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cleo-fox · 5 months

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Unraveled

Summary: It was all fun and games until Loki started wearing that goddamn sweater.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, teasing, orgasm delay, sex, vaginal fingering, godly refractory periods, kitchen sex, semi public sex, Loki in a sweater.

A/N: My explanation for this one is that I saw too many pictures of Tom Hiddleston in a sweater and it gave me thoughts.

Being an Avenger has made you pretty good at rolling with the punches. After your third or fourth encounter with some alien/wizard/android bullshit, your perspective is fundamentally altered and real life seems manageable in a way that it didn’t before. You have to call your insurance company to dispute a claim? Big deal, you’ve negotiated with terrorists; you can handle Garth from Member Services.

The thing is, having that kind of perspective means that the things that do get to you can rattle you a lot more than they should. Natasha had warned you about that, but you were riding high on the thrill of successfully conquering Blue Cross Blue Shield and you kind of got to thinking she was exaggerating.

And then the seasons started to turn and Loki started wearing that goddamn sweater.

You can recognize when someone is out of your league. When you first moved into the Tower, it had been relatively easy for you to assign Loki to that category: he was a god. He’d been featured in last month’s GQ. You were mortal and your most recent press had been a TMZ story featuring unflattering paparazzi photos of you leaving a bodega in your pajamas at seven o’clock in the morning, a bagel halfway into your mouth. You were clearly not the same.

Up until the sweater, you’d managed to keep your cool around Loki and keep your attraction confined to daydreams and the occasional surreptitious lustful glance. Hell, you’d even had the nerve to be proud of yourself for keeping your shit together in front of him.

The sweater lays waste to all of that.

On the surface, it doesn’t seem like a sweater that is capable of completely destroying your carefully constructed composure. It’s a fairly standard crew neck in a deep green so dark it almost looks black at a first glance. But on Loki it just…does things to you. The fabric is well fitted, clinging to his biceps, pulling taut across his chest, emphasizing the line of his pectorals. It somehow accentuates how muscular he is while also still making him look lean and lithe.

The first time he wears it, you find your eyes just trail to him of their own volition, like an incredibly horny moth to the flame. It’s a day of catching yourself staring, panicking, pretending that you were actually looking at something else, and then repeating the process five minutes later when your gaze inevitably wandered again. It almost would have been funny if it didn’t put your blood pressure into the stratosphere.

To make matters worse, at the end of that day’s debriefing, he rises from his chair and raises his arms to the ceiling in a long stretch. The hem of the sweater creeps up, exposing the firm, flat muscles of his stomach, lightly dusted with a trail of hair that meanders in a tantalizing path down to his belt buckle.

You promptly choke on your own spit. Clint claps you hard on the back and asks if you’re okay, which is a question you don’t know how to answer (ultimately, you stick to a thumbs up and mumble something about dust getting caught in your throat). Loki is too preoccupied complaining about the entire concept of office furniture to notice. Or at least you’re pretty sure he doesn’t notice.

You might have been okay if that had been the only incident, but the sweater makes a repeat appearance on Friday. The following Tuesday features the deadly combination of the sweater with a pair of tight, dark wash jeans that nearly send you into cardiac arrest. Your fantasies suddenly become much more frequent and detailed.

You are not really sure what to do about this—it’s not like you can talk to anyone about it, nor can you ask him to stop wearing it without prompting some very uncomfortable questions. The idea that you’ll get used to it is laughable.

You look at your calendar and note that spring is six months away. At least.

Fucking hell.

It’s a Saturday afternoon and in a strange quirk of scheduling, almost everyone is out of town for a mission or a personal obligation, leaving the Tower unusually quiet. As much as you enjoy the daily clatter and chaos that comes with living here, you find a lot of comfort in these moments of quiet, however infrequent they may be.

You intended to make yourself a late afternoon snack. That was the plan, anyway. But as you’re standing at the kitchen counter and cutting up the fruit you just washed, you realize that you’re not entirely alone. From this vantage point, you can see Loki lounging on the couch in the next room and reading.

He’s wearing the sweater. Of course he’s wearing the sweater. And the so-tight-they-should-be-illegal dark wash jeans.

Goddammit.

You have the sense to set the knife down at least. The last thing you need is a trip to the hospital because you got too distracted by your hot colleague while handling a knife.

You let your gaze travel along the firm muscles of his chest. It’s just a sweater. It shouldn’t look this good. It shouldn’t prompt these kinds of thoughts. And yet…

He shifts on the couch and the hem of the sweater creeps up. His hand drops to his belt buckle. It’s entirely appropriate, but the way his long, long fingers are splayed against his stomach makes your mind drop straight to the gutter and wonder what they’d look like wrapped around his rock hard co—

“You know, it’s rude to stare.”

His voice comes from behind you and adrenaline surges through you like an electric shock. The Loki on the couch looks up at you and smirks before disappearing in a shimmer of green.

You wonder if it’s possible to die of embarrassment and a heart attack all at the same time. It certainly feels like you’re about to.

You take a deep breath and try to collect yourself, which feels largely futile. Come on, get it together. You’ve negotiated with terrorists and insurance companies. Shake it off.

You slowly turn around, cheeks burning. Loki is standing right behind you, arms folded across his chest. You swallow.

“I um. I was—I was just…” Words escape you as your brain fires in every direction except a helpful one.

“You were just what?” His expression is intense, but you’re not sure that he’s angry.

“Spacing out,” you say, trying to infuse your voice with confidence that you absolutely do not feel.

He places his hands on the counter behind you, intentionally caging you in with his body. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him—a masculine, wintery musk that makes you want to bury your face against his chest.

“Try again,” he says. His voice is deep enough to rattle your bones.

You swallow. Everything you could possibly say seems wildly inadequate.

Loki has never been one to be at a loss for words, though, and after a moment of terrified silence from you, he continues speaking.

“I’ve noticed something curious over these past few weeks,” he says. “When I wear this sweater, you can’t seem to take your eyes off of me.”

Your heart is pounding. Fucking hell. Have you really been that obvious?

“Now why is that?” he asks, his voice a low purr.

You briefly consider trying to lie again, but the piercing green of his eyes instantly makes you rethink it. “I um…” You swallow hard. “It’s just…it suits you. You…you look good.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I look good?”

You nod.

“Interesting.” His lips twitch in a slight smirk as he looks you up and down. “And how does that make you feel?”

Your heart thuds in your chest, your stomach contorting with a strange combination of fear and desire. You’re still humiliated, but the sound of his voice and the dark intensity of his gaze is intoxicating and incredibly arousing.

“I don’t—I don’t know how to answer that question.”

“Oh, I think you do.” There’s a rawness in his voice that makes your cunt clench.

You shake your head, eyes wide. You’re pretty sure he’s not really mad, but you also don't know where this is going. Surely he’s not making a pass at you…right?

“How does it make you feel to see me in this sweater?” he continues, his voice a low whisper. He pauses for a moment and when you don’t answer, he continues. “Does it…arouse you, perhaps?”

Holy fuck.

This can’t be happening.

You try to think of something clever or sexy, but the bluntness of the question and the fire in his eyes kills whatever remaining brain cells you have left. Mutely, you nod.

There’s that smirk again as he licks his lips. “Are you wet right now?”

Your cheeks burn. You give the tiniest nod possible.

“Hmm.” His hand alights on the button of your jeans. “I believe you Midgardians have a saying that is appropriate here: trust, but verify.” He slips the button free and your heart pounds like a war drum in your chest.

You cannot believe this is happening.

“You haven’t been entirely truthful in this conversation.” His palm presses flat against your stomach, the tips of his fingers slipping under the waistband of your underwear. “So I’m afraid I’m going to have to see for myself.”

His hand is achingly slow, creeping lower and lower. He watches you intently as his hand cups your sex, seemingly cataloging the way your breath hitches and all the little shivers that run through you.

His middle finger finally slides between your folds and you can’t help but moan.

“Oh, you did lie to me,” he growls, his index finger joining his middle, both sliding up to circle your clit. “You’re not wet, you’re soaked.”

Your legs are already starting to tremble and you grab on to his shoulders to try and steady yourself. The fabric of the sweater is softer than a cloud against your hands.

“Sopping wet,” he continues, trapping your right leg between his thighs and the counter, the heavy weight of his erection pressing eagerly against your hip. “And this is all for me?”

Wordlessly, you nod. There’s no point in denying it—and you don’t think he wants you to, either.

“What am I going to do about this?” he muses. His index and middle fingers lightly circle your clit again and you whimper.

“Don’t stop,” you gasp. “Please don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop?” he says. His tone is one of light curiosity, like you’re just chatting casually about the weather. “But if I continue, you’re almost certainly going to come.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please.”

“Oh, you want me to make you come?” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “Right here in the middle of the kitchen?”

You nod.

“Anyone could walk in, though,” he purrs. “Anyone could come in and see me with my fingers buried in your dripping cunt. What would they think if they saw you so utterly debauched and at my mercy, begging for me to make you come?”

“Don’t care…” you gasp. How are you already so close?

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t care what they’d think if they saw us like this?”

You shake your head.

“Oh, you must be desperate.” He adjusts his hand, his thumb taking up the rhythm on your clit while his index finger sinks into your slick channel, making you gasp.

“Loki, please—”

“Begging already,” he says, not letting up in his rhythm. “Has it been a long time, sweetheart? When did you last feel this good?”

It’s not a question you can answer. You don’t know that anyone ever has made you feel like this. You moan, your hips bucking hard against his hand.

“Poor thing,” he tuts. “You’re clearly desperate for it. What kinds of filthy thoughts have you had about me?” he purrs. “I’ve seen you staring, I’ve heard your breath hitch. Have you touched yourself while thinking of me?”

You manage a nod and his smile turns feral. “When was the last time?”

“Last…last night,” you gasp.

“How many times did you come?”

“F-Four.”

“Filthy girl.” His free hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tips your head back. “Next time, all you have to do is ask.”

His mouth covers yours, his tongue pushing past your lips as he slides a second finger into you. You moan into his mouth as the pressure in your hips increases.

“Oh yes, let me hear all of those pretty noises,” he murmurs. “Are you going to let me fuck you against the counter after I make you come?”

You nod, whimpering.

“Good girl,” he purrs. “I think you need to be fucked properly and hard. Is that what you need?”

“Yes,” you gasp.

“Mmm, that’s what I thought. This cunt is just too wet and needy for any other treatment.” He draws back to look at you more fully, giving you a lazy, hungry smile. “You’re about to lose it all over my fingers, aren’t you?”

Your orgasm is cresting, the tingling pressure in your hips becoming unbearable. You nod, lost for words.

With one more smirk, he curls his fingers inside of you. “Come for me, pretty girl, let me see you.”

Your cunt spasms around his thrusting fingers and your whole body shudders as your orgasm overtakes you, your head tipping back as you cry out.

“Oh, that’s it,” he murmurs, “there’s my good girl.”

A shiver runs through you at his words, your hips still moving against his hand, trying to draw out every last ripple of pleasure.

He kisses you as you come down from your high, and you take the opportunity to run your hands over his chest and tentatively feel the hard planes of muscle that you’ve been staring at these last few weeks. But after a few moments, he takes your hand and guides it to his cock.

His preference for leather pants or those sinfully tight dark wash jeans made you suspect that the size of his ego might actually be proportionate to the size of his cock and your initial assessment seems to confirm that theory. You rub your fingers over the denim that covers his thick shaft, feeling yourself grow even wetter at the low groan he makes in the back of his throat.

“Take my cock out.” His voice is so deep and his eyes are so smoldering, it feels like the command goes straight to your cunt. You are practically trembling with anticipation as your shaking hands make quick work of the button, buckle, and zipper.

You can’t help but suck in a breath when his cock comes into view. He’s long and deliciously thick—big enough to be a little intimidating, but not overwhelmingly so.

He guides your hand to wrap around his shaft. He barely fits in your hand. “Look at what you’ve done to me,” he says, his voice raspy as he guides your hand to stroke his cock. “Feel how hard I am for you, feel how much I want you.”

His cock practically pulses with need, the tip slick with pre-come and you grasp him more firmly, your cunt pulsing as he gives a deeply satisfying groan.

You stroke him from base to tip, squeezing lightly. He groans again. “They told me to stay away from you, you know,” he says.

You aren’t so far gone that you can let this information slip by. “What? Who?”

“Stark. Rogers. Romanoff. My brother.” He reaches behind you and shoves the fruit and cutting board into the side, the knife clattering into the sink. “They saw how I looked at you,” he says. “They saw that I wanted you. They told me you were too good for me. Too sweet.”

You feel your jeans and underwear melt away in a shimmer of green and he lifts you easily onto the counter.

His eyes flash with desire. “I wonder what they’d say if they knew you’d let me fuck you raw in the middle of the kitchen?”

For a brief moment, frustration almost wins out over your lust. “We could have done this sooner?”

His gaze turns serious. “Darling, we could have done this the moment we met, but I’m told a handshake is more appropriate.”

You take a breath, about to embark on a rant about the individuals he’d named and how they hadn’t even asked, they’d just assumed, but Loki puts a hand up against your mouth.

“Don’t make me wait any longer,” he says. There’s a sincerity and a need in his gaze that you’ve never seen before and it’s enough to calm your anger for just a moment.

“Okay,” you say, wrapping your legs around his waist and angling your hips toward his, “but clear your schedule because I’m gonna need you to fuck me a lot to make up for all that time.”

His grin is feral as he pushes into you.

You shiver at the blunt stretch of his cock, your hands gripping his broad shoulders. He indulges in a low groan as his hips press flush against yours.

“If I’d known they were keeping me from this tight cunt, I would’ve done something sooner,” he rasps. “You feel absolutely perfect.”

“Please,” you breathe, “I need—please.”

His hips snap hard against yours and you moan, your head tipping back.

His eyes glitter as he pulls you close, pressing his mouth against your ear. “The next time I have you, I will be sweet and soft.”

“And this time?” you ask, though you think you already know the answer.

“This time—” His mouth presses against the curve of your neck, teeth scraping just this side of too hard against the tender skin. “—I’m going to utterly ruin you.”

His pace is fast and rough—the word possessive comes to mind. You twist the luxurious fabric of his sweater in your hands as his cock hits that sweet, aching spot inside of you, pressing against your sensitive cunt in a way that makes your muscles spasm and clench around him. You moan, a shiver rolling through you as you inch closer to release.

“I’m…fuck, I’m getting close,” you gasp.

His pace abruptly slows and his grin is wide and his eyes are dancing with mirth when he raises his head from your shoulder.

“That was unnecessary,” you say with a scowl.

“Oh, I just want to savor you for a little longer, my love,” he purrs as he settles into an easy and slow pace that still makes your toes curl. “You’re going to take me right over the edge with you and I’ve waited so terribly long to have you.”

“I feel like you’re probably omitting the fact that you like being a tease,” you say.

He grins again, increasing his pace ever so slightly. “Both things can be true.”

He does this a few times—taking up a wicked pace that almost sends you hurtling over the edge, only to slow at the last possible moment, silencing your whimpering protests with a deep and slow kiss that is good enough to make you forgive him until a few minutes later when he does it all over again.

You hold out for as long as you can, but eventually, the ache in your hips overwhelms you.

“Loki,” you breathe when his pace again begins to increase. “Please don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop?” he rasps, somehow finding the concentration to raise an eyebrow. “You’re quite sure?”

You nod.

“You want to come all over my cock?”

Speech is slightly beyond you at this point, but you manage to gasp a desperate plea as you hurtle into the final plateau, right before the fall.

Loki regards you with that same playful look as he fucks you. You wait, unsure of what he’s going to do, your body desperately crying out for your release.

His lips curl into a smile. “Come for me, sweet thing.”

At the sound of his voice, every one of your muscles is tensing and releasing, the slick walls of your cunt clamping down hard on the thick girth of his cock as you shudder and moan.

The remnants of Loki’s composure are fraying, his eyes closed and his jaw slack as he chases his own end. His brow furrows and he throws his head back, letting out a low groan as he comes and you think it might be the best sound you’ve ever heard.

You sag against him as you both come down from your respective highs, his heart beating hard under the soft fabric of his sweater. He reaches for your face, tilting your head back so he can kiss you, impossibly slow and soft.

You’re in the middle of the kitchen. You understand this. In a wholly rational world, you would be quick to hop off the counter, quick to try and negotiate the return of your jeans from whatever pocket dimension he’s sent them to.

Instead, you find yourself wanting to stay in this moment, with his arms wrapped around you, his cock still pulsing inside you as he kisses you breathless.

You count to ten, then twenty. At forty, you draw back slightly, only to have him pull you back into the kiss.

It’s somewhere after one hundred when he trails his lips to your neck and you manage to say what you intended: “We should probably…” you trail off as he sucks at your pulse point, sending a shiver down your spine.

“We should probably what?” he murmurs against your neck, before tracing a lazy figure eight with the tip of his tongue.

It takes you a moment to find that sentence. “Get dressed and such.”

You feel the sharp press of his smile against your skin. “I think not.”

Before you can open your mouth to say anything, the kitchen is fading in a shimmer of green to an unfamiliar bedroom and the two of you tumble into a bed draped in green silk.

“I’d like to stay like this for a while,” he says, a smile playing at his lips as he slowly rolls his hips against you, somehow still impossibly hard. “In fact, I think I need to have you again.”

“I can live with that,” you say. You tug at the fabric of his sweater. “But this is going to have to go.”

His gaze is smoldering and his bare skin is suddenly pressed against yours as the sweater and the rest of your clothes disappear in that familiar shimmer of green.

“Will you like me as much without it?” he asks, rolling his hips against you.

You drag your fingernails up along the firm muscles of his back. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Good,” he says, leaning in to kiss you, “because as I understand it, we have quite a lot of time to make up for.”

#loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson smut #loki x female reader smut #loki x female reader #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki x you smut #loki x yn smut #loki imagine

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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 5 months

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DAY TWENTY-EIGHT: Dry Humping w/ Spencer Reid

a/n: HEY HEY HEY!! So I am fully aware that Spencer was a child during college so this is an alternative universe where he's of the college age 💀 This is basically season one Spencer cause I wanna eat him.

masterlist | kinktober masterlist | AO3

TAGLIST: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @murdadixon @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus

You didn't like how the other girls in the circle were looking at him. Their lustful eyes eating up a very nervous Spencer, the man playing with his fingers anxiously.

It was obvious that he wasn't used to being in places like this; where everyone was drunk, high or both, couples and randoms making out and practically fucking in every dark corner of the room. You never thought that you'd see The Spencer Reid, your college campus' genius, sitting in a spin the bottle circle in a random frat house.

You had no idea who convinced the poor boy that doing this was a good idea, but you would be damned if any other one of these girls were to get their hands on him. You liked him first — not just liked him — you claimed him. Everyone in your group knew that you liked him, so the fact that they had the fucking gall to look at him that way knowing you were there pissed you off.

"Alright, everybody!" A random bro shouted from on top of one of the dining room tables. "We were going to play Spin The Bottle, but I figured it'd be better if we play Seven Minutes in Heaven, seeing as though we have a special guest here with us tonight."

You knew exactly who he was talking about, and as your eyes lifted to look at Spencer, his gaze was already settled on you, but once he saw you were looking at him, he looked away bashfully. His face flushed a pretty red and so did his ears, and you could practically see the blood threatening to spill from his cuticles as he picked at them.

Your eyes narrowed at the jock angrily, every part of your body yelling at you to tend to Spencer.

But you swallowed it down.

A large group of people gathered around, and then the first spin of the night began. People were gleefully coming and going from the closet, a few of the couples manipulating the bottle so that it landed on them.

"Oh, shit!" One of the frat bros called out loudly. You looked curiously to see all eyes locked on you and Spencer, the tip pointing at you and the end pointing at him.

