#i know i've had others that it's been even longer since requested | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

halsteadlover · 4 months

Text

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐳𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐬?

*Gifs not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female!Reader.

• Requested: no.

• Summary: you and Hotch have occasional rendezvous but each time you promise it’ll be the last even if neither of you seems to be able to stop.

• Warnings: smut, unprotected sex (don’t be like them you guys wrap it if you want to use it!!!), cursing, dirty talk, oral sex m. receiving, basically porn with no plot lol

• Word count: 1824.

• A/N: PLEASE READ THIS ONLY IF YOU’RE 18+ MINORS STAY AWAY. I hope you like this, let me know what you think. Comment, reblog and like if you want and as always thank you so much for your support.

“Oh fuck Hotch you feel so good…-” you moaned loudly as you kept riding him on his chair. Your shaking thighs burned, your aching knees pressing against on his chair as his dick thrusted deeper and deeper inside you.

His hands were gripping your hips as he accompanied your movements, grunting and trying to remain silent while his fingers pressed against your skin so hard they left marks on it.

He let go of your hip and covered your mouth when another groan escaped your lips, making your moans become just muffled sighs. “Shut up, you don't want them to hear us do you?”.

You shook your head, biting into his palm as you placed your hands on the arms of his chair for support while letting yourself get rocked by the immense pleasure he was giving you.

It was a mistake.

You knew it was.

But God what a beautiful mistake.

You couldn't help it.

Since the day you and Hotch ended up in bed one night after a case and a few drinks, you didn’t stop having these rendezvous, neither of you could help it. Every time you promised yourselves it’d be the last, but it was enough to find yourselves close, or your eyes to meet during the discussion of a case, or for some reason his hand to casually caress yours to break this promise.

You were just like a drug for each other. From that first dose you had that night, you could no longer go without that feeling of euphoria and pure ecstasy the sex gave you.

Aaron Hotchner was the most sinful thought that crossed your mind, the forbidden thing you always craved and God did you love it.

Maybe it was the fact you were a BAU agent and he was your boss, maybe it was the thrill of being discovered, maybe it was the taste of the forbidden – hell, what would the FBI have said if they knew the upright boss of the behavioral analysis unit was breaking the rules that he himself continually reiterated to his agents?

This, however, didn't stop either of you, indeed it was as if all this was fuel thrown on the fire, passion and desire you already felt.

At first you both managed to keep that passion at bay, having occasional sex in hotel rooms when you were out of town for a case. But the more time passed, the more difficult it became to suppress everything, to hide that you wanted to rip each other’s clothes off every minute of the day.

And that's why you found yourself in his office that evening, fucking near his desk while there were still some colleagues still in the bullpen.

“God I've been thinking about you and this damn skirt all day… Fuck… You’re irresistible,” he muttered, his eyes scanning your figure sitting on him as his dick fucked your wet pussy.

He was completely mesmerized.

Your skirt was rolled up around your hips, the sheer black stockings you were wearing until recently had been ripped by Hotch in the heat of passion, your panties were thrown to the floor, your shirt unbuttoned and your bra moved as your breasts popped out and bounced to the rhythm of your motion.

You looked like a fucking goddess.

The walls of your pussy started to clench around his dick, making him twitch inside you, your hips stuttering as you felt your orgasm building more and more. It was as if your body was going through convulsions and you couldn't control it, you just wanted and desired that intense pleasure that only Aaron Hotchner was able to give you.

He wrapped his lips around your breast, sucking and licking your nipple as you threaded your hands into his hair and pulled it. You bit your lower lip in an attempt to keep at bay the moans and gasps you was struggling to keep quiet.

“Just like that, oh yeah just like that you feel so good Hotch,” you whispered in a gasp, rolling your eyes and head back. His tongue licked your skin, from your breasts, then moving up your collarbone to your neck, kissing and sucking your skin until he left a mark.

Hotchner wasn't one for hickeys, he wasn't one for office sex in the workplace, he wasn't one for quickies, he wasn't one to break the rules that he himself had set but you managed to break down every single part of his barrier, you managed making him lose control in a way that he loved and hated at the same time, you managed to unleash emotions in him that he had never even felt in his life.

You were hurricane.

You were storm.

You were addiction.

And he couldn't get enough of you, never.

“Shit, fuck,” he cursed, biting and licking the skin of your shoulder as his thumb began drawing imaginary circles on your clit making your muscles tense even more and your movements more erratic. You almost had a heart attack from the intense pleasure that flowed through your veins. “God princess you ruin me.”

A breathtaking orgasm hit over you without any other warning like a raging river, making you dizzy and see stars. Your vision went blurry for a few moments, making you even forget you were in your boss' office and someone could actually hear you.

You tried to catch your breath but at that very moment there was a knock on the door, making both you and Hotch freeze in place, his hard dick still inside you. You exchanged a panicked look.

“Just one second.” Aaron had responded after clearing his throat and then continuing talking to you in a whisper, “Get under the desk.”

You nodded and lifted yourself off his legs, which had turned to jelly as you bent down and picked up your panties. You settled under the desk between his legs while he quickly tried to fix his hair and button up his shirt. He stood up and put on his pants, leaving them loose without bringing them up to his hips.

“Come in.”

Your heart was beating so wildly you could hear the pounding in your ears. You stayed paralyzed under the desk, too afraid to even breathe.

The door opened and you recognized Agent Anderson's voice. “I brought the Porters' case report from five days ago Agent Hotchner.”

He nodded, his expression completely serious and professional as he pretended to fill out a file he didn't even remember at the moment.

“Thank you Agent Anderson, leave it on my desk.”

Despite the fear of being discovered, however, you couldn't contain your excitement and the thought of driving him crazy couldn't leave your mind. You placed a hand on his inner thigh, trailing your fingers along his crotch with sensuality.

Aaron almost had a heart attack when you quietly pulled his underwear off enough for his dick to pop out again, still wet and damp from your fluids and you wrapped your hand around it, starting to jerk him off with slow, controlled pace.

“Agent Hotchner there was a thing about this case I wanted to ask you about…” Agent Anderson had asked.

Are you fucking kidding me right now?

Hotch nodded and pointed to the chair in front of his desk, his lips pressed together because he was afraid if he opened them only moans would come out.

Your hand increased its speed and Hotch let out a deep sigh as he leaned back in his chair, about to have a heart attack right then and now.

He looked at Anderson, he heard him talking but his brain couldn't process a single word he was saying, too focused on trying to keep a serious expression and not let on that there was a woman under his desk who was masturbating him.

But the final blow came when you wrapped your lips around his dick, taking it all in your mouth and tasting yourself on it. He let out a small moan which immediately covered with a cough, thanking god Anderson was too caught up in whatever he was saying to notice.

His hand reached below the desk and into your hair, pulling it harshly and making you almost moan at the sensation. This caused you to pick up your pace and Hotch didn't know whether to hate you or not at that moment.

He wanted you to stop.

But also for you to keep going because that fucking mouth of yours was pure ecstasy.

“Are you okay, agent Hotchner?” Anderson stopped at a certain point, noticing the way Hotchner continued to move in his chair and the blush on his cheeks.

“Y-yes, I apologize...” Hotch breathed out. “Lord,” he almost let out a groan which he tried to mask with another cough. “I’m not feeling very well these days. C-can…” he stopped again, swallowing another moan. “We’ll talk about t-this tomorrow Anderson. Excuse me.”

You couldn’t help but smirk to yourself, feeling victorious for making the always-so-serious SSA Aaron Hotchner a complete mess.

His thighs started to shake, his fingers still pulling your hair as you licked his dick, leaving a long string of saliva on his tip. You wrapped your lips around him again and a hand around the base, jerking him off while simultaneously taking it in your mouth. Your other hand rested on his thigh, pressing your nails on his hot skin.

Your mouth felt like heaven and it didn't take long for the orgasm to start building again after it was interrupted.

“Oh yes of course, I'm sorry. Get well soon then, g-good night agent Hotchner.” Anderson replied and jumped to his feet before mumbling some more nonsense and exiting the office, closing the door behind him.

Hotch let out a particularly deep sigh and rested his head on the edge of his chair as he continued to mercilessly fuck your mouth.

“You fucking little slut, you really can't help yourself huh?” He groaned, looking back at you. His grip around your hair tightened, forcing your head down and making you gag. “My needy little whore, look at you chocking on my dick… Fuck you’re gonna make me come.”

How could he make such derogatory names so damn sexy?

It didn't take long for Hotch to explode into an intense orgasm inside your mouth, not letting your head go until he watched you swallow every single damn drop of his cum.

He exhaustedly leaned back in his chair, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he waited for his breathing to calm down.

He took your hands and helped you out from under the desk, letting you sit on his lap and kissing you until taking your breath.

He gave you a sweet little kiss on your forehead, caressing your cheek with a thumb, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. “You'll be the death of me sooner or later, agent Y/Ln.”

General tag list: @hngbrooks, @alexxavicry, @mrspeacem1nusone, @halstead-severide-fan, @allivzs, @omniaimy, @cursedashes, @kmc1989, @firetruckstuckley, @23victoria

Aaron Hotchner tag list: @mrs-ssa-hotch, @s1lverhand, @novabckly, @thatcrimeshowchick

Click here to be added to the tag list ❤️

Main Masterlist

Aaron Hotchner Masterlist

Support me on Ko-Fi ☕️

Side blog -> @halsteadloverslibrary

Ask link 💭

1K notes · View notes

reiderwriter · 6 months

Text

The One Thing You Can't Have

Pairing: Spencer Reid × Female Reader (DBF! Spencer × Hotchner! Reader)

Summary: After five years away, you move back to your hometown. Reconnecting with many of your father's friends and coworkers, you start to get suspicious when you lose multiple pairs of panties. Or; Spencer risks it all by stealing Hotch's adult daughter's underwear. And maybe her heart, too.

Warnings: Day 15 of Kinktober - panties, mentions canon character death, age difference (ten years), panties, underwear kink, underwear stealing, masturbation, sexual fantasies discussed, PinV Sex, clitoral stimulation, partial creampie, mentions of emergency contraception

A/N: It is done! I shit you not the writing time on this is longer than most of the fics I've ever written, it took me so long that I don't have any other fics prewritten for Kinktober now and have to spend the day hastily writing them... But it was worth it. As always, you can find all my work in my masterlist and all my kinktober fics here. My requests are open until the end of the month, so if there's a specific fic you want, don't hesitate to let me know!

With your family the way it was, you'd dealt with a lot over the years. Aaron Hotchner loved his wife and kids, but that hadn't been enough to protect you from George Foyet. When your mom and kid brother had gone into protective custody, you'd been away at college, and apart from a protective detail, they'd not seen fit to move you anywhere special at all. Foyet was so caught up on your mom that he'd forgotten you existed.

When you got the call from your dad that Foyet was resurfacing, you'd known in your gut that you had to go back. You'd ditched your handlers and driven through the night but when you arrived at the house you'd grown up in, all you could see was police lights and caution tape.

You'd run as fast as you could into the house, but a pair of strong arms grabbed you and lifted you away as you screamed and sobbed. Derek Morgan held you firm as he tried to calm you, but you barely registered his words.

"My mom is in there, my dad too, and Jack, let me fucking go, Derek." You'd only stopped raging when they'd bought out the first body bag. And then the second.

The anguish that filled your lungs stole your breath and you didn't know it was you screaming until your throat was red and completely sore. Another set of hands led you away and into an ambulance, skillfully anticipating your needs.

"Y/N, look at me. Look at my eyes, we're going to breathe together, okay?" Staring up into his dark eyes you suddenly remembered that you needed the air to breathe, his calm voice bringing you back to life.

He was wearing an FBI vest but you'd never seen him before. Not a surprise since you'd avoided everything to do with your father's job for the last five years. You only really knew Derek from when he'd been sent to deliver the news to you about Foyet's initial targeting of you.

The Man in front of you was young, but still older than you. He was tall, but he'd shrunk himself down into the space, leaning over you so that he was the only thing you could see. He looked tired, but he was the only thing for miles around keeping you grounded and you clung to him in desperation.

"My Name is Doctor Spencer Reid, I work with your dad. You're Y/N, right?" His voice was soft and even, like he was taming a temperamental animal. Even though you knew what he was doing, trying to calm you so he could deliver a devastating blow, you let him do it, drinking in each word as total calm swept over you. You nodded at him and waited for him to continue.

"Your brother is fine, he's at your aunt's house, he didn't touch him. Your dad is in the hospital and they think he's going to pull through, but he was stabbed a few times so he's going to be weak for a while." You searched his eyes for the words he wasn't saying as panic rose in your body.

"My mom, where is my mom? Haley Hotchner, she's… She should have been with Jack, where is she?" The look in his eyes was enough to tell you what in your heart you already knew. Your mom was in that bag and your family was broken, again.

You don't know what happened next, but you knew you were bundled up in Spencer Reid's arms and clinging to him for dear life. You knew he'd somehow got you to your aunt's house, and you knew he'd stayed until you were ready to let him go. Even years later you don't know how long he'd held you. Maybe only minutes, maybe hours. He had let you sit and grieve, finding small comfort in the contours of his body.

After that, college wasn't a priority for you. Your brother was only a baby, and he needed you around, so even the three-hour drive upstate seemed too far to be away from him. You stuck around, taking your courses as remotely as they'd let you for the semester and struggling for it.

Your dad felt guilty, of course. For your mom, for the derailing of your life, and for the way he had to keep leaving because that was the job. In all honesty, you didn't mind being home more at that time.

There was Jack, who was great, and your Aunt was so much like your mom that sometimes it was like she was still with you, even a little bit. And there was Spencer, too.

After it had become evident that you were going to fail the only required course you were taking that semester (algebra was your enemy), your dad had sought out the only person he knew with a good grasp of mathematics and no weekend plans and roped them into tutoring you. Which meant that your weekends were suddenly fully booked by him.

He seemed a little different from the first time you’d met him, but that was a given considering the circumstances. He held himself a little taller, and more relaxed as he talked about the kinds of equations you were supposed to use and formulas you were supposed to memorize. He was attentive but not too close, and he’d shown up with shorter hair and now that you could see more of his face, more of his neck, you found yourself getting distracted by the oddest things. The stubborn but small stubble on his neck, the way sweat trailed down his face, the movement of his Adam’s Apple as he swallowed, the way the breeze from your open window tousled his hair.

It took you a distractingly long time to realize that you were physically attracted to him, but when you did realize, it was suddenly all you could think about. You spent most of your days working on math so you’d have some excuse to call or text him. The mornings before your lessons together you’d taken to hogging the bathroom long enough to shave, wash and dry your hair and apply a natural but still skilled amount of make-up. You were surprised that neither of the big bad profilers had caught onto the stench of your puppy love, because you were dripping with desperation.

He never budged of course, too oblivious or too noble to lay a hand on an eighteen-year-old. Or just smart enough to know not to lay a hand on his boss's daughter.

You certainly weren’t making it easy for him though.

“Spencer, what do you think of my outfit today? I’m going out with some friends from high school tonight for a meal, do I look okay?” You’d twirled for him innocently, knowing full well the speed of your spin would throw your already short skirt up past your panties for a split second.

“I don’t think I’m the best person to ask about clothes, Y/N. Maybe ask your dad.” His flush was evident enough that you knew it had worked but his hands were rigid by his sides and he carefully guided you back to the topic at hand.

It turned out that after a semester of tutoring, you’d become such a whizz at mathematics that you’d passed with flying colors. You’d been so excited to tell Spencer that you drove straight to Quantico, using the family pass your father had given you for emergencies to gain access. Spencer didn’t know what hit him when you launched yourself into his arms and wrapped your legs around him, but he’d somehow stayed upright as you buried your face once again in his neck.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, Spencer! I got an A, the Professor was so shocked by my improvement that he asked me if I’d cheated. When I dropped your name, he freaked.” Spencer’s eyes were wide and blinking frantically as his hands struggled to find a place to hold you. You’d worn another scandalously low skirt and it seemed the only way to pry you off of him was to put a hand on or dangerously close to your ass.

You enjoyed watching his internal struggle, and so did quite the number of FBI agents, until your father spoiled the fun by walking out of his office to check the commotion.

“Y/N Hotchner, get down from there, now.” Your father rarely raised his voice at you, choosing a softer approach to parenting than many would expect. That meant that on the rare occasion that he did feel the need to speak up, you shut your mouth and listened. Detangling yourself from Spencer’s arms with an awkward smile, you tried your best to nonchalantly bounce over to your father and explain why you were there.

He motioned for you to follow him to his office, and you complied, letting one ear stay clear to focus on the sound of Reid being teased by all of his coworkers about the scene you’d just caused.

Your dad didn’t exactly scold you for the incident, so much as he tried to insinuate that you should head back home, and then head back to college, too. With months between you and the Foyet incident, he’d been hinting at letting you get back to your life for a while, but your stunt with Reid had him suddenly addressing it more overtly.

To say that your family dinner that night was a pain in the ass was an understatement.

“Y/N, Daddy said you went to his work today!” Jack had started the conversation, and you knew the tactical warfare was beginning.

“That’s right, buddy! I had to thank Spencer for helping me with my schoolwork.” You smiled at your brother before turning a suspicious glance toward your dad, who sat peacefully eating his dinner. The fact that you were even all eating together should’ve alerted you to something going on behind the scenes.

“Uncle Spencer is the best!” It wasn’t Jack’s fault he’d just given your father the best ammunition he could’ve asked for.

“Do you agree, Y/N? Do you think your Uncle Spencer is the best?” He was using his calm interrogation voice and you hated it.

“Dad, please, he’s not that much older than me, it’s weird for me to call him Uncle.”

“He’s ten years your senior, Y/N. You know that right?” You didn’t move as your eyes locked together with his, as he seemingly asked a more serious question in the subtext. You weren’t ready to answer it though, and so you buckled under the pressure, looking away first and eating the rest of your meal in silence.

Without saying much of a goodbye to any member of your father’s teammates, you decided that it was about time you continued with your life, not letting the actions of George Foyet hold you in a standstill any longer. You went back to college full-time, got your degree, and got a job in a city near your college town. You came back home regularly, but in the five years since your mother's death, you hadn’t talked to or heard from Spencer Reid.

Job opportunities were better in D.C. though, so after growing up and having some time away, you came right back to your childhood home, ready to start over. It was only temporary, of course, and you had a job lined up, but apartments were so hard to come by, especially ones that were actually livable, that you needed to do a lot of searching to find one that felt right.

So your dad’s home it was. With Jack a bit older and constantly away at school or clubs or friend’s houses, and your dad’s schedule the way it was, you’d practically got the house to yourself. And after living alone and with female roommates for half a decade, you’d almost grown too comfortable in your own skin. The summer between your move and the start of your new job was hot and sticky, and you found yourself taking more and more cold showers after your morning workouts.

Normally at 11 a.m., you had the house to yourself, and you’d happily stroll around in a small towel and dry yourself off. If your father or brother were home, you’d cover yourself up a bit more, sure, or just head to your room quicker, obviously.

So emerging from your shower, the last thing you expected was coming face to face with Doctor Spencer Reid sitting on your couch, the one that was directly on your path between the bathroom you’d just emerged from and the room you needed to be in. You cursed your father and his practically-sized apartment as you floundered your way through a greeting of the man you hadn’t seen in five years.

“Spencer, hi. What... What are you doing on my dad’s couch?” You clutched the towel close to your body, trying not to shiver as he trailed his eyes over your body, eyes just as big and wide as the last time you’d seen him.

“We were on our way to a local crime scene, he went to grab something from…” His voice trailed off as he pointed towards the master suite where you could now faintly hear the sound of your dad on the phone to someone.

“Right. Great. I should probably…” You gestured to the room and quickly started making your way toward it, trying not to visibly cringe at the most awkward post-shower interaction you’d ever had.

“What are you doing here?” His voice shot out quickly, and you whipped around so fast, that you almost panicked and dropped the towel completely.

“Oh, I… Did my dad not mention? I got a job at a company nearby, so I moved back. I’m staying here with Dad and Jack until I can find a decent apartment.”

“Oh, wow. Well, it’s nice to have you back. It’s been like five years since you left, right?” His tone was bright and he was nodding his head, but the words set fire to your nerve endings as you remembered that you’d practically run away from him. Even after half a decade, he was having a physical impact on you.

“Yeah, that sounds about right. You have a good memory.”

“You know, I get that a lot.” His grin ignited something in your chest, and you gathered the laundry you’d left on the sofa and quickly excused yourself before you could prove yourself more of a idiot than you could already make a case for.

Spencer watched you go, wondering just when Hotchner was going to emerge from his hiding place to attack him for so openly ogling his half-naked daughter. He stood on the spot staring at your door for a moment too long before dragging his eyes away. Unluckily for him, what he found on the floor had him panicking all over again.

“Y/N, your forgot…” He grabbed the lacy material in his fingers and went to open the door before stopping, realizing that you were probably completely bare behind that door now. The thought sent him into a tailspin, and he once again stood clueless for a beat too long with a pair of your freshly laundered panties in his hands.

He considered dropping them back on the floor, but he didn’t want them to get dirty again after you’d washed them so nicely. He should’ve just left them on the sofa for you to find later, but when Hotch’s voice grew louder and clearer behind him, fear took over and he shoved them into the closest hiding space he could find. His pocket.

“Callahan found something for us at the ME’s office, she’s meeting us at the precinct, let’s go.”

And just like that he was out the door, and he had officially signed his own death warrant.

You never noticed that the first pair went missing. When it became a pattern though, you did become suspicious. Three pairs of underwear in thirty days seemed a bit much, and unless your building's laundry machines were eating them, you had no clue where they could've been.

It's not that Spencer even meant to do it any of the times he did. But when he'd returned home that first day, overwhelmed with the caseload he'd been handed and found the offending item still right there in his coat pocket, the blood had rushed straight to his head.

He'd spent a half hour in agony staring at them, trying to smooth them out so they wouldn't get crumpled, his dick twitching at every slight movement he made. It had been quite a few months since he'd had sex, never really one for casual hook-ups. But if the result of several months of celibacy was stealing underwear then he thought maybe it would be best to have sex sooner rather than later.

He couldn't resist the temptation. Popping the button of his pants, he'd taken his cock in his hand and worked his way up and down his shaft imagining you dropping that towel. He imagined you wearing the panties and nothing else as you replaced his hand with your mouth, desperate to please. Taking the panties in his hand, he began directly masturbating into them, wishing so needily that you were still inside them.

When he shot his load, he soaked them through, and the shame that overcame him was intense and swift.

You never realized that he'd somewhat avoided you after that, doing his best to stay away for fear he'd let his perversions rule his actions. You had somehow made yourself unavoidable though.

The first time he saw you again it was at one of Rossi's family get-togethers. It had been years since you'd seen some of the members of the team, so you were really looking forward to it. Plus, Rossi had boasted of a recently installed pool and jacuzzi within his invitation, and you were excited to check them out with the fine summer weather actually staying fine.

You'd brought your bikini with you and changed in one of the ground-floor bathrooms, wrapping another towel around yourself before you finally made your way to the pool. But once again, wrapped in a towel, you'd come face to face with Spencer Reid.

"Y/N, I didn't know you were coming." He looked like a deer caught in the headlights, and this time worked especially hard to not let his gaze travel all over your skin. He regretted his entire existence as he realized he'd have to hide his micro-expressions around countless profilers, some of whom were present and accounted for when you'd last been seen together.

Derek was going to give him hell.

"Yeah, Uncle David invited me! I'm so excited for the jacuzzi, I haven't been in one since college."

"You call Rossi 'Uncle David?'" The thought had tickled him, humor sparkling in his eyes as he finally smiled at you.

"Why yes I do, and if you're not careful, my dad is going to make me start calling you Uncle Spencer again." You skipped off merrily after that, leaving your spare clothes and your discarded ones in the bathroom Reid had obviously been waiting for.

His smile soured as he realized the impact of your words. Uncle Spencer. Huh. Some fucking "Uncle" he was. He washed his hands thoroughly, having spilled some kind of drink down himself before greeting you, as his eyes fell to the pile of clothes you'd left neatly in the corner.

He tried to tell himself he couldn't do it again, but curiosity and arousal lit up his entire body and carried him forward. Jeans, a t-shirt, socks, and shoes were left tidily discarded, but he couldn't obviously see any underwear. There was a second pile of neat clothes and he looked at that one thoroughly as well, but after a minute it was evident that you'd hidden your unmentionables from clear sight.

He heard the happy cheers and smiles from outside, and painstakingly attempted to pull away, but he couldn't. Rooting through your things, he found them. He found two of them, really. The used underwear you'd likely just taken off, and the fresh pair you were going to change into. Spoiled for choice he sat in a stasis, mentally cursing himself for being so stupidly horny.

It would be wrong to take another pair. And certainly wrong of him to take the clean pair which you'd instantly noticed were missing when you tried to put them on to wear them.

The used pair though. He held them delicately in both hands, the slip of material not as fancy as the ones he'd used before, but somehow more enticing.

Letting his cock rule his thoughts he brought them up to his face and inhaled deeply, and it was like a bomb going off in the back of his head. He had to have them.

Organizing the bathroom into the exact layout as he'd found it, making sure not even a hair was out of place. The panties were safely in his pocket, and he took a minute to get his body physically and mentally under control before exiting the bathroom and rejoining his friends.

The next time he'd taken some, they'd really been handed to him like a gift. One month back at home, and you felt slightly stifled by the overbearing presence of your father. You needed a nice, messy night out, and you sure got it.

The friends you'd reconnected with had taken you out to a slew of clubs, and by the end of the night, you were tripping and stumbling into anything and anyone in your path. It was as if you were magnetically drawn to every object in your way, unfortunately, one just happened to be tall and lean and caught you before you could tumble off again.

"Y/N?" He looked down at you, confused as he took in your intoxicated state.

"Uncle Spencie!" You relaunched yourself into his arms, reminiscent of that day in the bullpen. "Uncle Spencie I can't believe you're here!" You giggled into his neck as you buried yourself there, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck as you pulled away to grin at him again.

"Y/N, how drunk are you?"

"How you are drunk, huh? Why don't we ever ask that question?" You sent yourself into a fit of giggles as your friends watched the scene play out behind you.

"Girls, this is Doctor Spencer Reid. My daddy is his boss. Isn't he cute?" Your arms still wrapped territorially around Spencer, you introduced your friends who cackled approvingly at your drunk shenanigans.

