “Cavin I d-” the words ripped from you before they were even out as his lips moved to the inner part of your thigh. Dragging the delicate skin of his lips across you, your eyelids fluttered shut once more. “I should have known you would need me to take care of you,” he admitted.

The petals of his lips roaming higher up your thighs he shifted you so that your legs were flush against his torso. “Don’t you sweetheart, you need me to take care of you?” Although his tone was clearly mocking it still made you feel warm inside.

“Mhm, I do I do, please,” you nodded dumbly.

His smile pressed against your skin, “How cruel of me to ever leave my sweet wife and her needy pussy all alone.” Calvins right hand reached up to the center of your bloomers, thumb grazing over your clit.

“F-uck,” you gasped, dropping your hands to grip the base of Calvin's hair.

“You’re worse off than I thought you were,” he joked. Wasting no more time teasing you Calvin lowered your bloomers, pulling them with his teeth. Your eyes sprung open to watch him work.

Biting his lower lip Calvin admired the wetness dripping from you. “Miss me?”

“Yes, God Calvin Please,” you begged looking down at him with desperation flowing from you.

His eyes met your, “You don't need to beg for me anymore honey, I’m home now.” keeping eye contact with you Calvin kissed your aching clit. Gradually escalating from sweet pecks to open mouth licks you could feel your knees lock below you. Calvin shifted your left leg over his shoulder to drown himself inside your cunt, licking from your clit to your opening.

Moans falling from your lips before you even knew what you were saying, “Yes, fuck you’re so good Calvin,” you swore he always looked his best under you, even if your eyes were having trouble focusing at the moment.

Your praise was the only kind that Calvin cared about you recalled him telling you, and now that was obvious to you. Your words clearly have an effect on his performance. Encouraging him to lick and suck your clit with vigor. His moans vibrate your core pushing you further towards the edge of your impending orgasm.

Withdrawing his face from your pulsating cunt, Calvin lays his face on your thigh. Hastily replacing his tongue with his fingers and continuing the same motions. Seemingly mesmerized by his own actions Calvin stares at your pussy while speaking to you, “Yeah? You like when I pay attention to you?” His words came out wobbly like he was the one being pleasured.

Using all the strength you could muster you tried to really look at him like this. Face flush red leading down to his neck, your slick covering most of his chin, that one vein popping out of his temple. Never before Calvin have you seen a man look so determined to please.

“Mhm Yes, God Calvin, I love it when you pay attention to me,” you groaned.

“Good because I’ll be doing a lot more of it now.” going back in for another taste, he is like a man possessed. Calvin has always been an attentive man, inside and outside the bedroom and it was clear he was trying to prove something to you at this moment.

“Fuck I’m so close Calvin,” you warned.

He broke away from your pussy for a second time, “Yeah, you gonna come all over my face honey?”

You could no longer keep your eyes open, squeezing them shut tight. You wanted to say something- anything in response but the words failed you, opting to nod your head quickly.

“Do it sweetheart, come for me, please,�� he coaxed, playing with your clit at the same steady pace he had been previously.

That was all it took for you to come, nearly collapsing into Calvin's arms. He held you upright as your orgasm overtook you. His praise continued as you came down from your high, “You're such a good little wife for me, that’s it honey, come just like that.”

After a few moments calming your breathing you decided to be brave and attempt to move on your own. You joined Calvin down on the floor, sitting in his lap. Letting out a sigh as you came back to your senses, “Fuck me.”

“I would but I'm afraid I may have gotten a little overly excited,” Calvin laughed. You took notice of what he was referring to, a large wet patch on the crotch of his pants.

“Well I’m glad that took care of itself because I don’t know I would have had any energy to help you with it, you drained me.” You jested, but really you weren’t sure your brain was working properly enough to think, let alone suck Calvin off.

The both of you sat in a peaceful moment of silence after that, fixing the others' wrecked appearance. You realized that these were the moments you missed most when Calvin left, simply basking in each other's presence - even if nothing extraordinarily romantic was happening.

“You know when you want me to spend more time with you all you have to do is ask, right?” he broke the silence while brushing your hair behind your ear.

“You know it would be a lot easier to ask you if you weren’t constantly away working or rowing, right?” you asked with the same cadence as him.

That made him giggle, “Fair point, I promise not to let my neurotic ways keep me away from you ever again.” You planted a quick peck in his lips at that, delighted to hear him say it. “In the meantime is there anything else I can do to make it up to you?”

You pretended to be deep in thought about his question, furrowing your brows together and tapping your pointer finger on your chin. “How about sitting down and eating the breakfast I’ve worked so hard on with me?”

Calvin moved from underneath you, causing a frown to appear on your face. He stood up and reached a hand down, inviting you to grab it and pull yourself up. “You don’t have to ask me twice,” he smiled, pulling up two chairs to the dining table.

#calvin evans #calvin evans fanfic #calvin evans x reader #calvin evans x you #calvin evans x y/n #calvin evans fanfiction #calvin evans smut #lessons in chemistry #lewis pullman #Lewis Pullman fanfiction #cjs.fics

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thatscarletflycatcher · 8 months

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There's something that has been gnawing at me since I saw some comments on the look-how-they-massacred-them poll for Daniel Sousa -with which I didn't want to engage then and there because I really didn't want to pick up a fight with another Daniel fan, there's few enough of us, but also because the argument was very difficult to articulate.

It is difficult to explain how Daniel Sousa is screwed over by Endgame without making it look like either "he deserved Peggy as a prize" or "he was the perfect prize for Peggy", because it all begins by understanding the experience of WWII and the building of the morale of WWII. Something that Markus and McFeely seemed to perfectly understand in Agent Carter, which inclines me to believe it was specific insistence of the Russos, whose concept of narrative and storytelling is at the level of a belligerent and not very bright 4 year old, that gave us that mindblowingly stupid "happy ending" for Cap and Peggy. Or maybe Markus and McFeely are just arcane creatures, at times intelligent and at times really dumb. Anyways.

Point is that both CATFA and Agent Carter understand that for these characters, fighting WWII is a matter of "each doing their bit", of, as Steve put it in The Avengers, to lay on the barbed wire so the one that comes after you can pass on. And in the process of doing that, you have great loses and suffer great grief. The price of war is immense, and for these people the price of war is the price of freedom (yes, that celebrated Steve speech from CATWS is also sharing in that same spirit. It's kind of impressive how until that awful mess of Endgame, the perspective of Steve as a character from movie to movie is one that addresses how some 1940s things are outdated, but how many others are still relevant and inspiring. It is a surprisingly nuanced take on History, that of course the Russo "Cap is an outdated relic that belongs in the past and should stay there" brothers don't seem to have what's needed to grasp).

In that context, the most coherent tone for Steggy is tragedy. Because that is what happened to many, many, many people during the war. You meet, you fall in love fast, because there is no time. And then suddenly the other is gone, never to come back. And all the promises of youth and life and future the other person represented, are gone with them. People who lived through 2020-2022 have some idea of what it is like for projects, opportunities, and years of your life to just vanish. Now you make that five years, eight months, and to mention "just" the British, 1 out every 100 people live in 1939, dead, and over 350.000 permanently disabled. If you were 20 in 1939, your life would be practically on hold till you were 26. It's a whole lot of grief, and an intense grief, that you don't solve the way you solve a random missing connection in a romcom like Serendipity or The Lake House. Doing so is cheapening and bastardizing the grief and trauma of a whole generation of people in different countries.

So, Agent Carter. Here we have a story focused on a group of people, spies, who, in different fronts and with different outcomes, made it through the war and are now facing this new world they are living in, and all the grief of their respective losses. The focus of the story is Peggy, a woman who, like many others, was allowed a wide range of action during the war, and is now subconsiously perceived as a threat by many of her male coworkers. It's a desperate bid to "go back to the way things were before", and her presence is a constant reminder that they can't.