You must admit, you were a bit… known… around school. You wouldn't say you were popular, now that was a bit childish, but you definitely had connections in a couple different places.

The poor man looked almost frantic, looking at you then looking back down, almost as if saying you didn't have to. Oh, but you did.

"Seven minutes, pretty boy. C'mon." You said as you got up. His eyes were as big as saucers, his mouth gaping akin to like a fish would. You straightened your tight dress, reaching out a well manicured hand.

"If you want this to be over sooner then get up." You whispered sternly. He scrambled to interlock your fingers, and you lead him to the closet that was already significantly hot from the amount of bodies that had been in there already.

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to." You reassured. "No, no… I-I want to, it's just…" He babbled, wringing his hands. "It's just what?" You pushed, stepping closer to him. He gulped, backing up slightly and knocking into the shelves behind him.

"I just don't know how." He didn't know how to make you feel good, how to pleasure you. He was embarrassed to admit to the girl that he liked, who was also totally out of his league, that he was a virgin.

"Why did you come here, then?" You questioned with a slight smirk. "Because… because you were here and I wanted to uh- maybe- I don't know-" You cupped his face, stroking his cheeks.

"Kiss me then, Spence."

"Wh- what?!" He stuttered.

"I said," You spoke, your lips brushing against his, "Kiss me." He gulped, looking down at your lips back up to your eyes, then back down to your lips again.

"Okay." He breathed.

He leaned forward, albeit hesitantly, and pressed your lips together. It started out slow, but with a lot of coaxing from you, he got comfortable. Your lips moved in tandem as the room heated up. You had no idea what had come over you when you placed both of his hands on your ass.

"Touch me." You breathed heavily. Your breasts pressed tauntingly into his chest, his cock hardening embarrassingly fast. "Are you sure?" You nodded. "Please."

He tested the waters with a light squeeze before shoving your hips together. His body stuttered as a loud whine fell from his mouth. You could feel his bulge against your plush body and Spencer wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow him whole.

"Sorry, sorry." His apologies were frantic, but your nerves burned with need. "I'm fine with you grinding on me, baby." You reassured. "In fact, I like it." Normally, you wouldn't say you carried a dominating energy with you, but it was like you wanted to swallow the poor boy whole.

"Oh, God." He whimpered, but nonetheless joined your lips back together. You slipped your plush thigh through his legs, pressing it on his cock.

His hips jutted out, and you swallowed his cry. His grips on your ass turned deathly as he humped your leg like a bitch in heat.

"That feel good?" You cooed, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

He nodded fastly, his lips pressed together and his eyes closed. He was lost in the feeling of the friction, perspiration beading on his hairline. You practially eat the sight of his deep red face up.

"You're mine. Alright, pretty boy?" You asked ferociously. You wrentched his head back, sinking your teeth into the sensitive skin of his neck. He nodded. "Say it." He yelped when you nipped at his adams apple.

"I'm yours, fuck- all yours!"

Your stomach twisted with a pleasant warm feeling, which only increased rapidly which you felt his thrusts grow sloppy.

"You gonna cum, honey?" You asked through your marking. "Yes, yes, yes…" He babbled. "Good. Cum all over me." He let out one last loud moan before you felt the warmth of spend seep out and onto the hem of your dress.

There was a knock on the door.

"Okay, lovebirds. Time's up!"

You smirked at the fact that Spencer was shaking like a leaf in your hold.

"After this, we are so going to my dorm." You claimed. "Yes! Yeah, yeah… yes, please." He all but shouted.

#♡ ― nsfmeau !#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kinktober day twenty eight #plus size reader #x plus size reader #plus size!reader #x chubby reader #chubby reader #spencer fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid kinktober #spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x plus size reader #spencer reid smut #smut #fanfiction

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eternally-racing · 3 months

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superbowl sunday | logan sargeant

pairing: logan x reader

genre: fluff

wk: 1k (short n sweet xoxo)

summary: you want to do something special for your homesick boyfriend when he misses one of america's favorite unofficial holidays.

----

With the new season just around the corner, the Williams team was in full force putting together their finishing touches on pre-season testing and meetings. Unfortunately for you, that meant that Logan was putting in long hours at the factory, with the most you’re seeing of him sometimes being just his imprint on the bedsheets in the morning since he leaves so early in the morning and comes back even long after you go to sleep.

Moving to Oxfordshire was a big step for the both of you. For Logan it was a no-brainer, even choosing to buy a place instead of renting helped show his commitment to the team, and how could you have possibly said no to him when he asked for you to join him? After all, in his words you are is home, no matter where he is in the world. While Logan may be used to living the European life, moving away from your all-American home was definitely a big culture shock. There were of course fun new experiences - first time getting lost in a new city, trying new cafes that you knew you would subsequently come to every week, and seeing the beautiful sights. At the same time there were the moments that absolutely tore you up to be away from home - Logan cried as he held you on Thanksgiving when all you really wanted was to be able to eat your mom’s Turkey stuffing, but then he subsequently called your mom and got her to send you a frozen portion in the mail. It only arrived 2 weeks later and there was a definite chance that the stomachache you got afterwards may have been due to it being slightly spoiled by the time it made it to your dinner table, but the action itself definitely warmed your heart. Even though you were definitely the baby when it came to missing home, you knew that there were a couple of days that got to him and today was definitely one of them.

Logan’s back ached as he finally got out of what felt like a 10 hour long meeting about company branding that he couldn’t care less about. The one thing he’s grateful for is the plethora of window panes at the factory - if he’s going to be stuck inside all day it’s at least nice to see the sun rise and set each day over the horizon. There are some days where Formula 1 doesn’t feel as worth it, where he wishes that he was in his backyard in Florida playing soccer with his brother, his dad on grill while his mom nags them about not wearing enough sunscreen, but on days like that he at least gets to see you, usually. If only he had time to see you right now. If he rushed back to your apartment right now he would probably at least catch you getting ready for bed, but it feels selfish to keep you up sometimes. He knows just how much you sacrificed to be here with him, including working a remote job in a timezone that meant that you were up at the worst of hours for team meetings.

He expects to walk into a dark apartment, just like he has for the last 3 weeks - but instead he’s met with a completely different sight.

It’s you, which is a sight enough to bring a smile to his face. But it’s not just you, but you’re surrounded by a a scene that he can only describe in two words. While he’s rendered speechless, you’re happy to steal the words from his mouth.

“Happy Superbowl Sunday, babe.”

Your apartment has all the staples from back home; chicken wings, seven layer dip, beer. If Logan’s nutritionist took a look at your dining table right now he would probably have a heart attack, but Logan could care less about that right now.

“I really lucked out that both teams have the color red so I only had to buy one color of balloons to cover my bases.” you giggle as Logan picks you up and spins you around. There’s tears starting to pool at the corner of his eyes and you understand the emotion you see in them all too well.

"I -, wow - , how did you - , I can't believe -" the words keep stumbling out of Logan's mouth as he's just in complete awe of what you pulled off for him.

You both take a second to cherish the moment, that the two of you get to do this together after so many weeks of not seeing each other. But soon after that you both settle onto the couch with more snacks than you could possibly ever consume surrounding the two of you on all sides.

You’re actually only watching a recording of the game with how the time differences worked out, and it’s actually Monday night, late enough to be almost Tuesday in England by the time you turn on the television - but Logan is far too sleep deprived and overworked to notice. There’s definitely a non-zero chance he falls asleep by the time the 3rd quarter even starts, but you’re happy to at least fall asleep together as you cuddle into his side.

“Also we are cheering for…” Your voice trails off as a question since you actually have no idea who Logan likes out of these two teams.

“The 49ers babe, you would love them too if you knew the backstory”

His comment makes you curious and while you’re scared of the can of worms you may be opening of being mansplained the history of the entire NFL, you ask him to explain and luckily he keeps it short and sweet.

“You always love cheering for an underdog, Y/N,” Logan says with a smile.

author's note: my new roman empire is the fact that logan was cheering for brock purdy in the super bowl 🥲 hope you all enjoyed this lil bit of logan fluff, until next time! - Em 🩷

#logan sargeant fluff #logan sargeant #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 fic #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant one shot #ls2 #williams racing #f1 fluff #formula 1 x reader #formula one #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fic #williams f1

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mediumgayitalian · 2 months

Text

Nico wakes up with a mouthful of hair.

“Are you serious.”

He sticks out his tongue, trying to get it out of his mouth without spitting on it, giving up after about four point three seconds of trying. He wriggles his arm out from where it’s pinned between his body and Will’s, flicking the last few strands off his tongue. For good measure, he kicks the first thing he can reach — his boyfriend’s thighs, go figure — in protest.

“Please, no,” Will mumbles tiredly, batting blindly under the cover until he slaps on big hand over Nico’s ankle, squeezing. “Please. I got in at three thirty last night. It’s barely seven. Please.”

Nico sighs, relaxing his muscles. Will presses a brief kiss to his shoulder in gratitude, face buried in his chest, sinking boneless into him.

“The whole knowing the time without a clock thing will never stop being weird,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to a freckled forehead. He rubs his hands over Will’s bare shoulders, digging his thumbs along the knotted muscles, and smiles as he groans, trying in vain to plaster somehow closer to Nico, practically melting into him. “Gracie keep you up all night?”

He shifts as he nods. “Harley, too. Poor things just want someone to hold their hair outta their face and rub their back, they’re so miserable.”

Nico hums in sympathy. It’s flu season — hitting the little kids, mostly. Will has been on his feet for days trying to mitigate symptoms, soothe aching bones and sore throats. There’s not too much he can do for the flu, but the kids are miserable and they trust him, so his presence is more of a cure and a comfort than anything.

“Kayla there now?”

“Austin and Lou. Kayla’s on after lunch; Piper’s with her.”

“Good.” He squeezes his shoulders again, leaning down to press a long, lingering kiss right between his eyes. He leans into it, sighing. “Sleep for a bit, okay? I’ll come check on you, but I don’t want you up before 2.”

“‘Kay,” Will sighs, unconscious again by the time Nico’s wiggled out of his hold. For a moment he stands, watching him: his bare, broad back, spattered with dark freckles and moles, dipping at the base of his spine and covered barely by the soft, white sheets; arms curled up all the way around his face in Nico’s absence, bicep squeezing his cheek, pursing his delicate Cupid’s bow; long, light eyelashes fanning over round cheeks; even, steady breathing, in and out, in and out.

Golden hair, of course, frizzy and messy and poofing out around his head; haloed in the early morning sun.

He’s barely able to tear himself away to go shower.

———

“They’re everywhere,” says Kayla in disgust, peeling a long, curly strand off her shirt. “I haven’t been in the same room as him in two days. This is a brand-new shirt. How am I still somehow covered in his hair?”

“He’s like a dog,” Austin explains. Nico snorts. “He sheds, and at first it’s subtle, here and there, you get used to it. The suddenly two years go by and people are complimenting the fur coat that was not fur before you bought it.”

Gracie sticks out her bottom lip, eyes watering. “Will is not a dog, he’s a boy!”

Austin groans, muttering something about favourites and annoying older brothers and where was this energy when I ate the last secret cabin twinkie and was accused of being a ratbag, huh, Gracie, where was my defense squad and annoying older brothers again. Gracie is unmoved by his whining, glaring at him with big green eyes — ever her oldest brother’s defender.

Nico hides a smile in his hand. No wonder, with how Will dotes on her. On all his siblings, really, but only Yan and Gracie are young enough that it doesn’t embarrass them.

Kayla and Austin, on the other hand. (At this point, Will enjoys embarrassing them in front of their friends as much as the actual doting.)

Kayla, weak to her sister’s pouting, pokes her playfully in the side. “I’m only teasing, Gracie-girl. Of course Will isn’t a dog.”

“Except the shedding, and the constant yapping, and the fact that if you don’t let him loose to run around for a while he goes batty, and of course the following Nico around like a lovesick pup—”

“Thank you, Austin,” Nico interrupts, clearing his throat. He sends a quick prayer of thanks to his father for hair genetics covering his flaming ears.

Austin snickers. “Anytime.”

After three years it’s futile, but sometimes Nico really considers rescinding his doctor’s note. Is sitting here during meals really worth his peace? Is it?

“He really does shed, though,” Kayla says after a moment of silence. She pinched yet another hair off her shirt, sighing. “Like, not to agree with Austin or anything —”

“Hey!”

“— but, like, damn. If he’s been there, you know it.”

Nico snorts. “Tell me about it. I keep finding hair on my pillows, it’s driving me insane.”

It does drive him insane. He finds it in the shower — although to his credit Will really does try to get them all there — and in his hairbrush, on his clothes, his sheets, his mattress. The floor. Once, notably, on the shrine in his cabin, after which Will had panicked and sprinted to the pavilion to scrape an entire pot roast and pray not to get smited, leaving Nico to laugh himself to tears at the base of it.

Too late, he notices the total silence at the Apollo table, the wide eyes boring holes into his head, the loose, dropped jaws.

“What?” he says, shoulders curled defensively.

As soon as the word leaves his mouth, realization dawns on him. He chokes on a grape.

“You two didn’t tell us?” Austin demands. “How long has this —” he gestures vaguely at Nico and at the infirmary, which, he assumes, is meant to represent Will — “been going on?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he wheezes. With his rapidly asphyxiating brain, he attempts to summon his boyfriend, still conked out, via sheer force of will. GET THE HELL UP AND COME RUN DAMAGE CONTROL, he screams silently.

Predictably, this does nothing.

Kayla shrieks. “Oh my gods, look at his face! They’ve been doing this forever!”

Nico bangs his hands on the table, trying at once to convey his protest and also hi, hello, children of the god of medicine, I am choking to death, fix please. Neither signal gets picked up, inhabitants of the table erupting an a screeching series of questions so loud that other campers notice, understand, and approach, equally as screechy.

“Will and Nico are together?”

“Holy shit! Since when?”

“I thought they’d never get out of the pining stage!”

“Don’t they hate each other?”

“Bro, are you stupid? Do you not know what bad flirting is?”

“Hey, is di Angelo turning purple, or is that just me?”

Throwing himself into the nearest shadow, Nico disappears.

———

“Get up, get up, I fucked up, I fucked up!”

Will shoots straight upright with a gasp, force of his own body sending him careening right over the side of the bed. He goes down in a tangled heap of cursing and yelping and ow, fuck, shit-damns.

“What happened?” he demands as soon as he’s free from his fabric prison. He rushes (stumbles) over to wear Nico is still wheezing, hands braced on his knees, for dizziness now as much as to catch his breath. “Neeks, woah, slow down for a sec. Deep breaths with me.”

He tries to follow along to Will’s exaggerated breathing, steady, long inhales and exhales. A calloused hand touches the curve of his neck, warmth blooming under it, and suddenly his airways are cleared.

“Thanks,” he manages hoarsely, breathing back somewhat under control.

Will squeezes his hand. “No problem.”

There are several pillow creases criss-crossing on his cheeks, making him look soft and sleepy, although his eyes are alert, crinkled in poorly-concealed amusement. His hair is somehow more mussed than when Nico left him this morning.

“What happened?”

“So I. Um.” Nico clears his throat. “Your bother was roasting you for shedding like a dog. I, of course, had to join —”

Will rolls his eyes, mouth twitching. “Of course.”

“— and I mentioned super casually that I get your hair all over my shit, right? And, well — well.”

“Well?” Will prods, when Nico cuts himself off. Chancing a glance, Nico finds he doesn’t look angry, or nervous, or disappointed — and of course he wouldn’t. Not for something as silly as this.

He is gonna laugh, though. Nico hates when he’s righteously clowned.

“Well, I.” He lowers his voice to a mumble. “May have said something about all of your hair that ends up on my pillows.”

For a moment it’s silent. Nico keeps his eyes trained away, although he leans into Will’s touch, his hands in his face, the side of his neck, the warmth thrown off his sleep-addled body.

He’s almost startled by the giggle.

Almost.

“…Oh, you dumbass.”

He tries very hard to look annoyed as Will cracks up. He taps his foot, crosses his arms, and tries very, very hard to frown, but Will’s laugh has always been the most musical thing about him, and he loves to serenade. And Nico is very weak to song.

“Stop laughing at me,” he snaps, without heat.

Will’s cheeks puff up from the force of him trying, face going red around the edges.

“I’m trying, Neeks, I am —”

“Not very hard.”

“I am, I am.” Valiantly, he draws in a deep breath, only breaking into giggles twice before managing to hold a somewhat straight face. “Nico,” he says, suddenly very close and very warm, “I love you.” He presses a kiss to his forehead. “And I love sneaking around with you —” the bridge of his nose — “and making out in dark closets —” his cheeks, both, quickly, one after the other — “and behind the Big House —” the base of his jaw — “and in the —”

“I get it,” Nico interrupts, flushing. He can feel the curve of Will’s smile against his skin.

“My cabin, if it’s empty,” Will murmurs, kissing the underside of his jaw, his neck. “Yours.” Slight nip of his teeth. Nico gasps.

“Will,” he whispers. His knees start to shake. “Will, c’mon, we gotta —”

Will presses a kiss square to his Adam’s apple, lingering. “We’re in yours quite a lot. I’ve gotten used to it, honestly, Neeks, I —”

The door bangs open, making both of them yelp. The matching screeches to not help the general air of panic and sitcom level foolishness.

“Oh my gods, you really are porking!”

“Get out, Kayla!” they both yell together.

“Jesus,” Will curses, forehead resting on Nico’s shoulder.

Nico bites his lip. Will shifts, turning to meet his eye.

They last two whole seconds before losing it.

“Three years of sneaking around without so much as a soul finding out,” Nico huffs as Will snickers. “Three whole years.”

Will pecks him loudly and exaggeratedly on the cheek. “And endless more in the open.”

“You’re such a goddamn cheeseball.”

“And yet you’re in deep, deep love with me.”

“…I am.” He cradles his face, pressing a kiss, finally, to his lips. Will presses back, smiling. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#i’m sorry i love secret relationship so so much #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo #nico di angelo/will solace #nico/will #will/nico #established relationship #secret relationship #fluff and humour #apollo kids #my writing #fic #longpost

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iznsfw · 5 months

Text

Here, Kitty, Kitty!

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 2 - Miyawaki Sakura

LE SSERAFIM's Miyawaki Sakura x Male Reader Smut

6,381 words

Categories | catgirl!Sakura, petplay, KITTY CORNER

Queued this on the wrong time, sorry for the late post

The smell of freshly sautéed food fills your nostrils. The seasoning prickles the air and your stomach rumbles even before you rise. You’d drool over the food if you didn’t open your eyes and find someone else more worthy of your adoration.

Do you need to say more? No, but you’ll go on anyway when it’s about Sakura.

Her back is turned yet your focus remains attached to her. Long brown hair sways with her movements from the restraints of a band. You wonder if she knows how many times you’ve threaded your fingers through her locks as she sleeps, or notice how your hand always goes to her hair whenever she needs comforting. Your attention’s brought to her white skin exposed by the short sleeves of her short shirt. Each lot it takes—her pretty arms, bare neck, or tiny waist—is perfect. There’s beauty even without catching sight of her face.

Of course, there’s also beauty when you see it.

Sakura turns her head. She smiles, her fine cheekbones highlighted. And it’s like falling in love with her all over again. “I knew that would wake you up.”

The food’s just the alarm clock. Sakura’s the sunshine that blinds you.

You lean forward with a playful lilt in your voice. “Are you implying that I’m greedy?”

She draws the big wooden spoon to her mouth and licks a peppered green off it. “I’m implying that I’m a great chef,” she says. She turns the stove off satisfiedly.