"Y/N, you need to let me go, the others…"

"Others? Is daddy here? AARON!! AAAAROOOOOO-" He clamped a hand over your mouth and moved you to the side of the road to hail a taxi as fast as possible. Apologizing to your friends, he quickly stuffed you into the cab and gave the driver your address.

"Uncle Spencer, I just wanted to see my daddy and his other friends. Why are you being so mean?" The exaggerated pout on your face had him dragging a hand down over his face as he struggled to pull a seatbelt over you.

"If your dad had seen you wrapped around me like that, he'd have killed one of us."

"Both of us," you nodded and giggled. Your short dress was riding up your thighs, the leather seats of the car feeling unbearably hot and sticky under your skin. You shifted uncomfortably a few times, your underwear eating into your skin in an uncomfortable manner.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" He sternly whispered the words into your ears as he grabbed your wrists. It was too late though, you'd already worked your underwear down your thighs enough that they'd reached your knees and then fallen around your ankles.

"It felt bad, I didn't like it." You leaned your head back and let your legs hang open slightly, just enough that Spencer could see the taxi driver angling for a look.

He snapped a hand between your legs, closing off the view before snatching up the underwear from the floor and pocketing it. You didn't know nor care though, the motion of the car rocking you off into a deep sleep. He'd ended up having to carry you up to your apartment, getting you ready for bed, and leaving just fast enough for Hotch to not catch him hanging over his unconscious daughter.

And he had a third pair of your underwear.

He spent his days wondering just what the fuck was wrong with him, and his nights jerking off to your scent, wondering just how willing he'd be to climb into bed with you and if he'd have the strength to say no.

He was normal enough in your interactions with one another. You'd seen each other at various case celebrations, at parties hosted by the team members, which that summer were high in total. You couldn't resist the temptation to flirt with him, but it was only when the two of you were well out of earshot of anyone who might frown upon it. You didn't think he even noticed that's what you were doing anyway.

Spencer did notice. And he kept noticing and was disgusted by how much he wanted you. You were Hotch’s daughter. He’d seen pictures of you as a child, he’d held you while you cried over your mom and the stress of having to be a responsible adult after everything happened with Foyet, he’d known how much you hated having to grow up quickly when you had Hotch for a dad, and he felt gross that despite all of that he wanted to fuck you so badly that he’d resorted to petty thievery and letting you flirt with him under your father's nose.

It was towards the end of your summer at home when you finally noticed the missing pieces. You'd even almost mentioned it to your dad before thinking it through a bit more. If it wasn't some laundry mix-up, he was going to go full FBI on every man who came close to you, and that was a risk you weren't willing to take.

In the end, you were thankful you said nothing.

The BAU team had been out on a case for ten days, the largest amount of time they'd been away since you'd moved home, and you'd decided to greet them as soon as they returned, congratulate them on a job well done.

You knew they were already heading to their regular bar after they finished their paperwork, but you had some morale to boost in the meantime, so a donut delivery plus enough coffee to stay awake for hours was in order.

They'd practically thrown themselves off the jet and into the box of donuts, each of them thanking you for the happy greeting after what had to have been a hard time away.

"Y/N, you didn't have to do this, but thank you. The team really appreciates it." Your dad had looked at you with a proud look before showing you up to his office, letting you wait on his couch until everyone was finished.

You got bored quickly and asked if you could help with anything, which is how you became your dad's errand-runner. He sent you to the printer to pick up papers, you'd run to get him more coffee from the pot twice and he sent you to ask the others about their progress. Which was totally fine had they not looked like paperwork-writing zombies on the verge of collapse.

"Y/N, head down to Spencer's desk, he should have a file on the geographical profile I need." He hadn't even glanced up to ask you that, but he did shout a thank you out the door, so you suppose he could be forgiven for now.

Bouncing down the stairs you noticed Spencer was deep in the middle of reading some files, doing that speed reading thing you'd heard him talk about but never witnessed.

"Spencer." He didn't look up, too focused on the words in front of him. "Spencer, my dad needs a file."

"Go-bag. Reading, give me a minute." He still hadn't even glanced at you so you pulled yourself around his desk to search for his go-bag yourself. It was on the floor, and you pulled it towards you, settling down on the floor to open it up and look for the files you needed.

You probably should have had more reservations about rooting through Spencer's things because just as you pulled the zip fully open, it seemed like his eyes shot wide and he threw his head in your direction, finally distracted from his work.

"Wait, don't look in-" He whisper-screamed the words at you frantically, but it was too late. The first thing your hand had closed around in the bag was small and delicate and somewhat rumpled, and your hand had a mind of its own pulling it out into your lap so the two of you could see it.

Your panties. One of your missing pairs of panties was in Spencer Reid's go-bag.

Both of you sat there for a few moments, neither of you moving, the eye contact not breaking one second as you both stared at each other in fear and surprise.

He cleared his throat quietly and whispered down at you, "I can explain…" but he didn't get a chance as you swiftly grabbed the file you'd come for - helpfully pulled into plain view by your rustling about - hid your panties back in your own pocket, zipped his bag up and swiftly ran all the way back to your dad's office.

You sat on the couch for the rest of the afternoon, no longer eager to do chores. Spencer had your underwear. He'd stolen it. He'd taken it across the country with him. He'd…You didn't know what he was doing with it, really, but you knew that every image of him with them had the most dirty, exciting, disgusting thoughts running through your head.

You grabbed your things and quickly headed out after that. Penelope caught you by the elevator as you made to leave.

"No, sweetie, where are you going? I thought you were coming to celebrate with us after this, I was so looking forward to having the fun Hotchner around, not the grumpy, serious one."

"I'm just going home to freshen up. I smell like coffee and Quantico, which when you're not nose blind to it isn't the most optimal scent." You promised her you'd see her there, and with a quick glance back at the office, where Spencer was sat tense, looking like he wanted to either run after you or shout something across the room, you left.

By the time you'd arrived home, there were ten missed calls on your cell, and you didn't have to even speculate about who they might be from because there were texts too.

Spencer: I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, call me when you get this.

Spencer: I know it's weird and I'll understand if you hate me, but please talk to me.

Spencer: Please don't tell your dad.

You'd scoffed at that last one as if you'd ever have been that stupid. But you didn't reply or call him, letting him suffer in silence.

This entire time, you'd been operating on the basis that Spencer Reid didn't see you the way you saw him. That he didn't think of you as an adult but as your father's daughter. And now you were confronted with the truth that he was just as fucking lustful and horny as you'd been since you met him at 18? You weren't letting this opportunity pass you by.

Taking the panties out, you stared at them again, trying to figure out just what he'd been doing with them. You recognized them as the pair you'd lost on your night out, bright red and lacy, eye-catching, and definitely yours. He hadn't even tried to lie to you about that, but how willing would you have been to accept the fact that Spencer had stolen someone else's panties? Or been gifted them? Probably not very.

You'd assumed you'd left this pair in the taxi, not entirely sure how you'd ended up in the car in the first place or why you would decide they were uncomfortable right there. Now you had sudden recollections of Spencer also being there, and suddenly your actions made sense.

He'd not only taken your panties, he'd taken your used panties, and it looked as though he'd used them even more. You decided not to think too closely about how he had used them.

But he'd also got you home safe, making sure your things were stored neatly and tucked you into bed nice and tight. And then he'd stolen your panties.

Thinking about it was frustrating but there was nothing else in your mind at that moment. Spencer taking them out secretly to look at. Spencer smelling them. Spencer wrapping them around his big cock and stroking himself to the thought of you.

You wanted to know precisely what he'd done, and you intended to find out.

Penelope called you as soon as they'd left work, and sent you the location, too, and you decided it was time to get ready to mess with Spencer.

The dress you'd worn on the night he'd stolen your panties was freshly laundered. Usually, you wouldn't wear anything so risky in front of your father, but he'd likely only be there for an hour or two before leaving you be. You pulled out a fresh pair of red panties as well, hoping to jog Spencer's memory a little bit to entice him to talk.

With a quick make-up retouch, you climbed into your car, and within twenty minutes you were walking into O'Keefe's.

Miserably, Spencer couldn't come up with an excuse to stay home quick enough and was tumbled into the car by Derek and Penelope. He had a feeling, too, that he wouldn't be able to leave early, either, which was only confirmed when you walked in wearing that dress.

His hopes to sit and nurse his non-alcoholic cocktail peacefully at the edge of the booth are shattered as he watches you saunter over. It clings tight to your skin, twisting around every peak on your body, revealing every part that he'd spent the last few weeks dreaming about.

He was screwed.

"Hi, Dad! Hi everyone!" You smiled innocently enough, but your sickly sweet smile turned on Spencer was an omen, and he suddenly wanted to be down on his knees begging for forgiveness. Or something else.

Instead of sticking by your dad's side, you make your way to Spencer and force him to shuffle further into the booth so you can sit next to him. It's cramped and you're on the edge still, so you let your hand rest on his thigh for a beat too long as you join the conversation.

"What did I miss?"

"Just talking about the craziest things that have happened to us on cases."

"Reid was propositioned by a prostitute once," Derek chuckled.

"Please, Reid has been propositioned by multiple prostitutes, multiple times." Penelope and Derek continued to joke and giggle about the younger man's apparent cluelessness to flirting.

"I guess they just assumed you were a pervert, Spence. I wonder why they'd think that?" His eyes shot wide as you snuck your hand into his pocket under the table, watching to see if anyone else had noticed the bold actions.

But you looked away from him quickly and didn't let your hand spend too long there, sliding it out slowly, feeling up his leg as you went. He took another sip of his drink before shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His cock had been rudely awoken, and he didn't want it to stay awake, so he attempted to let it fall into a less obvious position.

But as he shifted he felt something else in his pants, and curiously he put his own hand into his pocket. You'd returned your stolen underwear to the thief.

He took in a shaky breath and held them inside his pants while he willed himself to calm down. Partly because you were in public and partly because your dad was present. He almost had himself under control when you decided it was time for your next move.

"I need to go get a drink, I'll be back soon." You stood and pushed away from the table, bouncing away swiftly. He watched you go from the corner of his eye and then had to do a double take as you pushed yourself up against the bar ordering your drink.

You stuck your ass out, not enough to make it look intentional to anybody but him, but just enough so he could see the red underwear you had on underneath your dress.

He downed his drink and made his excuses before making his way right to the bar where you stood.

"What are you doing?" He demanded, so close behind you that you felt his breath in you before you heard his voice.

"Buying a drink, what does it look like I'm doing?" You scooted your ass back until it was pressed up against his crotch and he groaned, hard and loud in your ear.

"Y/N, you can't do that, your dad is right fucking there."

"I sure hope my dad isn't fucking over there, that'd really be a sight I didn't want to see." He shut his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath before he put his hands on you. Grabbing your hips, he walked you closer to the bar so that your ass was no longer on display, nor touching him in any way, then he moved to your side and left only one hand firmly touching your back so you knew not to immediately try something else again.

"This is your last warning. Now, you're going to order that drink and then you're going to walk back to that table like a good fucking girl, or so help me god, I will show your dad just how much of a slut you're being." His voice was a dark growl and you felt your panties growing more wet with each syllable, nodding instantly as the bartender came over.

For a minute, he'd genuinely thought that had worked. You'd ordered your drink without another word and then turned back to the table and walked nicely, having pulled your skirt back down a little bit. He'd thought he'd won until the second he'd sat down when Aaron Hotchner had grabbed his coat and stood up.

"Spencer, you're not drinking? Can you drive Y/N home tonight? I’m leaving now, and I’m sure she doesn’t want to leave so early.” You watched as his jaw twitched, taking only a second to compose himself before he agreed.

“Great, have a fun night sweetheart,” he said, kissing your head, before turning out and leaving with Rossi.

“Now, Spencer, what was that you were saying about good behavior at the bar? It was really so very interesting to me and I’d love to hear more.”

You spent the next half hour draining your drink and his self-control, stroking a hand down his chest as the others comfortably ignored your purring at him. He answered all your questions coldly, but every time your hand trailed a little bit too low he stopped it with a heavy hand and a warning look, letting you know that you were still getting to him.

Once you’d finished the first drink, you got up and moved to the bar once again, making sure that his eyes were on you completely as you swayed your hips on the way over. You pulled exactly the same move as you had earlier and made sure he knew you were going to be hard to handle the entire night.

When you returned, he was the only one left at the table, the others having scattered to the dance floor, the bathroom, and the bar. Taking the chance you climb directly into his lap.

“What’s wrong, Spence, you’re looking so lonely over here?” You rest your hands on his shoulders and let your ass fall to his lap, grinding down gently to feel him underneath you.

“How could I be lonely when you’re out here throwing yourself at me like a cheap whore?”

“Oh, we’ve already established how much cheap whores love you today, Spencer. Why would you be so surprised that I’m having the same reaction?”

The others slowly started returning so you pushed away from him for a second, straightening your clothes before they noticed anything amiss.

“Y/N, I need some youthful arm candy, come to the dancefloor with us!” Penelope pulled you from your seat and you laughed as you followed her, sending a wink back over your shoulder to Spencer.

He sat grinding his teeth as you continue your games on the dancefloor, swaying your hips suggestively, not sparing him a single glance as you practically exposed yourself on a dancefloor. He decided he’d let you have your fun and then march you out quickly. He moved his timeline up exponentially the minute he saw a man saunter up behind you, whispering in your ear before walking you over to the bar.

Downing his drink, he made his way to your side, pulling you away from the man quickly.

“We’re leaving now.” He said, leaning down to your ear as he grabbed your coat and pulled it around you.

“Man, what do you think you’re doing?” The man who had pulled you away was visually drunk, looking rough and dangerous as he leered down at you.

“She’s not interested and she’s too young for you anyway.” He said, very close to flashing his badge to get him to back off.

“What, you her dad or something?” He scoffed, but you turned on him with a wide smile as you leaned your head back against Spencer’s chest.

“He’s my daddy, actually.” With a wink, you left the bar, letting Spencer chase after you as you walked directly over to your car. Throwing him the keys, you jumped into the passenger seat.

“I’m taking you home now, you’re being reckless, you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Reckless how? It’s not like I’m the one who has been stealing my boss' daughter's panties for the last month.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You jacked off into my panties and now you’re pissed I caught you…wow.”

“Can you just shut up? I’m sure your dad wouldn’t like me to tell him how you put them back in my pocket tonight, right?”

“Was that a threat, Spencer?”

“If I was going to threaten you, Y/N, you’d know.”

“You’ve changed, you know. Since I was a teenager. You’re different now.”

“No, I’m not. I’m very much the same.”

“You’re hotter now. I don’t know how that is possible because fuck did I want you back then, but now…” You let your eyes trail down his face as he continues to drive, jaw tense. His side profile had always been pretty, but with the bags under his eyes now more pronounced, you thought about what it’d be like to trail your mouth down his neck, what you would give to sit prettily on those lips of his.

Your tongue darts out to wet your own lips, as the fantasies grow to fill the car. Suddenly it’s his hands between your legs, making you moan like the whore he’d accused you of being earlier, it’s his tongue down your throat as he fucks his fingers into you, completely ruining you.

When you pull over, you’re certain that he’d heard your thoughts, because you didn’t recognize where you were at all.

“Spencer, this isn’t my dad’s house.”

“No, it’s mine. Get out of the car.” Suddenly obedient, you do exactly as he tells you, jumping out of the car as swiftly as you can and letting him march you up the stairs, right through his door and all the way to his bedroom. He pushes you forward gently but with a firm enough hand that you know he wants you on the bed. He doesn’t touch you any further as you prop yourself up on your elbows, but moves to another part of the room, grabbing something from a drawer before throwing it at you. Throwing them at you, you supposed, because when you looked down, you found your other pairs of missing underwear on your lap.

“I’m sorry for being so fucking dirty and disgusting, but you need to stop saying those things to me before I do something we both regret.”

You don’t reply, sitting and breathing heavily for a second before pushing your body further up the bed and reaching down. His eyes drink you in as he watches you hook two fingers underneath the underwear you’re wearing and drag them down your legs, not caring that he can see everything. You let go of them as soon as they’re hanging off your leg, holding them out to him.

“Peace offering?”

He’s on you in an instant, crawling on top of you so he can shut you up with his mouth, his hands, his whole being. You welcome him greedily, letting him take control as he pins your hips down underneath his.

“Little slut, you want me to fuck you so bad?” He says, a hand at your chest, pinching your nipple hard through your dress as you moan and writh underneath him. “Throwing yourself at your father’s friend like this, huh? Must be a little whore.”

He doesn’t let you respond, shoving two fingers into your mouth as you obediently wrap your lips around them and start sucking. Pushing your dress up, he groans at how wet you already are for him, swiping a finger over your clit carefully as you moan around his fingers, the vibrations shooting straight to his cock.

Lifting his hips, he unzips his pants in a second, not stopping to contemplate the consequences of his actions. His cock is pressed against you, gripped in his hand, but it’s hot and it’s heavy and fuck do you need it inside of you. He teases you with it as you whine around his fingers, trying to top from the bottom and grinding your hips up into him. He removes his fingers from your mouth reluctantly so he can hold your hips down.

“Spencer, don’t fucking tease me. Please just fuck me now.”

“Are all of you Hotchner’s this fucking bossy?” You roll your eyes, ignoring his question as you move to grab ahold of his cock, lining it up with your cunt and pushing it in slowly. A hand over yours stops you before it can get any deeper.

“Wait, I haven’t put a condom on yet.”

“Then you better make sure you pull out before I have to tell my dad exactly who it is that made him a grandaddy.” His hips snap up into yours then and with a few shallow pumps he’s fully sheathed inside of you as you scream at the feeling. You’d spent years thinking about this moment, but you’d never imagined he’d fill you so perfectly, stretching you out in all the best places.

His fingers return to your clit, working you up into a frenzy as you arch up into him, wrapping your legs around him to allow him better access. He growls into your ear with each thrust, before grabbing fistfuls of your ass and dragging you to the edge of the bed.

He pulls out quickly, repositioning you and holding your legs open wide as he stands between your legs, lining his cock up and pushing into you once again, immediately regaining his pace. He lifts one knee onto the bed, again pushing your legs down into the bed and opening you up further to him. The new angle hits deeper inside of you than you were sure anyone had ever been, momentarily leaving you breathless and soundless, listening only to the noises coming from your cunt.

Wet slaps of skin against skin, the arousal trickling down your leg to stain his sheets.

You regain your breath just as he knocks it out of you again, pushing you over the edge as you cum, hard, on his cock. Your head goes dizzy as you struggle to come down from the bliss he’d pulled you up into, legs twitching as he continues pounding into him.

You’re vaguely aware of some loud moans and screams, and it takes you an entire minute to realize the sinful noises are coming straight from your mouth.

“Fuck, Spencer, so fucking good for me, you made me feel so good, thank you.” His hips stutter inside you then, and you feel a heat flood you.

“Shit,” he pulls out quickly and sprays the rest of his load over your pretty black dress, falling down on top of you and reclaiming your lips passionately. You stay locked together in that embrace for god knows how long, rolling around back and forth in his bed until he finally detaches himself, pulling your clothes off and throwing a large old t-shirt over your head before grabbing you like an oversized stuffed toy and leading you into the depths of oblivion.

When you wake up in the morning, the pounding in your head is exaggerated considering you hadn’t really drank that much the night before. It takes you a shocking amount of time to realize that the pounding wasn’t in your head though, but instead a loud banging against Spencer’s door, ordering him to open up

You’re so comfortable though, you try to ignore it. Until your father’s voice is pouring through the paper-thin walls.

“Spencer, open the door, right now, or I’m kicking it down. You have five seconds.” The Spencer in question shoots out of bed immediately from beside you, scrambling to pull on pants and make his hair look like you hadn’t been tangled in it all night before running to the door.

You similarly panic around the room for a second, searching for a hiding place and grabbing your phone before settling on the absolutely genius position of under the bed.

You hear the confrontation like it’s happening right over you.

“Aaron, I really think you’re going to regret this.” David Rossi’s voice is calm, trying to talk some sense into your father, but he isn’t having any of it.

“Where is she? I told you to drop her off at home when she was finished drinking, but she wasn’t there when I woke up.”

“I can explain…” Spencer trailed off, and you cursed the man for being such a bad liar. That line hadn’t worked on you, either, so you doubted it’d work on your dad. Opening your phone, you check the time. 11:47. You quietly cursed yourself as you opened the multiple messages from your father.

You decide to help Spencer out by replying to one of them now.

“Hey, Dad. I ran into an old friend last night, and Spencer made sure we both got back to her’s safely. I’m still at her apartment, but I guess I forgot to text last night because I was so tired, sorry for worrying you!”

You heard his phone ping with the message, heard the tense silence as he read the message slowly, and heard the incredibly loud ping of your own phone, screaming from inside Spencer’s room as he replied.

Unfortunately, your dad hears it, too.

Pushing past Spencer, who in his defense is doing a great job of taking a stand by slowing down your father momentarily, Aaron Hotchner bursts into the room just as you poke your head up from the side of the bed.

“Morning, Daddy.” You try, hoping to sweet talk your way out of this whole situation.

“Living room, now.” He says, hesitating for only a moment. “You’re dressed, right?” You almost laugh at his pathetic tone before considering the situation, just nodding and walking out behind him as you try to make Spencer’s shirt cover more of your body than it originally did.

There’s a gleam in Rossi’s eye as you walk past him, head hung in embarrassment. You sit guiltily on the couch, and Spencer finds his way next to you, and you suddenly feel like two children about to get the scolding of a lifetime.

“What were you thinking?” He demands, and you grow suddenly angry at the indignant tone of his voice.

“Dad, I am 23 years old, I do not need a lecture for spending the night out.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, sit down. Spencer? Anything to say.” You slump back into your seat and wait for the answer just the same as your dad is, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, you feel a blanket being thrown over your legs, and it isn’t until then that you notice how cold you’ve been. He takes the time to wrap the material around your body, making sure you’re comfortable before he even thinks about looking up at your dad.

“Hotch, what is it that you want to know?” He levels his stare with your father, and it seems to dampen his anger a little bit. They’re having a silent war right now, in some kind of expressive language that you’ve never been able to decode, and somehow, it seems that Spencer is winning.

“Did you use protection?” Your sharp intake of breath is about all the answers your father needs, and you realize how majorly you’d fucked up by letting the conversation get this far.

“Dad!” you shout indignantly. “That is frankly none of your business.” He doesn’t look at you though, not even sparing you a glance as his eyes stay focused on Spencer, trying to figure out something you’re not even sure of yourself.

“For god’s sake, Dad, I’ve been in love with him for five years.” All the eyes in the room snap to you then, and if you hadn’t been feeling shy before, you certainly were now.

“Y/N, you’re barely an adult.”

“I’m sorry that’s entirely rich coming from the guy who had a child straight out of high school. I’m an adult, which is why I’m allowed to make my own mistakes and decisions, and I’d really prefer your support instead of your judgment.” Your father tries to speak again, to protest some part of what you just said, but unlistening, you groan in frustration and just climb directly into Spencer’s lap.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Spencer panics below you for a second, before resting comfortably on your legs, far enough down that he is spared your father’s dirty looks.

“Aaron, I think you’d better hear the girl out. She reminds me a lot of someone I know, so hard-headed these youths of today are.” You are intensely thankful for Rossi’s presence then and you send a thankful smile his way, just as your dad grumbles.

“Uncle David is right, you should listen to Uncle David.”

“Until a few days ago, you were calling Spencer “Uncle Spencer” so I’d be quiet if I were you, Y/N.”

“Heard.” He pauses for a second to think, the years finally etching into his skin as he breathes out a sigh of relief. You suddenly feel bad for not being home when he woke up, and you can only imagine how it must’ve felt to not know where you were, or if you were safe after everything that he’d already been through.

“I’m not against this, I suppose. But I swear to god if you ever go missing on me again, I will have an entire agency out for you.”

“You know where I’ll be, Dad.” He nods then turns to Spencer.

“You’re going to take her to a pharmacy in the next three hours to get emergency contraception, and then the both of you are going to come - fully clothed - to my house. It’s been a while since we had a family dinner.” You smile brightly up at him, and within another minute, it is just you and Spencer in the apartment alone.

You looked back up at him shyly and tried to awkwardly climb out of his lap, but he pulled you right back into him.

“For the record, I think I’ve only been in love with you for 37 days. Is that okay with you?” All of the confidence drains from your body as you struggle to find the words.

“In my defense, it’s not that I didn’t love you back then, it’s just that you were so young, I think I never considered it. And when I realized that you had those feelings, I felt so guilty about it, I never stopped to let myself think about what else I was feeling. And then you were gone and I didn’t have to think about it again, and then you came back, and I’ve been doing a lot more thinking now, and I think that-”

“I think that you should shut up and kiss me, Spencer Reid.” You said.

“Heard.” You giggled as he pressed his lips up into your own, pulling you further down into him as he held you tight. You didn’t come up for air for a long while, drinking as much of him in as you could as he gave you his heart.

“You know what this means?” You said, finally pulling away with a gasp.

“What?”

“You don’t have to steal my panties anymore. I can just give them to you now.” He lit up red underneath you and groaned as you laughed at his pained expression.

“As long as you never mention that to your father, I think we’ll escape this job and lives intact.” He said, a faraway look telling you he was likely running probability on those ideas right at that second.

“Just remember, my dad has two weapons and the ability to move you halfway across the country should he choose to.” You pressed your forehead against his, chuckling once again at his pained expression. “But also remember, that I’d happily follow you anywhere, Reid.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Hotchner. Oh, no, that was weird. We’re going to have to get you a new name sooner rather than later.” You gasped as he lifted you in his arms, standing and carrying you back to the bedroom.

“Spencer! What are you doing?”

“We need to go brainstorm some new names, too weird to call you Hotchner. And I do all of my best thinking in bed.”

“Really? I do mine in the shower,” you teased, holding tight to his shoulders as he continued forward.

“We can definitely try that next.” He said, carrying you through the door, and closing it shut behind him, hoarding your attentions for the rest of the morning.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #aaron hotchner #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid kinktober #criminal minds kinktober #kinktober 23

2K notes · View notes

chaotic-mystery · 7 months

Note

I have something for a request.

So Joel promised your father he would protect you from the Clickers and other people.

So you and Joel are walking through the forest and you start to annoy him. Because you are constantly asking how long does it take to get to the destination.