Sousa occupies a very similar position to Peggy's: he's also a reminder that the war happened and that there is no way back, no magic solution, no pretending. And that's why both are ignored, and displaced, and why both struggle to prove themselves in a subconscious way while living by the continued principle that they are doing their bit. That is their lifeline that keeps them sane and working all throughout s1 of Agent Carter.

That's what we mean when we say Peggy and Sousa are equals, and that Sousa is contented with letting her have the spot; not because he's her inferior or her dependant, but because he's her equal -in intelligence, in ideals, in resourcefulness, in loyalty, but also in their relative positions in the power ladder- and does not feel threatened by her because of it.

(It is in this context, btw, that Peggy's rebuke of Daniel's "rescue" of her in the first episode must be understood. Because she was once treated like any other officer/agent of her same rank, she has knee jerk reactions to both being demeaned and being protected. It's also an important theme of that beginning of the series that Peggy needs to learn to let her friends in, and that she needs their help, and that that doesn't make her too weak to protect and defend them.)

But also, in another way, when we talk about Sousa becoming Peggy's husband, it has to do with the sentiment Krezminsky expresses in the series:

The ship of Steggy had sailed and was gone forever since the moment Steve became the legend in the ice and Peggy "Cap's Girl", this embodiment of the ridiculous damsel in distress we hear in the radio drama that plays on one of the episodes: Peggy fell in love with Steve when he was a scrawny, sickly lad, because she loved the man he was inside, but now forever for the world she is just another superficial, weak girl lusting after the handsome godlike rescuer, the picture of the eugenic dream of the übermensch. In Daniel Peggy loves and finds all the same things she found and loved in Steve, but in a different light, because Sousa is a different person, with a different life story, plus something else: they have both gone through war and its loss and grief, and come to the other side in need of rebuilding and finding new meaning in life and hope for the future.

In a world where the Dark, Tall and Handsome Hero of the Six Pack, Alpha Dominance and Endless Stamina reigns supreme, Sousa as a love interest is a remarkable and -sadly- bold statement about the things that truly matter in finding one's life partner.

So I think here is a reasonable point to start talking about Sousa in Agents of SHIELD. Because here's where someone would rationally say "well, but you see, there he's also chosen as a love interest!", and the reasons why context in AoS changes everything are multiple, so let's go there.

But before that, let me make clear that I do wholeheartedly believe the writers of AoS meant to honor Sousa, and sincerely tried to do their best with what they were given. That doesn't change what the end product ended up doing and saying about him.

Like Peggy is the main character of Agent Carter, so Daisy is the main character of Agents of SHIELD. As much as you can say all the team characters are important and get the focus, Daisy is the one which the narrative insists on making the focal point, as the arcs of several seasons hinge on her, and we are expected to sympathize with her first and foremost in any situation in which she is personally involved. But unlike Peggy, Daisy is a superpowered individual. She's more like Steve than Peggy; she's practically a demigod. She is capable of ripping Earth apart with just her hands. Where Peggy and Sousa were equals in the power ladder in-universe, in AoS the distance between Daisy and Sousa is abysmal. That imbalance is the first thing that leads to Sousa being put in the position of Daisy's Boy. The fact that he ends up in space with Daisy's last minute sister who is ALSO an inhuman does not help things.

As a side note, there's something to be said about futuristic prosthetics in AoS and how they interesect with disability. But I'd rather not get into it because it is a thorny subject and I don't feel qualified to speak of it.

In a different way, Daniel being Peggy's love interest in Agent Carter is balanced out by his having a life of his own and many interactions with other characters throughout the series. He pursues his own lines of investigation, he conducts interrogations of his own, he comes up with plans, he teams up with Krezminsky and with Thompson and in s2 he has downright made a life for himself as chief in California with a fiancé and all. There is a clear sense that he exists as a character outside of pining for Peggy.

In AoS, the opposite happens. Part of it is owed to the writers writing themselves into a corner: to take Sousa out of his timeline, they have to do it in such a way that his disappearance is inconspicuous, which means killing him. They do it the best way they can think of, honoring his alertness and intelligence, by making him realize HYDRA is infiltrated in SHIELD decades before anyone else does. But as a consequence, Sousa becomes the man out of time: there's no future for him, because he has died, and unlike Steve, he's not being brought back because he himself is required. They just save him because they take pity on him and the tragedy of his life. So he has no mission and no significant previous connection with anyone on the team. One of the concrete things in which this is evidenced the most is with the switch from being addressed as chief Sousa to Agent Sousa. He was chief, but between that SHIELD and this SHIELD there's not such a connection by which he can claim that title. There's no subordinates to manage. So he's sort of default-called agent without really being a proper agent.

So the writers choose the fish-out-of-water concept for him. Which is far fetched. This guy lived through wwii in a high spy setting where intelligence has knowledge of powerful interstellar aliens. He's most definitely not bewildered by phone cameras, guys. He would quickly adapt... if, again, you know, he was brought back for a mission. But the reality is that from a Doylist POV, he was brought in to be Daisy's love interest, and the only thing he can offer to her, in this huge power imbalance I have pointed out, is chivalrous manners and quaint WWII style references like when he tells her "Agent Johnson, we are going home"; both can be very charming to a modern woman, but they are things that highlight the cultural and psychological distances that separate them, and make it glaringly obvious that they have barely anything in common.

The series tries desperately to give them common ground in the time-loop episode, with this idea that Daisy is like Peggy because she sacrifices herself for others and to protect others all the time. Which is laughable because, again, in Daisy's condition of beloved main character that embodies the tortured, quasi byronic heroine that we understand to be the hallmark of about one half of the contemporary superhero type, the narrative and the characters in it bend all sorts of ways to accommodate her, not the other way around. Peggy's type is different because it is rooted in that WWII morale/frame I was talking about at the beginning of the post.

As a consequence of all of this, Sousa barely interacts with anyone that isn't Daisy (he has of personal scenes, what? one or two with Coulson, the scene where Jemma gives him a new prosthetic, and then he's given an idea to give to Mac in the finale. I don't remember any other non-Daisy ones), has no unique role to fulfill in the mission (specially because so much of the plan is entwined in Fitz and Jemma's rescue plan that was NOT counting with Sousa) and no personal goal to achieve, which weakens his standing as a character outside the romance plot, and when it comes to the romance plot, he has nothing in common with Daisy, and he brings nothing to the partnership other than... narratively forced love, and chivalrousness.

In the end, Daniel, who was a character and a person of relevance in Agent Carter, is nerfed and turned into a prop for the rushed happily ever after of the main character of AoS. And that, in my books, is being screwed over. That's what makes his becoming Peggy's husband and building a life and a future with her a much better and more preferable outcome for Daniel; he gets to build a life of meaning by his own significant work and significant connections, in his own time and place, with a wife who is his equal and with other people that have lived through the same collective experiences of trauma and grief he did.

#Daniel Sousa #Agent Carter #AoS #meta #peggysous

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apocalypse-shuffle · 7 months

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BRUCE WAYNE | BATMAN (generalized canon)

────────────────────

“Staked Claim” (Bruce Wayne x Gn!Reader)

| Bruce and the Reader take stock of each other’s scars. That’s it, that’s the story.

| SFW, scar examination, poor expressions of emotion, fluff -vigilante!reader

| Pictures used are just for aesthetics and have no contextual meaning to the story. (Picture source: Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice 2016 & Zack Snyder's Justice League 2021)

| 800+ words

The barely noticeable weight of the blanket shifts when you move under it. Soft cost-more-than-most-people’s-rent sheets gliding against your skin.