Your legs feel shaky from the long commute, in which you spent a painful amount of time rushing and reaping, but they still choose the way to your girlfriend. When you wrap your arms around her, she jerks in surprise. She settles into them anyway; you’re a familiar comfort. You like how small she looks in your embrace, how you’re always entertained by the idea that you could easily pick her up and give her the biggest hug ever.

(And other things.)

You kiss the side of her head. “Thanks for the dinner, pet.”

Sakura looks up at you with those spell-binding large eyes, reminding you again of why you chose that nickname. Pet name is a more accurate term.. She’s the tiniest thing ever that you’re pretty sure you could pick her up with just one hand, like she’s a kitten. Her small whines whenever she’s frustrated during a game or tired from work don’t help diminish the urge to call her your pet.

“It’s nothing,” she giggles. “I want you to eat well.”

“I eat enough already. Watch.”

Seal your lips around her earlobe jokingly. Sakura shrieks. Your laughs vibrate on her skin as the feeling tickles her. Once you release her, she begins to hit you painlessly with the utensil.

“Perv!”

“Whoa, that wasn’t even foreplay or anything.”

Sakura’s smile reaches her ears. “Jerk,” she says. “How do I even deal with a horndog like you?”

Okay, now that’s not fair. You’re not even horny twenty-four seven. You just tend to let the memories of Sakura in a summer top and skimpy shorts linger. So her bold accusations are totally false. Nope. You’re not letting them tarnish your image.

“You’re the one thinking dirty about it, pet,” you say, snatching the spoon from her and lifting it high.

Her attempt to steal it draws laughs from you. She’s too small to achieve the spoon. She extends her arm up yet ends up empty-handed. Sakura huffs and crosses her arms, finally giving up.

“I know.”

Now you’re the one smiling. It surprises you how quickly she said it, almost like she’s trying to lead things somewhere. The tilt of your mouth reaches places when your cute girlfriend blushes.

“Oh?”

“Y-you know what I meant.”

“I actually do not.”

“Well, I won’t tell you anyway. I like it when you do the talking.”

Sakura always prioritizes you, and it often makes you feel guilty. She’s never put herself first. It’s always her taking the last turn, having the smallest half of the cake, giving what she has though it’s only enough for her. Sometimes you want to give back to her, too, and not just in the act of being her boyfriend.

“And I like it when you let me take care of you.” Open your mouth anyway when she raises the spoon to your lips. As always, her cooking is everything.

You’d say thank you verbally, but you think you prefer grabbing her small waist and lifting her on the countertop. You prefer that squeal, too. Sakura has a funny smirk on her face. You sweep back her disheveled hair and kiss that smile you love so much.

“So let me do the listening this time. What’s going on in that pretty little head, pet?”

“Just… you.” Her legs surround your hips. “I can’t think, I can’t work. All I think about is how you’re doing.”

Sakura massages the sides of your head. You swear you can feel her love trickle from her long, thin fingers and into your mind. She’s so learned in the ways of love that you get a free lesson from her everyday. You’re still studying, but you think you’ve got the hang of it.

“I can handle myself, Sakura,” you tell her. “You’re always taking care of me, so now, I gotta be the one doing it with you.”

“There’s one way for you to take care of me…”

Sakura’s hand grasps yours, and soon she’s leading it between her legs. In turn, it leads you to notice how tiny her shorts are. The hem’s literally hugging below the centers of her cheeks, giving attention to its supple shape. It leaves no room for the imagination. Neither does her crop top. Why is she wearing such a tight shirt in the house anyway? It’s just the two of you.

Then you see the lust in her face, and the dots all connect.

“Naughty pet.” Squeeze the cheek of her ass to feel her body tense. “What exactly are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking,” says Sakura, as she lifts her legs so you could pull her shorts off, “that you ruin me with those fingers.”

Familiar scent and a familiar sight: her drenched cunt. But you never get tired of seeing her naked or running your digits along her pink slit.

Sakura’s voice whittles into a soft breath, the kind you only hear when she sings quietly. That must be why her moans are like music to you.

Her wetness is unbelievable. In little time, your fingers are already soaked, and you haven’t even put them inside her yet. There’s no need to rush anyway. You’ll take your time playing with her.

Miyawaki Sakura is named after cherry blossoms. It only makes sense that her blush is as pink as the seasonal flowers. Her core drips as if it holds excessive dew drops. Something about the color, too. Something about her center having the same blooming beauty her face has. You stroke this southern flower. Sakura grips your forearm tightly.

Immediately, your fingertips are dripping with her juices. Each flick of your hand, like that of a magician, makes her legs shudder. That’s only one more reason to do it. Play with her clit so she responds with an expected gasp.

“Mmh, please.”

“Yeah?”

“M-make me cum…” Sakura’s practically salivating. The drool from her mouth is a parallel to the juices trickling from her cunt. “I need it.”

You kiss her. “I know you do.”

Your touch pierces her core. Sakura’s gasp extends, and her large cat eyes grow rounder. Your fingers move as if to beckon—as if to beckon the strongest climax from her. Of course, you can’t keep doing the same thing if you want that. Recognize this, spread her thigh apart from your forearm and pin it to the counter so you could ram your fingers in her harsher. You make sure to touch her sensitive parts in order to keep those beautiful moans floating to your ears.

You had your suspicions, but it seems now that Sakura was not wearing a bra beneath that tight excuse of a crop top. Her nipples make a print upon the fabric. It’s an invitation, really. Softness fills your palms as you squeeze and squeeze and squeeze, keeping your girlfriend on the road to her orgasm.

“Feels so good!” she says—(no, screams.) Her feet kick and the entirety of her small body tenses up. “Feels so… oh god, don’t stop!”

Your thumb toys with her nipple as your lips latch on her neck. You wouldn’t think of it. You’re here to give Sakura what she needs and wants. In fact, you’re borderline spoiling her—you don’t actually have to thrust that hard or kiss her this passionately. But when it comes to giving back to her, you admit you go a little overboard.

It’s not like anyone else wouldn’t have done the same thing when Sakura’s so vocal about everything. Her cute voice becomes even cuter as it twists with every plunge and squeeze of your hand. She stutters over her words, a habit that becomes more adorable despite the circumstances, and looks at you with this unhinged wildness you only ever see when you’re taking her. If she’s your pet, she’d be a feral cat in heat, always in need for blissful salvation.

Well, you’ll grant it to her.

In the privacy of your own home, this is what you could do to Sakura: leave hickeys all over her skin, finger her with the strings of wetness connecting and disconnecting from your digits, have her for your own. You grow harsher by the minute, and she loves every second of it.

“Please. More, please, I want—”

“What do you want, Sakura?”

She needs to speak yet your swift strokes prevent her from saying a comprehensible syllable. Sakura’s hold on your arm—on you—truly is fascinating. She can control you while staying on the receiving side with her pouty slim lips and trembling body. She can make you do anything for her without having to convince you. Her hand over the center of your pants just adds to the heat.

She palms your stiff erection while you thrust your fingers inside her little pussy relentlessly. It’s all so much for a tiny girl to give and take, so it shouldn’t be a surprise when she says it—

“Need you to fuck your kitten’s pussy, make me squirt, I want it so bad!”

—but it is.

You’re well aware of why your fingerfucking grows borderline cruel, why Sakura is screaming the way she is. You’re lost in the moment. The heat in your pants is becoming unbearable. Your fingers are ruining her.

And you can feel sharp teeth sinking into your neck. The pain is pleasure, and you’re struggling to think of what her bite reminds you of: fangs? Needles? Pins?

A kitten?

Sakura wets the counter and your sleeves. She whimpers against your skin, but you keep on going. You know it’s what she wants. In the corner of your eye, you can see her ears turn red. The volume of her moans next to your ear reaches heights.

“N-no… ah, stop.”

Stop?

Stop.

“Sakura?” you ask warily, afraid you did something wrong. Were things going too far? Are you hurting her? Maybe you already did.

Relief courses through your chest when she kisses you. “I’m alright,” she says sweetly. “It’s just… hmm—”

She never gets to continue what she’s saying until later on. She finds your concerned face too adorable. You’re pretty sure she saw the vulnerability in it. There’s something raw about someone seeing beauty in you the way you see in her.

Sakura kisses you, hands containing your face. You smile into the heated session. When you drag your fingers slowly out of her cunt, she moans again, rekindling your carnal wants.

She pulls away. “I like how your fingers are totally soaked,” she says lightly, “and it’s all me.”

She opens her mouth meekly, and you already know what to do.

Earlier, her pussy wrapped your fingers. Now, her lips do, stroking your digits of the liquid that pours down them. It’s like she’s having a second dinner with the way she’s devouring her own juices. You aren’t taking a bite of anything, but watching Sakura do what she does best is a whole meal already.

“God, Sakura, you’re so fucking sexy.”

She giggles. “Thank you. I try to be for you.”

The twirl of your wrist guides her tongue in cleaning your hand up. She truly is a kitten. Her tiny tongue licks you up, and her distinct moans almost sound like meows.

So it’s only right that you pet her. Ruffle her hair and lead it back into place. “You’re always hot, pet.”

Think back to the moments she sits in her room gaming, with nothing but your shirt and panties on. Of course she always is. It’s second nature to her.

“I’d tell you to continue,” says Sakura slyly, kissing your fingertips, “but that would ruin the bigger surprise, won’t it?”

“What surprise?”

She hops off the counter and pushes you to the island. Since when did her workouts involve that? But she’s Sakura—your girlfriend whose face shows the mischief of a pet who’s too aware of what she’s doing. That’s why you’re breathless.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Well, fuck.

Sakura hooks her finger underneath the button of your shirt. Just a skim of her touch makes you shake. You’re wondering what’s happening—more importantly, what will be happening. But the answer’s clear. She knows your secrets, and now, she’s about to show you something she’s been hiding herself.

She starts leading you to the bedroom. If looks could kill, you’d be dead by now, on the floor, drool rolling down from the corner of your mouth. And it would be all because of your girlfriend’s sultry expression that’s locked and loaded on you, ready to maim.

Her back rests on your bedroom door. You’re so close to each other that not one breath goes unheld by your skin. She’s truly evil for this. She knows you’re down bad for her, down at rock bottom. And she still chooses to work you up like this: pressing herself against the wooden door, with nothing but that short crop top on and a smile that’s too alluring.

You laugh. Grasp her waist. You can span its width using a single hand. “What’s this, pet?” you say. She’s getting you all hot and bothered.

“Just come inside and close your eyes.”

Sakura winks. That’s how you know it’s as serious as it gets; Miyawaki Sakura doesn’t know how to wink. If it’s worth her practice and time, you’re in for the real thing.

You shut your eyes as she asked, and let her lead you to the bed. Your excitement chains your throat that you can’t even ask her if she’s done. Rely on your sense of hearing to figure out what’s going on.

It feels like hours waiting for her surprise. The bed is soft beneath you, but you’d rather have Sakura’s tight body under you instead. Your pants are tight already. Reminding yourself that she’d be ready in a few does nothing to satiate your restlessness.

“Sakura,” you say with a kidding husk that intimidates her nevertheless, “don’t keep me waiting.”

“I-I’m not!”

The thumps and gasps of struggle become less frequent. Your hands frisk impatiently at your sides. What exactly is she planning?

“Open your eyes now!”

Finally.

Once you see her, you’re met with the thought that confirms you that, like Sakura said, you’ll come inside, just in another way.

Your nickname for Sakura is sweet, but you can’t deny the lewdness it takes now that it represents itself in front of you.

Her white crop top was replaced with a sleeveless brown one. It ought to be impossible for a crop top to be any more revealing, but that’s proved wrong when this one barely hides the underside of her chest, even giving the top of it a wide peek. Worst of all (but you can’t deny that it’s the best thing you’ve ever seen): there’s a cartoon cat-shaped hole in the middle of it that exposes even more skin. It’s more of a bra rather than a shirt at this rate. But you’d argue that actual bras aren’t this provocative. And you’d argue that you don’t mind—not even a little bit, not even at all.

All of her is on display: her midriff, her arms and pits, her legs, everything. Then you have her skirt that’s the definition of short. It’s a pathetic attempt at modesty and a great exercise of lewdness. Its length allows you a view of her inviting pussy.

It isn’t a secret that you love her hair, and now you’re in a position in which your adoration for it grows. You’re blameless, especially when it’s banded into two twintails joined behind a headband of black cat ears.

But the highlight of it all is that black collar rounding her neck. It awaits a connected leash, a driven purpose.

Tonight, Miyawaki Sakura isn’t just your girlfriend. She’s your pet—your gorgeous, little kitten in heat.

You knew it. Sakura’s been scheming and planning this, and now the surprise is all ready. She’s all ready for your using and taking.

“What a naughty girl you are, Sakura,” you murmur, getting up.

She cowers. “Just wanted to give you a reward for working hard.” Her paws float to her cheeks. “And… I really want to be your pet. Your pretty little pet.”

“You knew what I wanted all along, huh?”

Sakura hums helplessly while she peeks from the spaces between her fingers. Her palms do a poor job of hiding her red skin. She’s both excited and shy about this, and she’s not sure where to settle. But she’s sure of the heat that sparks between her legs when you trace your touch from her jawline to her chin, where you gently lift. Your gaze is so intense that she flinches.

“Well,” you say, bringing her eyes back to you, “what should I do about it?”

“Do what you want to me, master.”

From day one, a cat is what she reminds you of. Although she’s the eldest in her friend group with Chaewon and Yunjin, she’s still a kitten inside needing appreciation from her master. Maybe she saw in you too a master that would fit her needs well, who’d see her cute self as someone who’s also tantalizingly beautiful.

Today, you’re letting that come to life.

“Give me the leash. I know you prepared one.”

She blushes. “Of course, master.” She rises from her kneeled position to retrieve it.

Strike her ass that peeks roundly from beneath the hem of her skirt. Her cheeks bounce at the impact. As an effect, her legs shake, too. Her yelp is cute yet it sends a rush of happiness to the wrong place.

“Bad kitten. Kittens like you don’t walk on two legs.”

“Sorry, master.”

Sakura’s now red ass is presented to you as she crawls on all fours to the corner of the room while you step out of your slacks. You could tell she gets off to the humiliation—her slit’s been dripping all over her thighs.

The black device is dark compared to her gold collar. She picks it up with her mouth and crawls back to you. That’s right. Even if her knees burn and her hands turn red, a kitten will always crawl on command for her master.

She looks adorable with her face all sweaty from the effort. Doesn’t matter; she’ll be rewarded for it eventually.

You click the leash on. She meows appreciatively. How is it possible that an odd sound unfit for a woman like her gets you hard? You tap your lap, and she crawls up onto it. She never loses her act as a kitten.

“Fast learner.” With her stomach down, you’re able to touch her ass and cunt freely. Most cats like being petted on their backs, but yours would much rather have your hand on her cunt. Actually, you could touch her anywhere and still be met with a gush of arousal between her slim thighs. “What treat do you want for that?”

Sakura’s legs squirm together. You’d never grow tired of hearing her whimpering, but you strike her ass again. You’re a kind master, not a lenient one.

“I said: what treat do you want?”

“Want my master to eat my slutty catgirl pussy out…” she murmurs.

Why not?

You lift Sakura’s weightless body from your lap and drag her up the bed. In spite of her slight choking, you tug harder. At least this time she has the soft mattress under her knees rather than the cold floor. But good pets need training to become what they are.

Tie the leash in a harsh knot on one of the poles. Sakura’s still whimpering. You know she wants this treat so badly. Consequently: push her down. Spread her legs. There’s no gentleness here. Her skirt isn’t a problem when it’s length is miniscule. You’re free to eat her out as harshly as possible.

“Oh, oh, master!” Sakura’s gasps are loud despite the earliness of it all. She rolls the silky bedclothes in balls, trying to cope with your licking. It’s like you’ve reversed roles and you became the kitten that licked at her for supplement, just without the submissiveness. Either way, her senses immediately live for it and strive to get more.

Stick your tongue inside that addicting little hole. Your lips brush Sakura’s pussy lips, leaving open kisses on it. She’s so sensitive that a long, hard swipe of your tongue along her slit would have her nearly cumming. You were sure about that even before you tested it out.

Your saliva and her juices connect. Hard to tell one from the other when you’re tonguefucking her and dragging all those delicious nectar out. It spills on her thighs, which you don’t see as a problem if you could lick it all up. You’re glad to have it stain your mouth as you kiss away at her inner thighs, then return to eating her out.

You plunge your tongue deep. Its tip flicks at her walls and sets a fire inside her. No amount of natural lubrication could keep it from burning. The magic of your mouth can be cruel and blissful at the same time.

“Fuck! Keep eating me, your tongue, holy shit—”

Sakura gags after her attempt in lifting her head is restricted by the leash. The length you tied it at is too short for her to watch you or even react with a movement. It’s exactly what you want; exactly what she wants, too. The pain is mutually desired but so is the pleasure.

You spit on her cunt. “Did I say you get to order me around?” you ask.

Sakura shakes her head, yet another action the leash prevents her from performing properly.

“That’s what I thought. All I want to hear is your moans. Is that understood, kitten?”

“Yes! Ah, fffuck!”

Dive back in. If you weren’t full from Sakura’s amazing cooking earlier on, then you’re fed well with her pussy. You’re no pretentious dieter—you eat her pussy without shame. Perhaps you lick more than you can swallow with how she’s so sensitive and keeps leaking everywhere. Your tongue pushes and pulls from inside her orifice while your upper lip attends to her clit. Despite not having it in your mouth, you feel it pulsing.

You watch Sakura’s flat tummy rise and rest while you have your way with her. Measure its tempo. You’ve determined she’s close, if her thighs shivering around your head weren’t enough indicators. Jerk them to you and listen (if the hold of her thighs allows you) to the wonderful sounds of her strangled moaning.

“Hahk, oh god, please!”

Much to her disappointment, your fingers are only used to part her pussy lips rather than fuck her. But she’s happier with you licking wild lines on her velvety walls. It seems like your mouth could reach everything. Sakura starts to tremble more. It’s a warning, a not-safe-for-work sticker placed on an explicit track.

“Kitten’s c-cumming, I can’t hold it!” sobs your pet, unable to take any more. Her upper body joins in on the quivering, and you can see the delightful view of her tiny boobs bouncing from behind her top.

What’s next is the suction on her clit. You’ve saved suckling on it for now when she’s at her high. It’s a tested and proven method to amplify her orgasm. Once your lips seal at her clitoris, she lets out screams that almost sound like yowls. Her clawed fingernails start to scratch at your head. You’ll punish her for that later. Currently, you’ll focus on making her cream.

“Master, d-do me harder… master, master!”

The last of her orgasm subsides. That’s your cue to unfasten the leash from the headboard and pull the collar up. Sakura makes a weak, fragile sound that stirs a mixture of heat in your loins.

“No. Kittens don’t make the rules for their owners, do they, pet?”

Her beautiful face shows guilt, but no regrets. You expected that. “Sorry,” she says quietly.

One would think she must have watched and taken notes from a lot of “tutorial” videos for her nuances—folding her hands, looking up at you with flinching eye contact, squirming—to be this pet-like (you know you have). But she’s just a natural catgirl, and she likes being used like this. The glint in her eyes can’t be mistaken for the lighting in the room.

Grip her collar tighter. “Do you expect me to reward bad behavior?”

“No.”

“Then get on all fours on the bed. I’m not letting up on you.”

Sakura is a little too happy to do as you say. However, you’re certain she isn’t prepared for the onslaught of lust about to be taken out on her.

You observe Sakura’s beautiful back. The line running down the center shows the hours she spent in the gym to work hard on it. It looks prettier with the thin crossing straps of the top running over it. Now your fingers are, too. You can trace Sakura’s shudders, right from her collared neck to her skirted ass.