Joel had enough so he takes your virginity and your ass virginity roughly. So you shut up.

pairing: Post Outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

content warnings: DARK CONTENT AHEAD, PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+ only. Non-consensual that turns consensual. You are responsible for what you read. Daddy kink, rough sex, assplay if you close an eye, pet names galore (little one, pet, playtoy, baby girl, Joel refers to himself as daddy, you get the picture.) mean!Joel, Dark!Joel, choking, reader has hair long enough to pull, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, dacryphilia, pull out game strong, this is post outbreak but before Ellie so you know he got that stamina, Joel takes your virginity. LET ME KNOW IF I'VE MISSED ANYTHING. ||word count: 1.9k || follow @chaoticnotifs so you don't miss anything!||

authors note: This is so out of my normal and honestly I hope I did it justice! I know this isn't everyone's thing and that's okay! I personally pictured game Joel but that's just my preference. As always I love you all 🖤

“Will you please shut the fuck up?! All that goddamn talkin’ you’re doin, you’re gonna get us killed, Jesus Christ.” Joel barked as he turned on his heel, his rifle in hand. Joel promised your dad to keep you safe and while he has for a few years, it hasn’t been the easiest thing to do. You talked way too much for Joel’s liking but a promise was a promise.

“I’m just asking how much longer until we get to the tower…fuck me.” You grumble, annoyed at him for being so moody today. You were sweaty and tired, wanting to go back to the QZ in your little apartment you shared with Joel. He was over all your bullshit for today, sick of your smartass mouth just running and running without any repercussions.

“What’d you say t’me, little girl?” He snaps, the rifle falling to his side as his hand wraps around your throat and he pushes you into a tree trunk. The bark was hard against your back and scratched you, but it was nothing compared to the feeling you were having on your windpipe.

“N-nothing, Joel- nothing!” The words barely choked out of you, just enough for him to hear you beg.

“All you’ve been doin’ since we’ve been out here is talkin’ your pretty head off. What did I tell ya not even five minutes ago? Use that big girl voice since you wanna be big and bad.” Joels lips ghosted over the shell of your ear before he presses a rough sloppy kiss on your cheek. This was all so sudden, so new to you. No one has ever touched you like this, especially an older man like Joel. He was aggressive and mean, didn’t care about the fact his grip on your throat was tightening. He wasn’t in the mood to ask if any of this was okay with you, where his hands were quickly traveling to, none of it. Joel wanted to take what he wanted from you without you running your mouth.

A deep grumble erupts from Joel against your face, another sloppy kiss on your cheek while his tongue licks against your flesh. “Say it again, now.”

“I was just asking if we were close to the tower and-d that I was s-sorry-y!” You cried out, squirming under his touch trying to free yourself. With your back squished against the tree, there was nowhere to go. All you could do was plead and beg for him to let go and leave you be.

“What was that last part you’re leavin’ out, sweetheart?” The smirk on his face is so present in his tone you don’t even need to look at him. Joel’s freehand comes up your side, brushing against the bare skin peaking above your jeans. He could feel you trembling with fear and excitement. Joel knew you were still a virgin, he never let you out of his sight and always took the same work shifts as you so he could keep you close.

“I-ah shit- I said fuck me but I didn’t mean it like th-” Joels hand creeps up to your jaw and grabs it roughly, squishing your cheeks together and your eyes met his.

“Don’t care how you meant it sweetheart, planned on doin’ that anyway.” His smirk never faded and he without warning rips your jeans down, your panties tangled in them as the fabric bunches around your knees. The whimper that escaped your lips didn’t phase Joel as his hands wandered up your thighs to your slick covered cunt.

The guttural groan he let out rattled through your bones enough to make a chill run down your spine.

“Fuck are you so wet for, huh little one? Couldn’t control yourself could ya? Probably love the idea of being my playtoy while I take what I want and you’re beggin’ me to quit..but you know daddy won’t do that.” With his hand covering your mouth and squeezing tightly, your pleads were so muffled he could barely make out what you were saying.

Joel unbuckles his belt and pushes his pants to his ankles before he grabs you by the back of your neck and spins you around, forcing you against the tree once more as his hand pushes against the small of your back to make you arch for him. His hand reaches around your hips to dip down between your folds, rubbing harshly on your clit as the head of his cock nudged against your ass cheek.

You tried everything to pry his hand away from your mouth but he only squeezed tighter, growling at your attempts. “Might as well give up now, it’ll go over a lot better for you if you quit fightin’ me, sweet girl.” He mutters in your ear as he starts to ram his cock inside your entrance. He doesn’t let you get adjusted to him at all and the tears fall immediately down your cheeks. You cry out in pain, shoving his hips away from you but he doesn’t stumble back at all.

“Joel ple-ase it h-hurts” you murmur against his palm and he just chuckles as he begins to thrust inside you.

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth before I fill it for you, am I clear? S’okay, you’re just a little virgin, don’t know what you like. I’ll teach you what you like, baby; trust me.” He scolded. It felt as if you were being shredded and ripped apart from the inside out with the way he was carving away at you.

The only manageable response you gave him was a distressed “yes d-addy” which was just enough to make his head toss back while his hips slam into yours so harshly, the faint slapping of your skins echoed around you.

He lets go of the grip he has on your mouth, a string of saliva following from your lips to his palm and he grabs onto your shoulders to keep himself steady. Joel doesn’t dare let you see how much he’s enjoying this; ruining you and taking every bit of last innocence you had. His jaw was clenched tightly to keep his grunts at bay but it was still audible how much he loved feeling you clench around him so tightly, hugging his cock for dear life. Soon enough your pain turned to pleasure and you were fucked out of your mind, gripping onto the tree truck and begging for him not to stop as the pressure built up in your tummy.

“I knew you’d be a tight little virgin but damn sweetheart..” he leans in close and his hand finds its way around your throat once more, yanking you against him, “..you’re gonna be so dickdumb by the time I’m through with you-ughh- you’ll be beggin’ for me to fill you full every goddamn second you’re awake.” Joel’s other hand cups your tit through your thin shirt, kneading away mercilessly as your nipples get stiffer against your bra.

“J-joel please..I..I’m gonna come..” you whine out, body trembling and making it harder to stand up on your wobbling legs. Suddenly your head is being yanked backwards by your hair and Joel’s lustful eyes meet yours, his jaw still clenched tightly.

“Don’t you dare come until I say so. Be a good pet for daddy, mkay? Stay jus’ like that f’me, right there. Oh fuck, baby..” He stops thrusting long enough to put you down on the ground and him right behind you, shoving your face into the dirt with your ass in the air. In no time he finds his rhythm again and gives your ass a firm smack with a chuckle following behind it.

Joel slips the tip of his thumb in his mouth, covering it in spit before he traces over your asshole and goes inside you, groaning loudly as he can feel his cock pumping in and out of you just from having his thumb in your ass.

It’s taking every ounce of control not to come on his cock and disappoint him even more than you already have tonight. With your legs squeezed together as hard as you can, it wasn’t enough to keep your mind off of having the best orgasm you have ever had.

Sure, you touched yourself all the time while Joel was asleep in the next room over back in the apartment, squirming and whimpering like a kitten as your mind wandered to Joel and ran images over your eyes that just made it so easy to come for yourself. This however was not what you imagined Joel would be like. You imagined he’d be sweet, wanting to make your first time feel special and all that stuff you watched in movies before the outbreak. He was none of that.

“You want me to break you in two and just make your world crumble, huh? You filthy little one. You’re my toy now, no one can save you from me.” He spat as his thrusts got sloppy and his grip on your hips got tighter, nails digging into your flesh.

With your body fighting itself to not orgasm, your tears spilled out of your eyes once more, breaths so deep you squeak every time you inhale.

“Cry all you want, brat. They don’t mean shit t’me.”

“Daddy, ple-ease let me come-oh, fuckkk- I- I can’t hold off m-much longer, plea-se I’ll be good, pleaseee.” Trying to speak through gritted teeth, you begged and pleaded trying to reason with him so you could finally release.

“Come on then, let that fuckin’ pussy come all over me. Let me feel what it's like to have a virgin fall apart on my cock and beg me not to fill them up.”

The evil tone was enough to send you reeling and your eyes rolled back tightly as you finally released that pressure you had to put off.

“What a good fuckin’ pet you are for Daddy. That’s ittt.” He purrs, slamming into your hips as he panted loudly.

Your body felt numb and you were still seeing stars, your ears ringing and his moans were so muffled you couldn’t do anything but jolt as the waves of your orgasm washes over you. Soon enough he rips is cock out of your entrance and you feel empty, already missing him inside you.

Joel grunts and cusses loudly as he paints a pretty picture on your asscheek with his cum.

You fall to your side and catch your breath while Joel goes soft in his hand, watching you as he tries to manage his own breathing.

“Maybe next time you’ll listen to me, won’t you baby?”

1K notes · View notes

dixons-sunshine · 12 days

Text

Breathe With Me | Young!Daryl Dixon x Young!Fem!Reader

Summary: With you and Daryl being in a good place, kissing coming naturally to you both and cuddling no longer awkward, it was inevitable that your make out sessions would start to heat up into something else. However, in the heat of what should've been a hot moment, Daryl's mind started to wander to it's usual self deprecating depths. Luckily, you were there to help him through it.

Genre: Kinda angsty but mainly fluff

Era: Pre outbreak.

Part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams universe.

Warnings: Swearing, suggestive themes, self deprecating thoughts, hyperventilation/panic attack.

Word count: 1.2k

A/n: Another young!Daryl fic in a span of not even two days? Who would've thought it was possible? It's mainly because I've been enjoying writing for young!Daryl recently, and I'd be happy to get any requests for this au. Also, I've never personally experienced a panic attack myself and this is all based off of what Google told me, so if any of it is inaccurate, please let me know so I can fix it. Other than that, I hope you enjoy!

As always, my requests are open for any TWD requests, as well as Scud Frohmeyer requests.

—

“Oh, fuck.”

“Shit, girl. Yer gon' be the death of me.”

You giggled against his lips, allowing him to push you down onto the bed. He followed soon after, moving to hover over you before reattaching his lips to yours hungrily. He used one of his hands to hold his weight up, the other one wandering over your exposed stomach. Your shirt was already disposed of and long forgotten, leaving you clad in only your shorts and bra.

To your surprise, when your hands wandered under Daryl's shirt, he only hesitated for a quick moment before withdrawing from the kiss and tugging his shirt over his head. Old and new scars were on display for you, leaving Daryl completely vulnerable under your gaze.

You smiled at him and pulled him down for another kiss, a silent way of thanking him for trusting you. It wasn't the first time that you had seen his scars—you had helped him with his wounds too many times too count, leaving you familiar with all of his scars—but you always tried to make sure that he knew you didn't judge him. You loved every part of him, scars and all.

You gasped against his lips when he let his hand trail down, his fingers lightly tracing over your clothed cunt. His tongue entered your mouth and he groaned at the taste. He pulled back momentarily to look at you, his pupils blown with lust.

“Fuck, yer so perfect,” he whispered, leaning down to leave a trail of kisses from your jaw to your neck.

You moaned when he kissed a particularly sensitive spot, leaning your head back to grant him better access. Your mind was starting to get cloudy, the only thought on your mind being how good Daryl was making you feel. Admittedly, you were also nervous, since this would be your first time doing something like this, but you trusted Daryl. He wouldn't ever hurt you.

In an unexpected move, you managed to roll you both over. Daryl's eyes slightly widened in wonder, before smiling and leaning up for another kiss. His hands settled on your waist, allowing you to take the reigns for the moment.

Daryl was thoroughly enjoying himself. However, when he felt you subconsciously grind your hips against his, his mind zoomed in and focused on one thing—you would regret this. You would regret giving your first time to someone like him. He would be terrible at this and you'd finally kick him to the curb after figuring it out. He didn't deserve to have you in this way, in your most vulnerable state.

You would regret him.

Daryl's breathing started becoming erratic. Although you could've easily misinterpreted it as him simply getting more turned on, something told you it wasn't that. You pulled back from the kiss and looked at him, noticing the slightly pained expression on his face. His breathing was quick and choked off, and he seemed to be in some sort of daze. You instantly knew something was wrong.

“Daryl, hey, look at me,” you whispered, cupping his cheek and gently urging him to look at you. When his blue eyes met yours, you could very clearly see the panic in them.

Instantly, all previous lustful thoughts left your mind, concern for your boyfriend taking root in their place. You knew exactly what was happening; Daryl was busy having a panic attack. You helped him into a sitting position, still straddling his lap. You grabbed his hand and placed it on your chest right above your heart, hoping to divert his attention away from whatever negative thoughts were plaguing his mind.

Still looking deeply into his eyes, you gently caressed his cheek with the hand that wasn't holding his over your heart. “Try to breathe with me, okay?” you whispered, starting to breathe in a controlled rhythm.

Daryl nodded and began to copy your breathing, his sounding more choked up than yours. He tightened his grip on your waist with his hand that was still resting there, desperately trying to ground himself back to reality. It took a while, with you soothingly rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone and breathing with him in a controlled rhythm, but soon he was calming down.

Daryl felt ashamed of himself. There the two of you were, half naked and sharing what should've been a blissful, enjoyable experience, and he let himself get into his own head. He let his own insecurities get in the way. He should've just sucked it up, but instead he just had to ruin the moment.

“M'sorry,” he muttered, looking down to avoid what he thought would've been a disappointed stare.

You frowned slightly and gently grabbed his face with both hands, urging him to look at you. “Hey, it's okay,” you assured him. When he shook his head in denial, your grip became more firm. “It is okay. Don't blame yourself for something that was out of your control, alright? Do you wanna talk about it?”

Daryl hesitated for a moment, but nodded slowly. “I jus' got into my own head. I was nervous and convinced myself ya would regret givin' yer virginity to me. Started feelin' overwhelmed. M'sorry.”

You pressed a kiss against his forehead, giving him a reassuring smile. “Don't be sorry. I get it. I was nervous too, you know? But I wouldn't have regretted anything. I trust you. There's no one I'd rather do this with. But it's okay if that doesn't happen right now. I'm ready whenever you are.”

Daryl gave you a small smile before leaning forward to rest his forehead against your shoulder. “M'still sorry. I was lookin' forward to this.”

“Me too, but it can wait. Let's get you taken care of, okay? And I don't wanna hear any buts, mister.”

Daryl nodded. “Alrigh',” he agreed, but made no effort to lift you off his lap. Instead, he pulled you closer to him, hugging you tightly. “Thank you fer understandin'.”

“Of course.”

There was a lot of things going through Daryl's mind at that moment. Despite your reassuring words, he still felt awful for what happened, his mind continuing to shame him. However, with your hands now gently threading through his hair to bring him some comfort, not giving a damn that you were still half naked and straddling him, he forced his mind to shut up.

And in that moment, it was confirmed in his mind—Daryl Dixon knew that he was never letting you go.

#krys writes .ೃ࿐#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x reader #twd daryl #young!daryl dixon #young daryl dixon #young!daryl #shopping spree hangout dreams #the walking dead #norman reedus #norman reedus x reader

484 notes · View notes

lilac-witch · 24 days

Note

Hi cute! how are you? I hope you're well! You could write about Az returning with Feyre from training and they are talking and Az is so unfocused that he doesn't notice that there is another person in the room besides the ic, so y/n screams and runs out to hug Az and they're over. falling to the ground haha they are best friends who have feelings for each other. Y/n had been away on a mission and didn't know Feyre but she knew her from EVERYTHING Az had been telling her jandjsmcjsldk thanks baby

First request! Super sweet ask and a great idea :)

Gadzooks - Azriel x Reader

masterlist | part 2

Summary: After weeks away on a mission, Y/n returns to her family in the Night Court, with the addition of a new member. And thanks to Azriel, she feels like they've known each other forever. Meaning: "an exclamation of surprise or annoyance" Word Count: 658 Warnings: None.

------------

"A letter has arrived for you, m'lady."

Y/n's head drifted from the paperwork before her, to the Peregryn male situated at the door. She motioned for him to come forward, receiving the envelope swiftly.

Once the male had left, Y/n tore into the white paper.

Dear Y/n

So much has happened since you left for Dawn. Feyre is officially living in Velaris, and I've taken over her training regiment. Let's just say her technique could use some work.

She's great though, perfectly suited for Rhys. If only the stubborn bastard would finally confess to her that they're mates.

I miss you. Cassian is as annoying as ever, and Rhys is so busy fretting over Feyre, so there isn't anyone to really talk to.

I hope everything is going well in Dawn, and I can't wait to see you again.

Your loyal friend, Azriel.

Y/n smiled as she finished reading through the letter. Over the many weeks that she had spent in Dawn Court, Azriel had kept her up to date on all things Feyre-related. From their first meeting, to the trauma she'd endured, Y/n knew it all.

Perhaps it was time she returned home. It was coming up on three months since she'd left, and Thesan seemed to no longer require her services. Yes, it was time to return to Velaris.

-------------

"You did well today," Azriel said as he and Feyre strode through the halls of the House of Wind.

"I feel like I'm getting stronger. The regimes no longer hurt so much," she laughed.

"Well then, maybe they could do with an upgrade," Azriel stated, lips twitching upwards into a smirk.

"Don't you dare, Shadowsinger."

Azriel was about to open his mouth in retort, when a solid object collided with his body, propelling him towards the floor.

Azriel would have been concerned regarding his shadows' lack of vigilence, or even his own instincts having not kicked it, had it not been for the warm vanilla scent that filled his nose.

"Y/n..." he mutter, arms wrapping around her warm body. "When did you get back?"

"A little while ago," she muttered into his neck, hot breath hitting his skin in the most delectable way.

"I missed you," he whispered.

"I missed you too, Az."

The heartfelt moment didn't last long, courtesy of his brother.

"If you two lovebirds are done, I believe introductions are in order."

Azriel glared daggers into Cassian's skull, doing his damnedest to keep the blush that crept up his neck, at bay.

He helped Y/n up, hands lingering on her waist for a second longer than what just 'friends' would do.

Rhysand cleared his throat, stepping towards the female at his side.

"Feyre, meet Y/n, the last member of our inner circle, and my most trusted emissary. Y/n meet Feyre..."

"I've heard all about you," Y/n stated, mouth spread wide in a smile. "All good things of course."

Feyre's face grew warm, and her eyes met Azriel's.

"Is that so?"

Y/n nodded, taking a cautious step forward, before wrapping an arm around Feyre, guiding her towards the kitchen.

"Indeed it is, and what better way to get to know me than over a cup of tea. Has Azriel mentioned I make a mean cup of tea?"

"He has not," Feyre stated, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

"Hm, how rude," Y/n huffed, smiling at Azriel as the pair disappeared from sight.

He felt his stomach flutter at the sight of that beautiful smile. It had been too long since he'd last seen it.

"You know, you complain about me not confessing to Feyre, but I've had to watch you tiptoe around Y/n for over a century," Rhys drawled, a teasing smirk on his obnoxiously handsome face.

"No one asked you," Azriel grumbled, heading in the direction the two females had gone, in hopes of escaping more of his brother's playful jabs.

------------

And I'm back!

it feels so good to be able to write again, and to be able to bring your requests to life. A reminder that my inbox is open to all your dreams and wishes ;)

Until next time lovelies :)

#acotar #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #rhysand #cassian #feyre archeron #dawn court #thesan

449 notes · View notes

imfinereallyy · 9 months

Text

Bedside Manner

for @acasualcrossfade request for "the infection has spread"

"Some birdie told me that you have been causing a fuss, Wayne, is that true?"

Wayne huffs from his hospital bed, glasses sliding down his nose. He places the newspaper he was reading on the table beside him. "You tell that Robbie of yours to stop exaggerating. It was only a small request."

Steve raises his eyebrows at his favorite patient (Dustin tells him he isn't supposed to have favorites, but he also used to cry anytime he picked up Max before him when they were younger, so what does he know) and gives him a knowing look. "Robin listens to no man, Wayne, you know this. You're better off sending that message through her wife. Besides, small? She was telling me you refused to have any other nurse help you because I wasn't here last night. Which surprised me since you are always pushing me on about taking a vacation. "

Wayne opens his mouth, but Steve presses on. "And the fact Robin was even in the room means they called a psych consult, so I can only imagine how bad it was."

Wayne grumbles like a little kid being scolded for getting his hands caught in the cookie jar. "Yea, well, it was a bad night, kid."

Steve feels his shoulders sag, he takes off his glasses and rubs a hand down his face before placing them back on. "Sorry, Wayne, I had a bad migraine last night. Nance and Robs wouldn't even let me pass the entrance. Bad news?"

"Kid, don't stress yourself out over me. I'm just your patient, and more so, I am just a cranky old man." Wayne patted Steve's knee as he sat down next to him.

"C'mon, Wayne. You're more than that. I'd like to think seeing you in and out of here the last year has made us friends. Although I gotta say, you're the only friend I have that I'll be glad if I don't get to see again, given the circumstances. So, what's the news?"

"The infection has spread."

Steve takes in a deep breath, he tries not to panic, but any infection in a hospital can be deadly, especially for a cancer patient like Wayne. "Incision site?"

Steve must not be as good at hiding his emotions as he used to be because Wayne jumps to ease his worry. "No, kid, don't worry. The surgery was a success. Just got that hospital fever, the good old bronchitis. But it just means I'm here longer than I have to. It also means my nephew is on edge, and I don't know if I can take a second longer of his hovering."

Steve laughed wetly, thankful for the topic change. "Ah yes, the mysterious nephew of yours that I've never met. The way you talk about him almost tempts me into switching to the day shift, sounds like he might be entertaining. But only almost."

"Always wondered why you were always working the nights, most of the others seem to switch. Not a big fan of the day?"

Steve shakes his head gently, "No, I like the quiet here at night. Like getting to know the patients without having to worry about fixing ten million things. Don't get me wrong, it has its downfalls. Like the doctors can be horrible at night, never tell Dr. Wheeler that or Robbie will kill me, and the food is awful. But there is something special about it here at night. So sorry, your ridiculous nephew isn't enough to tempt me."

Wayne smirked, "What if I told you he was a looker and single?"

Steve blushes slightly. He is used to patients trying to pawn him off to their relatives, it came with being a young male nurse, but typically it didn't phase him. But Steve has become close with Wayne, so hearing him suggest he get together with his nephew has him flustered. "I'm good, Wayne, thanks. Gave up on the dating scene a while ago. Not many people can keep up with a guy who works nights and suffers from severe head trauma."

"Shame, Eddie likes the nights too. I'd reckon yal would get along."

"I'm pretty sure we would need more than that, Wayne."

Wayne smiles fondly at Steve. "You don't need a whole lot to build a connection, son. Me and Linda, god rest her soul, only started dating for our mutual love of mugs. And we may not have had long together, but our love was strong. Besides, there is more yal would have in common than just the night shift."

Steve huffs a laugh, "Oh yea, like what?" The least he can do is humor the man.

"Well, you both care about me deeply."

Steve blushes again, "C'mon, Wayne. I'm your nurse. I'm kinda paid to care."

Wayne won't hear any of it, "No, son, it's more than that. You take your break in here every night. You make sure to record the game at home for me because they only have the news here. And last night, you tried to come in with a migraine, even though we both know I am the only patient you can stand right now."

Steve doesn't know what to say back. Wayne is right, of course. Steve has been spending all of his time with the man, giving him extra care. Steve isn't bad with his other patients, he goes above and beyond most of his coworkers, but there is something special about Wayne.

"You got nothing, kid, you know I'm right. Remind me a lot of my nephew. Before visiting hours ended is when I got the news of having to stay longer. Kid almost threw a fit when they kicked him out. Swore he was gonna break in to stay the night with me. I told him not to worry since you would be there, I brag about you too, ya know. When he found out today you weren't here, that boy threw a fit again. Swear he gets his tantrums from his father. Said he was gonna sneak back in tonight. Make sure I had company. That 'the man' couldn't stop him. That if he ran into you, he was gonna have a word with you."

Steve can't help the snort that shakes his body, "I'd like to see him get passed Hop first."

Wayne starts to chuckle, too, "Eds may have had his fair share of escaping the law, but no man moves as fast as Jim in a security uniform."

Steve is fully laughing now, "I know, right? It's like those pants make him aerodynamic or something. No way your nephew is getting by."

It is almost as if Steve's words summon what happens next. There in the doorway is the most gorgeous man he's ever seen, even though he is bent over and out of breath.

"Eds?" Wayne questions, clearly surprised. Steve has to mask his face and quickly before Wayne catches him ogling his nephew. Steve is finding it difficult, though. The man, Eddie, despite his out-of-breath appearance, is stunning. His long curly hair is thrown up in a bun, showing off the piercings up his ears. His clothes are simple but suiting, ripped jeans and a black band tee. Tattoos cover his entire body, and Steve wants to ask about every single one of them.

The most surprising thing about him isn't that he got by Hop (although he has questions for that later), no the most surprising thing to Steve is that Wayne somehow knew his exact type, which most people assume wrong in that department.

Eddie awakens an old craving inside Steve that he thought he had buried long ago.

"Wayne, you would not believe what I just went to get up here. The story I have for you, oh boy. You're gonna love it. Who knew security guards could move that fast. Anyway, I hope that nurse boy of yours is here tonight because I am ready to—" Eddie stops mid-rant when his eyes land on Steve, a lovely blush blossoming across his pale cheeks.

"I believe what you are trying to say is, what was it, Wayne? Oh yea, 'have a word with me,'" Steve laughs softly.

Eddie sputters, "Wayne!?!" His blushing becomes deeper as the seconds pass by.

Wayne just chuckles as Steve stands. "Don't be mad at your Uncle, I think he was just trying to make me feel better. I am sorry I wasn't here last night for the news. Got my head knocked around too much as a kid—" Steve taps his head with his knuckles, "—so I suffer from migraines sometimes. I really did try to come in, but well—you met Jim. He's pretty fast." Steve worries his lip. Eddie's eyes follow.

"Well, I can't be too mad now, can I?" Eddie swallows nervously before a smirk spreads across his face, switching from shy to confident in two seconds flat. Steve shouldn't be turned on by that. "The pretty face helps too. I'm pretty sure you could convince me to give you my kidney right about now. I'm Eddie, which I know you know by now, and you are...?"

Steve puts his hand out for a shake, "Nurse Harrington. But most people call me Steve."

Eddie grabs his hand gently and brings the back of it to his lips. "Stevie, a pleasure, really." A light kiss is placed on Steve's knuckles. Stevie, he thinks. That's a new one. And he isn't mad about it, at all. In fact, the butterflies in his stomach want him to get Eddie to say it again.

Steve catches Wayne's smug face in the corner of his eye as Steve begins to blush again.