The muscles in your arm ache in tandem with you reaching up to rest your palm flat against the warmth of the owner of the bed you’re in.

“What about this one?”

You watch, genuinely taken for a second, the hairs on his arm stand at the feeling of your breath ghosting across his bicep.

He doesn’t waste a beat before he answers.

“Firefly,” rumbles right after you ask. Of course. Why would he need to think that hard about the marks on his person? They might not actively be on his mind but it’d be hard to forget a memory that’s physically staked its claim on your body.

Firefly made sense though. The scar tissue was as erratically placed as the pyromaniac’s own personality. It also, like many of his scars, has the added bonus of looking twice healed over. Considering Bruce’s clear allergen to sitting idle that doesn’t surprise you.

“Why the sudden interest?”

Laying on your side you shrug with the shoulder not attached to the arm you have braced on the bed. Bruce’s eyes have sparked with a level of interest that you’ve figured out means he’s reading you. Or trying to at least.

“I mean, there’s a lot. Why? You don’t want me to be curious?”

“Most people refrain from asking questions.”

The wry lilt he takes on has you scoffing while you drag your free hand down to his abdomen. The area’s so tense that when you push down the muscles stubbornly refuse to give.

“Most people are scared of hurting your feelings.”

“My feelings?” he grunts.

You sigh out an agreeing “Uh huh,” and press down more incessantly with your fingers. Still no give but you know he gets the message when he forces himself to relax with a heavy exhale. You grin. “Not that I don’t care about your feelings, of course. I just know that if you didn’t want to talk you wouldn’t.”

If you were a different person now would probably be the moment you’d lean in to brush a kiss to the pink tissue left behind from the burn, show Bruce the little bit of kindness he doesn’t often get. As it stands you only hum, hand already moving to the next mark. Already searching for another answer, brown skin stark against Bruce’s deathly pale.

As usual Bruce indulged you.

“You’re looking for yours.”

It’s not a question. You answer him like he’d posed one anyway.

“No,” you say, but when he grabs your hand - hard earned calluses rubbing against your own similarly worn skin - you don’t stop him.

The scarred patch of skin he directs you to is on the other side of his torso, out of sight from your angle, and when your fingers brush up against it you don’t hesitate to laugh. An amused puff of air hits cool skin and Bruce shivers minutely at your warmth.

You croon lowly at him and press a kiss over the spot on his chest your breath hit. Only when he lets out a grumble of a sigh, relaxing just that much more into the bed, do you press more firmly against the knot beneath your fingers.

“This was the poison arrowhead too, wasn’t it?”

Bruce doesn’t even react in any major way, just gives you an exasperated, even slightly amused look.

“If I’m remembering constantly having to reopen the wound to flush it out correctly, then yes.”

Another grin pulls at your lips, you move your head to press another lingering kiss to the side of his neck. It’s not an apology.

“Glad I could make a lasting impression,” you say and Bruce chuckles like that was at all a sane response in the way only someone else who went around the world doing what you both did would understand.

From where his left arm is wrapped around your waist Bruce slides his fingers low and then slides them backwards until the pads of his fingers make contact with a thick line of matted skin. He caresses his physical claim on you with his own brand of tenderness.

It’s your turn to shiver then. You can feel how Bruce smiles against your head; fingers pressing down more firmly on the scar.

“Batarang,” he whispers in your ear. He noses at your hairline and presses a kiss on your temple next and it’s all you can do to keep quiet.

That peace can only last for so long once your gazes meet.

Simultaneously the two of you burst into quiet breathless laughter, curling into each other’s spaces and bodies slotting into one another like you were cut from the same cloth then mercilessly separated but had finally, miraculously, found each other again.

Palm curling almost protectively over that mess of destroyed tissue on his pelvis - your mark - you smile the realist smile you have in months, lungs aching with laughter and a comfortable warmth settling just under your skin.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it! this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

#bruce wayne #batman #black!reader #black y/n #bruce wayne x black!reader #bruce wayne x gn!reader #vigilante!reader #batman x black!reader #batman x gn!reader #bruce wayne imagine #batman imagine #bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #black gn reader #x black!reader #gn!reader #bruce wayne fluff

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bluecookies02 · 2 months

Text

When words fail me, kiss the secrets off my lips-[trans!levi x reader]

summary:

"Can you promise me something then?”. “When you do leave. You will not tell a soul.”

Levi kisses you, similarly to how he did the first time. Clumsily and stiff. And then he melts against you.

He doesn't regret kissing you. He refuses to regret it.

He will not regret it once you rip yourself away from him in disgust, fumbling for your things and slamming his door shut. He will not regret it once he has to transfer you to a different squad and after that, he won't regret never speaking to you again.

//or//

Levi's mother had to do whatever she thought was best for his survival underground. He's 34 now and he has been keeping a secret for as long he can remember.

Can he let himself trust someone to keep it? Just this once.

cw: Angst with a Happy Ending, Scissoring, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Virgin Levi

word count: 5.5k

Roughly thirty years ago, Kuchel, an underground prostitute had a child. In the secrecy of her run-down hotel room, she gave birth all alone.

Bringing a child into this world and surrounding it with filth and violence was not something she wished for.

She grieved the life her child could've had, if only she was born somewhere else.

If only this beautiful kid in her bloody arms was blessed enough to be born by someone else, someone who could give this child the life where it would not know hunger, fear, and desperation of the underground city from the moment it opened its eyes.

The child was tiny, awfully malnourished, yet its hands gripped tightly onto her pinky finger as she carried them both to the bathroom. She vowed to sacrifice everything for it the moment its beautiful eyes sparked up at her and its cries of life reached her ears. She promised to love this child, even if its conception came from anything but.

______________

Levi’s earliest memories of his mother consist of gentle touches and soft and shaky lullabies she would sing after a client would leave the hotel, throwing a pathetic amount of cash on the floor for her to gather up on her knees.

Kuchel Ackerman had a daughter. Levi was raised as a boy.

Today, there is only one living person that carries this secret.

It was the first thing Kuchel would have to do in order to protect her kid. Not only to keep it safer while it grew up but for the fear that her daughter would end up following in her footsteps, meeting the same hell she was soon to endure.

It served Levi well in the great scheme of things.

He had to adapt to being alone, putting on a cold facade so that nobody came close enough to uncover what his mother gave her life to keep hidden.

Repulsed by touch due to his upbringing made it easier, the desire to be close to people buried deep under years of cries and screams of horror he had to listen to in his earliest years of life. Some came from his own mother, others from women alike. They were everywhere, no matter what corner of the underground you hid in, someone, somewhere was desperately trying to get prying hands off of them.

______________

Adapting to life in the scouts took years.

Not reacting violently to a friendly pat on the back required hard work on his end. Those who hadn't seen him in his first days outside still think he's a savage when he brushes hands off his shoulders or creates space between himself and cheering groups after an expedition.

There were a handful of moments when the desire to hug someone was almost unbearable, an impulse that made him sick to his stomach and his knees weak.

His friends, comrades, the man who raised him. All of which happened when the life inside their eyes seemed to completely fade and they were too weak or too far gone to hug him back.

‘Living a life with no regrets’ is a drive people with too many of them under their belt choose as a last resort.

A human mind is not strong enough to hold onto all of them and stay sane, so naturally at one point, either you let your regrets pull you down into pits of insanity, or you create a delusion to follow in order to keep the weight on your soul that much lighter.

____________

“‘Vi? Are you alright?” your voice snaps Levi out of his thoughts. The bottom of his teacup comes into view as he regains his focus.

He hums, looking up at you, spread out on his couch, peeking over your book with a concerned look on your face.