Raise your hand high in the air, then slap her supple butt. While you’d tell her it’s to punish her, you think it’s just to hear her moan. It's a carnal instinct. Maybe you’re the animal here with your acts of nature. Doesn’t sound right; whether you slap or caress or pinch her, she’s the ever-loving pet. You notice it in the buckle of her knees and the hot breath that leaves her mouth.

Sakura is a cat through and through, but you still like to fuck her doggy style.

“Ma-master,” she says upon the first few thrusts. She winces, then cries out a pathetic mewl, then repeats herself. This time, it’s tinier, needier: “Master, please.”

The innocently designed mirror in her room reflects back anything but innocent doings. You watch her face twist and whine in its glass. Sakura’s eyes meet yours and she’s turning red again. You didn’t take her for a red foreign cat. You see her more as a black cat.

She’s not so unlucky when she’s providing you this much tightness.

“Please what?” you chuckle. Your rhythm’s already cruel. “Gonna ask for more? Less? No, pet. You’re getting fucking punished.”

She’d definitely ask for more. Her sex drive is more of that of a rabbit than a kitten. Her wet pussy is so drenched that it makes squelching sounds in response to your hips. And, because you’re weak for her—a sucker for anything she wants—you give it to her harder.

Instead of grabbing her hips to pump, you’re using the leash. Sakura has to keep herself steady to stop her head from throwing back. It’s inevitable when your member pulls her apart and makes her take what she used to think she couldn’t. The collar’s already making fine lines on her neck.

“Punish me, I’ll be a good kitten and obey you, I promise,” she says. Your thrusts get sloppier; her words do as well. “A-ahh, will take your cock any time of the day, on my knees, on the bed, however you like, master.”

God, the thoughts Sakura puts in your head. They’ll seriously put you at risk one day. Picturing her in those positions—on her knees sucking away at your length; on the bed like this with her cat ears frisking to and fro; and however you like, which means everything—impels you to stuff your rock hard dick in her with a might that shocks even you. See, you can do surprises, too.

“Really now?” Yank. In response, she gasps. Her headband almost falls off. Make the uncharacteristic move as a dominant master to slide it back on.

Sakura nods mindlessly. You know she’s wordlessly telling the truth. She deserves a good squeeze on her perfect tits for the dedication.

But you raise the stakes. How far can she go as your pet? How far can you go as her master?

“Even if you don’t get to cum when you want?”

It’s laughable how Sakura immediately whines. Looks like her love for your cock is conditional. To make it harder for her, you start to couple your swift pumps with a finger on her clit. One rub, two rubs, and three—you might as well be counting sheep with how her eyes close.

That sets her off. Your pet begins to shout. She’s never been a girl to talk excessively. Now, it’s the opposite; she babbles and cries and sobs like her life depends on it. For the record, her bliss does, but it’s nowhere as close to her life.

It’s starting to look like it though. Sakura’s frenzied actions consist of pushing her core back to you, filling herself up with your cock even if the leash is there to pull her to you, and repeating your title. She fills the pretty, well-furnished bedroom with the dirtiest sounds unapologetically. If your abandoned clothes on the floor had ears, they’d be deaf by now. Hell, you’re surprised you aren’t.

Her pussy gets messier with each pump. Your tip kissing her deepest parts grants you several gushes of need. They fall onto the mattress, their stains becoming a task for later. Your only wish at this moment is to fuck Sakura to her wits’ end.

“I need to cum, master,” she says. The alarm in her voice could be mistaken as a warning for a fire or an emergency.

Does she really? You’re not quite sure of that. Continue to give out your punishment. Fuck her like she’s a catgirl who’d die if you didn’t. Redden her unblemished skin with bruises and marks of your hand. Her hole’s splashing with wetness, and you’re starting to get really close yourself.

She’s starting to slump. Tears from her eyes blot the white sheets underneath your bodies. “Cum, please, I need to…”

One of the final tugs of her leash for the night. With her back to your chest and your mouth next to her ear, you ask her a question that won’t determine her climax. Knowing you, even if she answers wrong, you’re still letting her cream deliciously all over your girth.

“Are you my good kitten?” you rasp in her ear.

“Yes!” she instantly replies.

Scoff. “No, you aren’t.”

You firmly rub her clit while bottoming out in her. Sakura’s throat is sore from screaming although it’s far from the last time she’ll do it.

“You’re not a good kitten when all you want to do is fuck your master instead of obeying him. You just want me to fuck you in every part of the house, fill you over and over. You’re the bad thing who wanted to be my pet. So what are you, Sakura?”

Sakura’s hole squeezes you as hard as her collar chokes her neck. Sizable tits bouncing, mouth agape, hands curled on her collar, she replies in the form of another scream.

“A, a bad little kitten, master! His property and plaything, the one he makes cum over and over! So please, master, let me!”

Good answer. “Cum.”

“Ohhhh!”

Sakura would have collapsed on the bed if it weren’t for your hold on her. Her body weakens and fails. The bed is flooded with her climax. Hearing her normally quiet voice reach this level of highness and whininess is an otherworldly experience. Eke more out of her; you’re pumping slowly but surely. Let it possess great impact but measured pace.

“You okay, pet?” you ask gently.

Sakura’s delicious, tight body trembles in its lingerie. Her breaths are short and sporadic. Through it all, there’s a satisfied smile on her face as she nods. It relieves you of the thought that you unknowingly might have gone too far.

“Why didn’t you cum inside me?”

“Good pets get bred, Sakura.”

“Since when did you legit care about me being a good pet?” she laughs.

“Ever since I thought you’d like to drink your ‘milk’ instead.”

Sakura bites her lip. It’s deadlier when she’s wearing that sultry cat lingerie. Your cock remains stiff seeing it.

“Oh, master.” She smiles. “I have the perfect place.”

The Kitty Corner. Not Kitty Korner, for alliteration’s sake, but the Kitty Corner. Cats have favorite places: a shoe, a fluffy tower, the sofa. Sakura is no different. This place, which is the corner of this room, is where she likes it best. It’s no different from any other room corner save for the plushies that line up on the wall. She likes it pressed against it, on the floor, whatever. But she loves it when she has her head pressed against the corner while you fuck away at her mouth.

This is the first time it’s been given a name, and the first time you’re fucking her to it as her master. You tried to be slow in taking her there, as if you weren’t all that excited. But your drag on her leash betrayed your real emotions.

Once Sakura is in position, her tongue sticks out. She must have forgotten that she’s a kitten, not a puppy. That won’t stop you from sliding yourself inside her warm mouth.

It begins. You rub your cock on her tongue before welcoming it in the hollow of her mouth. Like her pussy, her inviting mouth is wet and ready. Sakura tastes herself on your dick. She licks away at everything: the remnants of her orgasm from under it, your cockhead, your base. It’s not even her milk yet, but her eyes light up.

“Be good,” you warn. “No biting.”

Her lips lift into a smirk. Then, you feel her teeth graze ever so lightly on you.

At first, you were content to get yourself off in her mouth. You could have chosen to rub your tip on the flat of her tongue or the inside of her cheek. But now, you give out another punishment. You ram your length down her throat. Training doesn’t help her avoid gagging for she does it anyway. Now her eyes light up in surprise, too.

“M-mmm!”

“Warned you, kitten,” you say with a laugh.

With only your hand on the back of her head to protect it, you start to fuck Sakura’s throat. Her gagging only gives more tightness that seals around you. Her airway is shut and it’ll be that way for a long time unless she behaves.

Sakura can’t even cough or say anything. It’s painful pleasure with her thighs squirming to give her a little bliss, and your cock not allowing her even a moment to breathe. You’re not even tugging her anymore—you’re putting all the force in shoving yourself inside her, as if you had little time to spare.

Her tongue wiggles about in an attempt for air, but as if you couldn’t be more cruel with your training, you close her mouth shut. You warned her, and she still decided to disobey.

Her lost breaths warm your cock. Push them back to her throat. This kitten needs to learn her lesson, even if it requires another.

As if she couldn’t get any lewder, Sakura’s last resort is to mount the leg of her favorite puppy plushie, the one you gifted her. You bet that the manufacturers didn’t know that its use was for her own little pleasure, to serve as a place to grind until the blissful torture ends. She grinds forward and you’re welcomed further in her throat. There’s no escape. Does she even want an escape?

You can feel spurts of air from her nostrils. She’s getting close. This punishment isn’t even a punishment if presented with how her nipples stick out that hard from beneath the fabric, how she’s riding the toy’s leg, how she licks still and all. Her only signs of resistance are her palms on your thighs.

“Thirsty, pet?”

Sakura squeezes her eyes shut, grinds harder, and nods. Her sigh is the closest thing to a verbal response.

“Then have your milk.”

It’s only then that you loosen your grip on her head. You release inside of her mouth and give her the milk she deserves. There’s plenty of it to go around, but it’s all for her. Only for her.

But letting go of her causes her to collapse. Her knees trip over nothing and send her falling onto her plush. The cum spills down Sakura’s chest and midriff like an explicit rainfall. She gasps for air, torn between trying to swallow the cum and catching her breath.

At least there’s the puppy plushie to embrace her.

A kitten and a puppy.

How ironic.

You kneel down to her level and raise her chin. You’d say she wasted her milk, but she’s Sakura. Nothing is gone to waste if it’s her, especially if it makes her look so beautiful. Dazed eyes, tired parted lips, and panting painted tummy.

Beautiful.

Yep, she’s beautiful.

“Are you a good kitten?”

“Yes?” she asks hopefully, exhaustedly.

“Of course not.” You pat her head. Still your little pet. “You’re the best.”

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sassycheesecake · 13 days

Text

"Hello everyone, I’m going ta do a -" The young Miya chef starts to speak into a video camera, his black shirt carrying his restaurant logo over his right pec muscle. His black messy hair looks like he just rolled out of bed ten minutes ago, which he secretly did because Atsumu has shown up at seven in the goddamn morning to remind Osamu of the bet that the younger twin has lost only a month ago.

The Miya twins challenged each other to do the Chubby Bunny challenge and when Osamu was about to win, you came running into the living room in just a towel because you saw a cockroach on the bathroom wall and didn't know that Atsumu came over while you were in the shower. The chef almost choked on the marshmallows when he saw you in a single towel, causing Atsumu to shriek in victory with his mouth full of marshmallows as well. In the end, you had to do the Heimlich manoeuvre on both of them.

Since it’s off-season for the professional volleyball player, he has nothing better to do than bother his younger brother and Osamu‘s pretty partner on a regular Saturday morning.

"You’re not even going to introduce yourself?" You interrupt him with a little laugh behind the counter with the video camera, where you are seated next to Atsumu so you can film your boyfriend.

"I’m Osamu Miya and today-" The ravenette starts again.

"Ya forgot ta mention the great Atsumu Miya's twin brother-" Atsumu adds cheekily, interrupting him yet again.

Osamu can’t stop the highly aggravated sigh escaping from him, and he sends his brother a death glare behind the camera.

“ANYWAY- I am going ta show ya’ll how ta make a simple deep fired shrimp onigiri. Joinin' me today is my beautiful assistant an' partner-in-crime, (Y/N)." The grey-eyed twin looks behind the camera where you are seated.

You look up with a surprised face, clearly not expecting to be helping your boyfriend.

Scooching off the bar stool in front of the counter, you hop down and make your way with slow steps to Osamu who watches you with adoration and fondness in his gray eyes.

"What’s the first step?" You ask excited, almost hopping up and down like an excited puppy.

Osamu gives you one of his rare breathtaking smiles, feeling his heart speed up by the happiness on your face.

"Well first, we need ta make sure we got all the ingredients for makin' this." The black-haired chef explains while the camera zooms out a bit and the viewer is able to see the laid out ingredients for making the dish.

Osamu points to each ingredient, explaining what it is, what you need it for and how much you need of it.

"Looks like we got everythin'. Ya ready?" Osamu leans on the counter as he watches you with a grin.

"Yes, chef." You giggle and roll up your sleeves on your hoodie.

You can hear Atsumu gag behind the camera as he hears your flirting.

"Alright. First, yer gonna crack an egg in a bowl an' whisk it, afterwards yer gonna add the flour an' the cold water. Mix all together. Add some spices so it’s not completely flavorless. Ya followin' so far?" Osamu raises his dark eyebrow as he asks you.

You do as he says, nodding in confirmation.

"Good. Now yer gonna put that off ta the side an' grab the other bowl with the flour innit an' put the shrimp in there."

Grabbing the already peeled shrimp out of the fridge, you dump them in the flour and mix it together, making sure that there are no bare parts left on the shrimp.

"Now what?"

"Now yer gonna dip the shrimp in da batter, hold it by its tail and then dunk it a few times in there. I already prepared da fryin' oil pot but I don’t wantcha ta hurt yerself so please let me do the fryin'." Osamu looks at you with his stunning ash-grey eyes and every time he looks at you with those eyes, it makes you weak in the knees, so all you do is stare at him with big eyes and nod your head.

The chef chuckles at your reaction and those chuckles send shivers down your spine.

"(Y/N), yer startin' ta drool over mah brother. Try ta tame yer thoughts please, I can hear them from here." Atsumu teases you with a mischievous grin.

Feeling your face heat up a thousand degrees, you watch as your boyfriend skillfully puts the shrimp in the frying pot, turning them over occasionally because taking them out to put them on a drying tray.

"Leave mah girl outta this. She just knows that I am a lot hotter than you." Osamu explains as he finishes the last bit of frying the shrimp.

"Yannow, if I'd known ya would be disgustin' like this, I would have stayed at home." Atsumu scrunches up his face.

"Door's right over there." Osamu mentions his head towards his front door, clearly not bothered and more than happy to have some alone time with you.

Atsumu pouts and slumps over the counter.

"(Y/N) do something. Yer ass of a boyfriend wants to kick me out." The Setter looks at you for help, giving you those brown puppy eyes.

Curse twins and their equally good looks.

"We still need Atsumu for making the video. And he can clean up afterwards since we are both cooking." You grin up at the younger twin.

"I ain’t cleanin' shit."

"He’s not gettin' anywhere near my damn kitchen."

The twins say in sync.

You laugh at their words, setting the already cooked sticky rice on the counter next to the shrimp, along with the seaweed strips, salt, water and boiled sauce for dipping the cooked shrimp in, before putting it into the rice onigiri.

The restaurant owner shows you how it’s done step by step, being slow with his movements, so you know how it’s done.

During the trying to copy his movements, the blonde excused himself to use the restroom and Osamu uses the chance to get closer to you.

He stands behind you, putting his giant hand over yours to help you shape the onigiri. He does it on a daily basis and you’re so happy that you are his and he is yours only.

"Try doin' it yerself." The dark-haired man whispers in your ear, sending shivers all over your body and getting goosebumps by his dark voice.

You feel his strong heartbeat against your back and your breathing picks up a bit. Leaning his head next to yours on your shoulder, you feel his smile against your cheek as he watches you try to shape the next onigiri by yourself.

Holding the somewhat triangular-shaped onigiri (it’s more heart shaped actually), you present it to him with an unsure look.

All of sudden, Osamu took a large bite out of it, getting some rice on his lips, shocking you a little bit even though you should have seen this coming, this is Osamu Miya after all.

Humming in bliss, your lover swallows the food before giving you a flirtatious look, turning you around so you’re standing face-to-face.

"Compliments to the chef."

Smiling in delight, the ravenette places a smooth and loving kiss onto your lips, pulling you closer to his body.

You forget the world around you, it’s just you and Osamu. And nothing else matters.

249 notes · View notes

d0youc0py · 1 year

Note

hiii, i love your writing, and i saw your requests were open, so i wanted to send one your way! 💞 could you write something about a civilian reader who has to take care of ghost while he’s recovering from an injury? price sent him home to heal because he knew reader wouldn’t put up with his nonsense.

He hated it. Fine- hate was a strong word. Uncomfortable. That’s better. He felt unnatural. A man of his size being treated as though he was a fragile little newborn. He was mad at Price. Sending him home when he was perfectly capable of healing and finishing his mission.

“Do you want another popsicle?” Your voice rang from the doorway. He cringed inside.

“No.” He responded bluntly.

“Simon don’t be this way.” You pleaded. He shut his eyes tightly knowing if he so much as caught a glimpse of your soft eyes he’d cave. “You need to keep your fluids up- and no whiskey does not count.” You cut yourself off when you saw his mouth begin to open. You sat on the edge of the bed and traced your finger from the bridge of his nose all the way down his chest, then his stomach, stopping right above the waistband of his sweats. His eyes flung open.

“Do you want to come help me with dinner?” You asked softly. His eyes lit up. This was the first time since medical leave you’ve treated him like a functioning human being. He nodded his head. As he sat up pain shot through his abdomen, he quickly cut his pained groan off not wanting to deter your decision. He was surprised when you didn’t move to wrap an arm around him to push off from the bed. He swallowed back another pained groan. His head spun. He teetered but quickly found his footing and followed you willingly to the kitchen. You and Simon were never a big fan of cooking, but you found that when you did it together it really wasn’t something to dread. His eye twitched as he caught site of the twelve different flower arrangements Johnny had sent to tease him.

“Steak and salad.” You said grabbing the ingredients out of the fridge.

“Steak and baked potato.” He argued. You chuckled and shook your head.

“Can you grab a pan please.” You requested. He hummed to show he heard you but suddenly stopped. All the pans you owned were in the cabinet under the counter. He would have to bend over. The knife wound on his hip throbbed at just the thought of it.

“Sweetheart.” He said softly.

“Oh right silly me.” You brushed passed him and grabbed the large pan with ease. “You’re in charge of steak, I’m in charge of salad.” You ordered, handing him the pan. He nodded his head. He hated being helpless. His tense muscles relaxed at the sound of your gentle humming. This was what he lived for. The gentle domestic moments like this. You just being yourself- and letting him just bask in it. Heat flowed through this chest and crawled its way up to his ears and back down to his toes. He wiggled his toes in his socks. He snapped himself out of it and reached up to grab some seasoning, forgetting the seven inch gash in his side. He hissed and grabbed the counter. “Si.” You whispered softly. Your hands pressed themselves against his shoulder blades and you rested your forehead against his back. “You’re not okay.” You started. “We all know you can push through the pain, but why should you? You have nothing to prove to me.” You pressed a kiss against his back. Your fingers massaged themselves into his shoulder muscles. “You always take care of me, let it be my turn.”

“That’s not your job.” He grumbled. You could tell your words had impacted him. His voice broke slightly.

“No it’s not my job. I’m doing it because I want to.” You hummed pressing a few more kisses into his back. Between the kisses and your fingers digging into his shoulders he was putty in your hands. “Go lay down on the couch please.” You murmured against his skin. “You can have one whiskey after dinner, but only if you behave. Captains orders.” You whispered the last part in his ear and bit at it softly. He couldn’t contain the shiver that ran through his body and dutifully did as you asked of him.

Price could handle Ghost- but only you could handle Simon.

Thank you for all your kind words! And thank you for being my first request! 💚

#simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #price #John price #ghost cod #ghost cod mw2 #ghost cod mwii #ghost #gender neutral s/o #fluff #doyoucopy #d0youc0py #cod #cod fanfic #cod men

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daydream-cement · 6 months

Text

Seven Minutes in Heaven (NSFW)

Larissa Weems x Reader

Larissa joins you for seven minutes in heaven.

Author’s Note: THIS IS SO LATE! BUT THIS IS MY FINAL CONTRIBUTION TO SPOOKY SEASON with @alexusonfire (even tho spooky season is over). This weeks prompt is Halloween Party and I kinda followed that HAHAHAH.

Your class reunion wasn’t something you had anticipated enjoying. Between fielding questions about the current state of your life and if you remembered trivial details from your high school experience, you weren’t keen on repeating the same answers over and over.

But then again, it wasn’t often you had the opportunity of seeing your high school friends, especially at a huge Nevermore Halloween party.