"I'm just gonna—I'll be right back." Steve stutters.

"Leaving so soon?" Eddie says disappointed.

Steve has the sudden urge to fix the frown on his face. "No, no! Just, uh, gonna call Jim and tell him not to send out a search party. That it's okay if you stay. I'll keep an eye on you."

Eddie's face breaks out into a brilliant smile, "Really, Stevie? You gonna keep me around?"

Steve's heart skips a beat, "If I can help it."

***

#steddie #stranger things #wayne munson #modern au #wayne likes to play match maker but unlike dustin he is good at it #steve harrington #eddie munson #implied ronance #platonic stobin #nurse steve harrington #my writing #request game #steve x eddie #ficlet

2K notes · View notes

servicpop · 2 months

Text

✶ ﹑ "please don't be mad" ﹏

NOW STARRING : deliquent (almost bf) Adrien x good student m!reader

「ㅤN(?)SFW / SUGGESTIVEㅤ」ㅤreader avoids Adrien n Adrien does not like that

✙ warnings — making out, grinding, knee thing, no actual smut, stops before it escalates, unconsentual kissing, Adrien has yandere/obsessive tendencies, semi-public

notes ,, originally requested for Vallen but I decided that Adrien would fit better since Vallen hasn't really been characterised yet (I have plans dw!) See pt.1 and pt.2 ♡

You were avoiding Adrien for a good reason you swore!

After he baited you underneath the staircase you couldn't help but avoid him. The way he praised you, held you, and left that pesky little bite mark on your neck. You had to hide it especially during gym class, playing it off as your pet biting you and some people played into your bluff luckily! You would never admit to liking such a deliquent like Adrien, you were such a good student, averaging straight As, your behaviour was perfect and you were even the student president. But... your heart fluttered everytime he kissed your ears with his hauntingly soothing voice and everytime he flashed his sharp canines at you in a toothy grin whenever he saw you... Snap out of it! You were mad at him for luring you in like that.

Adrien seemed to have caught on too.

He loved— adored you but he'd do anything to respect you so he did what he thought you wanted, space. He hung out more with his gang, no longer giving silly excuses to go see you and your pretty face. Sure it hurt him and he had to rely on the memory of you two fucking underneath the staircase but he could tough it out right? Wrong. It had been weeks, did you even care about him anymore? Everytime a girl or a guy walked up to you he swore he'd kill them on the spot for breathing the same air as you. You were so buddy-buddy with everyone else but why not him? It was reaching the point where his fingers would twitch, aching for your skin against his, and his eyes would narrow seeing others steal your smile. His smile.

So, as any good boyfriend would do, he decided to corner you.

It only really took one try to lure you in, on the way to your English class every Tuesday you would walk through a more secluded part of the school behind one of the buildings, no one went there because no one really knew about it. There, he caught you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he pulled you to the wall, pinning you to it as he panted.

"Why have you been avoiding me?" Adrien's voice was firm, scolding, and assertive. He held your shoulder against the wall, his face right up to yours. You didn't want to answer that question so you looked to the side, refusing to speak. You couldn't tell him it was because of your conflicting emotions and how you always felt this weird warm feeling in your stomach when he was around.

"You're such fucking bratty boy you know that?" His growl met your ears as the grip on your shoulders shifted to your wrists as he forced his fingers through yours, holding them as he pressed his lips on yours, shoving his tongue past your lips. His knee made it's way between your legs, grinding on your crotch like it was nothing. It was natural that you moaned and it was natural that Adrien took advantage of that, thrusting his tongue deeper in your mouth in a sloppy kiss.

You caught your breath when he pulled away just for it to be snatched away from you when he went in for seconds. You tried to call out his name but your words were blocked by Adrien's warm tongue. His knee pressed a little harder on your now hard cock, this kiss was really turning you on and he knew that. He knew everything about your body.

"Fuck— Adrien I can't tell you why I've been avoiding you," You growled, voice raspy from the kissing. "Yeah you can, you're just stubborn," Adrien clicked his tongue in a faux disappointment as he finally pulled away, wiping away the string of saliva collecting his lips with yours. His dark eyes met yours, almost as if he was trying to read your thoughts but failing to reach your head, "I don't want you to hate me," He grumbled, trying to get you to speak but you sealed your lips. You couldn't tell him, not now.

He took a moment to admire your flushed features, the way your head was slightly tilted down and how your wrists were binded to the wall by his larger hands. Oh and he couldn't forget the obvious tent in your pants. "Just for that..." He leaned forward, whispering in your ear as his knee rubbed against your bulge, "I won't give it to you."

What.

Adrien fully just pulled away. Would cockblocking be the word to describe this situation? He brushed through his dark hair before turning to you, "Until you can stop being mad at me, I won't fuck you like you want it." And he left, just like that. The sound of the bell snapped you out of your shock, shit. You were late for class. Adrien was so gonna get it after this.

notes ,, I don't think I wrote this well but I'm too tired to fix it T_T Also Adrien and reader are probably not going to actually get together anytime soon sorry! I like the slow burn chase of their dynamic

#bottom male reader #male reader #oc x male reader #male x male #male x reader #mlm #sub male reader #servicpop — fics/drabbles #nanami kento x male reader

983 notes · View notes

eluxcastar · 1 month

Note

Hello Riri! :]

I'm in my platonic harbingers with a child reader era, and you're one of the few people I follow who writes platonic stuff on an occasion. So here's my request!

Here's the small storyline I have. Reader is the child of a god (you're free to decide what they are the god of, if you want) who is extremely well known around Tevyat, and puts on a very intimidating and serious presence. Yet one unfortunate day, the readers parent dies, so now they have to take on their legacy at a too young of age. Making them grow up out of their childhood much faster and pressuring them into becoming exactly like their parent. Cold, intimidating, and serious.

And out of all the mortals the reader has met, the harbingers are who they find comfort in. They could be lecturing some other mortal one minute, and the next minute, they see one of the harbingers. They're grabbing them by the hands, bouncing on their tip toes with a bright smile.

(Hope you're having a good day! And please don't overwork yourself<3)

Fatui harbingers with a child god

── ୨୧：fatui harbingers & reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: child reader taking over as archon and basically immediately proving why child rulers are a bad idea but it's ok because it's cute and endearing

୨୧﹑genre :: fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, god reader, signora might be ooc tbh I struggled to think for her, not proofread

୨୧﹑words :: 3k

this has been in my inbox for some time, even though I've really wanted to do it for ages. I'm sorry honey it took me a while to get to it. the description of their parent at least to me was giving mr zhongli when he was morax and I immediately thought of the ramifications of him faking his death in the rite of descension which makes me wanna write something else BUT THAT'S FOR LATER

I meant to post this four and a half hours ago but suddenly it was like twice the length I thought it would be and uh yeah that was not the plan but enjoy the food served hot and fresh

There has hardly been a moment of grief since you were orphaned, and the people are turning to you for their next overseer. You, small, fragile, and ill-prepared, are the one they wish to see take up the pillar left in your father's wake. You weren't ready, and maybe you never would've been, embraced by the caring side of your well and truly mellowed-out father and cherished by the people as the child of the nation.

Your transition from people's treasure to people's guide was jarring, and you're still not used to it. You move with what pleases and hide what brings deep frowns and disappointed eyes. The people no longer want a child but a god. They want their pride, once a god who had walked by their side for millennia, now the passing generation of a god as the mantle shifts to his blood.

It's hard not to notice what they make you, now the spitting image of your father, though you can only parrot his earned wisdom and show a brave face to keep the nation from despair.

You have but a single ally—the Tsaritsa—someone whose messengers approached you to ask for your father's gnosis and who gladly agreed to offer you an invitation to Snezhnaya at your request to speak to her personally, quite honestly not knowing how to say that you frankly didn't know what to do with the gnosis. Though you could keep it, you're unsure how to harness its power, wield it, or even control it. Your father was strong, you're not.

She is an intimidating presence but gentle. She knew of your father for as long as she had been an archon—though they weren't on good terms toward the end—perhaps you could understand her more than he would. He was the original archon in his seat, but you are an inheritor like her. In her lands, you are the careful balance of both a god and a child, spoken to with the grace of a higher power but the softness that is befitting to a young child.

It is as you are.

Tartaglia is the first to seek a test of your strength, though you wish not to hurt him and convince him to wait. So long as the answer is someday, he allows you to let him down easily and settles at indulging your requests to join the snowball fight you noticed him having. You want to join in, fidgeting and with your gaze flickering between the smiling children and your feet. You push away your every want to join them and play as well, but remind yourself of the people who would scorn you. It's unfitting for a god to behave like an immature child, you remind yourself, but every hope of remaining steadfast to that is gone as Tartaglia notices you watching.

His offer is merely that—an offer. He speaks with a snowball forming in his hands as he approaches, his thick coat engulfing his form and the red scarf bundled around his neck to keep him warm. You have to look up to meet his eyes, playful and perhaps a little mischievous. Tartaglia holds the snowball out to you as if it were his peace offering.

"You look like you want to join the fun. Care to throw a snowball or two with us?"

"May I?"

And with that, you take his offering.

Pantalone's musings and the intentions of his gifts are not beyond you. He means to win you over and perhaps spoil you a little. It is coddling, and you notice it. He wants what he wants, and he will get it out of you, but it is also not beyond him to recognise that you are...naïve, endearingly. Pantalone can lavish you in fine silks all he wants, but you have received many offerings, so they don't particularly sway you as he had hoped, and he moves on. Your true weakness lies in children's toys, the many things you have been denied since you have been forced to steel yourself. The smile that twitches at the corners of your lips as he presents you with the first is enough to confirm it.

Toys are made for children; though you try to deny it, you are still a child at heart. Gifting a child a toy they will try to pretend they don't cherish but will protect with their life is perhaps the quickest way to earn their favour. He watches as you fiddle with the arms of the plush cat when you think nobody is looking, asking it questions and then responding to yourself in an all-too-dedicated voice you put on for this cat.

"Oh, Mr Cat, would you like some borscht too? It's very good."

"Yes, please, I would love to try some!"

Pantalone admittedly can't deny that you come with your own charms.

Signora spoils you what many of your aids have tried to before you, the chance to fix your hair, marvel at a pretty lady and wish you were half as sophisticated as her. She is your role model, second only to the Tsaritsa. She is beautiful and elegant and willing to teach you her ways as long as you continue to show up as cute as you are. Fix your posture a bit, head up, and walk everywhere with purpose, even if there isn't one. She has mastered the art, and you want it. Pantalone has his own appeal, a sophisticated man who learned through blood, sweat and tears, but there is something so distinct about Signora that makes you run to her at your first problem of presentation.

Like your mother, she will take you by the hand, lead you to a mirror, straighten your back, tilt your head up by the chin, and tell you to look at yourself now. Each time, you stare dumbly in awe of her reflection standing behind you, observing you like something precious, and it fills you with the confidence you need to heed her advice. It doesn't occur to you that Signora looks at you that way only because she thinks you're cute in your efforts, but too much like a child who got into their mother's perfume to be taken seriously.

"How others see you is important. Do you think they want to see their god with their back slouched and head hung? Hold your gaze above the people."

"It's-- well, different. I think I just look tense."

Sandrone has also come to realise that your weakness lies in toys, though she will not admit to aiding and abetting Pantalone's endeavours to find you a plushie. Instead, she shows you Katheryne. You have seen Katheryne before; you are sure of that, and that is only confirmed as Sandrone informs you that she exists in every branch of the Adventurers' Guild, including the one in your homeland. Katheryne is your access to knowledge, and the Northland Bank is your connection to Snezhnaya. Sandrone offers you comfort, the path that will lead you back to where help is and where you can go when you become overwhelmed by responsibility.

She likes your company, a reluctant admission that does not come cheap as she bargains your silence with the knowledge that she's aware of your liking for your cat toy. The embarrassment that overwhelms you is palpable until she offers you her workshop to play when your quarters are so overcrowded by your aids. You couldn't come to Snezhnaya alone for your safety, and it leaves you stranded without a moment of peace at times.

"Really?...and I can just, stay here? For as long as I want?"

"Isn't that what was offered to you?"

"Well...yes, thank you."

Scaramouche, whom you meet adjacent to Sandrone, is ill-tempered in the presence of others but a tad nicer when it comes to you. He does not drop his rough-around-the-edges personality to melt his heart out of his chest for you, but you manage to strike the perfect cord in his to gain liberties others cannot, having him share sweets with you. You learned at one point he really doesn't like them, leading you to wonder why they suddenly appeared ready and available for you to stuff your pockets full and snack on them when nobody's looking. You earn his favour through endearment and talk to him like he's normal because he is.

He is the child of a god, though in a different capacity to you. He was not loved quite so dearly by his mother and cannot share with you the pain of losing someone who treasured you. He was merely abandoned. There is the vague part of you that shuns the idea his softness is pity, sympathy even, as you're stuck stumbling through the world alone. It is all too familiar to him, and if candy will make you smile at him so cheerfully and hug him so tightly, then candy is a simple trade-off.

"Are you sure you don't want any? These are yours."

"Sickly sweet things make me feel like my teeth are fusing together. You can have them."

Pulcinella reminds you of home, the trinkets gathered on a whim that he keeps, the years showing through the rooms dedicated to him as you notice things your father told you of in stories. These are stories that Pulcinella will start off on without prompting, indulging your curiosity before you even lowered your guard enough to show it and casually enough that you slowly ask more. Every item holds a story: what it is, how he obtained it, why he kept it, who it was for. You see many such things around what used to be your house, but you don't know all of the stories, treasuring the ones you remember.

Pulcinella doesn't recall every story either, as some of your pointing and questioning is met with remarks of how long it has been. It is the only thing you feel you share with him, a living space filled to the brim with memories. Many of your trinkets don't belong to you, but his do, and it's nice to hear someone tell you stories again as he lets you pick from the collection of sweets in your pockets to eat when it suits your fancy.

"What about this? It reminds me of a lumenstone, the ones from the chasm."

"It is, and it came from Liyue when I asked that one of my subordinates bring it back for me. You must have a fine eye for these things."

"Not really, only lumenstone and noctilucous jade glow like this."

Arlecchino's offering to you is company, and plenty of it. Children who are so far removed from the stretch of news beyond the issues of the Steambird they manage to get their hands on that they wouldn't know your face from a haggler on the street. Father brought a guest to play with, and that's what matters as they induct you into their games, teach you the rules, and regard you exactly as they regard every other child their age. You are given the choice to simply become nobody, and you love it. Though you were once only a child, you were still the child of a god, and everyone knew it. Now, you elicit excitement only because someone new enters their lives, someone to learn about and befriend, merely a guest their father brought them.

Despite her sharp exterior, she is sweeter to you than you expected. You thought Arlecchino might be scarier, meaner, harsher, but she softens when she speaks to you. It is not with the cutthroat demeanour she holds speaking to the Harbingers and lacks a degree of the stern attitude she fronts to the children. You are not the average child, and it's necessary to treat you with some degree of respect, but you notice she's gentler with you than others, and it almost makes you feel special.

Columbina has sung you to sleep many times during your stay; her voice is sweet and more than enough to calm you. You let her hold your cat plush and dance with you in the hallways with the excuse you need knowledge of these things should you aspire toward being an archon, even if spinning around until you fall on the floor from dizziness and burst out laughing is a tad non-traditional. Columbina can see things others can't notice more than the human eye is capable of, and you'd rather not know what that's like. Something in the way she speaks tells you that it's hardly adjacent to anything human, closer to you, but still quite far off. It's interesting to hear the strange things humans have no business knowing.

Your hand is grasped in Columbina's, her fingers holding you tenderly. Her eyes are partly obscured beneath the lattice of a mask she wears. You're not sure if you could really call it a mask. She steps back, tugging you with her, and spins you in time with the steps she takes, each accompanied by a shift that forces you to keep up with where she moves, her other hand on your shoulder. It is the closest you will get to proper dancing, though merely a fool's waltz. You can't dance; being spun down a hallway while you struggle to match her movements feels much like you imagine a waltz would.

"It's not really proper dancing if we have no pattern to it."

"There is no such thing as proper dancing. If you'd prefer it, I could sing."

Dottore is someone you did not expect to be so open to the idea of you, and your assumptions were proven correct by his apprehension to engage with you. He is curt with you at best and avoidant at worst. You are a child filled with the yearning to touch everything that doesn't belong to you, desperate to hear too much about the things that don't concern you. You are young, needy, and with no concept of what is beyond you. Dottore's unique abundance of knowledge is appealing to you, however. He knows things your father did, many of which he didn't tell you, but Dottore will, so long as it gets you to sit still and stop interrupting him. You may be convinced you have pocketed your unnecessary emotions away, but he has seen you, and that is an insulting lie.

Your wants are written on your face plain as day, so long as people pay enough attention to you to care what you feel. He does not especially care, not for the child of a god, but it helps to know what you want to stick your nose in most. It helps to know how you benefit from him, and on luckier days, you might even catch him in a better mood when he is willing to indulge your interest in his knowledge. Your capacity to understand, let alone remember, hardly worries him.

"So you have clones of yourself? And they just...work for you?"

"Not exact clones—segments. They have wills of their own and use them as they see fit."

Capitano is strong, a man of few words, and he does not abhor your presence quite so strongly, nor does he indulge your more childish desires. What you get from Capitano is respect, the highest honour you can get from his book in your eyes, and it comes from your perseverance. You're running around working so hard when you're so young, and you deserve a break sometimes. You deserve a quiet place to curl up in the corner with that cat he's caught you hiding under where no one can bother you, and maybe with a few sweets you always seem to have these days. That corner still does not exist, though he will find you one if you want it.

You show no signs of slowing down, are energetic and eager and are far too committed to the act of being something you're not to listen to him when he tells you to rest. Gods must all be fickle. The most he can do for you is make sure you're safe and happy as you will be in your position, maybe wipe your hands of powdered sugar when you find pastries at the market you want and recklessly eat them without thinking of how you'll clean up short of wiping the remnants on your clothes, but you'll never do that as you are.

Pierro once made you nervous. He is a stern, serious man who never smiles. Pierro is steadfast in loyalty and never wavers, which is precisely what you have begun to aspire to be now that that is what has been asked of you. You could never hope to replicate the kind of dedication he has, and perhaps that is part of what sways you. Though you have become so comfortable behaving childishly around some people, you fear you may never be around him, whether because you fear his disapproval or yearn for his approval. Despite that, he is arguably who you trail around behind most, quiet, observing, trying to figure out how to copy and apply what he has to yourself.

It settles the quick realisation he reminds you most of what the people saw in your father. Someone like him is someone people envision fostering a nation to prosperity, and you fight your own subconscious to keep all of your slipping habits, making sure he never sees you sneaking candy, hiding your cat plush from him, refusing Tartaglia's every offer to play games around him. You're not sure why you think that will make him like you more, having long ago gained his favour, unable to notice the faint smiles and the conscious effort to make you believe he doesn't notice you out the window barreling snowballs at Tartaglia.

You are still a child at heart; he is just about the last person you can hope to hide that from.

532 notes · View notes

margowritesthings · 9 months

Text

A Job Well Done

pairing: Arthur Morgan x reader (f) word count: 4944 words warnings: 18+ minors dni, sexually explicit, oral (f giving), rough oral, a little choking, a touch of voyeurism, explicit language, it's pretty much a blowjob fic authors note: idk what to say... this started as a little drabble because me and my fiancé love having a little smoke together at night and.... well, here we are I guess?? i hope you enjoy you lovely lot, and if you've asked to be tagged and you're not please let me know!! I have a new system for keeping track of my taglist and I may have lost some requests in the transfer

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes @mrsarthurmorgan7 @twola@the-marsh-harrier @wildfloweroutlaw @photo1030 @luvliewriting@pine4pple-b0i *if i've missed you please let me know!!!*

You pull Arthur’s jacket tighter around your shoulders, settling into the old wooden chair while it creaks beneath you. Thanks to being in the middle of the Lemoyne swamps, it isn’t too cold despite the moon hanging so high in the sky above you, the jacket is more for comfort. From where you sit, you can see near the whole camp, watching lanterns flicker off incrementally as each member of your makeshift family retires for the night. A few of the boys stay up, drinking by the fire, their voices muffled and distant in the thick air.

It’s been a week to the day since you last saw Arthur, before he left to track a rather sizable bounty down and attempt to cushion out the camp funds, and God do you miss him. The days feel so much longer, nights so lonely you’ve considered saddling up and finding the bastard yourself just to bring him home sooner. Comfort can be found, though, in the ways Arthur’s presence has bled so deeply into your life that his physical being doesn’t even need to be here.

His smell lingers on the jacket he left (the one he wore every day before he had to leave just so you could wear it when you missed him), that perfect mix of tobacco and whiskey and something so ineffably Arthur that you soak up every time you wrap it around your frame.

He’s there in the routines you've built your lives around, intertwined as they are, the ones you can’t shake even if he’s not beside you. The cup of coffee in a morning, his so much better tasting than yours but you try anyway. The first morning after he left, you made two, ending up giving the extra to a very grateful Abigail to save face.

There’s a nightly routine, too. The one where you get ready for bed, then climb through the window to meet him on your balcony. He’s always there waiting with a cigarette hanging from his lips, patting his lap ready for you to crawl on. He’ll drag a match across his boot, (or sometimes the bottom of yours, if you’re still wearing them) lighting up the smoke before handing it to you. You’ll pass it between each other, catching up on your days, limbs entangled just how they should be as you watch Shady Belle fall asleep around you.

Without him, those routines bring you comfort, grasping onto the remnants of your cowboy until his safe return. That’s why you’re sitting in this spot, pulling a cigar out of the little tin stash box Arthur left behind. Normally it’s just a cigarette, you could never survive a cigar a night and have the throat to tell the tale, but there’s something inexplicably Arthur about this brand of smokes, something you’re seeking tonight.

You pluck a match from the tin, striking it against the table beside you, never having gotten the knack of igniting the thing on your boot as effortlessly as Arthur does, and light the cigar between your lips. The all-familiar woody essence dances across your tongue, your tired muscles relaxing from the first few tokes.

It’s just you, the moon and the crickets as you sit on the balcony, Arthur’s smoke between your lips. You wonder what he’s doing. He should be sleeping, but knowing him he’s probably up planning, or doing exactly what you are right now. You pray he’s safe, hasn’t been gotten by the law or worse, gotten himself killed. You can’t let yourself even think about that, the very idea bringing a tremble to your limbs. To combat the sudden spike in anxiety, the next time you bring the cigar to your lips you drag in just that bit more smoke, letting it soak down your spine. Not nearly as experienced in smoking as Arthur, you cough a little, but you recover much quicker than you used to.

Memories of that first time, of Arthur offering you the little brown stick and you nervously nodding, bring a little smile to your face. Oh, how you spluttered, Arthur giving you his drink on instinct, only realising that the whiskey burn would do the opposite of help once it was too late. You’d have been in your right mind to be embarrassed as hell, but by the way he chuckled as he rubbed circles around your back told you that he found it nothing but adorable.

You sit there for a few minutes, basking in the precious peace so seldom found nowadays and taking a drag every now and then, the smoke riding a sigh from your lips. Your eyes slip closed, trying to shut off as many senses as you can to really connect with that smell and taste, imagining him emerging from your bedroom window to be here with you.

He’s much less graceful than you are, often catching some part of his person on the windowsill when he climbs out onto the balcony. So many nights spent patching up little holes in his pant legs, right where that out sticking nail used to be in the frame before he ‘bested it in combat’ (i.e. pulled it out with a hunting knife and threw it ceremoniously in the lake).

Manifestation is a powerful tool, you’ve always believed that, but you still nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a large hand grasp your shoulder just as you imagined, Arthur’s gruff, hushed whisper tickling the words “hey, sweetheart” into the skin of your neck. It takes you a second to catch your breath, heart racing from the shock before everything registers and reality sets in.

“Arthur?”

He’s here.

“C’mere, darlin’.”

You fly out of your seat, the rickety old thing nearly splintering under the force, launching yourself into his open arms to burrow yourself into him. Every part of him consumes your senses and you drink it all in like an addict. The smell, the real thing, much more of that Arthur essence than the whiskey or cigars, probably because he forewent breaks in his journey for those little pleasures to get back to you sooner.

He seems to be taking you in as much as you are him, inhaling long through his nose and sighing it out contentedly, feeling whole again after so long without you in his arms.

“I missed ya’, beautiful.” He says softly into your hair, holding you tight against him, his knuckles brushing up and down the small of your back through layers of clothes you’ve stolen from him.

“I missed you so much…” You mumble into his shirt, hardly able to breathe through the wall of hard chest muscle you’re pressed against, caring even less.

It’s only then do you remember the cigar, forgotten and abandoned, smoking away on the table propped up on a jar lid turned makeshift ashtray. Most of the boys don’t bother with one, and neither did Arthur, until a fateful night a few months before you started dating when you first handed him the jar and told him you read something about birds and rabbits eating the butts of cigarettes. He kept the little piece of junk right next to his bedside, waiting for you to find it after that first night together.

Arthur spots your momentary pull of attention, pulling his chest away to raise a brow down at you with a little chuckle rumbling his chest.

“Having a fancy smoke of a night, are we?”

A cheeky little smirk- Arthur’s favourite, actually- tugs at the corner of your lips, waiting patiently for him to kiss it away.

“The smell reminds me of you…” you play coy, earring yourself that kiss when Arthur lifts you up to his height, kissing you softly, letting his world and yours fall back into place together.

“Well I’m here now, angel. Wanna sit? Could do with a nice cigar with my girl to celebrate a job well done.”

You’re eager to nod, heart fluttering at the prospect of getting to sit with him and hear all about his trip. He untangles from you to sit down first, patting his lap for you to crawl into. You fit perfectly together (you should do, you were made for eachother), head resting on his shoulder, legs splayed over his thighs with your arm draped over his shoulder. The cigar has gone out, so Arthur strikes a match so expertly on his spurs before shaking it out and placing his hand on the small of your back for support. You lean into him, watching him take puffs of the cigar and feeling the tiniest bit of tension leave his joints. He looks so natural with a smoke between his teeth, commanding an air of power with each movement he makes. Smoking doesn’t suit just everyone, you think, but God, does it suit him.

“We’re celebrating? You got the bastard, then?”

“Sure did,” he says, smoke spilling from his lips with each syllable. Arthur looks you over again, drinking in the dearly missed view, before kissing you on the forehead and flipping the cigar between his fingers to offer it up, “Eventually found him up in Fort Brennand, but he weren’t alone. Nearly lost a damn eye, but luckily only Woffard had to be brought in alive, so I dropped the other bastards and ran.”