It's been roughly a year and a half since Levi fell in love for the first time in his life, at the late age of 33. A year of which he spent trying to crush that feeling any way he possibly could.

You sitting there, freely and unafraid like you own the space he lives in, proves that his efforts were futile.

Seven months ago, after an expedition, Levi hugged you hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs, almost landing both of you on the ground. It progressed slowly from there.

Not only was the progress agonizingly slow, but it was also terribly rocky. Screaming matches, cold shoulders, silent treatments, venomous words flying off of both of your tongues before one of you inevitably admits defeat and knocks on the other's door in the middle of the night.

Levi's ego won't let him admit that 80% of the time it was him crawling to you. He felt like he couldn't breathe if he was not on good terms with you. It would eat him out during his naturally sleepless nights until he went mad with the desire to fix it. Bless his soul he never knew how to.

He would often show up at your door, both words and actions failing him the second you let him into your room.

You understood though.

His intentions were always clear as day to you. You often said how you could easily figure out what he was thinking from his eyes alone.

“I'm fine, read your stupid romance junk” his response earned him a huff and a smile. Then there's silence.

Silence compels him to fill the space with words.

It would be much easier if you were to try and force him to talk, then he could quickly get you both on his familiar ground.

Fighting.

You know better by now.

“I'm sorry about this morning” he speaks up, looking back down at his paperwork.

He's met with silence again. He knows that it's not for your lack of forgiveness, you being here is obvious proof of that.

It's you, creating more space for him to talk.

You close your book, sitting up, patiently waiting.

Levi fell in love a year and a half ago.

Levi hugged you for the first time seven months ago.

Levi let you hold his hand for the first time four months ago.

Levi kissed you for the first time a month ago.

Thirty-four years ago, Kuchel Ackerman had a daughter.

Levi is still the only living person to know this.

_____________

The first kiss you shared was terrible. It was still the best thing Levi felt up until that point in his life.

You weren't stupid. He didn't need to tell you that he had no idea what he was doing, it was more than obvious with the way he moved against your mouth, equally clumsy and stiff at the same time. Judging by that, it was also not a secret that he never slept with anyone either.

Kissing you sends shivers down his spine and makes his fingers itch to touch you, mind going fuzzy whenever you deepen the kiss with gentle hands on his cheek or around his neck.

Everything was moving too fast. He dreaded the moment when he would have to confront this.

There were admittedly a few options.

Lie, be truthful, or simply… push you away and cherish what little he had with you in these few months, and then continue loving you from afar.

Levi did neither.

He felt terrible at this point. He was selfish, cruel, and fucking terrified. Because for some reason, when he has you within reach, he can’t stop himself from wanting you. His words contradict his actions, time and time again.

His hands are always eager to hold you, seek out and touch every part that they can grip onto. Especially when the kisses grow hotter, needier, and more bold.

His fingers slip under your shirt, at first only to feel the soft skin of your hips against his rough hands…and then they want more. Desperately.

So how can he explain himself?

After walking out on you for the nth time? Abruptly stopping you from reciprocating and bolting out of the room, leaving you all alone to figure out what you did wrong. Letting him do whatever he wanted also didn't work, because, at some point, he would stop on his own, hands snapping to his sides as if he got burned.

You took the rejections with grace, nodding and smiling at him. “Of course”, “That's alright”, “‘Vi, we don't have to, you know that right?”. You were getting exhausted though.

___________

So this time, when he pulled you into his lap, both of your lips swollen and red from kissing for so long, your hands gripped his the moment you felt them reach around your back and down your long skirt.

“I think that we need to stop doing this.”

Your words startled him, even if your voice was tiny, barely audible. He was stopped dead in his tracks, a gasp leaving his glossy lips as he heaved for air.

“We can just stick to holding hands or something, is that okay?”

He was speechless for a moment, yet your eyes were insisting on a reply, holding his gaze, your legs gripping him tighter to stop him from going away before giving any form of an answer. Frustration was evident on your face, and looking at you like that made him nauseous.

“Okay.” he had to will himself to talk, mumbling it out with great effort.

“Okay” you repeated, a little quieter, standing up on your feet, already on your way to the door.

“Will you come by for tea tonight?” your face softened at his panicked expression, and you knew the question was anything but a simple invitation.

Will you come back?

Is it too far gone?

Did he irredeemably fuck it up?

“Of course ‘Vi, I'll keep you company while you do your paperwork too”

_____________

“And for all the other times…” you nodded, making space on the couch. An invitation.

Levi took it, making his way to you before sitting down again. Usually, he wouldn't be so quick with it.

Today, he needed to ease the ache in his chest.

Fears of you not showing up tonight, the hard grip on his wrists that he can still feel if he thinks about it a little harder. The general tension was suffocating.

“I'm not trying to mess with you either.”

“I know.”

“I've never done it before”

“I know that too”

There's a pause, your hand slowly inching to his.

He selfishly takes it.

“I don't know what I want.”

“I don't really believe that, you always know.”

“You're right.”

You're chewing at your lip, still not looking at him. He might run off if you stare at him too much during a serious conversation.

He hates himself for teaching you that.

“I want to”

“Okay”

“I'm terrified of it”

You hum.

You knew about his mother.

“Not because of what my mother was, I think that's not the main problem anymore”

“Oh…” you nod again, squeezing his hand once in encouragement.

“I can't give you what you need”

“You don't need to give me anything.”

“I want to. I can't.”

He's sweating, his hand turning clammy and slippery in your own.

“You have everything I need though…I'm really trying to understand Lev-”

“I don't.”

“What do you mean…” you're searching through answers in your head.

“Does it not work anymore?” it would be offensive if anyone else said it, but the way you ask is timid, gentle, and already full of understanding.

He shakes his head no.

“Not that”

“Are you concerned about the…size?”

“No!” he doesn't even have one, why does the insinuation that it's small offend him for a moment, he isn't sure.

But.

“What if I was?”

It's close to it, isn't it?

“I mean usually guys think that they-”

“Unusable. What if it's unusable.”

“Can you… not feel good?” bless your heart for always thinking about him before everything.

“I can. What if it was unusable?” he repeats the question, gripping your hand tight in his, his other fisting the cushion of his couch.

“As long as you're willing to touch me in other ways? I already know that you're good with your hands, with practically anything you try. I doubt it would be much different? We could also practice.” your tone is serious, and now you're looking at him, curiously gauging his reaction. Did you say the right thing? He's gonna bolt away any second now.

Levi takes his time to think for a moment. Being delusional, that's what he's doing.

He hums.

“It's not that.”

“Okay” he can sense that you don't believe him now. That's alright. It doesn't change anything.

“You'll run away.”

“I promise I won't!”

“You will.”

“Will not!”

It's futile.

Levi sighs. His heart feels like it's gonna beat out of his chest. Late at night, he would imagine a similar scenario to this. Over and over again.

He would think of ways to drop the conversation. A billion excuses carefully thought through, memorized to perfection.

But it's vastly different in reality.

With you, now propped on your knees on his couch, a hand strongly pulling on his collar to make him look back at you. When did he look away? When did the adoration in your eyes become repulsive enough for him to not be able to bear looking at it? He didn't even notice.

He swallows, throat bobbing as spit and bile struggle to pass the gigantic lump.

His teeth are clenched as well, rubbing uncomfortably against one another. If he doesn't relax his jaw soon, he might even chip them away from how hard they are gritted together.

“Can you promise me something then?”

Selfish.

That's what he always is when it comes to you.

He knows that you would give him anything. Promise him everything if only he demands it.

So he takes it.

Greedily. Pathetically. Miserably.