You hadn’t wanted to shop for a costume, so you threw together some things from your closet to be Dr. Ellie Sattler from 'Jurassic Park' - a costume you figured you would have to explain frequently, but it was better than buying something.

As you walked into the old high school gym, you began recognizing classmates. Some you kept in close contact while others you had gone 30 years without speaking to. You saw one of those latter individuals immediately - Larissa Weems.

At least you thought it was her.

She had grown a couple more inches and her body had filled out, but the pinup girl aesthetic remained. You couldn’t tell what her costume was supposed to be as she had maintained her business professional dress.

You knew you were staring, but you were having trouble comprehending your newfound attraction to your old classmate. And Larissa must have noticed when she approached you with a wide grin, “It’s been too long!”

“It certainly has, and look at you now! The Headmistress of Nevermore?” You grinned and teased her a bit.

“It wasn’t my intention when I first began teaching here, but I must say I love it.”

The next flirtatious words left your mouth before you had too much time to think about it, “The job looks good on you.”

There was a brief silence and you then chose to fill it with a compliment, “Everything looks really great, Larissa.”

“I’m grateful for all the help I had… Speaking of…” The shapeshifter checked her watch and glanced back at you. She reached a hand out and squeezed your shoulder, her smile holding a sense of mischief, “I should get this party started. It was really nice seeing you. I hope we can catch up more later.”

Larissa took her position at the front podium and addressed the group, “I am so glad all of you could be present for our 30th class reunion. I am particularly excited this event lands on Halloween! It is so nostalgic seeing your 90s costumes you have put together.”

The platinum blonde gave a short speech about Nevermore and its ability to bring outcasts together. She finished her speech with a great big smile, “There are games and activities for you all throughout the building for you all. Have a wonderful evening!”

You wandered the halls with your old friends, shifting from game to game. All of the activities seemed to be reminiscent of your high school days.

As the evening progressed, new (and probably not approved) games seemed to pop up throughout the school. Spin the bottle popped up in the english classroom, strip poker was beginning in the employee break room, and seven minutes in heaven was starting in the janitor’s closet.

You paused near the group gathered outside the janitor’s closet, listening to Larissa politely scolding the group for playing such a childish game. You considered supporting her, but your friends had suddenly volunteered you for the next round.

For a few cocky seconds, you agreed to the game, glancing at Larissa as you agreed to be shoved in the closet to await your partner. Her eyes were wide, almost shocked that you would be willing to play such a game.

As the door shut in your face, you couldn’t believe you were doing this. Anxiety and shame coursed through your body as you awaited the group to pick your seven minutes in heaven partner. You hadn’t wanted to get your hopes up, but you were hoping Larissa would get picked to join you. At least then you would be able to shoot your shot with her.

Moments later, the closet door opened and the outline of Larissa Weems towered over you. Your dreams had come true, but now you were paralyzed at the notion of kissing her.

Larissa squeezed her way in the closet, chest pressed to yours as she beamed down at you, “Hi, Y/n.”

Before you could respond, the door was closed behind her - your time had begun.

One minute.

“Hi, Larissa.” You mumble, grateful for the darkness of the closet. She would have been able to see your blush otherwise.

The shapeshifter leaned in close, her fingers tucking your hair behind your ear as her lips lingered near your ear, “We should probably make wise use of our time together.”

Your tongue instinctively darts from your lips, wetting them as your hands timidly reach for her hips.

The first kiss from Larissa was to the corner of your mouth followed by another to your cheek followed by another just below your ear.

Your building nerves had you about to explode. To deal with this, your brain decided it was a good idea to have you start chattering anxiously, “I think you’re really pretty… Like… really pretty.”

“Mm… thank you, darling.” Larissa hummed. Her hand came to rest on the back of your neck, gripping it softly as she held you close.

Two minutes.

“I was actually thinking of talking to-” You began, swiftly being cut off by Larissa.

“Maybe we should stop talking, hm?” She whispered as she took a step forward, pressing her body to yours. The increased proximity allowed you to feel the way she trembled lightly - she must have been just as nervous as you.

You nod slowly, gripping the sides of her dress in your fists to keep her close. Finally, you begin to return her affections - pressing a kiss to her jawline before timidly working your way towards her lips.

Her other hand had wound around your middle - the pads of her fingers stroking the skin of your side as they pushed your shirt up the slightest bit. With every move of her fingers and lips, you found yourself losing your ability to control yourself.

When Larissa felt you drawing closer to her lips, she paused her own kisses to your skin, choosing to turn towards you instead, connecting your lips.

The first kiss was soft and quick, but once you both realized the potential of your chemistry you both dove in for another kiss.

Then another.

And another.

All growing in duration and intensity.

Three minutes.

You felt dizzy from desire. Absolutely drunk off Larissa’s lips.

Only if you could have seen the lipstick smeared around both of your mouths.

Larissa’s fingers squeezed your sides with a ferocity that made your eyes wind shut. In an act of desperation, one of your hands flies to the back of her neck to prevent any opportunity for her to pull away.

You wished this moment would never end.

All of those years of crushing on Larissa in school were finally coming to fruition.

Her teeth tugged and sucked at your bottom lip - a preamble of her growing passion.

Four minutes.

It came as a shock when her hands clamped down on your cheeks and she pressed her lips to yours with an intensity that made your brain short circuit.

Her tongue slipped past her lips, swiping it up across your lips before nipping at your bottom lip.

The kisses became searing pecks as Larissa began interjecting her desires between them.

“Aren’t you just darling?”

“I bet our time is running out…”

“Perhaps we should meet back in my office when this little game is over.”

“We could have our own extended version of seven minutes in heaven…”

Five minutes.

Larissa was overcome by her desires for you. In a flash, she had you with your back against the wall. Her kisses were soon open mouthed and sloppy - evidence of her growing arousal.

Her passion made you brazen. Your hands fell to her backside, cupping and groping her ass rough enough to make the shapeshifter moan in your mouth. Larissa’s hips bucked against your pelvis, continually searching for more proximity that was no longer physically possible.

With enough grabbing of her plush ass, her shirt began to ride up and you took total advantage of the situation. Your fingers gripped the edge of her skirt and peeled it upwards enough to expose Larissa’s underwear to your wandering hands.

The shapeshifter smiled against your lips at her newfound exposure. She then pushed a thigh between your legs - not to pleasure you, however. Larissa was too focused on her own neediness as she began grinding herself on your upper thigh.

Six minutes.

“It’s been so long, darling…” Larissa moaned in your ear, bucking and grinding herself against you with reckless abandon. Your hands positioned on her ass allowed you to play a role in guiding her hips to roll against you.

“Whatever you want… I’ll do whatever. Just tell me what you want.” You whimper before pushing your hips upward against Larissa’s needy pelvis.

“I want you… I just want you.”

It was clear the shapeshifter had had enough talking when her lips crashed back onto yours and her tongue plunged back into your mouth.

You gave yourself over entirely.

Only wanting to be of use to her.

Seven minutes.

Banging on the door caused the shapeshifter to pull away with a groan. Her eyes scanned your face through the darkness of the room before she dipped back down, grazing your lips with hers once, then twice - teasing you.

“Times up.” She whispered, readjusting her skirt before wiping at her smeared lipstick with the back of her hand. “See you later, darling?”

“Yeah.. yeah.. I-I’ll see you- uhm- later…” You sputter out as she leaves you alone in the closet - disheveled and out of breath, leaning against a wall with lipstick stains covering your face and neck.

As soon as you collected yourself, you knew you would be sprinting to her office.

PART 2

Taglist: @charymobile , @bri-sonat , @weemswife @smutuniversesblog , @opheliauniverse , @teashock , @enchantressb , @alex-nyx , @renravens , @whenyouhaveanobsession , @scream-queenlover , @shyladyfan , @lilfartbox1 , @rubberduckiesbathing , @mcufanisme , @peanutbutterprincess , @larissaoftarthweems , @sicklygrlsicklygrl , @lvinhs , @myzzjolanda , @principal-weems09 , @emilynissangtr , @xuukoo , @brienneswife , @dumbasslesbi , @oculusalien , @sweetderacine , @giogwensversion , @milciak , @gela123 , @thevillagegay , @katiemcgrathsbitch1 , @naomi-m3ndez , @mysaviorfalsegod , @h-doodles , @salems-spaghettios , @imgayforwoman69 @bychrissi , @alexusonfire , @weemssapphic , @kimiinou @hiiamkatana , @mountain-bikingwitch , @willowshadenox , @aemilia19 , @mommyslittlebaby , @agathaandgwenslesbian , @gay-frogs08

#larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #larissa weems smut #principal weems #principal larissa weems #nevermore academy #wednesday netflix #fanfic #oneshot #gwendoline christie #smut #principal weems x reader #gwen christie

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mionemymind · 13 days

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Can you plsss do an imagine with Wanda (or whoever u feel is right) where reader is a formula 1 driver? It'd be so cool. But you don't hv to ofc. I'm a new follower and i absolutely adore ur works <3

Getaway Driver (Rewritten)

Summary: Based off my incorrect quote, Y/n is the getaway driver for Wanda's mission.

Warnings: Shooting, Cursing, Slight Blood, Fluff

A/n: Before y'all comment, I really suck ass at action sequences lmaoo. Please try to imagine something better. But this is for the folks that love F1 and Wanda (@thatdudeusimpfor @canyonyodeler @pikachooo3 @rayisaknight) also gif credits go to Redbull

I had rewritten this the very next day because I was so unhappy with how I did the action scene. Hopefully this is better :)

Word Count: 4.3k

Masterlist

“Lights out and away we go!” The rumble of engines passed by as cars zoomed past the start. The roaring cheers coming from the fans grew louder with each second.

Starting in pole position, Y/n gets away unscathed from the mess in the back as well as her current teammate, Max Verstappen. They stay side by side through the chicane, protecting the front positions as many drivers behind them try to slip past.

In between turns two through five, multiple close calls occur as the the Stake F1 team showcase breaking issues this early on in the race. Y/n hardly got out of the chicane without hearing mishaps from the back.

“Fucking cunt,” George Russel stated to his race engineer, Marcus Dudley. The fans screamed and laughed as the message was played out loud for the whole broadcast to hear.

To mediate the tensions, a commentator stated, “For this British Grand Prix, we have a total of 52 laps with a forecast of dry conditions.”

Coming from the paddock, Will Button announces his guesses for the race today, “It will honestly be a close call for first between the young driver of Redbull, Y/n, and her older teammate, Max. I know a Redbull 1 / 2 position will happen but my money is on Y/n as they’ve been on a winning streak for the past three races. As for third position, Lando Norris in the McClaren would be my final guess.”

Will moved closer to the McClaren garage as multiple shots show off the engineers, mechanics, and leaders. “They’ve recently redesigned their floor as well as the front wing. This big upgrade in the middle of the season might be the break that McClaren has been hoping for since the start of the season.”

Coming up on their first lap, Y/n still leads the race. “51 more to go,” she thinks to herself. Although her head should be in the race, her heart couldn’t help but wish for this race to be already over. A certain red head was all she could think of.

Two hours away from Silverstone, Wanda listens closely for enemies. She could sense two of them guarding the very door she needed to be in. “On my signal,” Steve mouthed.

Just as Steve gave the go ahead, the sound of F1 commentary started to play in Wanda’s ear. “Lights out and away we go!” Wanda walked through the hallway, incapacitating the guards, allowing Natasha and Steve to drag them to an empty room.

Natasha gave Wanda an ‘are you serious’ look as the commentary also played in her comms. “Why am I hearing about a race right now?” They all stood outside the entrance to the headquarters room. Around five guys and one guard were currently there from the looks of it.

“Sorry, I had meant to only set it to my comms.” Wanda brought out the hologram and changed the settings before looking at Steve for the next set of instructions.

“Since when did you care about racing?” Wanda shrugged in response as Steve signaled with his hands on which people to take care of.

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Are you fucking blind?” Y/n yelled to her race engineer. Lance Stroll had almost hit her side at turn seven, almost costing her the race had they actually made contact. “If he keeps racing like that, he’s bound to hurt somebody.”

“Copy that. We’re already in contact with the FIA about that.” Y/n’s grip on the steering wheel hardened. It was only lap 19 of 52 and her nerves were getting the best of her. She knew the race was going to be easy but her excitement to see Wanda again was causing her to lose focus.

“I hope she’s watching me somehow,” Y/n thought. It was stupid to hope though as the driver knew Wanda was currently on a mission. It would be highly unlikely that she would watch her race, there were more important things than watching cars go round and round.

Regardless though, winning this race was important to Y/n. This was the first race as an official couple. While the media hasn’t found out yet, she certainly didn’t want to give Wanda a bad impression. After all, if your girlfriend was continuously saving lives, the least she could do was win a race.

“This ones for you Wanda.”

“That should be the last of them.” Steve tied up the last enemy on base and sent the coordinates to backup for retrieval. “Let’s get to the rendezvous point. It’s around 30 minutes west from here on foot.”

Wanda pulled out her secured phone as they walked out the secured building. She opened up the F1 app and immediately tuned in for the last couple minutes of the race.

“We have a battle between the two Red Bulls, Max Verstappen and Y/n Y/l/n, for P1.” Steve gave a disapproving nod as they walked through London, trying their best to blend in with the crowd. Wanda could care less of Steve’s approval for her antics. The mission was nearly over and she wanted to at least support her girlfriend from far away.

“Oh God! There’s a crash at Luffield! It’s a Mercedes!” Wanda watched in horror as the car flipped through the gravel multiple times before hitting the fence, landing in an awkward position. Had the gravel not been there, the car would have surely gone through the fence. A safety car was brought out, allowing people to pit.

“I believe that was George Russel’s car that had just crashed.” Wanda flipped through the drivers until she found Y/n. Although she knew that wasn’t her car, seeing her safe and sound brought Wanda relief.

“Jesus, is George okay?” Y/n asked. Wanda smiled at her girlfriend’s natural concern. Although it was one lap away from finishing, it was nice to know that the safety of others was the first thing that Y/n thought of.

“Wanda.” Looking up, Natasha gave a silent command to put her phone away. “We have people tailing us. When I say go, run as fast as you can. Make sure to stay close.”

Slyly looking back, Wanda could point out the people that looked out of place. “Fuck me.”

“Thank you all for the wonderful race! The car was practically a bullet and everyone did so amazing today.” Y/n slid into first place and did a mini celebration on her car.

As the camera crew came closer, she jumped in front of them and grabbed the camera. Taking off her helmet and balaclava, Y/n yelled, “This win is for my beautiful girlfriend! Can’t wait to see you babe!”

Looking at the time on the screen, Y/n rushed past the cameras and went straight into the paddock. She ignored all the weird glances and congratulations she got on the way, the race win still fueling her adrenaline.

“Y/n? What are you doing?” Christian yelled but Y/n ignored it. It wasn’t like Red Bull had the balls to fire her for not celebrating.

Her assistant, Niya, had followed suit as Y/n took off her helmet into her dressing room. “Is my car ready Niya?” She nodded as she typed up a statement on her iPad. The team was going to be unhappy at the lack of answers but she knew they were ultimately happy with the points she scored for the team.

In no time, Y/n was out of her race suit and in an all black attire. She ran out of her room, yelling a thank you to Niya. Up on the screens, it showed Max at P2 while Lando was at P3 just like Will guessed. Several news outlets tried to catch up to Y/n, but she was not having it.

“For the first time in F1 history, we don’t have the P1 spot filled. It seems our winner of the race had an emergency situation to attend to. Regardless, congratulations to Red Bull for the 1 / 2 positions.”

Y/n smiled at Will’s comment as she passed the gates. This was going to be all over the news ‘Y/n runs off after P1 victory’. Yet Y/n could care less for all the speculations. She had to see her girl and nothing was stopping her.

Hopping into her jet black Ferrari, Y/n sped out Silverstone. It was around an hour drive to the rendezvous point, but knowing the country like the back of her hand, she was guaranteed to make it on time.

“Does anyone know who the getaway driver is today? Fury stated that we’ll know the day of the mission, but I was never briefed about it,” Steve inquired as the team finally got away from the enemies.

Wanda glanced up from her phone, “It’s my new girlfriend.” Not a lot of things shocked the assassin and the super soldier, but that comment did.

“Is she qualified?” Natasha quipped. She found it strange that Wanda hadn’t mentioned her new partner. In addition, the lack of information on Wanda’s girlfriend was also alarming. What if she was the enemy? What if she was an assassin? So many questions ran through her head, but kept her anxiety at bay.

“More than qualified,” Wanda stated with a proud smile, “She’s a driver at her day job. Plus Fury gave the approval for it just for this mission only.”

Natasha and Steve digested Wanda’s words and continued to walk. However, Natasha wanted to know more, even if Fury did approve of it. “How did you two meet?”

“Funny story, I was actually running away…”

Wanda was surrounded. At every single avenue and exit was a marked enemy and with no back up, she only had herself to rely on. “Shit.”

Wanda hurried herself out of the hotel, still noticing all the eyes around her. Thank goodness that it was still broad daylight. The enemies weren’t that careless to attract a crowd.

As if sending a silent prayer, all attention diverted to the red ferrari that pulled up to the hotel. Before the valet could go up, Wanda rushed to and opened the passenger seat. She hopped in and closed the door.

Turning to the driver’s side, Wanda fully expected some old man to occupy the seat, but when her eyes met comforting brown eyes, a pretty smile, and furrowed eyebrows, she was hooked. The red head was distracted for a couple of seconds, before asking, “Do you know how to drive?”

Wanda knew she looked ridiculous. Any sane person would immediately kick her out, heck even call the police. Furthermore, the chances of a rich stranger even offering help was little to none, but when Wanda reached for Y/n’s emotions, she was even more surprised to see that this stranger didn’t feel any of that.

“I do.” The accent almost made Wanda forget everything, but the sight of enemies getting closer made her focus.

“Then drive.”

“So you hijacked your girlfriend’s car, asked her to get you out of a sticky situation, and then survived?” Steve chuckled at Natasha’s question. The story felt like something out of an action movie, but then again, they were superheroes, so anything could happen.

“I don’t know how, but she managed to get me out of Spain safely. I even asked her to drop me off at our pickup location. Her car wasn’t bulletproof, but she was so fast, they could hardly get a scratch on her.” Wanda smiled at the memory of their first encounter.

“At the end, she didn’t even ask why I needed to run away. I think she recognized me from the news and just wanted to help. But before I left, she asked for a date.” How crazy does one need to be to ask the very person that put you in danger on a date?

“I said yes because why not? I liked her and it was the least I could do after she spent a whole hour driving.” It was Natasha’s turn to laugh at how made up the whole story sounded. But when the assassin could not pick up on a single lie, it made her chuckle more.

“Well I can’t wait to meet her,” Steve remarked. They were 10 minutes away from the pick up point.

“And she better knows how to drive,” Natasha added. Wanda nodded quickly, the nerves finally making its way to her head.

“I promise. She’s good.”

“Where is she?” Natasha didn’t mean to sound aggressive, but they were still on a mission, something she ran a tight ship on. The crew were a minute early to the pick up point and Wanda had forgotten to ask Y/n to share her location. Right now, the witch paced back and forth with her phone in hand.

The assassin didn’t want to add to Wanda’s already nervous state but they needed to leave. Before Wanda could send another message, a loud car screeched to a halt in front of them. Once the smoke settled, Wanda smiled at the sight of the getaway car.

Opening the car door, Y/n got out, wearing a suit similar to her driver attire but in all black. “Am I late?” The wide cocky smile on Y/n’s face was hard to hide. The driver knew she was on time but didn’t dare to comment.

Immediately noticing her girlfriend, Y/n closed the door and picked Wanda up by the thighs, spinning her around. The giggle that escaped Wanda’s lips almost made Natasha barf at how love sick the two were.