You hang on his every word, your hero. You know he’s downplaying the fight, the danger of it all, but he does it so that you don’t worry every time he’s gone. It never works, and you always do, but you love him for trying.

“Oh, Arthur, I’m so glad you’re alright…” You coo, pressing a hand to his cheek, feeling the weeks worth of stubble scratching against your palm. He nuzzles into your touch, not unlike a cat, and your find yourself keeping your hand there to mindlessly play with his hair, tipping his hat off to put on your own head. He chuckles, reaching to adjust it on you.

“Course I am, couldn’t leave you here all alone with this buncha’ fools, could I? Besides, someones gotta bring home the bacon around here, and you know Marston’s too trigger happy to bring a bounty in alive.”

“So you got the full price?” Your eyes gleam, the proudest smile on your features as Arthur nods and shifts both your weights for a moment to pull out a stack of bills and smack them on the table dramatically.

“You’re damn straight I did, baby.”

Of course he did. Arthur never fails, and God knows how much the camp needs this right now, freedoms diminishing by the day as Dutch makes more enemies and plans jobs that just seem to keep going wrong. But you don’t want to think about that right now. Right now, there is only you and Arthur, and the promise of a whole night spent with him uninterrupted. You hand him the cigar back, along with a stolen kiss, and he takes another mesmerising drag. The way he holds it, every so often tipping the ash into the first gift you ever gave him, it does things to you that you just can’t explain. It’s just a cigar, and yet you’re pressing your thighs together tight to futilely subdue the tightness coiling between them.

“I’m so proud of you… I always am.” Unkempt locks of hair are twisted between your fingers, your face so close to Arthur’s you can pepper his cheek, temple and lips, whenever not occupied, with little kisses, Arthur’s hat sometimes tipping up against his forehead on your head. The two of you are always like this after a few days apart, unable to get enough of each other or keep your hands off one another. You shift your weight to access him better, catching his bottom lip between your teeth to press a long, tender kiss there. He hums under you, hand splaying under your jacket to grasp at your shirt. It’s seconds before you feel it, that hardening that nudges up against your thigh, prodding and reminding you just how much Arthur has missed you.

You pull away from the kiss, just enough to raise a teasing brow at how sensitive your cowboy is to your touch. He shrugs, unashamed, with that cheeky grin and those glistening eyes directed right at you.

“What? I missed ya…” His words are accompanied with a pinch of your ass, which makes you writhe on top of his stiffness, the friction dragging a low growl from deep within his chest.

“I can see that, cowboy… I missed you too. I missed you more.” You emphasise, nipping at his lip again and splaying your fingers across his chest. He rises to your touch, and you feel him stiffen more so under you. It takes a second of manoeuvring, but you’re soon straddling him, hovering above him like the angel he sees you to be. From this angle, with the moon behind you, you’re glowing.

“You absolutely did not, you little siren…” He growls again, pulling at the flesh of your ass so that you’re grinding against him, the friction of denim against denim igniting you both and burning so wonderfully.

“Oh, yeah? I can prove it.” There’s a little cock of your head, a raise of one teasing brow as you start to slide off him. He looks confused, disappointed, even, until your knees rest on the planks of wood on the balcony floor and he instinctively spreads his legs to give you the space between them. Your fingers splay across his thick thighs, and they tense under your touch, as does Arthur’s jaw. He’s starved after a week without you, clearly trying to reign in a control he’s struggling to possess. There’s no wonder, having his girl knelt before him like this.

“You wanna take this to the bedroom?” He growls out, abandoning the still smoking cigar in the jar lid. You look up at him, peeking out from under the rim of his hat.

“No.” You reach for the cigar, taking a few drags yourself before flipping it in your fingers just like he did and placing it between his teeth, “Finish your smoke.”

A distant laugh captures Arthur’s attention for a second, reminding you both just how close you are to the other gang members. You’re somewhat hidden by the railing, but if they looked in your direction, Arthur is fully visible from the chest up. A simple bob of your head- and you’re planning on plenty- would bring you into view.

The look Arthur gives you when he quickly diverts his attention back from Marston and the others is downright feral, especially when your hands reach for his belt buckle. Nimble fingers make quick word of the obstruction, and you’re soon pulling Arthur’s thick, long length out from his jeans. He groans at your very touch, involuntarily bucking his hips up into your hand.

You laugh, the sound a tempting little giggle as you tell him “Patience, cowboy…”

He almost snarls in response, clearly having been goddamn patient enough over the last week where all he could do is fuck himself with your name on his lips and the thought of you knelt just like this between his legs at the forefront of his mind, always.

Just as you lean in, when your soft lips trace over his rosy, swollen head, he pulls you back by plucking his hat from atop your head and throwing it to the side. He rests the cigar between the fingers of his free hand to free his mouth to speak to you.

“Need to see you while I fuck that pretty little moutha’ yours, angel…”

His words soak through you (and soak you through), and you just can’t wait a second longer, needy to have his cock deep down your throat, desperate for the burning of your lungs and the stinging in your eyes when he loses that control he so often vehemently clings to.

Unable to wait a second longer, you run your tongue from base to tip, feeling every vein pulsing under your muscle and eliciting a deep groan from Arthur. When you finally take him in your mouth, his hand reaches to cup your cheek, following you down as you take as much of him as you can.

“Fuck.” He groans, fingers reaching to tangle in your hair, scratching at your scalp. He’s probably louder than he should be, your eyes flickering to the general direction of the others as a warning, but they soon snap back to your cowboy, an intense eye contact burning at your skin as the head of his cock bumps the back of your throat. Arthur never takes his eyes off you, guiding you up and down his length and bringing the smoke to his lips. The tip of the cigar flares a deep, fiery orange, and smoke billows from his mouth with each laboured breath you coax from him. The way he’s sitting, fingers of one hand pulling at your hair, controlling your movements, and the other limply holding the smoke, he exudes a power many seek to master but never quite get. It makes your heart swell and your cunt throb for him, knowing on your knees before him is the only place you ever want to be, knowing only you inhabit it.

You can taste Arthur, his salty essence leaking from the pure ecstasy you’re providing and spit pools in your throat, mixing with it and dribbling down your chin. Arthur catches it with his thumb, guiding you off his cock to push the digit into your mouth and let you suckle from it. You do, hungrily, adjusting on your knees to better take Arthur deep down your throat and-

“Arthur! That you?”

Marston.

For eyes widen at each other, Arthur instinctively pushing you a little lower by your shoulder to keep you out of sight. John hasn’t seen you, and you’d like to keep it that way, being in the incriminating position you are between Arthur’s legs.

You spot the irritated sigh, the twitch of Arthur’s jaw as he plasters a fake friendliness onto his features and peers over the balcony to see his brother standing on the clearing below.

“Sure is. Whatchu’ want?”

Straight to the point.

“We didn’t hear you get back. How long’ve you been here?”

All that tension you’ve worked so hard to dissipate comes back to Arthur’s form with a crashing force. You can almost hear his plea for just one second a’ goddamn peace, merely by the way he sighs before answering.

“Not long, thought I’d try and sneak past you fools and get some shut eye.”

Subtle, cowboy.

Ever oblivious, or simply not caring, John continues, “How’d it go, then? You got the bastard?”

He has you pressed against his thigh to hide you from sight, cock standing to attention right beside your face. It’s too tempting, especially with a none the wiser Marston stood right below. When your tongue darts out, hovering above Arthur’s twitching, aching cock, his eyes flick down to you, warning residing deep in his eyes. You take it as less of a warning, more a challenge.

You wouldn’t.

Oh, but I would.

And you do. You lift up, just enough to fit the head of his throbbing cock past your lips and slide the whole length in. It bumps the back of your throat, but upon hearing Arthur’s strangled, poorly hidden groan, you can’t seem to stop yourself.

“Y-uh… Yeah, I got ‘em…”

It’s impressive, how he can just about hold a conversation despite his cock being so far down your throat his balls rest on your chin.

You can’t see John, but you can only imagine how his head must tilt and his brows must pull together at the strange response from Arthur.

“You alright, brother?”

He won’t be.

You blink up at Arthur, feigning an innocent, near angelic expression as you inhale through your nose and push him even further into you. You hum, low and quiet, letting the vibrations pass through him. Arthur whimpers, instantly knocking any and all sounds you’ve ever heard from top spot and replacing them as your favourite in the whole world.

“I-I’m fine. Just tired.” He tries to hint again, to no avail. His fingers are digging into your shoulder with a bruising force, that control slipping bit by bit with every passing second, every little movement. Tears prick at your eyes, that burning in your lungs you’ve been reaching for finally igniting. You’re stuffed with him, feeling so full that it’s hard to breathe. When you go to release him, to be able to gasp for precious air, you realise you can’t, Arthur’s huge hand holding you right in place with his palm flush against the back of your neck. Revenge.

“Where’s the Mrs?”

A raise of a brow. You’re not married, but everything is so naturally right between you and Arthur that the gang just seem to have defaulted to that. It makes you beam, wanting nothing more than to be this man’s wife, the kind of wife that makes him cum down your throat while he has a menial conversation.

“S-She’s- fuck…” When he grips harder at you, you gag around his length, tears now streaming down your cheeks and mixing with your spittle and the little bits of precum that leak out from Arthur. “She’s in bed. I-I better go check on her, a-actually.” He whimpers again, fingers now gripping into your hair to keep you in place. You’re not sure how much longer you can last like this, struggling to breathe, overflowing and, God, so wet for him.

John sounds unconvinced. You’d giggle, if you could.

“Alright… Well, g’night, brother.”

Arthur barely manages a grunt, and you can feel his thighs tensing and twitching from the sheer effort of not bucking his hips up into you and giving the pair of you away. He stills, most likely waiting for Marston to fuck off already, before he rips you away from him and pulls you to your feet, gripping your aching jaw with force enough force to keep it open.

“You goddamn siren.” He isn’t mad. He’s trying to be, but you know Arthur far too well, and he’s burning with a fire far hotter than mere anger. Need.

The mischievous glint in your eye is all you can offer for response, what with his iron grip on your face, but you do manage to slip your tongue out and lick the pad of his thumb, tasting the mixture of fluids still lingering.

It’s all getting too much, knowing what you just did and who you did it around, hearing Arthur unable to string a sentence together because of you. You don’t think you’ve ever been so turned on in your life, so desperate for a release that you’re pathetically writhing in Arthur’s hold. He notices, forced anger on his features replaced with a cockiness that only comes from knowing he’s regaining the power in the situation.

Your cheeks tingle when he releases you, sitting back in the seat and leaning back, one elbow resting on the arm of the old wooden chair and picking the cigar back up. God, you could ride him in that chair till morning, if you thought the wood wouldn’t splinter under the force.

“You gonna finish what you started, my little siren?” He asks, taking an especially long toke from the smoke while he waits for you to drop to your knees before him. Your cunt throbs, screaming out for his attention, but it would seem your antics have earned you punishment.

Your knees hit the wood with a force, though an involuntary whimper escapes you, hips grinding pathetically against nothing. Arthur notices, smirking like a goddamn cheshire cat at his little wanton whore.

“Patience, angel.” Your own words echo back to you like a slap in the face. You definitely deserve this.

The grip you had on the power in this game you’re playing with Arthur officially disappears when his hand snakes around the back of your neck, grasping at your hair and winding it around his wrist like a leash. You have to tilt your head so the tugging at your scalp is a mere burn rather than a sharp pain, but that’s just where he wants you.

“Now, little siren, I’m gonna teach ya’ some manners, and you’re gonna finish what you started, alright? And if you’re a good girl, maybe I’ll think about getting that sweet little cunt of yours off…”

It’s all it takes, the promise of Arthur’s fingers deep inside you while he sucks on your clit just how you like it, lapping up your juices like a man starved, and the defiance in your eyes dissipates. Arthur bends you to his whim, messy, sloppy putty in his hands as he drags you onto his weeping cock. You’re all but drooling for him, leaking out of the corners of your mouth when he slips into you. Your scalp tingles with the pull, especially when Arthur involuntarily tightens his grip with a hiss of his breath. His tip bumps the back of your throat, but he doesn’t stop even when you’ve fit all of him in that you can.

“Fuck, good girl, just like that baby girl…” he groans, and when you open your eyes to look up to him, he is watching you with a gaze so intense you feel like it could tear you apart. The tension burns between you, coiling so tight the chirp of a nearby cricket could snap it.

There’s an unspoken question in your eyes when you start to nearly choke on his length of when you’ll be released, but his eyes darken, “Come on, baby, you can take more, can’t you?”

He seems to register your fear, but it phases him little. It seems more a challenge, really, coaxing him into rocking his hips into you, pushing you even further onto his cock until you feel it start to breach past your throat in a way you didn’t even know possible. You splutter, wriggling and writhing as you try your hardest to breathe through your nose.

“Shh… good girl,” he coos, a ravenous look taking over your usually so lovable cowboy. You’ve pushed him, and God do you live for it. “Not much further… wanna see you take all of my cock, alright? You gonna do that for me, angel?”

You can’t nod, but it isn’t much of a question, not much choice available with your limited movements and the way Arthur has completely commandeered your body. You’re irrevocably his, body and soul.

It doesn’t feel possible to fit more of him in, your throat burning for relief that won’t come until Arthur is satisfied, but when he bucks his hips into you, you feel his base press against your nose. He groans hard, the noise initially from the sensation of having your throat wrapped around his cock, but when he sees the sight of you, tear stained and gagging on him, the moan is pulled out into a noise of pure ecstasy.

“Good girl… my good fuckin’ girl.”

His thumb rubs lovingly over your wet cheek, a sensation you cling to as the corners of your vision get fuzzy. Fuck, you’re not sure how much longer you can hold out, but you’re so desperate to feel Arthur’s spend trickling down your throat, feel him lose control and moan just for you that you’d honestly be willing to die for it.

Your expression, complete with lust-fogged, watery eyes, and beautifully flushed skin, teases the last of Arthur’s restraint like a razor thin blade against that final thread. When it finally snaps, you’re allowed one gasp for air, before he’s thrusting back into you hard. You can feel him stiffen, even more so than before, as his hips splutter into your mouth and he starts to tumble over the precipice into that realm of pleasure that only the two of you share.

“F-Fuck, sweetheart, I’m gonna-” But he interrupts himself with a visceral, primal groan, the vibration of it shattering the both of you. You take advantage of his practically inebriated state to regain some of your own anatomy, managing to swirl your tongue around his pulsing head inside your mouth. The hot, salty spend blooms across your tongue at that, Arthur guiding you by the cheek to bob up and down on his cock while he paints your throat white. His moans are a melody you’ll never tire of, animalistic and vulnerable all the same.

It feels like it never stops, Arthur’s spend filling your mouth up and leaking out from the corners of your lip. You can hardly stay still, writhing your needy cunt against your own heel, desperate for a reward you’re earning when you look him in the eye and swallow it all down. Pride blooms across Arthur’s features, saturated with a love that warms you from the inside out. His thumb caresses your face softly, wiping the tear tracks as you finally release his cock from your mouth and he guides you to your feet, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then nose, then lips.

“My good girl…” He coos, barely above a whisper as you breathe each other in, both as breathless as the other. Your throat aches, your jaw burning, but you’d do it a thousand times over to experience what you just did all over again.

“Now…” He splits the sentence with another kiss, catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “Get on inside, sweetheart, I think you’ve earned yourself a reward.”

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan x you #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redeption 2 #red dead 2

1K notes · View notes

standfucker · 3 months

Note

Hello!! I've been thinking about an AFAB reader in the straw hat crew who dresses as a man. Short hair and masculine clothes that cover her up. She doesn't want people treating her differently or going easy on her in fights because of her gender hence her constant charade. Because of this the crew doesn't know that she is actually woman. I'd like to request drabbles of how Zoro, Sanji, And Luffy would react when finding out and where they would. Also, SFW please!

This was fun! ^^ Thanks for submitting a request! I tried to keep these a consistent length and failed. Each one ended up longer than the last... I'll have to keep trying harder to pace myself.

Discovering Your Secret - Monster Trio

CW: chest binding, canon-typical violence, injury (not described in detail), gun violence, battle trauma, nudity, awkwardness

Luffy

Group bathing was one bonding activity on the Sunny that you had to miss out on. Shyness wasn’t like you, but the guys chalked it up to a weird personality quirk and long since stopped questioning it. Some people liked their privacy, no big deal. Really, it was never a problem until Luffy barged into the bathroom one day while you were soaking, the door swinging open so hard it bounced back shut behind him.

You tried to shout that the bathroom was occupied, but it was drowned out by Luffy’s own yell of “GUM GUM CANNONBALL!” The next thing you knew, Luffy had somehow launched himself out of his clothes and into the tub, making a massive splash that took out half the water. It was only by sheer luck that he didn’t collide with you.

Instantly you sank down low into the remaining water so only your head was above the surface. The clear water offered no protection, however, so you had to cover your chest and cross your legs. Embarrassment and panicky fear were rotten feelings to have when you had just gotten relaxed, and you found yourself getting angry on top of it all. This was such a stupid way to be found out, and it was only because your captain lacked any self-awareness.

Luffy came up with a laugh, then opened his eyes and blinked at you for a second. “Oh, hey!” he said, oblivious to your stress. “I didn’t know you were in here! Robin told me she just drew a bath, so I came in. Didn’t hear the rest of what she said–I guess she drew it for you! Shi shi shi.”

You stared at him, open-mouthed, too stunned to speak right away.

Luffy’s brows raised when you didn’t respond. “Oh, that’s right, you don’t like to bathe with others. Sorry!” “Luffy?” you tried, but he kept talking.

”Well, I’m here now, so we might as well share! We can wash each other’s backs.”

”Luffy.”

”What are you so shy for, anyway? You look fine to me.”

”Luffy!” you snapped.

”What?”

”Get out!”

”But I’m already wet!” he complained, and you mentally screamed at his stubbornness.

”Then I’ll get out! But you have to look away!” you barely managed to keep from yelling at him, trying not to lose your cool lest he get suspicious.

Luffy pursed his lips. “Fine, sheesh. I won’t look.”

He turned his head away. You hesitated, then quickly stood up and made to leave. You took one step onto the tub–and immediately slipped, thanks to the water Luffy splashed there a moment ago. A yelp left you as you fell fast.

”Y/N!” Right before you hit the tub, Luffy’s arms shot out and wrapped around you, pulling you safely back inside. “That was close!”

You froze in place, heart in your throat both from the fall and from your new position. Luffy’s arms were wrapped around your torso. He could clearly feel your chest against his rubbery arms. You gaped at him, wide-eyed in shock. Luffy smiled. Then he squeezed you again and frowned. Slowly, he looked down at your chest, then down even further.

”WHAT?!” Luffy yelled in shock, his eyes bugging out. “Y/N got attacked by Iva?! But when did you meet him?!”

You facepalmed hard.You’d heard about Ivankov through Luffy’s stories, so you had an idea of what he was talking about. But he missed the mark so hard it was astonishing.

Luffy quickly unwound his arms from around you and covered his face, stammering. “I’m sorry, Y/N! I had no idea!”

Even though your own face was hot, you couldn’t help but start to laugh, though it was a bit nervous. As you carefully exited the tub, toweling off and pulling on a robe, you contemplated letting Luffy go on believing you were attacked by Iva. But then you would have to make up a story about meeting him, and lying to your bright-eyed captain seemed wrong. He meant well, after all.

Maybe this whole charade was unfair to him. Luffy couldn’t hold onto a secret to save his life anyway, so once he knew, the whole crew would know too. Still…though it would be a big change for you, it would be one less thing to worry about…

You draped your towel along the edge of the tub and perched on it, crossing your arms. “What did we learn about respecting people’s privacy?”

”I’m sorry,” Luffy said, peeking through his fingers before lowering his hands. “I didn’t know you had a reason…I won’t do it again! But when did you cross paths with Iva? During the two years I was away?”

”No, Luffy. I’ve never met Ivankov.” You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. “I’ve been a girl this whole time. I was just pretending to be male.”

”Whaaat!? Really?” Luffy’s eyes bugged out at you again. “But why?”

You did your best to explain your reasons. Luffy only seemed to grow more confused as you went on, crossing his arms and tilting his head.

”I don’t get it. Nami and Robin are strong,” he said.

“Never said they weren’t,” you replied patiently. “But Nami and Robin get underestimated constantly. Maybe they’re used to it, but I can’t stomach the idea. It’s insulting.”

“Hmm…” Luffy thought for a second. “Does this mean we can’t wrestle anymore?”

“Of course we can! The whole point is that I don’t want you to treat me differently!”

“Oh… Oh! I see!” Luffy said, his eyes lighting up with realization. “Okay then! I’ll whoop your butt like normal!”

A warm feeling filled your chest, and you smiled. Now he was catching on, and he didn’t seem to mind. The relief was almost dizzying.

You asked Luffy to try to keep it a secret for now.

He lasted about three weeks, until he asked you one day, point-blank in front of the others: “Hey, Y/N? Where do your boobs go when you get dressed?”

Zoro

“Behind you!”

Zoro’s shout made you whirl around, raising your weapon, but your opponent was already on the downswing. Their sword cut your chest open from clavicle to rib. Pain sizzled out from the gash, hot and burning, but in addition to that, you could feel that your binder was damaged, freeing your breasts. You grit your teeth through the pain and managed to strike your foe down. Then you hunched over yourself, arms crossed over your chest, quivering. The warm blood on your arms told you this one might be serious, but despite the wound, all that was on your mind was getting found out.

Zoro rushed to your side, mowing down foes as he went until he was there. “Did they get you? Let me see.” But you shook your head. “Let me see!” he insisted, an edge of panic to his voice as blood dripped onto the ground below you.

You looked up at him with visible fear, which he misunderstood. “You’re going to be okay, but you have got to let me see.”

Shaking, you lowered your arms, revealing your wound and your secret all at once.

Zoro’s eyes widened, momentarily speechless. Then he snapped out of it, hurriedly taking off his shirt and wrapping it around your torso. He picked you up, one arm supporting your bottom while the other tucked you against his chest to hide your front. You pressed your face into his shoulder, discomposed from the shock of the injury and from the sudden reveal.

What would he think of you now? All the times you arm wrestled, all the times you sparred, all the drinking contests and shared conversations and shared fights–would you never experience them again? You kept asking yourself those questions as Zoro took you out of the slowing battle.

Chopper was shocked, but promised to keep your secret. However, after he found out that you’d been binding your chest with bandages almost 24-7, he scolded you harshly, going on about how you could permanently damage your body.

At your request, Zoro’s the only one Chopper let visit you in the ship’s infirmary. For a while, Zoro didn’t say anything, just stared at your bandaged chest with an unreadable expression.

“I wanted you to respect me,” you said, breaking the silence. He didn’t respond. “I could never be your equal otherwise. Please understand.”

Zoro looked down at you and gave a heavy sigh, eyes distant for a moment. “...You remind me of someone I used to know.” He sat on the edge of your bed, some softness to his gaze now. “I get it. I get why you hid this. But you’re an idiot.”

”I know. I let myself get hurt.”

”No, dummy. Because you treated the crew like we wouldn’t understand. You didn’t trust us. It makes sense in the beginning, but after all these years?” He frowned at you, and you realize that deep down, he was hurt.

”I didn’t want anything to change between us.” You looked away, ashamed. “Between you and me.”

”It doesn’t have to.”

”You don’t like to fight women.”

Zoro grimaced at the accusation, knowing you’re right. The infirmary was quiet for a minute.

”I’m sorry,” Zoro finally said. “I’ll…I’ll do better. Nothing has to change.” He paused, and offered up a smirk. “After all, I go easy on you anyways.”

You feel yourself tear up at his acceptance, and grinned back at him. “Once I heal up, I’ll make you regret that.” You paused, face falling. “You won’t tell anyone, right? I don’t want Sanji to…you know.”

“Yeah.” Zoro made a face at the cook’s name. ”It’ll stay between the three of us,” he promised. “I still think you should tell them, but it’s not my secret to share.”

”Maybe in time. I’ll have to think about it,” you said, and he nodded.

Zoro held out his hand. You clasped it in a big swing, grimacing when it made your wound sting, and squeezed as tightly as you could.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” Zoro said, squeezing back. “Okay? We’re still buds.”

”Okay.” Again, you felt the tears threatening to spill.

”But if you cry, I’ll make fun of you.”

”Shut up!”

Once Zoro realizes you were hindered by the binder for all of your matches against him, he got fired up. All the times he won, you had a handicap–it wasn’t a fair match, he decided. However, there wasn’t really a place on the ship where you could take it off in front of others, so he was forced to remain undecided on the topic of which one of you is stronger.

It wasn’t until you revealed your secret to the others that you and Zoro finally got to have a proper, no-holds-barred sparring session. True to his word, he didn’t hold back, too battle-hungry to care if he touched your chest when you wrestled or exchanged blows. (Sanji snarled in the background, but neither of you were paying him any attention.)

As it turned out, when you let your aching ribs heal and could breathe properly, you were far better than you were before. You ended up almost defeating the swordsman, and he was so proud of you that he threw an arm around your shoulders and noogied your head until you were certain he left track marks in your skull. “That’s my girl!”

Sanji

The impact of your sword against your opponent’s knocked the weapons out of the both of your hands. Undeterred, you dashed forward to take them on barehanded, confident in your unarmed strength. Right as you reached them, they drew a hidden flintlock from their back belt, and touched the muzzle to your forehead.

You froze. The battlefield seemed to fade away, nothing solid or corporeal except for the gun to your head. You couldn’t hear anything but the blood rushing in your ears, feel anything but the cold steel pressed to your skull. Everything rushed through your head in one synaptic burst, a thousand million thoughts of how soon, how final this was. All the years of adventure, ending here. One slip-up. You were going to die.

You couldn’t even feel regret. Just the sensation of your heart beating as if it was in every blood vessel. You didn’t hear the call of your name, nor the shouted “Diable Jambe!”

In the time it took for your opponent to squeeze his trigger finger, Sanji appeared seemingly out of nowhere and kicked the guy’s hand so hard you saw it break. The gun fired into the ground a few feet away from you, and with another burning kick, Sanji knocked him out.

You were in shock, standing there unharmed, but useless. Sanji took notice, calling for you again. When you didn’t respond, he rushed to you and grabbed your shoulders, shaking you hard. “Get it together! We still need you!”