“When you do leave. You will not tell a soul.” in your head this was too silly. Levi never seemed like he cared for what people talked about behind his back. No matter how awful a rumor would be, he would let people talk. His dick was also a topic of conversation in the scouts more than once. Soldiers need to pass the time somehow.

‘Must be small, he's so short, it would make sense!’

‘Maybe that's where all the height went!!’

If you do leave, he will deal with the heartbreak. What he can't deal with is his secret flowing around at the same time. He simply doesn't know how he would handle both. He actually doesn't know how he would handle the first one either, but he tells himself that he'll manage.

Threatening would also work on anyone but you. You can't threaten someone who doesn't feel a speck of fear towards you.

So he grips at the forced promise.

“Okay ‘Vi. I promise I won't tell a soul. It won't happen though!” your stubbornness parallels his sometimes, and now he relents, finally looking at you.

He pulls you into his lap, like how you were this morning. His hands are shaking, but you're smiling at him, one hand already on his cheek.

‘Living a life with no regrets’ is a drive people with too many of them under their belt choose as a last resort.

Levi's mind is not strong enough to hold onto all of them and stay sane, so naturally at one point, either he lets his regrets pull him down into pits of insanity, or he creates a delusion to follow in order to keep the weight on his soul that much lighter.

Levi kisses you, similarly to how he did the first time. Clumsily and stiff. And then he melts against you.

He doesn't regret kissing you. He refuses to regret it.

He will not regret it once you rip yourself away from him in disgust, fumbling for your things and slamming his door shut.

He will not regret it once he has to transfer you to a different squad and after that, he won't regret never speaking to you again..

As his mind is trying to catch up with everything, your shirt is already off.

He took it off your shoulders himself, hungry for the warm skin of your stomach, your back, and your chest.

He won't regret never having it under his fingertips again. He would regret never doing it when he had the chance.

Your voice is angelic as his lips trail across your shoulders and collar, leaving a sloppy mess in their wake. When your hands grip at the hem of his shirt, he wills his arms to keep still against your hip bones.

You won't notice anything ‘wrong’ there.

It still makes him anxious.

He's flatter than an average man, maybe because of genetics, maybe the piss-poor diet underground, or the lack of sun. Fuck if he knows.

What little could have been noticed would easily be attributed to his workout nowadays.

So he feels your hands on him for the first time.

It’s pleasant. Feeling you grip onto him wherever you can reach as he slips his tongue past your lips. Your cheeks are flushed and warm, eyes closed as you let him lead your kiss.

Despite the nervousness of the impending doom that he's been bracing himself for this whole time, he feels wetness between his legs, soaking through his boxers.

Your long skirt ends up being hiked up and you shyly guide his hands to your thighs.

He watches mesmerized as you find friction on top of his pants, his palms following the gentle sway of your hips.

Maybe if he could get you off like this, he could die a happy man. He'd engrave the image into his brain and replay it for decades probably.

You part for air, gasping and filling your lungs before you press your forehead to his, opening your pretty eyes to look at him again.

“I promised.”

“You did.”

You can feel the anticipation building in your tummy, warm and fuzzy as you readjust on his lap so that you're kneeling with one leg between both of his and the other at his side.

He gives a curt nod, and your fingers easily unbuckle his pants, unbuttoning them and then tugging the zipper down slowly.

He helps you take them to his ankles where he kicks them off the rest of the way.

Levi wants to crawl out of his own skin.

He will regret everything soon enough.

Your fingers slip past the waistband of his underwear, and you ignore the bruising grip on your shoulder. First, you're met with a tuff of thick hair, and then your fingers glide lower. Your lips are inches from his, and you refuse to look down, no matter how curious, you feel like not looking would make him feel a tiny bit more comfortable.

You pass over a tiny bump and Levi's breath hitches as you experimentally fiddle it between your middle and pointer fingers.

An inch or so lower, your digits slip between something warm and slick. Pressing with a little more force, your lips form into a little ‘oh’.

There are plenty of things you want to say, and then a few you want to ask out of pure curiosity. But you have to swallow it down, keep it for later, because Levi's glossy eyes pull at your heart with urgency, begging for a response.

“This is fine.”

“Is it?”

“Mhm.”

“You can leave.”

“I know”

“Are you going to?”

“Not planning to, no.”

Your hand doesn't stop moving, only slows down considerably as you wait for the barrage of questions and possible accusations.

“Is it not gross?”

Was he referring to a pussy in general?

“I've been with women before.”

“I'm not a woman though”

“I know that too.”

“You don't have to lie.”

“I'm not lying.”

“It's weird.”

“I don't think so. Just different.”

“Just different?”

“Yeah.”

He puts a little space between you two, releasing the death grip on your shoulder.

“Don't lie for my sake”

“I'm not lying” you don't mind repeating it.

“I'm serious. I will despise you if you're lying.”

“Good thing I'm not then.”

There's something in him that wants him to fight you more. He wants a different reaction. The one he practiced for, so that he could know what to do.

You keep your distance, but you place your hand closer to him, inches from his own, which is balled up in a tight fist with his nails leaving dull, moon-like crests in his palm.

Minutes drag out, feeling like hours.

When his breath comes out in a shudder, it's a sign that he let himself fall, trusting your words.

You grin when he looks your way again, and he takes your hand in his.

He's pulling you off the couch, stumbling across the room as he drags you behind him. At the door of his bedroom, you feel like you need to kiss him in order to breathe.

Your back ends up pressed to the wooden door then, strong arms picking you up.

Your legs find home around his hips, your arms secured tightly around his neck as he devours your mouth. He pulls your plump lips between his teeth, groaning lowly once your naked chest presses against his.

One of his hands snakes up your side and to the back of your neck, fingers lodging into your hair to keep your head from hitting against the door as you hungrily lick into his mouth.

You fumble for the handle, pushing the door open with your elbow. You feel hot all over, skin burning and shining in sweet sweat that Levi licks off your throat, baring his teeth to the junction of your neck and shoulders to stifle the moans that threaten to surge out when you rack your nails down his back.

He lowers you on the bed slowly, watching as you clumsily get your skirt and underwear off.

He towers over you within seconds, finding a place between your legs that spread out for him eagerly.

He's eating you with his eyes alone, and it sends goosebumps through your spine.

“You're…” his pale skin turns unrecognizably red, and you can see him struggling to come up with any more words.

“Just do whatever, I don't care ‘Vi, just touch me, c'mon…”

He nods, faltering for a moment before he smooths his finger across your heat experimentally. He massages the fat beside your folds with his thumb, the hairs there wet, sticking together due to your arousal.

Being touched by someone feels very much different than it does with your own fingers, you knew that already. But being slowly explored by someone who is desperately trying to learn everything about your body must take the cake.

Levi watches you, every breath you take, and every movement of your hips that buck off the bed. He takes in every gasp and moan rushing past your gorgeous lips as he presses and dips with his fingers.

He spreads your wetness around, coating your clit to make the flicks of his thumb against it smooth. He's not as helpless as he feared he would be, on the contrary, it turns out that it comes relatively easy to excel in something if you already know how to do it to yourself.

And as you mentioned earlier, he does have a way with his hands with everything he picks up. He feels a sense of pride when you start rutting against his hand, hungry for his touch while also being wildly unashamed to show it to him.

“Fuck me, ‘Vi, please for the love of God” you mewl as he takes your hood between two boney fingers, tugging and massaging there.

“Yeah…okay” his voice is raspy, sounding like a purr as he comes close to your face, propping himself on his elbow.

His fingers slowly dip inside you, and he's there to catch your moan as he sinks into you with ease, all the way to his knuckles.

“You're so gorgeous…” he whispers it like it's a secret. You know that saying things like that takes effort from him, not for the lack of meaning behind them.