As Y/n placed Wanda back down, she pulled her in by the waist and gave her a long kiss. The two almost forgot that they were in front of a crowd as Wanda ran her hands through Y/n’s hair.

Natasha wanted to grumble at the unprofessionality but Steve’s look stopped her. Wanda was in love. This was something Steve had never seen before, and he was not going to dare to ruin it. This wasn’t to say that the assassin wasn’t happy for Wanda. She really was, but the mission was still the priority.

Breaking the kiss, Y/n mumbled, “I’m not too late am I babe?” Wanda shook her head no as a large smile was plastered on her face.

While holding Wanda’s hand, Y/n looked at Steve and Natasha, “Hi. I’m Y/n Y/l/n. It’s nice to meet you.” Letting go of Wanda’s hand, Y/n reached out to shake their hands.

Steve was the first to shake Y/n’s hand and said, “Nice to meet you. My name is Steve.”

Natasha bumped Steve out the way and shook Y/n’s hand, immediately liking the firm grip Y/n had. “I’m Natasha. It’s nice to meet you, but I think we should get out of here.”

Stepping back to Wanda’s side, “You’re right, let’s get y’all out of here.” Y/n stepped around to open Wanda’s door, something both Steve and Natasha mentally noted.

Once everyone was buckled in, it was like a switch flipped inside Y/n’s brain as she zoomed from the meetup location.

“Someone is following us.” The rest of the group turned around at Y/n’s comment and noticed the entourage that was heavy on their tail. Y/n had barely driven for 10 minutes before enemies found them.

“I thought we got rid of them,” Wanda grumbled. She wanted her first mission with her girlfriend to have gone a bit smoother, but nothing is ever how she planned.

The red head looked over her girlfriend’s suit, hoping that Fury had given Y/n a bulletproof suit. Last thing Wanda needed was for Y/n to bleed out.

Blocking her anxiety away, Wanda focused on the mission at hand.

“Do you think you can lose them?” Steve asked, ready to fight. Remembering the map she carefully studied, in 10 miles was a mountain with lots of turns. Right before it was a small village.

“Get rid of the bigger caravans and I’ll take care of the two smaller cars. Do it quickly. There’s a village up ahead.” Y/n steadied the car as Steve nodded in understandment. Slowing the car down, Steve predicted his route as Natasha did the same.

Once the enemies were close enough, the two hopped out of the car, each on a different caravan. Immediately, Steve used his shield to pierce the front left tire, causing the caravan to veer right into the woods.

Steve hopped to the next caravan before it crashed. By now, multiple shots were being aimed at Steve, Natasha, and the car.

“Keep us close. I need to help them,” Wanda stated. Y/n nodded as she tried her best to slow down at a safer speed for Wanda. Crawling to the back of the car, Wanda used her magic to fling a couple of enemies out of the cars.

This ultimately assisted Natasha as she finally pierced her caravan’s tire. Instantaneously, the car crashed off the road, straight into a large pile of rocks. The assassin hopped off the caravan, aiming for the getaway car.

Noticing the large gap, Y/n whipped closer to Natasha. Landing harshly on her side, Natasha groaned as Wanda held on to her arm, making sure she doesn’t fall off. “Are you trying to hit me with the car?”

“It was the car or the ground, you choose,” Y/n quipped back. Had they been in a different situation, Natasha would have laughed but considering that the enemies were still shooting, she simply hustled back into the car.

“Can Steve jump far?” The last caravan was close enough to continuously hit their back bumper. And with all the debris coming from the crashes, the sides were damaged.

Before Wanda could answer, Steve jumped on top of the car as the caravan stopped into a halt, crashing into everything along with one of the smaller cars. Only one car remained.

While Steve crawled back into the car and Wanda back in her spot, the village came passing by just on time. The mountain was right before them.

Pushing the car into different gears, Y/n kept her eye on the rearview mirror as the car drifted through tight turns. The enemy car screeched behind them as it struggled to keep up through the turns. However, the straights were its friend.

Up ahead was another set of turns, something Y/n already memorized in the back of her head. “Natasha, keep trying to shoot at them. I need something to distract their driver.”

Pushing the getaway car to its limits, the turns proved hard for Natasha to hold on to, thankfully, Steve was holding on to her. “Aim for the driver’s view. It may be bulletproof but anything is better than nothing.”

Natasha did as told, managing to aim perfectly even with all the wind rushing past her and the aimless turns up the hill.

“We have a quarter mile left! Keep going at it!” Natasha emptied clip after clip as Wanda tended to her slight wound. Bullets came back towards their car, none created a single scratch on the car.

Rounding the last turn, Y/n drifted perfectly to stall the car in place for a couple more seconds, allowing the enemy to catch up even closer. Keeping a couple seconds between them, Y/n pushed the car into gear, sending it through the last straight.

“Get back in!” Y/n hardly gave Natahsa time as she pulled the car into the hard right. Before they knew it, Y/n had been driving backwards. In the next second, a grapple launched from the car, landing right on the enemy’s bumper.

”Hold on!” Everything turned to a blur with how fast Y/n was reacting. Steve almost got whiplash and motion sickness from all the drifting and wild turns. Within the same second, Y/n used the momentum from the car to fling the enemy off towards the cliff.

As the enemy hit the guard rail, it started to tumble through the air, pressing another button, the grapple released. Pulling up the handbrake, Y/n straighten the car back out onto the road. Driving away with a satisfied smile, Y/n was happy to see an explosion from the mirror.

With a hand on Wanda’s thigh, the rest was smooth sailing for Y/n as she drove them to safety.

The car arrived, smoke trailed from it’s path as Y/n continuously pushed it past its limit. While Steve was thankful to have arrived earlier than expected, the nauseous feeling in his stomach held his compliments back.

The pair from the back quickly got out of the car, throwing a thankful smile to Y/n as they headed inside, ready to debrief about the meeting.

Once they were out of sight, Wanda was quick to giggle. Nothing was particularly funny, but the redhead couldn’t help but laugh. Not really understanding what Wanda was laughing about, Y/n merely chuckled a little at how adorable Wanda looked.

“Do you think your boss will be pissed about the state of the car?” Y/n joked. The driver could probably afford whatever car Fury provided, nonetheless, she wanted a good first impression.

“I think,” Wanda placed a hand on Y/n’s cheek, a smile still evident on her face, “you did amazing today. I knew you were a great driver but I didn’t expect you to handle all the gunshots like it was nothing.”

Y/n kissed Wanda’s palm, leaning in closer to her touch. “I think with all the superhero stuff happening, I’ve become immune to things like that.” Y/n shrugged as the pair got closer, faces nearly touching. “Plus it helps that I know my girlfriend would do anything to protect me.”

Leaning in for a kiss, Y/n nearly groaned at how soft Wanda’s lips were. While this wasn’t their first kiss, the feeling of Wanda’s lips was something Y/n was never going to get used to. All the races, fast speeds, and fame was nothing compared to the feeling of kissing Wanda. Just the privilege alone made Y/n light headed with love.

As Wanda slowly continued to kiss Y/n, her stomach grew with tightness, her mind numbing with stupid thoughts such as ‘what if I climbed over the console and I made out with her?’. While there would be absolutely no complaints from Y/n, Wanda knew they still had an audience.

But god, Wanda couldn’t think when it came to kissing Y/n and they were hardly even making out. What was going to happen once they actually did have a heated make out session? Was she going to pass out?

Regardless, the two pushed their limits on how long they could go without air. Soon, Wanda broke the kiss but she craved to kiss Y/n again. Not wanting to push her luck, Wanda pressed a couple pecks on Y/n’s lips, sealing the deal with one more long kiss.

Leaning back in her seat, Wanda covered her mouth, enjoying the feeling of how plumped it was. Ultimately, she couldn’t hide the smile on her face as Y/n looked at her with adoration. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you this whole day.”

Y/n grinned as she leaned over the center console, “We can still kiss all you want babe. Name the time and place and I’ll be there in minutes.”

Wanda laughed as Y/n puckered her lips, ready to kiss again. Giving in to her girlfriend’s antics, Wanda cupped Y/n’s face and kissed her once more.

Before it could go any deeper, Wanda broke it, causing Y/n to pout. “You can’t just hold your lips hostage like that.”

“Well dekta, we’re still on a mission.” Y/n rolled her eyes at Wanda’s response. It was not a good enough reason to stop kissing.

“Well babe, what if I told you I won my race today?” Y/n licked her lips, hoping it was enough to entice Wanda to kiss her again.

“You won?! I’m sorry I couldn’t come and I tried watching the end but-”

“-just kiss me babe.” Y/n pulled Wanda for another kiss, not even caring that Wanda was unable to make it to her race. There were still multiple races to come and multiple opportunities for her to watch. But kissing Wanda was enough for Y/n. Everything else was just a bonus.

By now, Wanda couldn’t hold back her moan as the kisses got deeper. Too busy in their own world, the pair didn’t notice Natasha approaching the car.

The assassin rolled her eyes at the scene. Regardless, she knocked on the window. The two jumped from the unexpected sound. Their dilated eyes focused back at Natasha as Y/n rolled the window down.

“Meeting starts in a minute. Say your goodbyes.” Without a response, Natasha walked back into the base.

“Am I going to see you soon?” Wanda asked, feeling like a teenager asking when she was going to see her girlfriend again.

“You will. I’ll make sure of it.” The blush on Wanda’s face deepened. She kissed Y/n one last time before exiting the car, knowing that if she stayed any longer, she would have been unable to leave.

Walking backwards to the base, Wanda waved goodbye. In normal Y/n fashion, she made donuts at the front of the base, before leaving.

Once the dust settled, Natahsa came back out. “She was good.”

Wanda turned around, giving Natasha a small smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s gonna be nice working with her again.” The smile on Wanda’s face grew wider at the approval.

As the two walked to the meeting, all Wanda could think about was her getaway driver.

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#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #fluff #F1 Driver!Reader x Wanda Maximoff #F1 Driver!Reader #marvel #f1 #established relationship #getaway driver #mionemymind #request #rewritten

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storkmuffin · 29 days

Text

I have assiduously watched and rewatched every scene of every episode of all seven seasons of Riverdale and I had no idea his mouth was this big or this flexible, and for that I am eternally grateful to Lisa Frankenstein (2024).

#lisa frankenstein #spoilers #lisa frankenstein liveblog #cole sprouse #kathryn newton

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axelsagewrites · 8 months

Text

Jamie Tartt*Please Stay

Pairing: Season 2/3 Jamie x reader

Word count: 1324

Warnings: Jamie being self-conscious, illusions to sex, but mainly just fluff

Masterlist here

Jamie couldn’t believe his luck when you’d agreed to the date. You’d always known him as the prick of the team but since he came back from Manchester with his tail between his legs he’d been trying to do better. He was done with the one-night stands and shitty comments and stealing all the glory for himself. Even Roy had to admit Jamie was better now than he’d ever been.

So, when he saw you yesterday leaving your office, he couldn’t stop himself from shooting his shot. He’d been thinking about it a lot. Where he would take you on a date, what he would wear, what you would wear. The problem was actually asking you. “Oi are you busy the morrow night?” He asked in that accent you’d secretly grown to love.

He was trying to stay confident, but his hands were shoved into his short pockets as you locked your office door, “That depends on who’s asking?” You said turning back around.

Jamie’s face screwed up in confusion for a moment, “I am,” he said, his shyness replaced with confusion.

“Then im free,” you laughed, starting to walk and Jamie followed without question, “What’s up Jamie?”

“Just was thinking is all,” he said, his hands finding his pockets again, this time playing with a loose string to distract himself, “We could do something, if you wanted of course,” he said, already hating how he was beginning to word vomit, “Movie maybe or dinner, you like that place archers place right? Or Chinese or something maybe something else or even no dinner and just hanging out or something,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet to try calm himself.

You stopped walking and Jamie felt his heart sink. Rejection was not exactly his thing after all but when you slowly turned around with a smile on your face, eyebrows scrunched, he thought this was his chance, “You asking me on a date Tartt?” You asked. Jamie opened his mouth to speak but just nodded, scared of what would pour out, “Alright then,” you laughed as you resumed your walk, Jamie quickly moving to follow beside you, “Pick me up at seven yeah?”

Jamie felt his heart flutter, his footsteps grew lighter, as his face cracked into a cheesy grin, “Seven yeah perfect love seven it is,” he said like a kid who’d been given a massive bag of sweeties.

“Great,” you laughed as you entered the parking lot and pulled out your car keys, “i’ll let you pick from one of your many options,” you joked as you climbed into the car, “Just text me the dress code yeah?”

“Yeah, course totally,” Jamie said, desperate for you to pull away so he could celebrate, “See ya tomorrow,”

“Bye Jamie,” you said, a giggle in your voice as you shut the door to your car and started the engine. Jamie waved you off as your car drove off and as soon as it was out of sight, he couldn’t stop himself jumping about the car park like a big dumb idiot, but he didn’t care who saw. He had a date. A real date.

Jamie was up all night picking the perfect restaurant for you to go to. Something new, something fancy, but not too fancy, but not too new. Eventually he managed to make his choice as the clock hit 2 am and he finally got some sleep.

Everyone in the locker room could sense the excitement radiating out of Jamie. However, he was a gentleman now and gentlemen don’t kiss and tell. Well even if he hasn’t kissed you yet. Oh, fuck he might get to kiss you. Jamie didn’t think it could get any better.

Eventually Jamie couldn’t keep his mouth shut anymore and soon all the players new of Jamie’s plans tonight. As soon as he told them it was all he could talk about all practises. After practise he spent twice the time he usually would in the shower, making sure he was squeaky clean before rushing how to get changed.

Jamie arrived at your door bang on seven, counting down the seconds on his watch to knock on your door. His jaw about smacked the floor when he saw you. He knew you were fit but right now you were fucking fit alright. Jamie tried to contain his excitement as he led you to the car, but you spoke like you’d known him for a hundred years.

The date went amazingly of course. Jamie was surprised you could put up with him but was grateful each time you laughed at a joke or rested your hand on top of his. He was even more grateful when you said yes to a couple of drinks at his with him promising to get you a taxi that night.

Jamie wanted to be a proper man, a gentleman sort, but when your hand lingered on his thigh, he couldn’t stop himself. He sunk into the kiss like a man possessed and it didn’t take long for you to go from the kitchen to the couch then eventually stumble to bed.

It was a perfect night. When Jamie felt the sun fanning over his face he began to stir, remembering everything that had happened last night. He grinned sleepily as he rolled over, expecting to find you on the other side of the bed. But the sheets were empty. His grin fell and confusion wracked his face as he sat up in the sheets. You were gone.

Jamie wanted to cry. Of course, you thought it was a one-night stand. A one-time thing. You’d went home, taken your clothes with you. Jamie fell back down into the sheets, rubbing the bottom of his palms into his eyes. He felt them water as he tried to console himself.

Of course, he knew he liked you, but Jamie was now realising just how fucking much he liked you. The date had only proved that he’d fallen for you. Now you’d gone, left him in the messy sheets to remind himself at the end of the day this was his life. It was his own fault. The years on one-night stands and sex jokes he’d call across the locker room whenever you walked in. Jamie let his hands fall to his side, staring up at the ceiling in remorse. This is what he gets for being a prick he thought as he shut his glazed eyes.

A few moments later the sound of a door creaking made his eyes shoot open. When Jamie lent up, he was stunned by what he saw. You trying to tip toe into the room with only his shirt on. His head turned to follow your movements as you reached the side of the bed. You grinned when your eyes met his, “Sorry I didn’t mean to wake you,” you whispered as you slipped back into the sheets.

“I thought you’d left,” Jamie mumbled as you settled into the bed, your head turning to face his.

“I had to pee,” you said, your eyes somehow more beautiful in the morning. However, your face screwed up when you noticed his wet eyes, “Unless you need me to go,”

Jamie quickly rolled over till his arms wrapped around your body, his head resting on your chest and his legs strewn over yours, “Please stay,” he whispered, his face nuzzling into your skin.

You bit back a smile at the man nuzzling into you, holding you tightly. Your hand moved to gently stroke his hair, “Yeah course,” you whispered, kissing the top of his head, “You can’t get rid of me that easily,”

“Good,” Jamie said as he gave you a light squeeze, feeling your heartbeat through your chest. You didn’t say anything, instead continuing to gently stroke his hair and it didn’t take long for gentle snores to fall from his mouth. There was no chance you were leaving now.

#ted lasso #ted lasso imagine #ted lasso x reader #ted lasso fluff #jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tart x reader #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt fluff #jamie tart fluff #jamie tarttt smut

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skipper1331 · 8 months

Text

Proposal // Patri Guijarro

a/n: based off this request. Hope you like it :)

Santorini, Greece

"Amor?"

Patri’s hand stuck out to your side of the bed. Empty. Something she didn‘t like. She grumbled, sitting up. The point of your vacation was to fall asleep and wake up in each others arms. So where were you? "¿Dónde estás?" she called again. No answer.

You were in the kitchen, listening to music as you made breakfast for your lover. Today was the day, you would propose to your longterm girlfriend. You always thought that if you were going to get married you would get asked and not the other way around but after seven years you took matters into your own hands.

Patri suggested the idea of a vacation in Greece, she knew you dreamt about visting it sometime so after an exhausting season she suprised you with a trip to Santorini. It was perfect for your proposal, just the two of you, in a foreign country (which was beautiful). The ring was hidden in the first drawer of nightstand, risky at some point but not risky at all. Patri never looked in there, she didn‘t need too.

As Patri patted down the stairs she could smell the aroma of her favorite breakfast and there you were, in the kitchen, dancing and singing to the music, wearing nothing but a shirt of Patri which was slightly too big for you. You looked adorable. She could only watch.

"Ah! You scared the shit out of me!" you screeched as you saw the midfielder standing at the open door frame. "Well, you‘re the one who‘s not in bed. With me" she walked up to you, her body seeking for your touch. "But i‘m making breakfast, your favorite."

She hummed in to your neck, leaving gentle kisses along your exposed shoulder. "I don‘t like it when my pretty girl isn‘t in my bed" she mumbled, you turned around in her embrace, arms looping around her neck "you sure about that?" you pressed soft kisses to her jaw, her grip around your hips tightening as respond "I left the bed two hours ago and you didn‘t notice" your lips wandered to her neck, leaving open mouth kisses before you found her sweet spot, sucking a reddish mark on it. "Mi amor" the spaniard breathed out, walking you back against the kitchen counter. Patri loved to feel your kisses against her neck but she had to feel them against her mouth. She tilted her head down, fiercely, connecting your lips. You became lost in each other as your lips moved in sync, the blissful rush running through your bodies at every brush. As her hand started to wander under your shirt, you gently pushed her away. "Breakfast is ready" was the only thing you managed to say, your mind spinning as your knees trembled. "Amor" she whined, "you‘re such a tease"

"Mi amor, still up to relaxing at the beach and eating at the cute restaurant?" your girl asked as you finished breakfast. "Yeah, we can go in about 10 minutes If you want to?"

The thing was, you had planned to propose but not how. You wanted something private but still something sweet and loving. You knew her well enough to know that she wouldn‘t want someting fancy, she loved simple things; she loved to see that there was an effort made.

"Let me carry your bag" she said as she took it out of your hand "I can carry it on my own, baby, you know" you giggled. She laced your fingers together, now carrying your and her own bag. "I know but why do so If you have me?" grinning widely, she pressed a kiss to your cheek before you made your way down to the beach.

The sun was shining, wave noises in the backround and your favorite girl laying next to you as you read your book. It was perfect but not a perfect moment to propose.

The ring was in your bag, hidden in a pair of socks as they were covered with a towel and a bottle of water.