Suddenly the sound, the sensation, everything came rushing back, hitting you all at once. You blinked, glanced at the surrounding battle, then at Sanji’s tense expression.

“Y/N!”

“I’m okay!” you said. “T-Thanks. I’m okay.” With that, you rushed for your fallen sword, ready to rejoin the battle.

It wasn’t your first brush with death, but this one rattled you worse than the others. After the battle you dwelled on it constantly, thinking back to that moment and breaking out into a cold sweat even though you’d just cleaned up. You couldn’t think about anything else, focus on anything going on around you. You skipped dinner, stomach too upset to eat, and were barely able to sleep despite your exhaustion from the day’s battle. You skipped breakfast the following day, and only around lunchtime did your mind seem to catch up to your body. You watched Luffy and the crew mess around, playing and laughing and arguing, and suddenly you realized that you almost lost this forever. Immediately, the urge to cry overtook you with tremendous force. You hurried through the ship’s interior, shoved yourself into a corner, and sobbed into your hands.

Dead. Oh god, you were almost dead. How was it that easy? All the strength you had worked so hard to build, meaningless. How could you have been so overconfident? How could you have let yourself lose so easily? Had Sanji not been there, you would have been gone. Gone.

The tears ran hot down your cheeks, and you bit your tongue to keep from being loud. It could have gone so much worse. Sanji was dependable, but tended to keep his eye on the girls during fights. He only saved you because you were close by. It was sheer luck that he saved you. Only luck.

“Y/N!”

Sanji’s call of your name made you go quiet. You resisted the urge to sniffle, even as your nose ran. If he found you…it wouldn’t be the end of the world, but you’d rather not be caught crying. You spent years building the image of the stoic, masculine fighter, and would prefer to keep up that appearance. Sanji called you again, closer this time, and you cleared your throat.

“Yeah?” you called out.

“Lunch is ready, so hurry on down,” he announced from the doorway, just out of your vision.

It took you a minute to gather yourself, but after washing your face and regulating your breathing, you were ready to rejoin the group once more.

In the weeks following, you dealt with your shock and processed it the best that you could. Eventually you started sleeping better again, your appetite returned, and life seemed to go on as normal…except for one thing: Sanji. He started acting strangely when he was nearby.

It started off small. He was far more pleasant around you than he normally was. Not that you and Sanji held animosity toward each other, but usually he treated you like another male: friendly enough if you weren’t Zoro, but not to this degree. He never really brightened up at the sight of you before. Nor did he ask for your opinion in his upcoming meal plan for the week. At first you chalked it up to him noticing your earlier distress somehow, but after you got better, he kept on acting saccharine.

One day, he brought you a drink. Not served you at the table with everyone else, but went out of his way to bring it to where you were sunbathing on the deck. You could only stare at him until he awkwardly left it by your side, stammered something about the heat, and then left.

Incidents like that kept happening, usually out of sight of the other crewmates, but not always. The others started picking up on it too. At one point, Sanji brought Robin, Nami, and Chopper slices of cake–and then brought you a plate as well. That time, everyone’s eyes were on him, but Sanji pretended like nothing was off.

When he chirped “Hi, Y/N-chan,” to you as he passed by you in the hall, you had enough. You grabbed him and shoved him against the wall, hard. He immediately knew he messed up, but despite your fingers fisted in his collar and your murderous expression, he only flushed red.

“What are you doing?” you hissed.

“I–I’m–” Sanji stammered. Blood started to run from one of his nostrils.

“Why are you acting like this?” you demanded. “Being all sappy and disgusting to me. Who do you think I am?”

“I–I’m sorry,” Sanji tried. You grit your teeth, beginning to fear the worst.

“Did you lose all respect for me when you saved my life?” you asked bluntly.

“Of course not! I think highly of you.”

“Too much so, don’t you think?” you had to struggle not to shout. “Is this because you heard me crying last month?”

Sanji shut his mouth, glancing aside and giving away the answer. He nodded.

“Am I weak to you or something?”

“No, that’s not it–” he tried, but you pulled him away from the wall and slammed him back into it.

“I don’t understand! You’re too soft with me. Why are you treating me so nicely?”

“Because you’re a woman, and women deserve the best.” He said it unflinchingly and with conviction, looking right back into your eyes.

The answer was obvious, but a part of you still hoped it was something else, hoped that because he didn’t go overboard with his affections that he didn’t know. Your grip on his collar weakened and gave away along with your hopes, hands hanging limply at your sides.

“When did you find out?” you asked quietly. “Or should I say, how?”

“I saw you crying.” Sanji pulled out a handkerchief, wiping his nose.

“So?”

“You may look and act like a man…but a woman’s tears leave no room for doubts.”

You stared at him in disbelief. Unfair. That’s what this was. Just unfair. Because after all those years living as a male, you got found out because of Sanji’s freakish sixth sense for women. Your sigh was heavy, and you had to rest your head in your hand for a moment.

“Okay, well, we need to set some things straight. You can’t keep slipping up around me, or the others will find out. They already suspect something’s up.”

“I'm trying!” Sanji retorted. “I knew you were hiding it for some reason, so I tried to keep myself in check! Do you know how hard it’s been?”

“How hard it’s been?” You wanted to punch him. “You have no idea what I go through every day just to keep up appearances! Just to earn the regard I deserve! Why couldn't you respect me as a man?”

“I don't respect men.”

“Ugh!” You punched the wall by his head instead. Sanji didn’t flinch. “You have to take me seriously.”

“I am!”

“We can’t keep going like this.” You bit your lip in frustration, trying to think of a solution. Maybe you could use his weird complex around women to your advantage, if he would just stop giving it away. “Okay, listen. Sanji. If you really want to do me a favor, the best thing you can do is help me keep my secret. That means whenever you have the urge to treat me like a girl, you nip it in the bud. Can you do that?”

“I…I’ll try.” Sanji went to take your hand, but you yanked it away.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about! You can’t be so familiar.”

“I’m sorry. It’s hard! I–I want to treat you right. I want to be close to you.”

“I want to be close to you to,” you admitted, surprising yourself. “But I. I’d… I’d rather hold onto my secret.”

He looked hurt, which sent a cold pang of guilt into your stomach. Reaching out, you patted his shoulder. “I’m depending on you, do you understand?”

Sanji took in your expression–serious, worried, uncertain–and nodded. The hand that reached for yours instead went over his heart. “I promise,” he said, “I will do everything I can to help keep your secret.”

The talk with Sanji helped massively, fixing his odd behavior around you for the most part. There was one thing he couldn’t give up, and that was giving you a nickname. He called you something in French–“mon petit chou,” he would say–but as it was foreign, you figured it was safe to use around the crew, and let it slide.

It was only a few months later that you learned Robin was fluent in French.

#replies #luciledreamz #zoro x reader #luffy x reader #sanji x reader #x reader #one piece imagines #finished requests #zen writes

502 notes · View notes

nackrosor · 3 months

Text

~Your Wish~

(Part 3/3)

Part 1 - Part 2

Brahms Heelshire x nanny!Reader

warnings/tags: nsfw, smut, dub-con (with very dubious p in v), power dynamics, mommy issues, Brahms is a perv through and through

word count: 2,9k.

author's notes: this is the filthiest thing I've ever written, I swear. I tried to imbue this with all my naughtiness lmao I hope it was enough! Also, here's some art I made 'cause I'm that generoussss. I hope you enjoy the food! Bon appétit! 🤤🌹

"Did I scare you, Y/N? I didn't mean to..."

He grimaced at the way his child voice came out broken and less convincing than usual, but in his state, even simply speaking was a feat.

You had been sluggishly fighting against his persistent grip on you, yet once you heard him speak, a loud gasp of shock escaped you, and your body stiffened under his. The way you tensed up made your back arch and your ass stick out even more. His focus shifted to your half-clad bottom, which was hovering only inches from his face. The drenched fabric of your panties had somehow stuck to the side, teasing him - torturing him - with that mouthwavering sight of you.

Oh, what a struggle it was for him to refrain from seeking your heat again and then shoving himself inside you, once and for all. He was shivering with restraint while proceeding to keep you pinned to the mattress. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold himself back, though.

He wanted you to know who he was before he finally and thoroughly claimed you as his. His pride somehow exceeded his yearning.

"B-Brahms...?" You hesitantly whispered his name, hoping to catch a glimpse of him behind your shoulder. You could only make out a dark silhouette in your peripheral vision, for both the darkness of the room and his tight clasp prevented you from seeing anything else. "How-? W-what?"

Your voice was a little louder this time, and you sounded sharper. He also noticed with satisfaction that you were now remaining still under his hold. That was good. It would make things easier. He'd prefer not to fight you, not to force you... But if you were to refuse him... He would not hold back... He couldn't...

"You don't have to be alone anymore in this big, scary house."

He made sure to stress out the last words, the same ones you used when you had confided your wish to the doll. He wanted you to understand… That wicked side of him wanted you to realise that he had always been there, watching you, listening in on you... That you have never truly been alone.

"Aren't you happy?"

He couldn't hide the impatience in his voice. His palm pressed harder onto your spine, imperceptibly rubbing up and down, seeking your touch. He found himself edging closer to you, his mask nearly touching your asscheek, his other hand ready to commit another despicable sin, the worst one yet.

“Let me see you? Please?"

He stopped in his tracks, momentarily stunned by your words.

You had asked so sweetly, your voice such a gentle caress to his ears, how could he have declined your request? After all, he had longed to have those gorgeous eyes of yours fall on him, finally seeing him, since the first day. And what would have been better than having you looking at him as he ravished you? Watching lust twist your features, the pleasure - he was igniting in you - flooding your lovely eyes. A shuddering breath escaped his lips as the vivid image arose in his mind, aggravating the torture.

Brahms loosened his grip, allowing you to turn around and lie on your back. As soon as your eyes met his, you let out another loud gasp. His gut flipped at the way your wide eyes flitted across his mask, chest, thighs, taking him all in.

You saw him. You were looking at him. Ah, what a dream... What a dream come true...

He wondered what was going through your pretty little head. How did it make you feel to know that the kid's voice you've occasionally heard reverberating through the mansion over the past few weeks hadn't come from a possessed doll or an imprisoned spirit... But from him. Your Brahms, in flesh and blood.

“B-Brahms…”

The way you tentatively called his name while looking up at him like a deer in the headlights was pure bliss.

He nodded enthusiastically in response and drew closer to you. His gaze flickered from your face to your hand, which he noticed slowly reaching up in his direction. He jerked back instantly out of reflex, frightened like a beaten dog meeting a loving hand for the first time, but as soon as he realized there was no threat in your intentions, he leaned back in and allowed you to touch his mask. Oh, how he yearned to feel your soft palm caressing his wounded cheek... to feel your gentle touch skin on skin… But that would have to be enough for the moment.

Now that he had your full attention. Now that you knew who he was and that no harm would come from him… with your eyes staring up at him with such awe and wonder…

He couldn't wait any longer.

His hand eagerly slipped between your thighs, fingers greedily seeking your heat. He caught with utmost satisfaction the way your eyes widened again, your lips parting to let out a shocked cry; you looked so adorable… so desirable… so vulnerable…

He kept his ever-attentive gaze fixed on you, desperate to catch your every reaction, as he stroked your wet folds and teased your entrance.

“W-what are you… Ah!~”

A tremor pierced him as he felt your body tremble so sharply when he easily entered you, triggering a loud whine from you as he drove his fingers deep into your walls.

His breathing was extremely shallow, and he could see your chest raise and fall as you began panting as well; the sight only served to add fuel to his burning desire, leaving him eager to make you cry and shiver just like that over and over again.

His movement against you was firm but frantic, fueled by his long-repressed need, which was causing him to shudder and whimper as he fingered you. He had no idea what he was doing, but your moans and squeals were guiding and urging him to keep hitting that spongy spot deep inside you which seemed to make you scream the loudest.

“N-no… W-w-wait…”

Your hands shakily reached down to seize his and halt his actions, but he quickly grasped your wrists and pinned them both on your belly, holding them down with one palm while continuining on driving his fingers back and forth, unrelentingly, into you. He could tell you liked it, the lewd sounds you were making told him as much. He knew his actions were pleasing you. Your cunt was so wet, and your walls welcomed his long fingers with such hunger, swallowing them fully with each push.

How would it feel to sink inside you? To have your tight, spongy walls suck and squeeze his cock dry? Would his cum leak back out? It always did when he used his doll, the one he had turned to look just like you… He constantly had to push his fluids back inside the hole…

“Brahms... S-stop… Ah!”

Your broken whimpers sounded so cute. You were so cute. What were you asking of him? Certainly not to stop. Not that he would or could. The feeling of making you squirm under his touch was intoxicating, a feeling he had just discovered and yet couldn't get enough of. He had already grown addicted. The sight of you laying there completely vulnerable, completely his, was filling him with such a rush of euphoria.

He released your wrists, disregarding the way you immediately but weakly started tugging at his hand again in protest. Instead, he reached down to his trousers, letting out a deep guttural grunt when he felt the dampness of the material, soaked with his seed. Leaked precum? Or did he burst into his pants without even realising? It didn't matter. His cock was hard and throbbing when he grabbed it, ready to slip out of the restraining cloth and finally sink inside you… He couldn’t wait, oh no, he couldn’t wait anymore-

“I said stop!”

His entire body shuddered violently, and his senses suddenly sharpened as if he had just awoken from a trance. Both his hands abruptly came to a halt.

He wasn't sure if he was shaking more from the thrill your imposing tone caused in him or the excruciating hunger that was gnawing at him, demanding to be satiated. Possibly both combined given the intensity of the tension that had taken hold of his body.

Brahms stared at you with bated breath and childish fear, like a misbhehaving boy caught in the act of some deplorable deeds by his strict mother. He didn't dare to make a sound nor move an inch as he waited to be scolded.

A strange glint passed your eyes, one that he could barely catch, let alone decipher. However, your entire demeanour seemed to alter abruptly in response to his reaction.

"What do you think you're doing?"

He gasped. A flood of dread shook his entire being and made his stomach churn upon hearing your stern tone. Did he upset you? Were you angry at him? He couldn't bear it. Oh no… He only wished to please you... Only ever wished to please you...

"What were you doing, mh?"

Brahms vehemently shook his head, his panicked gaze glued on your hard look.

“Brahms.”

Your commanding tone made him shudder again. He cowered, crouching down and dropping his head on your lap. He didn't dare admit what he was about to do, what he had been doing long before you woke up.

"Brahms!"

He felt your hands pull on his arms, but he only pressed his head further against you, burying his face in your womb, his whimpers muffled by your skin. His hands reached to your sides, holding you vehemently but not threateningly. He wanted to show you how good he was. How good he could be for you. He was sorry. Yes. He was terribly sorry. He would never upset you again.

"Please…" He pleaded in his childish voice, nuzzling his forehead into your belly.

"Please, what?"

He tightened his grip on your sides and cried again, "Pleaseee… I need you…"

His meekness only increased as you delayed to answer. His hands cradled your body, fingers clutching desperately at your nightgown and creasing the material. His head anxiously swayed back and forth as he rubbed his mask against you.

"Use your real voice."

Another tremor shook his body and he quickly obeyed your command.

"I need you."

His voice came out low and hoarse, such a stark contrast to his childish tone. It caused a vibration in your tummy. He could feel how your body shivered in reaction.

Raising his head to meet your gaze, he noticed that your eyes had widened significantly. Was it because of his voice? The way he begged? Did you like it? He could beg you again and again in his real voice, if it pleased you so. If that meant you’d let him have you.

"I need you, please…"

His fingers travelled slowly along your sides, gingerly getting closer to your panties again, quivering with impatience and constraint. He kept his imploring look on you as he stroked his fingertips on the damp fabric before slipping them inside to rub against your folds once more.

He saw your eyelids flutter and your chest rise harshly as you took a deep breath.

He whimpered as he felt your fingers weave into his curls and then capture them abruptly in a tight clasp.

"Lay down, Brahms."

He merely lingered for a moment to process what you had requested of him. Then he did it. He lay down on the mattress without question. Eager to please you. Desperate to be in your good graces. He would do anything for you.

His entire body was trembling with anticipation, a deep-seated urge to be touched threatening to overtake him as you climbed on top of him, claiming his former position. His body craved your touch so badly, yet he had to wait until you decided to put him out of his misery.

“You’re such a naughty boy. You know that?”

When he felt your weight on him and your groin sitting directly on his bulge, he felt his breath catch in his throat and his hips buck up instinctively. Only his unbuttoned pants separated his arousal from your heat.

He was losing his mind…

"Nobody ever taught you that's not how good boys are supposed to behave, mh?"

More whimpers flowed from his parted lips as you began to grind against him, painfully slowly but with force. He struggled to keep his eyes open and locked in yours; his quivering hands went up to hold your hips, seeking to control your movements, but you intercepted them and forced them down on the pillow on either side of his face. He let you keep them still.

"Please…"

"I will teach you… Yes, yes... I will teach you. Bad boys never get their way, no matter how much or how long they beg."

Brahms had always obtained whatever he wanted since he was a little boy. If he couldn't have it, he'd take it himself. But he wasn't going to admit it to you. He merely groaned and twitched in response, every inch of his body ignited by your leisurely and frustrating movement against him.

He craved being inside you... To spill his load deep within your core... but he was so worked up… he had been holding back for so long, too long… and the way you moved was so rousing, provoking him just enough to…

His body abruptly convulsed underneath you, a deep sigh of relief escaping from his lips as a dark and large wet stain appeared on the material of his trousers. All of the desire coursing through him reached a fever pitch that consumed every inch of his body.

He had never experienced such an intense and violent orgasm before. He had jerked off numerous times, but cumming never felt so good...

Brahms was still trembling and panting when his eyes opened again to meet yours. You had stopped moving when he started spasming. Even in the dark, he could see the blush on your cheeks, the way your eyes were wide and glazed as they stared down at him, your own breath coming in short.

"F-Fuck-"

His eyes were fixed on you, watching you as you gulped and shivered, clearly shaken by what had just happened. Your gaze kept darting back and forth between his pants and mask. When he felt your hands release his wrists, he pulled yours back, drawing you forward and causing you to fall on top of him with a yelp.

Brahms buried his face into the crook of your neck. Your scent was stronger than before, his nostrils filled with your natural aroma. His fingers trailed over your skin, feeling how clammy it was and relishing the way you shivered at the touch. He moved on along the curve of your neck until he reached the edge of your nightgown and peeled it down without hesitation, this time dragging it low enough to prevent it from rolling back up. The sight of your breasts made his stomach flip, just like it had done the first time. His body started to become stiffer once more.

“Again…” he whispered breathlessly as he lifted your torso so you could sit on his lap just like before, straddling his groin. He could feel himself getting harder all over again. He could not possibly resist you.

"B-Brahms?"

His hands greedily mapped your body, groping every curve and dip they found. His touch soon became frantic and urgent.

"Again, again, again!"

He hastily freed his growing erection from his pants and without giving you time to register what was happening, he seized your waist and pulled you down onto him.

At last, you had become one.

The quiet room filled with both his and your moans of pleasure, which only grew louder as Brahms started guiding your hips up and down, each time with greater force, allowing him to fully sink into you. You were so warm, and the way your tight walls clenched around his cock was more intoxicating than he could have anticipated. It was maddening. The sound of your cunt slapping against his groin was the the best sound he had ever heard. He mentally added it to the list of pleasures he had so quickly become addicted to and sought to experience again and again and again...

He was a mess of sweat and whimpers and tremors, and so were you.

Ah, to finally have you! To finally take you as his! This was everything he had ever dreamed and yearned for. You would never be alone or feel lonely again, and neither would he!

Please you night and day, whenever and wherever! That's what he intended to do.

Oh, yes.

He will be such a good boy for you.

MORE STORIES 🥀

[Also consider leaving a tip here on Tumblr or BUYING ME A ☕, if you particularly like what you read. Thank you! 🥀]

[Should I make a nsfw version of my fanart? 🤔 I'd like to try my hand at nsfw art. Let me know if you'd be interested in seeing it.]

✨ Tag list:

@mellsfern @420-hun @murder-hobo @somethingthatsaysbubbles @b4ptiz3d @clownfishstix @blackqueengold @baileebear @oudhbsyyb @dij-ology

735 notes · View notes

fanaticsnail · 6 months

Text

Remember Me

Hello Shanks fans!

This work was requested by @aishabbbb, which I linked back to here for the full description of the prompt. This is my third (technically fourth because my thoughts ran away with me!) requested work that I've completed.

I'm not currently taking requests, but if you do want to see my writing style depict a specific idea, I will honestly most likely hyper-fixate on it until the idea consumes me if you do ask me nice enough. I do appreciate a good prompt! And seriously, who doesn't love an amnesia trope!

Word Count: 6,636

My Masterlist is here!

Echoes of gruff laughter lingered in the air as tankards of ale clanged against one another. It had been a while since the Red-Hair Pirates had made port and as they viewed a rowdy port full of lively music, contagious laughter and bursting at the seams with a variety of pleasurable company; they could not resist.

This port had been known for some time to be a lawless town, accepting of any journeymen as they resupplied their vessels, sailors selling their wares and even the odd Marine here or there had graced the town with their presence. The World Government paid no mind to the comings or goings, knowing should the port be shut down; their supply of rum would slowly dwindle away.

The Captain of the Red-Hair Pirates sat upon a stool at the rear of the room as he stared into the bottom of his tankard, watching the amber liquid slosh from side to side. He withdrew into himself; his former joy and carefree attitude no longer present on his features this night.

A woman with a painted face sauntered over towards the captain, swaying her hips as she overemphasized her intentions.

“Care for some company, sweetheart?” she asked him in a sultry tone as she took his hand in hers that still clasped the tankard. He made eye contact and smiled from the corner of his mouth before withdrawing the hand from her grip and drew his drinking vessel to his mouth.

“Not today, love,” he said, taking a drink from his tankard, “but I can point you in the direction of someone who would be more than happy to share your time.”

She smiled as Shanks gestured to his senior officer, who had a black bandana featuring a white jolly roger insignia atop his lengthy blonde hair. His expression was one of a displeasing grimace, black glasses concealing more of his irritation behind them.

“See if you can bring a smile to his face, would you?” he laughed slightly as she nodded as she made her way to her next target.

Plonking two fresh pints down on the table before him, Benn Beckman sighed as he sat on a stool facing his Captain; taking one of the pints and gesturing for Shanks to do the same.

“You turned her away?” Beckman questioned his Captain, “I thought you’d enjoy a pretty blonde giving you attention this time.”

“I’m not as open today as I have been any other day to the company of a painted lady,” Shanks laughed in response raising his pint and clanging it against his First-Mate’s, “or any other man or woman you’ve since such sent my way. You know this.”

“Oh,” Beckman uttered, eyes widening before looking down at the table, “I didn’t realise it was today. Sorry Cap’n.”

“Don’t apologise, Beckman,” he smiled at him before drinking from the tankard. He moaned slightly as the cool, bubbling liquid hit his lips and he tasted the bitter flavour of the hoppy amber ale.

“How long has it been since-?” Beckman began, halting his words in search for the more appropriate way of phrasing it.

“How long has it been since my bride was claimed at sea?” Shanks offered to complete his First-Mate’s sentence. Beckman nodded in response, gesturing with his pint for Shanks to offer his answer.

Shanks sighed and leant back in his stool, his back thumping against the small railing at the back.

“This day marks ten years,” he added with a sad smile. A silence fell between them as they reminisced the day the Captain of the Red-Hair Pirate’s wife was lost to him.

After a brief pause, they commenced their drinking as they surveyed the movements of the patrons and crew interacting with one another.

Beckman raised his tankard to his lips and begin to gulp with gusto at the frothing liquid. He trailed his eyes throughout the bar as he did so; looking to Limejuice as he grit his teeth tightly at the blonde woman’s incessant and unrelenting flirtation was thrust upon him.

He continued his assessment of the room before his attention was caught by a group of sailors laughing amongst each other, a woman throwing her had back at the joke uttered by one among them. Benn Beckman spluttered into his tankard, coughing as the amber ale entered into his wind pipe and corrupted his lungs with it. He continued to draw in his breaths while maintaining visual contact on the situation unfolding before him.

“Benn,” Shanks addressed his choking crewman, “you alright?”

The First-Mate continued coughing and spluttering, managing to relieve his lungs of the bitter substance and gasping in a long breath. His pigment all but fled from his face as he continued staring blankly at the bar in horror.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Shanks laughed, placing his tankard down on the table before clapping a hand against the upper arm of Beckman’s shoulder.

“I-I think I have,” Beckman stuttered slightly before bringing his attention to his captain, “look to the bar and tell me if you can see her too, Captain.”

Shanks furrowed his brows in confusion, laughing lightly at the confession of his crewman before turning and immediately having the playful expression pulled from his lips.

“You see her?” Beckman asked him in a voice just above a whisper.

The Captain wordlessly rose to his feet, almost toppling the stool over in the process as he made his way to approach the woman. His bride, his queen. His whole world was carelessly and unaware of his presence as the melodical laugh fell from her lips; a sound Shanks never thought he would once again experience.

------------------

You tapped the chest of the older sailor in front of you as you continued to laugh at his joke.

“Harold,” you gasped, wiping a tear from your eye, “and that’s the reason you only have three toes on your left foot?”

“Honest to goodness, lass,” he continued to rumble laughter, his eyes twinkling with utter mischievousness, “the bloody crab nearly carved the whole lot off, if not for my quick thinking!”

He imitated the pinching movements of a crab’s claw and crooked his head to make himself look as crab-like as he could, prompting another roar of laughter to erupt between the sailors and yourself.

“Alright, I’ll get you that drink then,” you teetered your laughter and turned to address the bartender you had come to know, “Mary, give us a couple schooners of ale- the pale stuff if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Right you are, my love,” she acknowledged your order and began pouring the foamed liquid into two smaller cups.

It had been ten years since you found yourself lying upon the shore with no recollection of who or what you were before your arrival. Thankfully enough, your body was strong. You knew how to hold your own when it came to unwarranted and unreciprocated attention, often brawling with men to assert yourself among them.

As you needed a job to afford food, you managed to bully Captain Harold of the Angelfish Shepherds Fishing Crew and would accompany them out to sea, bringing in several catches a day and selling their many items throughout town. It was only when the sun would disappear behind the horizon, you would come home to the tavern: "Mary’s Resting Track" and make yourself comfortable with your crew at the bar; drinking well into the night.

Just as Mary had finished pouring from the keg, you felt an arm placed upon your left shoulder, prompting you to turn to face it's source.