You see the words at the tip of his tongue often, but hearing them out loud was a rarity.

“You're breathtaking” and now you're being truly spoiled, his fingers rocking into you…slow at first.

“It feels like I'd die without you.”

“Me too”

The confessions hang in the air, and they're deeper than ‘I love you’s’. They express the uncontainable need of two people, drunk on the feeling of each other to the point where they feel like their hearts would simply stop if something ripped them away.

“I'm close, it's embarrassing”

The tempo of his thrusts is now steady, and he watches as you snake your hand between your bodies, touching yourself to his pace.

He holds his breath, mesmerized by your movements. You're everything, and he can't keep his eyes off of you. Your cunt hugging his fingers, leaking into his open palm as you grind your hips to meet him, your fingers flicking at your gorgeous bud with urgency.

All the while, you scramble to moan his name, to beg him not to stop, to plea for him to fuck you just like this until you fucking pass out.

You cum with a loud cry, all over his hand, all over his perfectly made bed and clean sheets, and he already wants you to do it again and you haven't even stopped shaking from the first wave of your orgasm.

Your legs close around his arm, tightly locking him in place where he can only curl his fingers into your soft walls to help you ride out your high.

He stares with wide eyes as you slump back against the mattress, chest heaving, blissed out of your mind. And you don’t hate him. And you didn’t run. And he will never let you go now.

You release his hand soon enough, collecting yourself.

Feeling strength come back to your legs, you prop yourself up, pushing Levi under you with ease only explained by his utter willingness to let you take whatever you want from him.

Sweet surrender. Your hands are back on his skin, lips tickling their way between his chest and to his stomach, kissing your way above the hem of his underwear. He finds the part of his brain that yells at him to be careful, and he crushes it.

You strip him fully bare now, anticipation building up once again.

You want to eat him alive, hooking his leg over your shoulder and biting the inside of his thighs, soaking in his shivers and the frantic rush of his hand to cover his mouth.

Your eyes are purely dark, and you're still smiling at him. In a way that makes Levi’s heart race. Adrenaline courses through him, it feels similar to how it is when he's out on missions, focused, on edge and patiently waiting for the creatures to launch at him at any moment.

Is comparing you to a titan truly what his brain is doing right now?

No…not in that sense. He feels like he's being hunted, looked at like he's just a piece of meat hanging on a stick, being circled around for the sole amusement of the beasts.

You nibble at his skin again, jerking his attention down at you.

“This okay?”

Levi wants to crawl in a hole and die out of embarrassment, your face inches away from his pussy.

He hasn't been this turned on in his life.

“‘Vi?” you lean your cheek on his thigh, nuzzling against it.

“Yes.”

And then you're wrapping your arms around his muscley legs, flatting your tongue against him and swiping in one well swoop before he hears you humming approvingly.

“Must you be so shameless” You nose at his clit, ignoring his comment. He smells divine. The taste that lingers on your tongue compels you to dive in again for more.

At first, it doesn't feel like much, barely there friction that only tickled him ever so often. You take your time with him, peering up occasionally as you proudly swallow him down. Your chin and nose were a mess already.

Once you made sure that every part of him was licked clean, you finally closed your lips over his engorged clit. It laid heavy on your tongue, and as you sucked your cheeks in, Levi found your hands and pulled them over his stomach so that he could hold them to ground himself.

“Fuck…hng. Listen I-” You swirl him inside your mouth, pulling off with a pop so that you can tongue at his slit where fresh arousal seeps into your tastebuds. His eyes roll to the back of his skull and the vibrations of your humms drive him even more insane.

“My Walls, wait a second!” it feels amazing. He hates being greedy like this. He doesn’t want to ruin anything. But he needs to feel you.

He has no idea how. He needs more and closer.

How did he live without your touch before this?

“Come up.”

“Bossy…”

You listen, crawling up to him.

“Need more baby?”

“Shut up.”

“What is it then?”

You’re so mean. You should give mercy for his poor, old man's heart.

“Here…follow what I do.” Ordering him around is an ego boost. Finally, there’s something you’re better at than him(future will show that that won’t last long).

You push one of your legs under his, lifting your other one so that he can position himself. As he’s doing that, you take his other leg and you place it on your shoulder swiftly, hugging it to your chest before you let your full weight press against him.

“This better?” you rock your hips languidly, waiting for his reaction.

“Fuck, okay…yeah…it's. Yeah.” He props himself up on his elbows, angling himself a little better.

You watch mesmerized between your bodies, the slow glides of your drooling folds, the shy bumps of your clits against one another.

It takes a while for the friction to build up, a few minutes until your movements sync up, the up and down motion of your hips timing perfectly with each other.

Levi’s hair is damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead, eyelashes fluttering while he struggles to keep his eyes open. He wants to learn, wants to lead the pace next time, make you feel good and spoil you. He needs to remember every little thing about you, what makes you tick, what drives you insane.

He balances on one arm, his other supporting the fluent rolls of your hips with firm pressure on your thigh.

The dim lighting accentuates his build. The pale, jagged scars scattered across his body make him all the more beautiful to look at. They show his strength, endurance, and ferocity…and this same body that has been fighting to survive for most of its life is writhing under you, trusting you to handle it with care.

The hand he holds you with has many small cuts, they're impossible to count, whereas the pads of his fingers are rough, toughened up from holding the blades so often.

When you pay closer attention to his legs, there are strips of skin where hair doesn't grow anymore. You recognize the placement of the gear straps easily. Many soldiers share the same markings, but his are especially attractive.

Is that even a thing that can be considered particularly attractive? Lack of hair in weird places?

Doesn't really matter because apparently, if it’s on Levi, it's sinfully hot.

You shift your attention back to his face. His eyes are dimmed and dark, the blueish hue barely there. His mouth is slacked open, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

You can feel hot blood rushing through your body, tips of your fingers tingly. You hold your breath and you flex the muscles of your stomach, the coil in your gut threatening to snap oh so so soon.

“A little more, please… fuck I'm right there ‘Vi. You with me?”

“Hmhm…yeah. I think so. yeah? Shit.”

He overthinks it for a second.

Will he look weird? Will his face be pleasant to look at? Nobody ever saw him like this, he doubts anyone else ever will. If he could stuff a pillow into his face he would.

“ ‘Vi, gonna make me cum again, holy shit.”

Oh.

That's what matters the most.

You feeling good. Because of him. With him?

“I've got you, yeah, c’mon, cum for me gorgeous…” he blushes at his own words, heisting the pace to help you both get there.

Soon everything goes still, gasps and grunts bouncing off the walls as you both release, one following after the other. Before you squeeze your eyes shut, you latch onto the image of him, captivated and awestruck by his expression.

Your second orgasm is mindnumbing, leaving your brain a mush.

You clutch at his leg and he squeezes yours as you both slow down to a stop. The sheets beneath you are soaked through, slightly uncomfortable as you both scramble and stretch your sore limbs.

You lay onto Levi's chest and he wraps you in his arms, tucking his chin at the top of your head. His heartbeat slowly becomes regular, and your breath evens out.

He feels like he needs to say something. Is he supposed to say anything after?

He decides that he won't ruin the silence, no matter how badly he wants to sabotage the tender moment.

You stroke his side with your thumb, going in tiny circles, and he replies by lightly scratching your back, falling into a steady rhythm.

Thirty-four years ago, Kuchel Ackerman had a daughter.

One more person knows and the world didn't end.

Levi sleeps through the whole night and in the morning, he doesn't run.

Phew, I wrote this in one sitting and even now I have 20 more ideas for this plot. Old man pussy is a prison.