After finishing two chapters, you put your book aside, turning to Patri who was laid on her stomach, eyes closed as she soaked in the sun. "Do you wanna go for a swim?" you asked, your index finger scratching along her spine. She faced you before she abruptly stood up, running towards the ocean "last one there has to buy dinner!"

"Patri!" you jumped on your feet, running after her, the brunette already in the water. As soon as you were close enough her arms wrapped around your body, your legs going around her waist, "don’t worry, mi amor, I‘m paying" she whispered, her lips an inch away from your own.

The midfielder loved to pay for you, no matter how often you insisted to pay, she did it anyways, 'I have to treat my girl like she deserves' or 'you‘re the cook at home, i‘m the cook when we go out' were her arguments, you didn‘t stand a chance.

One time you tried, "I won‘t have sex with you for a week if you don‘t let me pay." She gave you one of the meanest glares, considering her options before she answered, "Well, no sex for me then."

You had sex not even two hours later.

"There‘s no point in arguing, right?" you asked anyways. "Mi amor, I‘ll always pay for you, how many times do I have to tell you?" pushing her lips against your own, she showed you that there was no need to argue - you would lose, and to emphasize her words that there‘ll never be a day where you have to pay.

Grinning, you replied, "Maybe a few more times?"

Shortly before your reservation at the restaurant, the two of you went home to change and put down your beach bags, the ring now hidden in your small handbag.

Each of you had glass of wine, your main dish ordered as you shared an appetizer. "Mi amor, I‘m so glad we‘re doing this" the spaniard said while her thumb stroked over your knuckles. "Yeah, me too. This place is really cute" you admired. Patri chuckled, "I don‘t mean this place in particular. I‘m talking about this whole vacation" as you looked at her, she seemed at peace. She didn't have to worry about football, about the upcoming season, she could just relax. You smiled at her, about to reply, as the waiter came with your food.

The meals were delicious, so were the desserts and you guessed it, Patri paid.

"Do you wanna go for a walk?" you asked, the sun was setting and something told you, the moment was about to come. "Sí, mi amor." The midfielder interwined your fingers, walking along the streets.

You came to a stop in the middle of nowhere; the view was phenomenal, the sun almost disappearing, the sky a deep red-orange with a pinkish blue (not purple). You could see the waves where exactly one surfer was doing magic on the waves.

It was perfect, the moment.

Patri was enjoying the view as you had your arms around her from behind.

"Patri" you whispered, taking her hand to turn her around. "Seven years with you isn‘t enough. I want you forever. And even though forever will never be enough, it’s a beginning. While things may change around us, this ring," you let go of her hand, pulling the velvet box out of your pocket as you went down on one knee, "is a promise that you will never have to face the world alone." You opened the box, the ring shining in the sunset, "I love you. And I promise you to love you forever and longer. So I’m asking you, will you make the happiest person alive, will you marry me?" your world stopped, your heart was racing, it felt like an eternity before she answered which wasn’t even a second in reality, "Sí, mil veces sí" a thousand times yes, she slipped her finger through the ring, crashing in to you, "Te amo, mi amor, te amo much" Tears were streaming down your faces, hugging each other like your lives depened on it as kisses were shared.

patri8guijarro

yourusername and 35.237 others

patri8guijarro the start of forever.

alexiaputellas 😍😍

marialeonn16 ❤️

claudiaapina dips on maid of honor

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#patri guijarro #patri guijarro x reader #barça femeni #barca femeni #barcelona women #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #fc barcelona femeni

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highwayorgantrade · 8 months

Text

Safe House

Pairing: Female Reader! X Soap

Request: Nooo

Summary: Oh no! A bunch of soldiers posted up in your farmhouse bed and breakfast?? Whatever shall you do!! Should you fuck them??

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Overstimulation, begging, volume (keep quiet), unprotected sex, cervix kissing

Author's note: Okay listen y'all I did not plan on doing this whatsoever. I was in the middle of writing a Graves thing when I got this idea and I knew I just had to get that damn little brain worm out before it ruined my life further. This is gonna be a series!!!!!

The mission had gone wrong. Oh, so horribly wrong. 141 thought they were smart by teaming up with Los Vaqueros again to take down a trafficking ring - “Positive international relations,” Price had called it. “We even got imported muscle.” He grinned, referring to the 6’10” man they had called in, after hearing of his ability to do his job and keep his mouth shut.

However, the ring had decided on the same tactic, bringing in a nearby cartel to defend their location. Quickly, way too quickly, the group was overwhelmed, frantically phoning in to Laswell for extraction.

“Don’t worry,” She sighed, after directing the seven men to a relatively safe area, the black-tinted SUV already flying gravel. “I have a friend.”

You had just so happened to be the friend. Well, the relative was more accurate, being her sister-in-law. You knew what she did for work, but you never thought she would call on you for help with it.

“Please, (Y/N), it’ll only be for a few days, I swear. A week, tops.” She called you early one November morning. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” And you knew she wouldn’t. The fact was simple: You had lived relatively nearby, and the bed and breakfast you operated and lived in certainly had the facilities to house eight people, and it so happened to be the off-season.

You were eager to accept, happy to help your sister, and it would be nice to have some muscle with the chores that needed done around the property. When the SUV pulled up, you quickly regretted your decision. You had expected a house full of military boys, tearing around like a pack of dogs, but out stepped six of the most attractive men you have ever seen, all completely different, but equally as handsome and rugged. Two were masked, but Christ, were they big anyway. As they loaded packs out of the van, you stepped into the grass, the cold air causing you to draw your cardigan tighter around yourself. When you approached, you kept a safe distance - partly because you didn’t know them, but also because you were afraid that if you got too close, you’d get lost in the intricacies of their faces.

“Hey!” You spoke finally, the rustling of the dying leaves nearly drowning you out. “I’m (Y/N), I hope the trip out wasn’t too awful!” You internally cringed at yourself for giving them the usual spiel you reserved for guests, but continued anyway. “Come on in, all the rooms are pretty much the same, but you can pick, so… that’s something.”

“Ay, don’t worry lass, better by miles than where we’ve been.” One of them finally spoke, casting a friendly grin your way, and you turned quickly to hide the burning on your cheeks.

You were proud of the way your property looked, hidden well off the road in a small forested area, the whole thing had kind of an eclectic feel to it, but you still felt kind of strange leading them into the common area.

“Okay!” You clasped your hands together, and tried to remember that you were only a housing opportunity - they had more important things to focus on. “Well, uh, I’ll stay out of your way as much as I can, but you might see me flitting about here and there. What’s mine is yours.” Some nodded their thanks, others were making quick work of checking their bags for God knows what, and one, the one in a skull mask, merely stared down at you, his large arms crossed on his chest.

Okay… You took that as your cue to leave, and you quickly stepped out the back door, hoping to make progress on your chores before the sun set.

The frigid air felt nearly unbearable compared to how hot you were burning in their presence - you didn’t even realize that you were slightly sweating. With a sigh, you reminded yourself of your responsibilities. Repaint the gazebo, refill and hang the bird feeders, and fix the greenery so everything is in full bloom by summer. Leaves crunched under your step as the half-painted gazebo came into view. You could hear voices coming from your house, a few with different accents, mostly British, but you could pick out a Scottish, a vaguely German, and a couple Spanish lilts. A booming laugh echoed, and you relaxed your tense shoulders at the sound.

“Don’t make me regret this, Kate.” You mumbled as you settled into the grass and popped open a paint can.

She was pretty. It was the first thing Soap had noticed. It looked like she belonged here, in the woods, with the wind blowing her hair and birds singing in her presence. No doubt she kept them well-fed. He had barely listened when she spoke - he was much too focused on how her sweater wrapped tightly around her body, or how her eyes seemed to physically sparkle with curiosity. She had said something, Soap had no idea, but he responded anyway. Something about the drive? The rooms?

“Ay, don’t worry lass, better by miles than where we’ve been.” He answered, stabbing that it was an appropriate response. The way she averted her eyes and a hint of a smile played at the edges of her lips told him that he was successful. When she turned around to lead them into the safehouse, Price gave him a nudge and shook his head ‘no.’ No fucking Kate’s pretty little sister? Might as well ask him to walk on fucking water, next.

She had promised to make herself scarce, and Soap was silently thankful. He didn’t want this woman caught up in what they were doing, and he didn’t want her to know something that could get her in trouble - Laswell would never forgive them. When she left, Alejandro was the first to speak.

“Nobody talk to me about this mission tonight.” He grumbled, and Soap recognized that as a request long ago, based on the way his jaw was clenched nearly the entire drive to the location, muttering what Soap assumed to be expletives every so often. He trudged up the stairs with his bag, Rudy trailing not far behind.

“Right, then.” Ghost spoke, rolling his shoulders and pulling out a map of the enemy facility and laying it on the wood table, and Soap nearly laughed at how out of place it looked. “If they’ve gotten support from that gang, it eliminates them from support from anyone else, and makes them a target to others, not just us.”

“We need to get to them first.” Konig’s hand landed on the map, gesturing vaguely at an entrance. “This was lightly guarded.” Soap stared at the location, before his eyes flitted out the window to see you approaching a gazebo outside, and he itched to get this out of the way.

“Aye, they might reinforce that entrance since they know it’s weak now. Leaves somewhere else open to vulnerability.” Soap strategized, his eyes lingering on how your hands ran through your hair, and JESUS, how did it still look perfect after that? A light thump on the back of his head pulled him out of his thoughts, and he looked back to see Gaz with a raised eyebrow, the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

“No-go, mate. Red zone. Laswell would have your head on a stick.”

“Might be worth it.” Ghost chimed in, following his gaze to the woman.

Price pointed a warning finger to Ghost, his face stony.

“Ghost, stop instigating. Gaz, leave Soap alone. Konig…” He took a breath, considering the man had nothing to do with their antics. “Good job. Soap, I wish I had control over who a soldier decides to sleep with, but I don’t.”

“That girl in Ibiza left a bad taste in your mouth, Cap?” Soap retorted, recalling one of his more infamous hook-ups, and Price laughed loudly.

“Lesson for the inexperienced,” Ghost turned to Konig. “Remember your date’s name or she will throw a knife at you.” Konig shook his head at this, and slung his bag over his shoulder, ready to call it a day.

“Sounds like my kind of woman.”

Soap had already tuned the ribbing out, and when Ghost packed up the plans, he was already tracing your path, walking out the back door to meet you.

A rustling of leaves caused your head to perk up, and you turned to see the one who had spoken to you earlier, a small smile on his face.

“Need any help?” He tilted his head at the gazebo. “More hands make less work ‘n all.” You looked back at your work, having made minimal progress since you began.

“Oh! Yeah, sure. If you want.” You responded, pulling the paint tray out in front of you so he could take the spare paintbrush. A moment of silence passed before he spoke again.

“I’m Johnny. Most of the guys call me Soap, though.”

Soap? The nickname seemed to come out of nowhere, and you crinkled your nose at this.

“Why do they call you that? You shower more than everyone else or something?” He laughed at this, reaching up to cover the underside of a railing in white paint, and you fought to keep your eyes from lingering on his arms.

“Good at cleaning house, love.” Soap corrected you, your lips pursing at the nickname. “How long have you had this place?”

You shrugged, simply happy that he was making conversation with you.

“Coupl’a years. Since I was twenty. Bought it as a dump and flipped it.” He makes a noise of approval and takes a deep breath.

“Your, uh, boyfriend live here with you, does he?” At this, you can’t help but allow a laugh to tear through you, both in recognition of what Soap was doing, and out of pure shock that he was doing it.

“Not sure where my boyfriend lives, I haven’t met him yet. Let me know if you find him, though, yeah?” Soap shook his head.

“I don’t think I will, but thank you for the offer.”

The back and forth with Soap left your head reeling, and you considered your options as you painted in silence. Kate would kill you if she found out, but she doesn’t need to find out. It has been terribly long since you’ve even been on a date, or even had sex for that matter, and Soap certainly isn’t the worst looking man in the world. He clearly had a great body, and you delved down the rabbit hole of how his arms would look pinning your arms above your head, his battle-worn dog tag trailing cold electricity down your chest.

A flash of yellow light pulled you out of your musings, and a firefly landed on your knee. You took a deep breath and turned to Soap, his attention garnered by your sudden movement of waving the small bug away.

“Do you wanna have a drink tonight? With me?” Your face was comically serious, and Soap let out a soft chuckle as he replaced the lid on the paint, taking the brush from your hand.

“Aye.” He stood, sighing a bit at the noise his knees made, and handed you the paint tray.

“I’ll, uh, go put this up and meet you inside.” You offered him a small smile, and his head tilted at you, trying to hide his own.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Soap had to stop himself from running back into the house. Giddiness coursed through him, and he burst through the door to see Gaz, Ghost, and Konig sat in various places around the living room, the TV tuned in to the local news.

“Get the fuck out.” He stated simply, his eyes wide and a dumb grin on his face.

“Pardon?” Ghost barely spared him a glance, and Konig automatically stood, silently confused as to where he was supposed to go. Gaz merely stared up at him.

“I said,” Soap wrapped his hand around Ghost’s bicep and pulled, forcing the man to stand, and Gaz followed. “Get the fuck out.”

“You sendin’ us to bed, then, eh?”

Soap picked up Ghost’s bag for him, and shoved it into his chest, nearly pushing the men up the stairs.

“I am.” He turned to Gaz, his mouth already open to protest, and pointed a finger in his face. “If you fuck this up for me, I will end you.”

The second the three men shut the door to their respective rooms, you stepped back into the house, locking the backdoor behind you.

I raised an eyebrow at the television, and grinned at Soap.

“Did you turn on the news?” I ask, grabbing two glasses and a bottle of wine from cabinets, pouring us both a fairly full glass.

“Yeah, it’s a new form of foreplay.” He laughed, taking a sip. “Learnin’ that we world is shite.”

“Oh, so foreplay is important to you?” And that question was your first step. He glanced at you from across the kitchen island, and you could just see the gears in his mind turning, figuring out the best way to get himself into your bed. Honestly, he could have asked to bend you dead over the kitchen counter, his large hand pulling your hair as leverage as he thrusted into you from behind.

But your imagination always runs wild.

“Mm. ‘S very important.” You cocked your head at his answer, and he shrugged. “I prefer to have a girl simply beggin’ before I even think of finishing.” He took a step around the island, not quite in front of you, but leaning on the side. You sipped your wine again, trying to cover your reaction to his answer, but there was no wine glass big enough to cover how you pressed your legs together, one hand gripping the counter with slightly more force than necessary.

“How do you do that?” It was an effort to keep your tone even , trying not to show how badly he was affecting you.

“Eh.” He set his wine glass down, finger lightly circling the base of the stem. “Usually have ‘em coming a few times before I get my own.”

Holy fuck. You needed Soap, and you needed him bad.

“Ah, so only good reviews then?” Damnit, why is your voice suddenly higher? You cleared your throat to try to get it to return to normal, and the fucking bastard smirked at you.

“So far. Tell me, love.” That damn nickname again. “When was the last time you were fucked?” You opened your mouth to answer, but it didn’t matter as Soap began talking again. “Ah, lemme revise that. When was the last time you were properly fucked? The last time someone had you cryin’, had you just stupid on their cock?”

You were buzzing, shaking slightly at Soap’s vulgar words. His accent got lower, rougher as he spoke, and you could feel your arousal tying a knot in your throat.He simply stared at you, waiting for your answer with a dumb smile on his face, like he already knew.

“Oh, no, don’t tell me…” He began, in mock sympathy. “Never?” You shook your head at him, not wanting to tell him the truth.

In all reality, you’ve never orgasmed with someone else. It was all only you, and you learned quickly not to say this, as all men would try to be the first. Then you’d end the night by lying, and they would go with their egos inflated.

You both stood, the tension in the kitchen more than you could bear, and just as you were about to dismiss yourself for the night, Soap wrapped a hand around your forearm - Not tightly enough to worry you, but just enough so you looked up at him, your faces inches from each other.

“Love, I don’t like to, uh, think I’m all that, y’know?” He cleared his throat. “But I’d like to try. Show some thanks to our host.”

In one last attempt at quieting down your own perverse thoughts, you set your wine glass down, and looked at the floor.

“Ah, you don’t need to thank me Soap.”

“I absolutely do,” He responded immediately. “I really do need to. Nothin’ better than a pretty face while I work.”

You bite the inside of your lip, considering all the ways this could go bad. Every single one was overrun with the way Soap was searching your eyes, silently pleading for you. With a purse of your lips, you poured the rest of your wine down the sink, and smiled.

“Absolutely.”

You barely got the words out before Soap wrapped his arm around your waist and lifted, slinging you over his shoulder and making his way up the stairs, searching for any room that didn’t look like it was already occupied.

“Mine’s on the other end.” You breathed in an effort not to laugh at his eagerness, and he turned on his heels toward a door that was differently painted than the rest. He placed a hand over your head, protecting you from a bump as he ducked through the doorframe, and less-than-gently set you on your bed, locking the door behind him.

When he turned, you didn’t see the sweet man offering to help you with painting, you saw a soldier. A soldier tuned into your every breath, every movement, and every thought. He kneeled in front of the bed, between your legs, and began planting lighter than air kisses on your ankle, untying your shoes and setting them to the side haphazardly.

“Red means stop.” He whispered against your skin, traveling upward to your knee. “Yellow is slow down, green is good. Repeat it.”

“Red is-“ You were cut off by your own gasp as he delivered a light bite to the inside of your thigh before kissing it again, and you could feel him smile against you. “Red is stop. Yellow is slow. Green is good.”

“And where are we now?” He breathed against the spot right where your thigh met your most sensitive area, and you felt your stomach jump.

“Green. So, so green.” A whimper escaped you, and Soap tsked, like he was about to scold you.

“Stay quiet, lass.” Teased Soap, as he slid your shorts down, along with your underwear, and he whistled lowly. “A Chriosd ann an ifrinn, seall ort, a nighean bhòidheach.” And with that, he licked one long, thick strip up your cunt, dipping down to tease your hole with his tongue. Soap was eating you out like a man starved, and you were obsessed.

Light, breathy moans left you, ever so aware of how quiet everything else was.

“Tell me what feels good, love.” He punctuated his command with a nip to your thigh, pulling your mind out of the pleasure-induced haze. His tongue traveled through your folds, eyes trained on you to see your reaction to his ministrations. Soap’s lips wrap around your clit, fingers toying with your soaking entrance, and it felt like all rational thought had left you. You didn’t care about who exactly was between your legs, nor if his team could hear your desperate mewls.

The pressure inside you was building, and your movement was strange - trying to wriggle away from the incessant barrage against your clit, and trying to grind impossibly closer to Soap’s lips, and by his huff, it was clear he had enough of that. One large arm wrapped around a thigh, his other pressing down on your abdomen, and the only noise Soap could muster was a few low groans as he continued devouring you.

The knot inside you was getting tighter and tighter, and it felt like it was going to snap any second. A split moment of panic ran through you as your back arched off the bed, Begs and cries tumbling out of your lips before you could think of them.

“Soap, please, please.” You cried, hands aching from gripping the sheets. “Please don’t stop, please…” Staying true to your direction, Soap was unrelenting against you, the combination of his sucking, biting, and licking at your clit had dizzy spots appearing in your vision. With one hard push on your abdomen, and a particularly slow drag of his tongue at your entrance, you felt that snap, and you finally understood why it was called the Little Death.

Your mind had gone completely blank, mouth open in a silent scream, and your thighs clamped around either side of Soap’s head, where he still had yet to stop drinking you. It felt like your heart had even stopped beating, until the pounding was heard in your ears. As Soap continued, you felt your body lurch upwards, fingers tangling in Soap’s hair until he finally looked up at you, his hand coming back to slide a finger into you.The sudden intrusion forced a gasp from you, and he gently kissed your thigh, where you noticed the ache that predates a bruise.