“My bride,” a tall, red-headed man gasped in a voice above a whisper as he drew you in to place his lips against yours. You squealed at the tender impact, a smile pulling at the corner of your mouth at the sudden softness and passion you felt from the unknown man. You pushed on his chest slightly before creasing your brows in confusion.

“Steady on, Sailor. Save it for your wife,” you laughed at him, collecting the two schooners from the bar and placing one into the hands of Captain Harold, “or at least buy me a drink first!”

You laughed, prompting your crew to do the same as they raised their glasses and took a drink. You rose yours to your lips and drank from it, keeping playful eye contact with the sailor before you.

He was handsome, his red hair immediately drawing you in. He had a black cloak shrouding his left arm from view and a three-point claw mark over his left eye. His face held a shocked, sobering expression on it as if he was staring at something extra-terrestrial in make.

“Y-You,” he stuttered out, “Y-You’re.”

The words caught in his throat as he again reached his right hand up to attempt to secure a fallen strand of your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. You swatted his hand away from completing the action.

“No,” you said firmly, playfulness leaving your face as your eyebrows collected themselves with a frown, “no one touches my hair. It’s out of bounds to even those who know me, and know me; you do not.”

You swiped his arm away fully away from your face while keeping a warning, reprimanding look on your features. He continued to stare at you, his eyes swelling slightly as they fluttered between your own; pleading with you and searching within them for a small shroud of recognition.

“She’s saving it for her beloved,” your crewman mocked you in a high-pitched tone, bringing humour once again to the room. You laughed at his jest, prompting you to turn away from the red head to scold his imitation.

“I don’t sound like that,” you laughed at him, prompting your crewman to again mock you by wobbling his head from side to side and scrunching up his face.

You turned back around to see the man again gazing with a fierce intensity born deeply into your eyes and managed this time to tuck a strand of your hair behind your left ear with his right hand. At this, you brought your own hand firmly up and struck the side of his face, all humour once again leaving you.

At the crisp strike, chaos erupted at the bar. A crew of pirates drew their pistols, pointing it towards you; while your crew of sailors pulled their own from their belt and aimed it at them in response. You kept your eyes completely fixed on the red-haired pirate as his face continued to hold a yearning expression.

“She gave you a warning, Sailor,” your Captain spat at him, “I don’t care how much ale you consumed, you respect the wishes of a lady.”

This seemed to shatter whatever illusion was held on the redhead in front of you as he looked to the assortment of pirates behind him. He held up his hands in defence of himself, taking a step back from his proximity near you and nodding his head in a deep bow.

“Easy, lads,” he smiled, “put them away. We don’t bring out our guns at one little slap.”

The crew focussed their attention on you as you shook your head and creased your brows at his address. He again turned to you, and bowed his head slightly deeper as an apology.

“You’ll have to excuse me, miss,” he uttered, “I didn’t mean to cross your boundary. It was reactionary, and for that I offer my most sincere apologies.”

Your gaze softened at his words as you gently used your pointer finger to raise his chin to look at you once more.

“Apology accepted on the condition of buying me and my friends a round of drinks,” you scrunched your nose with a small wink. He laughed at your remark, shaking his head and smiling once more.

“I would have to agree, miss. Definitely the next one on me,” he continued to gaze into your eyes as you withdrew your finger from his chin and tapped his nose with it playfully.

-----------------

You didn’t remember him. That must be the only reason you didn’t hoist yourself into his single arm and cling yourself against him. Why you didn’t lean into the kiss and allow him to lace his hand into your hair and relieve your face from it shrouding your vision. The act so intimately solidifying your relationship in the early days, holding onto it as you spoke your wedding vows.

No-one was to ever touch your hair apart from yourself and your beloved were the words you spoke while dressed in your white, lace dress aboard the Red Force; Beckman performing the ceremony all those years ago.

You were married in your youth, relationship blossoming from friendship to something more on the Oro Jackson under the watchful gaze of Gol D. Roger. The subtle glances turned into subtle touches, turning into kisses stolen from within the hidden halls of the Oro Jackson as you would press each other against the walls and roam your hands along your bodies.

He was obsessed with your hair, and with each caress, each embrace, he would find himself absent-mindedly playing with it. You vowed alongside your commitment in matrimony that only he and he alone would be allowed to tuck your hair behind your ear in adoration; and you be the only one permitted to place a kiss atop the crown of his head.

Shanks had to contain himself as his soul screamed within the chasms of his chest to embrace you, to hold you against him and cry out in joy at your return. He didn’t touch another woman in the ten long years it had been since your last departure; the notion turning to ash in his mouth at the mere suggestion. It had only been until recently that Beckman prompted him to seek out someone to relieve his tension, but he felt it would’ve been an insult to the beautiful memories you shared with one another.

You were even in the process of early conversations on what starting a family would look like aboard the Red Force with his assortment of rowdy crew.

You would bicker at having the ship make birth permanently at a port, returning every two weeks to the solid shore as Shanks refused to halt his travels. He wanted you and the children aboard, rearing them alongside his crew; an idea you immediately shot down as you understood infants waking and crying at every interval and the disruption would not be fair to bring to the crew.

Shanks remembered Beckman adding to that conversation with: “We’re already getting sleepless nights from the sounds echoing the halls originating at your quarters!”

He chuckled at the memory before he remembered the fear on your face as the storm threw you overboard in your attempt to raise the sheet from the topmast and secure it in place. The black sky and torrential winds making it impossible to see your form as you struggled against the waves. He didn’t see what happened, only noticing your departure once they successfully made it through the storm and into the central eye of it.

The roar-like scream rumbling throughout the chest of the Red-Haired Captain still reverberating within the ears and memories of the entire crew as they recollect it every year. The pain shared amongst them as their captain bore his grief openly; drowning in rum every night before Beckman pulled him out of his rut with the reprimand: “this is not what she would have wanted.”

It mattered not what happened to him from that point. The pain of loosing you was far greater than any earthly injury could bring forth. He didn’t even bat an eye as his arm was claimed by a great Sea-Beast; consuming his flesh within it’s belly. He was more upset by the fact his golden wedding band perished at its disappearance.

And here you were, not a scratch upon you; laughing as if you had not a care in the world.

You had no memory. That was the only explanation Shanks had as he gazed lovingly at you, drinking your free ale at his expense.

----------------

You shook your head at a comment made by one of your crewmen as they suggested to hold a drinking competition between the red-haired pirate’s crew and your own.

“I don’t think I have enough booze in the house for that,” Mary laughed from behind the bar.

You smiled at her comment, turning back around to see the far off look in the red-head’s eyes.

“You know,” you nudged him with your shoulder, bringing his attention back towards you, “for someone that leads in lips first, you’re awfully quiet.”

He chuckled at your comment, expression softening but with a hidden depth you couldn’t quite understand.

“I’m not usually like this,” he scrunched his nose up with a smile.

“Rough time at sea, then?” you asked him, gesturing to Mary with two fingers to indicate your intentions of purchasing the next round for you and the red-head.

“Not particularly, its just-,” his words trailed off, prompting you to gaze your eyes; flittering them between his own two deep brown orbs before he took a deep breath and looked forward at his crew interacting with your own.

“You gestured for the good stuff, right?” she asked, placing two short, round glasses down on the counter; spiced rum swishing in the base as she did so.

“That I did, love,” you replied, placing down your berry on the counter and taking the glasses from it. You went to place the glass into the red-head Captain’s hands, noticing it was already occupied with a half-drunk tankard of ale.

“You keen on a rum?” you asked him, bringing his gaze up. He gasped out a quick hum, raising the tankard and downing the remainder of his ale with haste and placing the empty vessel atop the bar. He rose his hand to accept your offer and his fingers brushed against your own as he claimed the drink from your hand.

He looked down to your collar bone and noticed a single gold ring hung from a piece of fine leather around it. He furrowed his brows at it as to inspect it from his great distance.

“The gold band around your neck,” he gestured down to your left hand, “are you married?”

“Not to my knowledge, Sailor,” you laughed at him, “I was found with it.”

You sipped at the rum and creased your brows as the heavy alcohol entered your system.

“I apologise for slapping you,” you uttered, “I, uh. I made a promise, you see. I don’t really know what about or to whom, truthfully.”

He hummed at your comment, fixing his eyes on your face as you spoke. He trailed his eyes over your body, looking at you with an expression completely unreadable. Somewhere between: bewildered, surprised, great sorrow, relief, curiosity and apprehension.

“I don’t actually have a lot of that – knowledge, I mean,” you reiterated with a smile, “For the better part of ten years, I’ve been building back what I think I used to be like. I have no idea, though. I could’ve been some prissy young lass with a string of twelve children; or some standoffish, uptight cow-.”

“-You were never like that,” the red-head interrupted you, prompting you to snap your gaze up to meet with his.

“Do you know me, Sailor?” you asked him, your brows creasing together.

“Shanks,” he corrected you, “my name is Shanks.”

“Alright, Shanks,” you corrected yourself, “Do you know me?”

He sighed, drinking a small amount of liquid from his glass and looking to the rowdy crowd as their boisterous laughter echoed throughout the walls.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m going to need two things,” he said, downing the remainder of alcohol from his glass in one quick swell, “another drink, preferably a bottle this time.”

You laughed at him, before asking; “and the other thing?”

“Privacy,” he uttered with a small hint of sadness. You expressed concern within your eyes before patting him on the back and rubbing small circles in comfort to him.

You weren’t sure why you brought your hand up to comfort him, it seemed almost reactionary. A natural instinct of familiarity; organic.

“Alright, Shanks,” you began, making eye contact with Mary once more, “I’ll buy you a bottle under one condition.”

“And what might that be?” he chuckled warmly.

“That you give me a small glint of information before we proceed to the beach,” Mary placed the bottle on the counter and you placed down more berry in response, “I need to know if you are threatening me with a good time, or if you plan on executing me to reclaim some debt.”

“Were we enemies?” you asked him, bearing your gaze at the wall behind the bar.

“Sometimes,” Shanks shrugged his shoulders, prompting you to snap your gaze back to his. He erupted a full belly laugh from his diaphragm at your reaction. He let out a deep sigh before he suggested; “let’s make to the beach and I’ll fill you in.”

Mary smiled, looking between the two of you before the beckoning of Captain Harold and several bottles of the cheapest rum called her from her place before you.

You nodded, neglecting to collect glassware while you grasped the neck of the bottle; not once removing your eyes from the red-head next to you.

You made your way down towards the beach, walking in step with Captain Shanks, as the crew bid him goodnight. You noticed several members of his crew gawked at you as if they had seen a phantom or something of the make.

Once gazing into the open sea, the Captain plonked himself unceremoniously on the sand, legs spread wide as he sat with his knees bent upwards. You smiled at him before crouching down to sit beside him, uncorking the fresh rum bottle in your hands and offering it to him. He smiled as he took it from your grasp and brought it to his lips.

You trailed your eyes over his form, trying to conjure a whisp of memory from the recesses of your mind. After having no image return to you, you rose up your voice.

“So-,” you began, only to be cut off my Shanks.

“You were – are,” he started to relay, laughing at the fact he spoke over you. You nodded to him to continue.

He paused, sighing before again voicing what he was attempting to confess to you.

“It’s been ten years to the day since I lost you,” he sighed, looking down to the sand near his knees, “and not a day went by that my thoughts were not drawn to you.”

You looked at him, puzzled at what he was telling you.

“Your gold band,” he gestured with his hand towards your neck grasping the bottle, keeping his eyes fixed on the sand below him, “was gifted to us by our former Captain we served under: Gol D. Roger. He had a lot of love for you and I.”

“The King of the Pirates?” you asked him, eyes wide before adding, “and us. What do you mean, us?”

He sighed again, this time bringing his head to slouch back as he gazed at the dark and cloudless sky above you.

“I can’t tell you what happened right now. It’s-,” he paused between the words, prompting you to inch forward and look at his face. He turned his face away from you as you attempted to gaze into his eyes; “-it’s too painful today.”

You frowned and instead reached down to the hand placed upon his hand, and swiftly reclaimed the rum bottle from within his grip. He turned his head towards you at this and trailed his eyes up to yours as you placed the lip of the bottle and downed two large gulps of the liquid. You squeezed your eyes as the strong alcohol burned its way down your throat and into the pit of your belly.

He laughed at your actions, finally the forlorn expression eclipsed by glee.

“You haven’t changed,” he uttered, reaching his hand up to your hair before recoiling it back again. You watched him do this, as processing the boundary you expressed earlier still lingered within his thoughts. Instead of reaching your hair with his hand, he fell his grasp to your hands as they held the rum bottle.

“Is there truly nothing you remember of me?” He asked you, looking down to where his single hand rested upon your own. You furrow your brows and search your mind through closed eyes, willing yourself to remember any aspect about him. You hissed out a growl in frustration as you found no recollection.

“I want to,” you whispered to him, “you seem a decent kind of man, if not a little forward with the kiss and all.”

He chuckled at your comment, his laughter building to a rumble. His shoulders began to quake lightly as his laughter died and morphed into soft sobs. He attempted to conceal them from you by raising his hand up from where it rested atop his knee and turned to face away from you. You were overwhelmed slightly by this man becoming wrecked with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, bringing yourself to rest on your knees as you pulled yourself closer to him.

You opened your arms and shimmied your legs forward, hoisting them over his bent knees and found a comfortable spot on the sand to rest between them. Your arms circled his shoulders as you felt his right arm wrap beneath your waist and hook up your spine. He held his face flush with your stomach and squeezed his hand to grasp at your body as if you were to slip away at any moment. You felt his shoulders begin to relax into your embrace while inhaling your scent. You looked down the top of his head before absentmindedly bringing your lips down to place a chaste kiss against his hair. He flinched slightly at this impact, tension building in his shoulders before he slumped them forward.

You heard him sigh into your diaphragm as you did so, bringing his face away from its hidden position against you and resting his chin atop your chest to bring his sights to look up at you. For some reason, this man as he held you in an intimate proximity did not have you thrusting him away from your with excessive force as you did with so many others.

You unwrapped your left hand from around his shoulders and set it against his cheek. His youthful smile returning as you caressed him. You warmly smiled in response, feeling the gruff of his stubble against the palm of your hand before he turned his head and placed a brief kiss atop your inner hand.

“I am willing to dedicate the rest of my life to getting you to fall in love with me once again,” he whispered against your hand before turning his head to meet your gaze, “this I swear.”

Your eyes widened at the comment with a small smile toying at your mouth.

“I gather my undying devotion is overwhelming for you,” he chuckled, prompting you to move your hand away from his face and place both hands atop his shoulders.

“It is, to be perfectly candid with you,” you giggled at him, smoothing your arms over his shoulders and tracing circles against them with your thumbs, “I have tried everything to bring a small fragment of the person I once was to the forefront of my being.”

He trailed his hand from its place at the small of your back and rested it atop your left hip, grasping it firmly within his palm and kneading the flesh beneath it.

You brought your attention to the gold ring on your leather necklace as you held onto his shoulder, narrowing your eyes at the metal slightly; pleading within your own mind to bring forth any memory of the man cradling himself against you.

“To put myself in your hideous sandals,” you uttered, prompting him to quirk his head slightly to the side, “you found me, and it’s almost as if you did so only to lose me again.”

“Aye, it is,” he nodded, looking down again and meeting his eyes with the flesh of your forearm. He ghosted his lips over your left arm, dragging it higher within the crook of your elbow. Your hair follicles stood on edge under his ministrations, as he continued to not kiss your skin; but rather feel the way your body tasted below his lips.

“And you looked lovely in my highly practical sandals, last time you wore them,” he smirked his lips against your flesh before placing a kiss against it. He trailed kisses varying in intensity back down your forearm and against your wrist, prompting your breath to hitch in your throat.

That comment was it. After a variety of interpersonal and intimate words shared regarding your prior relationship with the man beneath you; it was the ugly sandals that brought a flitter of memory to grace behind your eyes. Any other comment; the hand in your hair from earlier, the wedding ring gifted by Gol D. Roger before he was executed, anything else; it was the ugly sandals he found in the run of the mill town that he purchased and, much to your horror, wore in public.

You remember taking them from his room and fleeing above deck with them in an attempt to throw them overboard to rid yourself of their ugliness forever, only to have your waist caught by your husband as he twirled you around to face the deck again with playful reprimand in the process of doing so.

At the request of your husband, you placed them on your feet and experienced the absolute comfort they bore you; almost shrieking in disgust at yourself for relishing in the feeling; as he belly-laughed at you.

“We’ll get you some at the next port” you heard his voice within your mind, “then we can be matching.”

You remembered him wiggling his eyebrows, prompting you to place your closed fist against his chest and tap him slightly.

“We can even get tiny little ones for when you relent and let me put a child in you,” you remembered his tone, causing a blush to rise presently to your cheeks.

“Something the matter, love?” Shanks' voice brought you from your singular memory and back into the present moment you were sharing so intimately with your husband.

No other memory sprang forward, only a few whispers of certain smells: sea water, spiced rum and stagnant drinking water with the natural smell men aboard a boat. You circled your arms around his shoulders and again pressed him against yourself, smothering his face against your sternum between your breasts. Your mouth fell slack as you pressed your face into his hair and inhaled the aroma of the fragrance he favoured to utilise in his red locks: sandalwood and ginger prominent with his natural scent lingering beneath it.

You began to feel a rough flurry of taps from the man beneath you as he indicated for you to release him. His laughter was unrestrained as his eyes twinkled with mischievousness.

“As happy as I am to once again have my face pressed between your breasts,” he heaved his laughter, “I do require air to sustain me.”

He brought his eyes to meet yours as you stared your eyes on the crashing waves of the beach as the tide began to come in further. Your eyes remained wide as you continued to will a semblance of recollection to come to you.

Once you offered no rebuttal at his comment, he again reached his hand up towards your hair only to halt it once more.

“What is it?” he asked you, now placing his right hand atop your left arm, holding it lovingly.

“I-,” you began, the words now halting between your lips. You brought your eyes down to look down and you continued to flitter them between each of his own.

“I-,” you again said, leaning in closer to him; prompting him to have a sense of seriousness overcome his features, “-will never own a pair of those ugly sandals.”

Immediately his seriousness fell away and his face split into a wide grin as his laughter rumbled within his chest one more.

“Yes, you always hated them. I think they’re wonderful,” he gasped while stifling his laughter. You continued to hold his shoulders as his laughter teetered off into a dull rumble.

“I tried to throw them overboard,” you uttered almost inaudibly, “and you threatened me with buying more of them.”

“You remember,” he gasped out a breathy sigh, “you remember me.”

He brought his torso up further to bring your foreheads to rest against each other. He nuzzled your nose slightly at the impact and squeezed his eyes shut with delight. He began to lean in to graze your lips with his, only to be halted by your gentle touch to bring him back.

“I don’t remember anything else aside from your disgusting sandals,” you whispered, closing your eyes before reopening them again and looking at him half-lidded, “and the way you looked at me when you suggested we begin trying for a child.”

A small gasp left his lips as a single tear fell from his right eye. Immediately he pulled your head against his further, seeking out your lips with his own. He moved his hand from its place at your hip to snake around your waist and hold you firmly against his lap. You felt him moan against your lips as you reciprocated his enthusiasm by lacing your fingers into his hair and tugging lightly at the new growth at the back of his neck.

As your proximity was so flush against one another, you had no choice but to press your full weight against him as he laid with his back against the sand; his hair sprawling out atop the course surface. He expertly maneuvered his right leg beneath yours without breaking the kiss, gasping into it as he darted his tongue out to meet with your own.

A soft whimper flung itself from your lips as he relentlessly attacked your mouth with his own; flittering deep and hungry kisses while trying to taste as much of you as he could with his tongue. You unlaced your fingers from his hair and raked them down his shoulders to his chest, massaging the hard muscle beneath them as you continued in your exploration. He gently rose his hand from its place around your waist and drew itself beneath your shirt and groaned when he felt your tender flesh beneath the material.

Placing your right hand below his cloak, you raked your fingers further along his ribcage and drew them up towards his left arm – halting your movement as you found none residing there.

You squealed into his mouth, feeling him smirk against your lips. You attempted to break from the kiss, only to feel his hand climb higher beneath your blouse and lie flat against your spine between your shoulder blades and continue passionately exploring your lips.

“Shanks,” you murmured a warning reprimand against his lips. He smiled while maintaining his lips against your own, feeling the soft pearls of his teeth as they made contact with your mouth. He continued to chase your lips each time you attempted to flee from his embrace.

You brought your hands up to ball the material of his white shirt within your fists and held him further against yourself, prompting him to let down his guard as he whimpered into your lips at your sudden domination. As soon as you felt him relinquish a small spectrum of control, you pushed hard on his collar bones and pried him from your lips. He first groaned in frustration before his body was wracked with uncontrollable laughter. He collapsed against the ground, prompting you to roll your body from above him to onto your own back in the sand as his laughter became contagious.

And as earlier, the heaving of your shoulders in fits of laughter evolved into heavy sobs from the both of you as you mourned the time lost between you.

“My bride,” Shanks called from beside you as he placed his right hand upon his eyes in an attempt to control his emotions.

“Yes, my groom,” you said as more of a whimper than an address.

He rolled over onto his side and hovered his face above yours, as the tears freely fell down the faces of the two of you; the moonlight cascading over your lover’s hair. Hesitantly, he reached his right hand up to your hair and slowly brought some loose strands from your face and wove it behind your ear. He sighed in relief as he watched you close your eyes and lean into his touch, taking your quivering lip between your teeth as you did so.

“You are as beautiful as the day I lost you,” he whispered with a slight hitch of his voice. You reopened your eyes to watch him smiling through his sorrow. You returned his expression and caressed his chest and ghosting your fingertips over his left shoulder.

“And you are one arm less than I remember,” you beamed a wide smile and giggled a little at your prod. He joined you in your laughter and pressed a chaste kiss against your hair before rising to his feet and offering you his right hand to hoist you up to meet him. You took his hand and allowed him to hoist you to your feet, before he dipped his shoulder down to make contact with your waist and lifted you over his right shoulder. He secured you in place with a crisp slap upon your left ass-cheek as he effortlessly crouched down to retrieve the forgotten, half-drunk rum bottle. He rose again to his feet and began to walk with you over his shoulder, using his teeth to uncork the rum bottle and spitting it against the sand.

“Is this quite necessary?” you asked him, mock annoyance in your tone.

He laughed and took a long swig from the rum bottle and gasped in joy as the liquid burnt its way down his throat.

“Not only is it necessary,” he called to you over his left shoulder, “it is also compulsory.” You laughed at him as he almost jigged back towards the tavern, him joining you in your laughter upon arriving at its steps and flinging open the door with his feet.

The arrival of the two of you had cheers erupting and reverberating from every corner and crevasse of the wooden building. Tankards were thrust into the air, foam sloshing carelessly from the top and onto the floor; much to the many protestations of Mary.

Shanks placed you on the floor after setting aside the bottle of rum atop a cylindrical raised bar table.

“Alright lads,” he addressed the room, “let me reintroduce you to my wife!”

He extended his right hand out for you to place your left hand within. As soon as you did so, he effortlessly spun you into him, your left arm laced over your front as he cradled you against himself.

You looked up to his face, your neck laying against his shoulder as he brought his lips down to meet your own for the first time publicly in a decade. Applause, shouts of glee and delight, more sloshing of ale and verbal reprimands from the tavern keeper echoed the hall as you smiled against the lips of your beloved. Your husband, and his bride.

#one piece #opla #x reader #shanks opla #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #shanks #one piece live action #opla fic #amnesia trope #my playlist broke me #angst #angst with a happy ending

820 notes · View notes

ewanmitchellcrumbs · 4 months

Note

Ever since that running aemond pic came out I've been thinking non stop about his thighs so... would you like to write something involving riding aemond's thigh? I have no other wishes and I totally get it if you think that's not enough of a prompt. You can ignore this if you want but I'd love to see what you can come up with!

You asked for this back in June, I'm so sorry for how long this has taken me. I am a shambles of a human being, truly. I hope you've stuck around long enough to see this!

Warnings: Thigh riding, smut, me playing fast and loose with canon. Word count: ~1.3k

The candle that rests beside her on the reading table burns low as she sits in her and Aemond’s marital chambers. The book that is spread out in front of her, Coming of the Andals, lays unread; her fingers tap anxiously against its pages, as her eyes remain fixed upon the door.

Aemond had been called to a meeting of the Small Council. They both knew why, it has been a long time coming. The injuries that Aegon sustained during the battle of Rook’s Rest have left him bedridden, he is no longer fit to rule, and their grandsire’s capacity for what he can do in his stead has reached its limit. Westeros needs a Targaryen upon the throne, and Aemond is next in line. It is a position she knows that her husband is all too eager to fill.

He ought to be back by now though, it has been hours. The evening grows late, and she has long since sent away her chambermaids, refusing to be readied for bed. She has no desire to sleep until Aemond returns, so she forgoes the comfort of her nightgown, despite longing to unlace the meticulously fastened ribbons that hold her bodice tightly in place against her ribcage.

Tiredness and impatience pluck at her nerves, making her shift irritably in her chair. She startles at a polite rap at the door, if it was Aemond then he would simply walk in, he would not bother to knock. Her brow furrows in confusion as she rises, walking towards the door to open it.

She looks down into the wide eyed anticipation of one of the Keep’s page boys. He clears his throat before speaking.

“Apologies for the disturbance at such a late hour, Princess, Prince Aemond has requested your presence in the throne room.”

She sighs, nodding and bidding the young lad goodnight, before snuffing out the candle and making her way through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast towards the Great Hall. The walk is long, and she is grateful she has not yet changed into her nightclothes, as the gown she wears does little to keep the chill of the castle air from nipping at her skin. She would feel annoyed at Aemond insisting she come all this way, were it not for the mixture of curiosity and excitement that flutters lightly in her chest.

Pushing open the great oak and bronze doors, her eyes scan the long carpet that stretches the length of the room, up to the high, narrow steps that lead to the raised iron dais. Aemond sits upon the throne. She stands silently as she regards him. His arms rest on either side of the asymmetrical tangle of jagged and twisted blades, long fingers curled around the makeshift armrests.

He is dressed as he was when he had left her earlier that evening; black, leather tunic, black breeches and leather boots, except this time the Conqueror’s crown sits atop his snowy head of hair, the Valyrian steel and rubies gleaming iridescent in the moonlight. He cuts quite the imposing figure as his single eye stares at her impassively.