I would just like to clarify that reader isn't 'oblivious' to the existence of trans people by choice. It was mainly because I tried to keep to the canon timeframe, and in like 800's I don't know if such a thing would exist in the first place? It's definitely a very peculiar and specific situation that I had in mind aswell.

All in all, thank you for making it this far! Mwah💕

tip-yar : Ko-Fi 💕

commission info

#aot #aot x you #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #levi aot #snk #snk levi #levi x reader smut #aot commissions #aot smut #levi ackerman x reader smut

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abramswife · 1 month

Text

ALL MY GHOSTS (i)

series masterlist

- summary: Your life in Helena is good; a thriving friendship with Beau, Jenny and Cassie. You’re living your best life, with a job you enjoy and you’re good at, surrounded by people who care for you. Of course, however, your past is only just around the corner, in the form of a recurring phone call.

- word count: 2883

- warnings: Alcoholism.

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You weren’t ever truly sure why, out of everywhere you could have chosen to go, you ended up in Helena. There was nothing that had been calling you to the town — you’d just had a blown-out tire on a dark, muddy road nearby and the only tow company still open at 11pm was in town. That was two years ago, and you’d yet to leave.

It had, slowly, become your home.

With the help of Jenny and Cassie, you’d turned a cheap, shabby apartment into a cozy home; decorated with far too many plants, and enough cats that any sane person would question your mental state (three; Cassie was already questioning you). Something about Helena was calm and welcoming, and it felt like you’d been here forever.

A year after your arrival, came Beau Arlen. A Texan cowboy who rolled into town in a shitty Jeep called ‘Pedro’. The news of Tubb leaving sent shockwaves through the community, and a second round hit when his replacement turned up only weeks later. Though questionable at first, Beau had, very quickly, proven himself to both the town and the department.

Beau was a great cop and an even greater man — one you’d clicked with rather quickly. After you’d slammed a pile of paperwork onto his desk with an innocent smile, knocking your fist on the top of the papers and calling it a ‘welcome gift’ on his first day, Beau had decided he’d liked you. He didn’t like the paperwork, but he liked the bubbly, sweet energy you brought into his office with that mischievous twinkle in your eyes and quiet giggle.

You were a ray of sunshine — that’s what they liked to call you around the station, anyway. Beau claimed it was because you always lit up the room, but you liked to tell him he was just a sappy old bastard (he didn’t like that). Despite your distaste to the nickname of ‘sunshine’, it had been picked up pretty quickly, and you definitely had Beau to blame for it.

Your payback?

Well, it came in the form of a lovely challenge you’d issued against him, after you binge watched Brooklyn 99 for the 100th time.

Beau hated it.

In fact, right now, he was seething. “You’re cruel.” He watched you scrub out your number ‘15’, and replace it with a ‘16’. His arms were tightly crossed, eyes narrowing into a glare that was mostly playful. He leant back against a desk in the bullpen, cowboy hat discarded beside him.

“What’s that, Arlen? I can’t hear you over the sounds of my impending victory.” Came your tease, stepping back to admire your victory. You yelped when something hit your head, and you turned to see a pen at your feet, and Beau wearing a smug grin. “Asshole.” With a dramatic flair, you turned your back to him.

Beau loved your playful attitude. It made the days where he was stuck in the station with paperwork far more fun. You were always down for some teasing, and were always able to dish it back just as well as he could dish it out. You were always bordering on the line of insubordination, but he knew as well as you did that he’d never actually punish you for it — there was definitely favouritism in this station, with you, Pop and Jenny hogging the top three spots on the sheriff’s list.

On the whiteboard in the bullpen, was your bragging rights. Scribbled on the top in your handwriting were the bold words ‘BAD GUYS CAUGHT’. Underneath were your two names, and two separate scores, ‘Arlen: 9 L/N: 16’.

Yeah, you were kicking his ass.

“You got lucky.” Beau stepped up to your side, glaring at the numbers on the whiteboard with disdain. Lucky? He was lying to himself and the asshole knew it. He was just a major sore loser.

An amused smile lifted up your lips, and you turned your head to look up at him. God, you still hadn’t gotten fully used to how tall this man truly was. “Seven lucky arrests?” Beau pressed his lips together and nodded, unwilling to accept any other answer. You snickered at him. “Admit it, Beau, you just suck.”

Beau sent you a sharp look, but there was amusement dancing in the green. “Shut it, you.” He gave a fake stumble when you gently pushed his arm, chucking lowly. “You got lucky with those last two arrests. The guys practically threw themselves at ya.”

You gave a dramatic gasp and clutched your chest like you were gravely wounded. “Are you saying I’m only good at my job ‘cause I’m pretty?” Beau gave you a deadpan look, and you snickered. “Alright, grandpa.”

With a heavy sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why the hell do I even put up with you?” He muttered to himself, shaking his head. You merely grinned and ignored his muttering, as the sheriff continued to complain about you and your insubordinate behaviour (that he still allowed).

You tossed the whiteboard marker from hand to hand, turning your full attention to him. “How’s that murder case getting along, by the way?”

“Slowly.” Beau dropped his hand down to his side, and stuck them both into his pockets. “Snail’s pace.” You wince sympathetically, and Beau sighed heavily. He gazed at you for a moment, evidently thinking. “You wanna take a shot at it? Fresh eye, an’ all.” He offered, looking down at you with his head tilted to the side.

Looking up at him, you smiled and nodded. “Saturday?” You suggested. “I’ve got lunch plans with Jenny and Cassie in an hour, and I’m not working tomorrow.”

His brows shot up. “You girls goin’ out without me?” He faked offence, barely concealing his smile.

You laughed, patting his arm. “Girl’s day, sheriff.” You teased, earning a playful indignant huff from Beau. You chucked the marker at him, and watched him fumble to catch it. “I’m off in ten. You gonna survive without me?”

“Hilarious.” He drawled sarcastically. “Get outta here.” He grunted.

With a laugh, you turned and left the bullpen, Beau spinning the marker between his fingers as he watched you go.

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It was quite a common occurrence to get lunch with Jenny and Cassie. You mostly spent the time catching up, filling each other in on cases, or gossiping about some strange news around town. Honestly, it was typically the highlight of your week.

You’d become extremely close with the two girls over the last two years.

They’d dragged you to a new restaurant — despite your hatred of trying new places. The price was on the higher side, and your face had pulled together at the sight of a hefty price beside a plate of lasagna.

After the plates had been cleaned, and despite your insistence to pay, Jenny had snagged up the bill from you and Cassie, paying the whole thing. You hadn’t been very pleased, nor had Cassie, but the blonde had laughed it off and told the pair of you you’d be paying next time.

Taking a sip of her second glass of Pepsi, Cassie glanced between you and Jenny. “So, how’s it been at the station?” She asked curiously, nursing her glass. You and Jenny exchanged a look and shrugged, acting casual.

But you knew what Cassie meant; Beau��s position.

He’d moved up here to follow his ex-wife and daughter — Carla and Emily, who, during the last year, you’d met plenty of times. Especially Emily, who’d temporarily taken up an internship with Cassie and Denise. However, after the rough scenario with Avery and that whole mess of a case, Carla had decided to return to Texas, taking Emily with her.

Beau hadn’t told anyone if he’d be leaving or not. After all, his position was only temporary, so it was expected that he’d eventually leave one day. No one really knew if he was intending to stay longer, or leave now and follow after Carla and Emily to Houston.

“He hasn’t said anything.” You took the silence as an opportunity to answer. You spun your glass of Coke, fiddling with the rim of it. “I saw him going to the Chief’s office on Monday.” You looked between the pair.

Jenny nodded in agreement. “He had a meeting. Didn’t tell me what for.” Her gaze swayed back to Cassie, who was listening carefully. “You think he’s gonna go for it?”