“How we doin’, love? We okay?” His voice was impossibly sweet, a complete 180 to how he just made you feel. You nodded, despite feeling like every single sense in your body had been blown out. His finger continued sliding in and out of you, your walls pulsing around him.

“Green.” You confirmed breathily, and he smiled a wolfish grin before adding a second digit into you, his pace quickening. A quick flash of aggravation and desperation coursed through you, and you knew how to get exactly what you wanted.

You looked down at him, eyebrows upturned in a pleading look, and your doe-eyes were working overtime.

“Please, Soap, just fuck me.” You said, voice higher and more gentle than you thought it would come out, and he groaned, rolling his head against your leg. His fingers took on a ‘come here’ motion, and your eyes rolled in the back of your head at the feeling.

“Ah, I know what you want. You want these…” Soap planted a kiss on your thighs, interrupting his own speech. “God, these pretty thighs pinned behind your head, taking me so well, takin’ me so good.” He looked absolutely pussydrunk, his eyes darting between your eyes and his fingers, tsking and offering a slight noise of false sympathy when a tear rolled down your cheek. Your walls pulsed around his fingers, and you could feel that fire building inside of you again. “Christ, love, you wanna come again, huh?” You nodded furiously at his question, one hand coming up to absentmindedly play with your tits. A bright look crossed Soap’s face, and while his hands continued, his mouth met your hands.

His lips wrapped around your nipple, and before you could think, he bit down - the orgasm that crashed through you was stronger than the last, and the muscles in your thighs screamed from being clenched so tightly. You felt his fingers work their way out of your pussy, hissing at the feeling of your walls clenching around nothing.

“You want me to fuck you now, pretty thing?” His face was almost smug as he climbed up on the bed, one hand going to your lower back to effortlessly raise you, and he peppered light kisses on your sweat-covered face. Of course you want him, how could you not? Your body was buzzing with the aftershocks of two orgasms, and here he was, lining himself up with you.

“God, yes, please.” You breathed, hands coming to rest on his back. Soap brought his lips down next to your ear, sending another shock straight to your core.

“Beg better.” He punctuated his command by rubbing his cock through your folds, and you twitched when the head ground against your already sensitive clit. Beg better? Fuck you, Soap.

You took his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you and, hopefully, how serious you looked.

“Fuck me, Soap. Now.”

The simple instruction was all it took for him to push inside you, and it was like it activated something in him - Soap simply could not shut up.

“Ach, mo Dhia, tha thu a 'faireachdainn cho foirfe timcheall orm. So perfect.” He planted a kiss to your temple. “So perfect, my pretty girl.”

You brought your lips up to his neck, kissing the curve where it meets his shoulder, and his babbling only continued as his cock dragged against nearly every nerve, your broken moans echoing through your room. God, his slow pace was nearly agonizing, you wanted more, you needed more. It was like Soap read your mind as he paused, hooking your knees above his shoulders, effectively pinning you into the mattress. He flashed you a wicked grin before he began his jackhammer pace, and this new position had him reaching impossibly deep inside you.

A vague, low ache began in your abdomen every time he bottomed out, his head kissing your cervix every single time. The depth combined with his pace, his groaning and endless praise in your ear - it felt like it was all culminating in a perfect storm, one that was threatening to break down every fibre of your being.

“Fuck, Soap, I’m going to-” You interrupted yourself with a low, hoarse groan, your admission only spurring him on as he replaced his hold on your knees with his hands.

“Look at me, love, I wanna see it, I wanna see you.” His stuttering hips told you he was in the same spot as you, and you both were not going to last much longer. “Come for me, pretty girl.” He growled, and that was all it took for you.

Your legs shook uncontrollably as you released around him, and your ending brought his own on. Curses left him lips as he buried himself inside you, collapsing next to you.

“Ach, come ‘ere.” He breathed, reaching his arm out to hook around your waist and pulling you to him, one leg wrapping around his waist. One hand rested on your jaw, planting kisses on your forehead, cheek, anywhere he could get access to. Your body felt numb, and you knew he stayed true to his word - you were fucked absolutely stupid. You wanted to talk, you wanted to ask where this left you? Would you ignore that this happened? Would it recur? Would he tell his team about it? You wanted to ask, and yet you didn’t - The song of crickets and his heartbeat was a lullaby, and one that you couldn’t fight.

The snare of sleep overtook you as your heart rate evened out, and only one thought was on your mind before you gave up the fight for consciousness:

You really fucking hope you don’t regret this.

#mw2 #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #call of duty fanfic #cod x reader

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sin-djarin · 9 months

Text

Video Nasty (Joel Miller x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit 18+. MDNI.

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: Your quest to clear out the basement leads to an unexpected discovery.

Warnings: SMUT, porn with minimal plot, unspecified era, mentions of food, no mention of age (reader is in late 20s), unprotected P in V sex (don't do this, be safe), sweat, creampie. No use of y/n.

A/N: Listen. I don't know anymore. Forgive me for any typos or grammar errors please.

You can read other snippets from this here:

Video Nasty II: Restricted Viewing

PLEASE PUT YOUR AGES IN YOUR BIO. I REALLY DON'T WANT TO HAVE TO BLOCK ANYONE.

Reblog and comment to make your writer's day.

There was one task you had been putting off every weekend since you got here – going through the boxes of stuff in the basement. That’s all it was known to you as – stuff. Stuff and probably junk. About six or seven cardboard boxes - only identifiable with your name or Joel’s on written in marker on the front of them. All of them holding your belongings that had yet to be sorted through waiting to be assigned their places throughout the house.

When the seasons changed you wondered where that certain cosy sweater might be or where the mug you’d had since college went. You just never looked for it. Only the essentials had been taken out of their boxes – enough plates and glasses to eat and drink with along with some other day to day necessities like underwear and socks.

But today you were taking the plunge. The day passes you by as you sort boxes of your old jeans, bras that no longer held their shape, notebooks and sketchpads full of doodles, and piles of CDs and cassette tapes. It took so long because every time you pulled something out a decision had to be made – keep it or donate it. In other words; keep the memory or lose it. When you pulled up a t-shirt, it’s too easy to relive the moment you wore it to that fourth of July party ten years ago. And that’s all of this is now – memories. You sigh at the thought but find a small mercy in the fact you can always make new ones.

Joel’s boxes are easier to go through than yours. Mountains of entangled cables each with an unknown function, screwdriver sets with some parts missing, dozens of old different sized and shaped batteries. Most of this, you guessed, could go straight in the trash. As you come to the end of his second box, a smell of pepper and basil hits your nose. Hours have gone by.

“Dinner” his voice booms from the top of the basement stairs, calling you to the kitchen.

“Just a second” you reply.

There are only a few items left in the box. If you finish, you can eat dinner with a sense of accomplishment. Quickly you take out the stacks at the bottom and start to make decisions about the various sheets of papers in your hands. A few old drill manuals – he doesn’t use this brand anymore – trash. Baseball cards – keep – they could be worth something.

The last thing in your grip is a square white envelope that’s beaten up. But it’s sturdy. Flipping it around, the view through its clear plastic window makes your jaw drop. It’s a DVD. The disc itself is white with big red letters that say NASTY NURSES VOL VI. In a smaller font underneath reads five minute preview – not for resale. A giggle escapes you at the thought of Joel watching something so cliché. Opening the envelope to pull the disc out to get a better look you can see it’s been used – the scratches and fingerprints make that clear.

“Hey” you jump as he calls for you a second time.

“Coming!”

You shove the disc in the front pocket of your sweatshirt and climb the stairs to the kitchen.

He’s already sat at the small dining table, hunched over and half way through a plate loaded with pasta in a tomato sauce and chicken. Taking your seat opposite him, you try to hide the grin that threatens to spread across your face. You know something he doesn’t.

“How’d it go?” he asks, with a mouth full of food, his head only inches from the dish.

“Yeah. Went through everything” you tell him. Your chewing making it easier to disguise your smile.

“You look pretty happy about it. Are we keeping a lot?”

“Not really. Tried to get rid of as much as I could”

“Right” he nods and continues to shovel forkfuls of pasta into his mouth.

You’re starving but you only pick at your dinner. Your thoughts are stolen by what could possibly be on that DVD. More than likely, it’s not anything brilliant. But the idea of what Joel did while watching it is all consuming. It’s not a taboo image – him getting off to porn. But it is distracting, more tempting than the food on your plate. And he notices.

“What’s wrong? Too much salt?” he asks, one eyebrow arched.

“No, no. It’s great” you bite your lip, trying to stifle that same smirk.

“You should eat” he points to your plate with the silver fork. “Been down there for hours and it’s late”

He’s right; it is late. Late for eating dinner anyway. You take his advice and eat until you’re comfortably full. When you’re done, you lean back into the wooden chair and he carries your plate away to the sink. Watching him clean up doesn’t help, it only sends your mind into a whirl. His broad back is turned to you – one arm holding the plate steady under the running water, the other moving backwards and forwards holding a sponge while his head bows, looking down at what he’s doing.

He shuts off the faucet and spins back around to you, wiping his hands with a towel.

“What’s that?” he points to your stomach.

You look down, expecting to find a mess of sauce down your black hoodie but it there isn’t one. But there is the corner of the envelope peeking out of your pocket. Fuck.

“Just uh…something I found” you say, hoping your answer would satisfy him.

“Can I see?” he rolls his eyes.

You hesitate for a second, quickly running through the outcomes of showing him the secret you had inherited from him. He could be embarrassed, he could feign ignorance and claim it’s not his – that it just fell into a box of his stuff.

You take it out and hand it over to him. His eyes fall down to study it, eyebrows knit together as he recalls the moving pictures. He runs a hand over his mouth and it falls to his side again before his eyes dart to yours to see what you’re thinking.

“I, um” he clears his throat, his Adams apple bouncing up and down in his throat as he does.

“It’s okay, Joel” you smile reassuringly.

“Yeah, no. I-“ he shifts his weight on his heavy boots.

You stand and run a hand down his arm not wanting him to become uncomfortable about it. Because he shouldn’t be. It’s an acceptable activity. You start to walk away from him towards the stairs with the smile very much settled on your face now.

“This what you were smilin’ at?” his voice comes from behind you as you leave him along in the kitchen.

________

The hot water of the shower blasts away all the dust and fluff that gathered on you on your journey to declutter. It feels like a weight has been lifted, as you mentally check the day’s activity off your to do list. While you throw on an oversized t-shirt and a pair of underwear for bed, you think about your discovery. You didn’t think he was too embarrassed, but you do assume that it’s something neither of you will bring up again.

When you step out of the bathroom, Joel has already changed out of jeans and flannel shirt and swapped them for his usual sleep outfit of a tank top and heather gray boxer briefs that both hug his muscular body. He sits on the edge of the bed, one leg resting on it and his other foot planted to the floor. The only light on in the room is the lamp on your beside table as you make your way over to your side and sit back against the headboard, taking your pot of moisturizer from the drawer of the nightstand and begin applying it to your calves.

Joel hasn’t moved an inch. When you glance at him his lips are pursed as he combs his fingers back and forth through his moustache, eyes focused on nothing in particular ahead of him. Your intention wasn’t to embarrass him, but maybe you had.

Screwing the lid of your body cream back on and tucking it back into the drawer, you attempt to spark up a conversation about the whole affair but he beats you to it.

“Think we should watch it?” he mutters into his fingers, his gaze still targeted ahead of him.

Your brows raise at the question. This was taking a different route than you had mapped out for yourself.

“Do you want to watch it?” you counter.

“I mean. If you want to y’know, I just-“ he swallows hard. “Haven’t seen it in years” he explains, his voice is unsteady, like he’s trying to convince himself of the idea.

Shit. It must be that good. All five minutes of it. Of course there’s no denying it – you’re curious. he knows what’s on that DVD and you don’t – it could be anything. And the earlier idea of making new memories is more appealing now than ever. He wants to share it with you.

“Put it in” you smile.

He gets up to and inserts the DVD into the side of the TV – a feature that you had never really used for anything other than rewatching movies that had grown to be a comfort to you on a bad day.

He resumes his position, sitting on the bed bent forward with one elbow resting on his knee while the other holds the remote. You brace yourself, sitting back against your pillows. He scrolls through the output options and selects DVD from the menu. With one final look over his shoulder at you, he presses play.

Immediately after the rated R disclaimer, overly enthusiastic moans blare from the speakers. A blonde woman dressed in a flimsy white nurse outfit that stops just above the knee appears. The camera pans down her legs to show off her matching white lace stockings. The next clip has her on her back on a gurney, legs spread open wide as she plays with herself. She’s interrupted by another actor, dressed in a lab coat. You can see where this is going…

Joel is completely focused on the screen, eyes are narrowed and his teeth terrorize his bottom lip. It’s difficult to tell if he’s enjoying it or not.

Meanwhile, the next clip has started. The nurse has shed all her clothes apart from her stockings and the doctors face is buried in her pussy. It’s unclear if she’s having a good time either. Her expression looks forced and you can’t see a thing he’s doing for the back of his head – you find yourself unable to compare his technique to Joel’s. Before you know it, she’s bent over and he’s pumping in and out of her from behind.

It’s all jump cuts - from scene to seedy scene and gratuitous oohs and aahs echo through the bedroom. Then she’s on top, after that she’s on her knees as the doctor stands above her as she moans something along the lines of give it to me. And right before the money shot – the DVD stops.

Joel leans back on the bed as the movie returns to the DVD menu that’s similar in design to the front of the disc. You’re not a porn connoisseur, but you’ve indulged enough to know that that was not quality viewing. You wouldn’t class it as sexy, just rough and ready. There’s no plot, no story and no happy endings for anyone. It’s just…porn.

“So what was your favorite part?” you question him, eager to know just why it showed so much wear and tear on the shiny plastic of the back of it.

He shakes his head. “Dunno” he sighs. He’s disappointed; his viewing experience wasn’t like he remembered it to be. Maybe there were too many people present to enjoy it.

“But you must have liked it before”

“Before, yeah” he agrees and lays down fully on his back beside you.

“Why? What was your favorite part?” he probes you now.

“I kinda liked it when she was on top of him”

“That right?” he turns his head towards you, ears pricking at your admission. “Why’s that?”

“You know why, Joel”

“No I don’t, baby. Gonna need you to explain that to me real good” he drawls, reaching over to grab your leg and maneuver you on top of his hips in a swift movement.

His palms run up and down your thighs that spread wide across his waist. You feel him becoming stiff underneath you already. The feeling of it and image of him broad, and willing beneath you is enough to send a warmth to your pussy.

“C’mon, now. Tell me” he pleads.

“Can feel it better”

“Feel what better?”

Fed up of waiting for clarification, his fingertips slide underneath the fabric of your underwear and you jolt as they brush over your clit, travelling down to part you. He licks his lips as your slick coats their skin. Slowly, you start to rock against the heel of his palm, evoking a high pitched moan at his touch. He stares up at you, eyelids heavy with lust over brown eyes as he watches you move at your own speed, allowing you to take what you need.

“Feel this better?” he rasps as his middle finger slips into you.

“Yeah” you breathe, leaning on his toughened chest for support as you vary your movements, alternating between up and down and back and forth, keen to feel as much of him as possible.

His ring finger enters you next and the sudden fullness makes you gasp but the stretch is wonderful. But it’s not long before the heat of both of you grows to be too much for him. He removes his hand and pushes at your sides so you stand above him. You can see the patch of gray material that’s become a darker shade around his leaking tip that’s been confined to his underwear.

He’s quick to remedy it though – pulling down your underwear and his before lowering you back down on top of him, only straightening back up for a second to pull your t-shirt over your head. You bend forward to wrap your hands around his neck he raises his head slightly to meet your mouth for a hungry kiss. It’s fiery and uncoordinated – all teeth and tongue but you both meet each other's deep moans at the sensation.

His fingers dig and curl themselves into the hair at the back of your head while you start to slide your slick folds along the thick length of his cock, the smooth head of it making a delicious contact with your aching clit.

“Can you cum like this, darlin’?” he wonders, purring into your neck while his hands slither down your ribcage to knead your breasts.

Instead of an answer, you raise up off him to anchor yourself with your knees either side of his hips and rest your hands on his shoulders, pinning him in place to feel the friction of his bare cock against your clit. His hands travel to the curve of your ass to guide you along.

“God” you pant. “Yeah, Joel” you warn him as that spark begins to ignite in your abdomen.

You push your hips harder into him, desperately chasing your orgasm now. The growing heat of it creeps up your back and he swipes the hair out of your face to see your eyes tighten and your mouth fall open when it finally crashes over you and you’re left breathless, pulsing on his cock.

Joel lets you catch your breath for a minute, calloused fingertips skating over the soft skin of your back as you recover from your release.

“Think you can take me? It’s okay if you can’t” he cups your jaw to look at him.

You steady your breathing. He’s not done yet, despite his cotton tank top that’s ridden half way up his stomach growing damp with sweat as it clings to his torso. Tiny pebbles of it forming on his forehead. And truthfully, you weren’t finished yet either. Not with him under you like this –still leaking against his belly – needy.

He offers you his hand to help you position yourself over him, knowing your legs aren’t to be trusted after moments ago. His free hand wraps around his cock, holding it steady for you to slide onto. Inch by inch it stretches and fills you, your soft walls encasing him. He grunts through gritted teeth, head pushes back into the mattress once he bottoms out. It takes a second for you to adjust to this new fullness.

“Jesus, baby. Fuck” he hisses as you slowly start to rock, bodies finding a synchronized rhythm.

Every time your hips rise and sink back down on him the head of his cock hits that spot at front. He’d asked, but you couldn’t articulate why it feels better. Joel can only watch as with each bounce you become a little bit more breathless and your movements a little less graceful trying to angle him perfectly below you. You’re lost in all of it; the filthy slick sounds, the vibrations of his deep hums and the swell of him inside you.

He interprets it well, you think when he brings his hand to his mouth to lick his thumb and starts to massage your clit with the soaking pad of it. He applies enough pressure to draw you dangerously close to another orgasm.

This picture of Joel through bleary eyes writhing below you is more sinful than anything your mind had created when you imagined him watching that DVD by himself. The lamp throwing light from behind him highlights the flexing muscles in each bicep and forearm as they work to hold you. The speed of his chest rising and falling faster underneath his tank top that is virtually stuck to him like another layer of skin is mouthwatering. You did that – not a DVD. The thought of that alone coaxes another tidal wave of pleasure to rip through every nerve ending. There’s no energy left to scream, you only manage a choked cry through a dry mouth while the aftershocks of it cause you to clench around his thickness.

Your body hangs heavy over him as he moves his hands to grip the meat of your ass, lifting you ever so slightly and begins to thrust at his desired pace. The veins and tendons in his neck bulge as he pistons in and out of you, hunting for his own orgasm. With every stab his fingers dig deeper into your skin.

“Hmm. Fuck” he curses and whines, air puffing from his flared nostrils as it hits him.

You feel him spill inside you, its heat coats you. One hand leaves your ass to push your shoulder back, signaling you to sit back and be fast about it.

“N-no. I’m not done” he warns and dips his waist to pull himself out of you. Another two ropes spray over your lower belly and drips down your thighs. Your heavy eyes widen at the sight of it, skin burning at the feeling of it, taking you both by surprise.

You collapse on top of him and lay your head on his shoulder. His heart is hammering against his sternum but yours is matching it beat for beat. Both of your bodies are spent, only focused on stabilizing your breaths in a rooms that feels likes it’s starved of oxygen. Your earlier shower was futile you think as you lie messy on top of him.

“Maybe we can watch something you like next time” he heaves a deep, satisfied breath.

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal characters #tlou fic

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