“Follow Carla?” Cassie hesitated. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

You downed the rest of your Coke in a few large gulps. “Can we not talk about Beau the entire day?” You complained, sitting down your glass. Both women looked at you. “C’mon, enough with the boy talk.” There was quiet shared laughter between the three of you.

“Alright.” Cassie agreed, nodding shortly. “Who’s up drinks tonight?”

Your hand shot up immediately.

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Drinks, like every time, turned out a horrible idea.

You woke up on Friday morning with a throbbing ache in your skull, and heavy sickness settled in your stomach. You groaned and rolled yourself out of bed, caught up in your blanket, almost falling flat on your face.

Way to make Friday even worse.

You already hated Fridays. It was always like a ritual for you. You woke up with dread in your bones, and dragged yourself around the house until your cats’ incessant meowing snapped you from your half-dead safe.

Beau didn’t make you work Fridays anymore. Not after what you liked to call ‘The Incident’.

Something about Fridays weighed heavy on you. You felt like a ticking time bomb, ready to implode. You’d blown up at Beau, real bad, and stormed off. Then proceeded to have a panic attack on a case regarding a domestic abuse incident.

Beau had dragged you into his office, hands cradling your cheeks as he talked you through your panic attack. You still hadn’t apologised for yelling at him, but he didn’t once bring it up. He asked what was wrong. You told him you didn’t like Fridays. He told you not to worry, and you hadn’t worked a Friday since. He hadn’t even asked why, he’d just done it.

And now you had Fridays alone to rot in your sorrow and misery.

The ringing of the phone didn’t make you flinch, not like it used to months ago. With a heavy sigh, you grabbed your phone, and wandered out to sit on the small balcony, away from your cats and their pawing. “Mom.” You leant your elbows on the railing, and stared out at your view of neighbourhoods and distant mountains.

Your mother’s voice made your stomach churn. “Hi, dear.” You rose your eyes and stared up at the sky. That pet name made you want to pop your eardrums. “How are you doing?”

“Fine, mom.” You tapped your nails on the railing, anxiety doubling your heart rate. You could feel it pounding in your hands and head, adrenaline pumping so hard you felt the need to run. “Same as I was last week. Busy with work.” You cleared your throat before she could get another word in. “What is it, mom?”

Your eyes shot down to the scars littering your hands. Those which your friends believed came from years of clumsiness and working with guns and knives. A lie. A smart lie — but a lie nevertheless. They always seemed to burn when you remembered home.

If you could call it home.

“We all miss you, dear.” You hummed in response to her words, not interested or paying much attention. “Jack—“

That snapped you back to reality. “Don’t.”

Your mother sighed. There was a hint of frustration in her voice now. She always did this. “If you’d just answer—“

“No.” You interrupted again. Your grip on your phone tightened, until your knuckles turned white. “Stop, mom.” Your teeth ground together. The name sent chills down your spine. “I told you, stop with that bullshit. You know I won’t pick up any of his calls, so stop asking.”

“If you’d let him explain—“

“There’s no explaining.” You argued, anger rising deep in your stomach. “Whatever excuse he’s come up with is bullshit. And I cannot believe you’re siding with that fucker after what he did.” She went to speak, you scoffed, reaching your boiling point. “Don’t call me again.” You pulled your phone away from your ear and hung up, with a low groan.

Hands scrubbed over your face, trying to control your temper.

You hadn’t been close to your mother in two years. When you left your hometown, she’d become nothing more than a name on a phone to you.

You stared at the deep scars on your hands, and shook yourself off. With one last glance at the scenery, you headed inside, greeted by three clingy cats and burnt bacon on your frying pain.

You threw out the bacon and unhappily ate a bowl of cereal instead, three cats sitting at your feet. You stared out the window, and resigned yourself to another night of getting wasted.

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Shot after shot poured down your throat, the burning sensation making you grimace and shudder. It felt good, in a sort of self-destruction kind of way. You slammed down your sixth shot glass, and stared blankly at the empty chair in front of you.

And then it wasn’t empty.

“You might wan’ slow down, honey.” Your eyes flicked up, meeting Beau’s. He waved off the bartender returning with more shots for you, and turned back to you. “I’ve been watchin’ you drink those like water. You wan’ tell me what’s got you downin’ vodka like there’s no tomorrow?”

“My mother.” You huffed. Beau hummed and nodded. He didn’t know much about your past, much like you didn’t know much about his. What he did know, is that your relationship with your family was strained. Extremely.

Beau reached out and pulled away your empty shot glasses, leaving them on his side of the table. “You wan’ talk ‘bout it?”

“Not really.”

His brows rose, but he accepted the answer. He wouldn’t push. He knew what it was like to not want to reminisce on bad memories. “You start at eight tomorrow. You sure you wan’ get piss off drunk?”

His rationality made you scowl. Beau chuckled quietly at your expression, knowing he’d already won this argument.

“C’mon, honey.” He spun himself off his chair and stood. “Let’s get ya home.” He reached out to help you stand — a bit too quick.

You recoiled. A flinch. Away from him.

He pulled his hand away like he’d been burnt. You suddenly felt very sober. You stared at each other, neither willing to be the first to speak.

Beau’s mind replayed the flinch, over and over. The quick flash of fear in your eyes. The way you’d curled into yourself, moving abruptly away from him. He suddenly felt sick. He didn’t dare reach out to you again. It felt like he’d been struck by lightening.

Your heart hammered in your chest, breath hitching at the confusion and pain on his face. Frantically, your brain raced for an excuse. “You scared me.” You forced a weak laugh.

He didn’t believe you. Of course he didn’t. It was a shit lie, and you knew it. His eyes scanned your expression; the wariness in your gaze. the sudden tension in your muscles. And, he didn’t push. “Sorry.” He chuckled. “Didn’t mean ta.” He slowly offered his hand out again, moving in a way that ensured you didn’t flinch.

You physically relaxed. It made Beau’s heart twist uncomfortably, his concern growing. You accepted his hand, and he helped pull you to unstable feet.

“You’re gon’ be so hungover tomorrow, girl.” His hands on your upper arms, he threw down some cash on the bar, and then guided you out of the crowded bar. He chuckled, half-amused and half-concerned, keeping you stable as he walked you over to his Jeep.

Before he could open the passenger seat door, you turned to him. “Answer me this.” You leant back against the door, effectively trapping him. “Are you leaving?”

He looked taken aback. “What on Earth are you goin’ on about?”

“Carla.” You watched his expression turn into one of heavy confusion. Annoyed, you sighed. “She left, Beau. Are you going after her? You moved here for her. So, are you gonna leave for her?”

“Oh, Jesus.” He muttered, running a hand down his face. “Is that what you ladies have been gossipin’ about?”

You didn’t answer him, you just stared at him for a few beats. “You had a meeting with the Chief on Monday. What was it about?”

He put his hands on your shoulders, ducking his head to meet your eye level. “I’m not going anywhere.” He spoke quietly, reassuring you with a warm smile. “You lot are stuck with me.” He nudged your chin with his index finger and then gently pulled you aside. “C’mon, let’s get you home, hm?” He pulled open the door of the passenger side seat.

You stared at him. “Promise?” You began to climb into the car. “You won’t go anywhere?”

Beau chuckled, shrugging this line of questioning off as odd drunken behaviour. “Promise.” He patted your knee as you sat down. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

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an: chapter one is shorter than the other chapters will be, as it’s mostly an introduction to your relationship with the other characters + the first mystery of your past.

if you catch any mistakes, always feel free to let me know!! sometimes i miss them + i always love improving my work :)

#beau arlen #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen x you #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #big sky #all my ghosts

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