Slowly, she descends the steps into the Hall, making her way along the carpet, maintaining eye contact with her husband the entire time. His lips quirk, the faintest trace of amusement tugging at their corners as he observes the unhurried pace with which she moves. It is not until she stands before the throne that he bothers to speak.

“It is not polite to keep your King waiting,” he utters quietly.

“Prince Regent,” she corrects him. “And it is not becoming of a King to rouse ladies from their slumber in the middle of the night.”

He huffs through his nose, smirking at her as he leans forward slightly. “You do not appear to be dressed for sleep. I must say, I am disappointed.”

“It is improper for a lady to greet the King in such a state of undress, or is that how you will have all the ladies of the court attend to you?”

“Hmmm. I have not yet decided how I would like you to attend to me. Will you curtsy to me?”

“Never,” she whispers with a playful giggle.

“Such insolence must be met with the King’s justice.”

She takes his hand as he offers it out, gasping as he tugs her forcefully up to him, her knees landing either side of one of his, as she sits against his thigh. Even through her skirts she can feel the unyielding sharpness of the throne beneath them. She steadies herself, placing her hands upon the smooth suppleness of the leather that covers his shoulders.

Aemond grasps her waist with one hand, the other moving to weave itself into her hair, as his eye drinks her in. She allows her gaze to wander to the crown, taking in the way it sinks into the thick silkiness of his hair.

“It suits you,” she says quietly.

“It looks better on me than it ever did on him.”

“And is this what has kept you from our bed?”

“I wanted you to see.”

He flexes his thigh, raising his leg to brush against her clothed core and she sucks in a shaky breath, the sensation causing a jolt that makes her throb with want.

“I would have seen…” she retorts with a slight whine, as the hand holding her waist moves to her hip, gripping it tightly and encouraging her to grind against him.

“Not like this,” he hisses, tugging her head back by her hair and mouthing hotly at her neck.

She moans, her nails digging into his shoulders to ground herself, as she fucks herself against his thigh, aided by the occasional bounce and flex of the muscle from Aemond. The ache between her legs is almost unbearable, the gusset of her smallclothes growing sticky with arousal, as the sensation of his lips upon her flesh makes her shudder.

“This moment is just for us,” he mutters, pushing and pulling her more forcefully against him, encouraging her to move faster. “But we shall have many more like it.”

“Gods, Aemond, please,” she whimpers, insides clenching around nothing as the friction against her aching pearl grows more intense.

“I will fuck a babe into you upon this throne,” he snarls, shifting his hand from her hair to pluck harshly at the lacings of her gown, before tugging down her bodice and wrapping his lips around the peak of her breast.

Arching against him, she buries her hands in his hair, keeping him anchored to her chest. The warmth of his scalp and the softness of the tresses between her fingers are oddly juxtaposed with the hardened coolness of the Valyrian steel that crowns Aemond’s head, but she has little time to dwell upon it.

She cants wantonly against Aemond’s leg, the pressure in her lower belly increasing, aided by the swirl of his wet tongue against her sensitive nipple. When it finally yields, she collapses forward against him with a strangled cry of pleasure, a rush of wetness soaking her smallclothes and leaving a damp patch on the area of her husband’s trousers that she rests against. Warmth cascades over her body, making her feel boneless as she pants for breath and Aemond’s lips release her with a wet pop.

He holds her steady, leaning back to look at her, as a cat might regard a mouse it toys with. His hooded eye roves over her glassy eyes, her parted lips, her bare chest, before he lifts a hand to adjust his crown slightly. “Hmmm. Yes. It makes everything look better.”

613 notes · View notes

lovelybrooke · 2 months

Note

hello, I've come bearing a platonic hh (and helluva boss) request, specifically the immortal reader series

What if the reader had an accident when getting back to hell, and ended up in a different ring, or hell even landed in imp city

I can see Beelzebub and Ozzie adoring immortal reader, with Bee being first to hang out, and Ozzie taking a little bit, but still would spoil the teen. Also keep Mammon away from them, it would be worse than Val.

Also I can see the whole news of this teen human in hell reaching the Ars Goetia, and Octavia just follows every post about it, Loona as well. Octavia could relate to the reader the most, since shes a teenager as well.

News of the reader being in a different ring would reach pentagram city, and everyone's yelling cause they cant leave the pride ring (the sinners at least, I dont think Charlie counts)

I could imagine this or, if we're talking about this ask, reader goes to confront I.M.P about killing the group of girls. I could see them freaking out, knowing that they would've never taking that job it was for some human. I think at this point there has been some rumors of a humans presence in hell, but nothing confirmed since reader doesn't leave the Hotel often. But of course, people have noticed a weird looking kid walking around with Alastor, having lunch with Rosie, even sometimes out and about with the princess of Hell herself. It wasn't till now that anything has been confirmed, now that you've left the hotel, and that you're alone.

I.M.P, primarily Blitzo, is scared that they're going to get into trouble with Alastor now that you're no longer in Pentagram City, and apparently Alastor isn't aware of that. I'd like to think that Millie and Moxxie love you, while Loona's pretty neutral towards you, at least in the beginning.

Regarding the other characters, I could see Octavia seeking you out, partly to prove you're real, and partly because she wants a friend her age, though she won't admit that. Her dad finds out about you through her.

I'd love to see what you guys think about the other Helluva boss characters, so please send your thoughts my way.

#yandere x reader #soft yandere #platonic yandere #helluva boss x reader #helluva boss #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #yandere hazbin hotel #platonic yandere hazbin hotel #yandere helluva boss #platonic yandere helluva boss

350 notes · View notes

norrisleclercf1 · 11 months

Text

It’s A Lie

Pairing: Max Verstappen x wife!Reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Cursing, Medical talk, C#ncer, hospital, ANGST, etc.

Words: 2.2K

Request: Yes/No

A/N: Did I write this in an hour? Yep, since that race was…not the best, decided to make you actually feel things

Max had 3 top moments in his life. The 3rd was getting called up to drive for Red Bull. 2nd was winning his first World Driver's Championship. The 1st was a day he'll never forget, which was marrying you. It was a day filled with joy and tears. Max never thought you'd agree to marry him. When he was ready to ask, he thought about puking for fear of you saying no.

But you said yes with a shake of your head and tears falling. Max couldn't control his emotions as he cried and hugged you close. The ring was wholly forgotten at the moment. No pictures were taken in a small private ceremony with the drivers and others. Just a memory for you and everyone else.

Max snuck one picture of the wedding. He tasked Daniel with getting a Polaroid picture of your first kiss as a couple. Max kept the picture in his wallet and looked before every race. The two of you were perfect together. With his harsh temper on the track, he was calm and soft at home. The roles switched between you two. You were the harsh-tempered one at home.

Max thought you hung the moon. He was so damn in love with you. Even considered retiring now just so the both of you could start a family. You laughed and kissed him. Telling him to enjoy his youth and speed. He nodded and pulled you closer, talking about everything and anything.

He knew you better than you did, so when he noticed your slight change in sleep, he thought something was wrong.

"Max, stop. I've been working slightly longer hours. I'm just catching up on some sleep." You laugh, fixing your usual coffee while your husband grimaces. "Snoepje, this isn't normal for you. Please just rest for the day." (little candy) Max pleads, but you just groan and slam your mug down. "Max, baby, I'm okay. I slept a little bit past my alarm." Max shakes his head and pulls his hair slightly. "Try 5 hours. It's the afternoon." He sighs, and you cock your head to the side. "What?" You spin and see the time. It wasn't 9 in the morning, but almost 1 in the afternoon.

You usually woke around 6 or 7 in the morning to jog with Max, but this time. You slept well over your standard time. Maybe something was wrong. You didn't feel sick, perhaps just tired, but that was it. "Okay, so I was exhausted." You joke, yet your husband's stone face isn't in the mood for joking.

"Okay, okay." You give up, knowing you wouldn't win this one, and email your boss saying you wouldn't be coming in. Your boss didn't have a problem with you taking the day off as you were always working.

Max was already planning a vacation for both of you, wanting to take advantage of this. "Max, no. Come lay down with me." Giving your best puppy dog eyes, Max tries hard not to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his mind. "Snoepje, maybe go to the doctor." He pleads to move to lie on top of you, placing his head on your stomach. Closing his eyes, he listens to the soft thumps of your heartbeat before a thought comes to mind. "Wait? Could you be pregnant?" Sitting up fast, you choke on a laugh at his blinding happiness.

"No, Max. I finished my period a few days ago." You sigh, closing your eyes again, and Max nods. "Maybe that's it. Your hormones are balancing back out, and you're tired." Humming in agreement, knowing he was convincing himself that everything was okay. "Yes, Max. Now lay down, please." You beg your hyperactive puppy of a husband. Max smiles and lies down, forgetting all about it.

It wasn't till another 6 months when Max noticed you weren't the same self. This time you joined him for a race, as he was keen on keeping you close to ensure everything was okay. Laughing with Max, Christian, and Adrian, you felt lightheaded but waved it off.

"Oh god, Y/n." Christian noticed it first, pulling Max's attention to see the small line of cherry red fall from your nose. "Snoepje!" Ge grabs a clean rag and pushes it to your nose, making you groan from the severe pressure. "Max, not so hard." You wheeze, unable to breathe, which has Max easing the tension. "Why is your nose bleeding?" Eyes wild with concern which have you giggling.

"Max, it's the pressure change in the climate. It happened to me all the time as a kid. "It'll stop soon. See?" Pulling the rag away, you dab your nose and show it isn't bleeding any more. Max sighs and knocks his forehead with yours, smiling like a fool from his freak-out. "Are you okay?" He whispers, watching Adrian and Christian back off, leaving the two of you alone. "Of course." You smile, lying to him, not wanting to tell him about you being lightheaded.

"You promise?" Vulnerability all over him, hating when you lied to him or not telling him there was a problem. "Max. I promise you. I'm okay." You whisper and lean up, kissing your husband on the lips and then his ring. "Now, go win, and maybe I'll show you just how okay I am." You giggle and reach down, grabbing him, which has him shiver and pull away. Laughing, he nods and goes to win the race.

After 2 months, you started to notice a severe problem. There was indeed something wrong. Those nosebleeds and being lightheaded became more frequent because Max told the team he couldn't race one weekend and stay home with you. After fighting, he was away for a race, and you were in the doctor's office. Getting the news of what was wrong with you was received with a smile and a nod leaving to call Max.

"Anemic? That's fucking it?" Max snaps over the phone while you fix your tea, something to help calm your nerves. "Anemia, yes, that's what the doctor said." Closing your eyes, you wait for the room's spinning to fade. "No. No. That doctor is fucking stupid. There is no way with the bloody noses and you almost fainting anytime you move; it can't just be fucking ANEMIA!" In the end, he's yelling. In the background, you hear JP telling Max to go somewhere else.

"Max, they said I have severe anemia and just need to change my diet and take some pretty hefty iron supplements." You sip your tea and lie on the couch, exhaustion settling deep into your bones. "I'm coming home, fuck this race." He curses more in Dutch, refusing to be away from you like this. "Baby, don't. This is a huge race for you and Red Bull. I'm fine, okay? Chrissy is coming over later to cook. So I won't be alone." Chrissy being your maid and chief, was like a second mother. "Y/n, I'm not fighting this. I must be home with you, not driving some metal around circles. You're more important." He spits, hearing hurried rustling, and you take deep breaths to control your temper.

"Max Emilian Verstappen! Don't you fucking come home! If you do, I'll divorce you." You snap, tired of him freaking out over your health. Silence is met before Max chuckles. "Then we're getting a divorce. I'm coming home." Max hangs up, and you sigh, giving up.

"Y/n? Darling? It's me." You wake to Chrissy yelling and walking into the living room and stop seeing your state. "Let's take a shower and get some color in you. Before Max sees." Chrissy knew the truth and was helping you. It ate at you every day, but you wanted to live an everyday life as much as possible.

"He's on the way home." You whisper, Chrissy nodding, helping you to the shower.

"Y/N! Chrissy!" Max's voice booms through the house, and it meets with laughter. Heading to the kitchen, and sees you smiling and laughing. You look healthy and happy. Color blushed your skin and saw life back in you; maybe it was just anemia.

"Snoepje." You turn and smile at him widely. "Guess we're getting that divorce, hmm?" You playfully push him, but Max grabs your wrist and yanks you into his chest. You hide your pain and wrap your arms around his waist. "We'll get a divorce when I die." He jokes, kissing the top of your head before leaning over and kissing Chrissy's temple. He mouths a thank you, and Chrissy smiles and returns to cooking. Max stayed away from the track for almost 3 months.

His first weekend back and winning, he'll never forget getting that phone call after the race, thinking it was you congratulating him. Except he's met with Chrissy crying, loud beeps in the back, hurried shouts, and Chrissy telling Max to come home now. Rushing home, he goes to the hospital, breaking every law in history to get to you. Max was still in his race suit. That's how fucking scared he was.

"Chrissy!" Seeing her, he rushes to her as she cries softly, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She sobs, pulling away from Max. "What are you sorry about? Chrissy? What's going on?" Max yells as Chrissy shakes her head and rushes out, unable to handle seeing him fall apart.

"Will someone tell me what the FUCK IS GOING ON!" He roars, panic pumping through his veins as a nurse rushes to his side. "Mr. Verstappen, we need you to lower your voice." The nurse speaks in a soft tone leading him to a room.

Pushing the door open, Max sobs softly, seeing your state. A shell of yourself lay on the bed. How could you come to this state before him? Thin, so very thin, hair dull and stringy. How could he have missed this? Why didn't he see this? He was home; what did he miss? He moves to your side, lifts up your hand, and wails behind his hand so he doesn't wake you.

"Late-stage glioblastoma. Shame we caught it so late. Nothing we can do now. She signed a DNR." A nurse sighs, checking your vitals, and Max lifts his head. "What? What's a glioblastoma, a fucking DNR? What's going on?" The nurse turns, and her eyes widen, seeing the confused look on his face.

"Let me get the doctor." Rushing out of the room, an older man with a pristine white coat walks in and closes the door. He moves around silently and takes his jacket off.

"They tell me you are unaware of what is going on with your wife." his voice was soft but static like he was even having a hard time doing this. "She has severe anemia. Why are they saying she has something called glioblas-glioblastoma and signed a DNR. What the fuck is a DNR?" Max's foot bounces, holding your hand, praying you open your eyes.

"Glioblastoma is a form of brain cancer. It's uncurable. Your wife is in the late stages. Meaning treatment will not help. I diagnosed her a little over a year ago. Treatment was working, but......sadly I told her not too long ago we couldn't do anything else." Taking a deep breath, the doctor continues. "A DNR means Do Not Resucitate. When her heart rate stops, we can't perform life-saving measures. Mr. Verstappen...I'm so very sorry."

Max laughs and shakes his head, having heard nothing after being told it was cancer. It was static around him. You have been dying this entire time and never once told him. How could this have happened?

"I was home. I took time off, and she was dying before me; how could I not see this?" He asks, not wanting an answerback. "I'll leave you be." The doctor whispers and leaves as Max moves closer, burying his head into your stomach and crying. "How could you do this?" He sobs.

"I'm sorry." He yanks away and sees you awake, a soft smile gracing your lips. "Why? I would've retired. I would've stayed by your side the entire time. We could've done so many things together. Why?!" He yells, and you just move your hand cupping his face.

"And have you watched me die? Max, I couldn't handle that." You whisper, but your husband just shakes his head. "I hate you." He snaps like a child but regrets it when it leaves his mouth. "That's okay. I hate myself too." You whisper and wince in pain, hitting a small red button, and Max watches you relax when the medicine hits.

"Promise me something?" You ask as beeps fill the room, Max becoming aware again of everything. "Anything." He whimpers, pulling you into him. "Love again." Kissing his hand that cups your cheek, Max shakes his head no.

"Yes. You'll find someone you love, and I want you to remember I sent them to you for a reason. Don't push them away, Max. Cherish them." You whisper, making Max sob all over again, and he gathers you in his arms like a child.

"I love you." He whimpers, the beeping slowing as he just holds you, the only sound of the slow beeping, but soon, even that was gone.

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 fandom #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 imagine #f1 scenario #formula one #f1 2023 #max x reader #max verstappen scenario #max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #max imagine #max verstappen fanfic #f1 one shot #f1 fanfic #f1 red bull #f1 angst

1K notes · View notes

readerthatreadsss · 1 year

Note

Requesting more dom!peter 😮‍💨🥵

𝗔/N: Your request is my command! (especially since I've been searching for more dom!Peter fics myself and have been failing so I might as well do it my damn self!) Also, yeah, it's been a damn long time lmao. I planned to finish up and release this like 4 months ago. Then a whole bunch of bad shit happened and I kinda gave up on writing for a little bit (outside of school cause I need that damn Bachelor's degree) BUT I've slowly started reading again and that bled into me opening up my drafts and finding this and spending some time with it. If you couldn't tell I had a shit ton of fun with this one...so feel free to check my newly updated Masterlist and request guidelines and send me more requests! The more I get, the more I'm gonna force myself to actually write them. (If you already sent one just know I’m working on it I promise)

𝗔𝗹𝗹 𝗡𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 | 𝗧𝗮𝘀𝗺!𝗣𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗲𝗿

(heavily inspired by the song with the same title by Adele.) It came up in my shuffle and when I started listening to the lyrics it was just too perfect.

he's so fucking pretty aghhhh (gif not mine)

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Tasm!Peter Parker x Vigilante!Fem reader

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5.6k+ (This is my big comeback so I might as well feed yall)

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: You and Peter have been broken up for about 3 years, but when an impromptu visit to your apartment takes a turn...that may no longer be the case...

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 (𝟭𝟴+ 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗗𝗡𝗜): SMUT!, lil bit of angst at the end (ex to lovers so ofc), minimal use of y/n, P*rn-with-plot, Reader and Peter are FERAL for each other because of their powers (enhanced senses and all that), p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap your willy before you fuck her silly), a lil possessive Peter, oral (r receiving), fingering, praise kink, Peter using his webs to restrain reader (pre-consented ofc), dom!Peter, sub!Reader (bratty at first tho), pet names (sweetheart, baby, pretty girl, angel), choking, rough sex, brief spanking, other positions, creampie, etc...

The remaining sunlight of the evening bled through your wide studio apartment windows as you finished folding what was left of your newly washed laundry. The plan for the rest of the evening was simple;

Drink two bottles of wine (knowing that your enhanced metabolism would sober the effects), catch up on a few missing assignments to keep your NYU professors off your ass, then jump into your suit and go patrolling.

It was a familiar routine.

Or at least, it had been...since he left.

Your relationship with him ended during your first year of college. To say it hurt like hell would be an immense understatement.

What hurt the most was the fact that you both gave everything you had to make it work...but long distance can be a bitch.

On that warm Saturday night in May, your ex-boyfriend received a call informing him that he had been accepted into a very prestigious engineering program (with a full-ride scholarship attached) all the way in California.

You applied for the very same program, so you knew just how big of an opportunity it would be. And, in good faith, you pushed him to take the offer.

You both insisted, "we'll make it work," and "we'll video chat and text every day. It'll be fine!"

What a load of horseshit.

It took 6 months for you to both arrive at the conclusion that you couldn't juggle your individual academic loads, your nighttime hero personas, AND a long-distance relationship all at the same time. A three-hour time difference didn't help matters either.

It took a while, but you eventually moved on. You kept your grades up, went on a few dates here and there, and even managed to convince yourself that you were doing fine without him.

Until...

*knock knock knock*

Your head peeked out from the fridge to look where you heard the strong yet hesitant knocks on your front door.

Only a handful of people knew where you lived and you weren't expecting to see any of them today.

Assuming it would be a postal worker or someone along those lines, you swung open the door with a polite smile.

"Hi-"

You felt your voice die in your throat as you locked eyes with the deep brown ones you hadn't seen in three years.

"Peter," his name fell from your lips, barely audible.

"Hi, Y/N," he replied with that awkward grin you knew all too well.

His hair was shorter than the last time you saw him, but from the tight fit of his jacket, you could see that was about the only thing about him that shrunk.

You wanted to actually hit yourself in the head for actually imagining yourself doing many things to his large...meaty...biceps- NO, no, no, no get a grip! a voice of logic sounded in your mind.

You hadn't realized how long you stood there silently sizing him up until he spoke again. "Can I...uh...come in, maybe?"

"Umm...sure," you nervously answered, finally taking note of the small cardboard box he was holding.

As you stepped aside to allow him entrance into your apartment, his familiar scent invaded your sensitive senses.

"Oh God," you muttered under your breath, knowing that he heard you, yet unaware that your scent had basically the same effect on him as well.

"You alright?" he turned and asked you in concern trying to hide the tightening of his jeans with the box he brought.

You nodded way too fast, promptly putting some distance between yourself and him. He hadn't been there for longer than 5 seconds and he was already having an effect on you.

"How've you been?" he questioned you, scratching his neck and actively avoiding eye contact. Unbeknownst to you, he was currently repeating every physics law he could remember in his mind to try to quell his growing erection.

It wasn't working very well.

"I've been fine. You?" you quickly spoke, slightly out of breath.

"I-uh-I'm alright," he shook his head with a tight-lipped smile.

He soon found himself just looking at you. It wasn't a blank stare, no, it was the sort of intense look you unintentionally gave someone when trying to commit every single feature to memory as if you weren't certain when you'd get another chance to.

It was a habit of his you noticed a lot when you were dating. And just as it did back then, it sent chills running rampant down your spine. Not to mention your nipples growing obviously hard behind your large shirt with no bra to hide it.

Peter noticed it immediately and fought back a smile, which you glimpsed.

"Why are you here, Peter?" you decided to get down to business before your body betrays you any further.

The brunette let the question hang in the air for a few seconds before actually coming up with an answer. "I wanted to drop these off," he placed the small box on your kitchen counter.

Your eyes immediately narrowed. "You could have mailed it. Or you could've just dropped it at the door and then left. So why are you really here Peter?" you would have felt worse about your tone if you weren't so bothered.

Why the hell did he feel the need to suddenly show up and make you start feeling things you swore you wouldn't feel for him again?

Peter took a deep breath. "Aunt May called me last week. She's not doing too good. So, I came back to help take care of her."

You felt your stomach sink at his words. While you both dated, May grew to be like a second mother to you. You had no idea she was sick.

"Oh shit Peter-I'm so sorry," you crossed the room to engulf him in a hug, despite your initial reaction to his visit.

Peter immediately accepted your hug and found the anxiety in his body dissipating soon after. Your hugs tended to have that effect on him.

He couldn't stop himself from deeply inhaling and drawing in your hair's familiar scent when he wrapped his hands around your clothed waist.

A few seconds passed before you released each other, with you also savoring the feel of his body against you and the way how your skin lit up with goosebumps though there was a thin layer of clothing separating his hands from you.

"I was just cleaning up my old room at May's and I found some of your stuff so I figured I'd drop by and..."

You nodded in understanding and walked over to where he placed the box.

It was mostly filled with old t-shirts, tools, and gadgets from days when you would sleep over at Peter's or stop by to help each other with school projects.

"Thanks," you sent him a smile as you closed the box.

Your smile warmed Peter's heart. It was actually his second favorite thing about you, after your hugs of course. "Yeah, you're welcome," he smiled back, running his hand through his hair. It was a mess by now, but you still wanted to run your hands through it…or maybe even pull on it-

"Sorting through some of this stuff made me realize how much I...missed you," he said, his tone growing more assured.

Thankfully, you were still facing away from him, not giving him the chance to catch the pained expression that briefly crossed your face.

But you could feel him slowly approaching your frozen figure and found your body silently reacting in ways it shouldn't be, yet again. "Do you miss me?" he asked, his voice heavy.

You held back the urge to scream "Yes!" because admitting that out loud would be taking 3 steps backward.

Admitting that you missed him would be undoing all the work and tears you put into moving on from him and the hopes and dreams you had for a life with him.

Admitting that you missed him would mean giving in to the part of you that thought back to your most intimate moments with him when you touched yourself.

And admitting that you missed him would mean letting him back into the four-cornered box you had locked yourself in for the past 3 years.

But, with every step closer that he took, your resolve disappeared that much faster.

"You okay?" he called for your attention.

Your sharp intake of oxygen brought a tense silence over the room when you turned to face him and realized that he stood close enough for your lips to nearly brush his.

"Peter, I-" you tried to form words, but then you saw his lust-filled brown eyes lower to your lips.

And that was all it took for the last of your self-control to disappear.

"Damn it," you mumbled once you realized what was about to happen.

Before Peter could question your outburst, you found yourself latching onto his jacket lapels and pulling him down to meet your lips.

It took mere milliseconds for Peter to react. After all, he had been thinking about doing this since you swung open the door and looked up at him with those eyes of yours.

His large calloused hands took hold of the sides of your face as you clashed in a heap of teeth and tongue. It was desperate and feverish but it was perfect.

It was a language only you and Peter seemed to master, even now after three years apart.

Your lips moved swiftly against his, eager to taste more and more of him with each passing second. You felt him press his growing bulge flush against you, causing a pathetic whine to involuntarily tumble from your lips and a smirk to find its way onto his.

"I did miss you," you softly spoke, "but we can't do this Peter," the logical part of your brain made an appearance, though you kept peppering his lips with kisses.

As his lips moved to your neck, Peter's hands slid down to your ass where he effortlessly lifted your legs off the ground and up around his waist. The feeling of his hands against the bare skin of your thighs garnered yet another moan from you.

"You don't sound so sure angel," you felt him smirk against your heated skin.

You hadn’t heard that nickname in years yet it sent small chills down your spine for the second time that night.

A mumbled curse slipped your lips when he nipped a particular spot below your ear. That was definitely gonna leave a mark.

You soon gathered the strength to pull Peter's hungry lips away from your body, swinging your arms around his neck to hold yourself up.

"We can’t go back from this, you know that right?" you spoke, the both of you panting from the effects of the last minute.

"I don't wanna go back," Peter shook his head, "I wanna fuck you, right here, right now," his lips immediately found yours before his words could fully resonate.

This caught you by surprise which allowed Peter to slip his tongue between your lips.

As his taste continued to flood your senses, you felt yourself grow alarmingly wet.

Peter knew it too because he slowly pulled back and smirked down at you. "I could smell you from the moment I walked in here. Glad to see three years hasn't changed the way your body reacts to me, angel," he accompanied his words with a quick slap to your ass.

His slap and the familiar pet name left you a moaning mess. Just like he knew it would.

A lovely laugh left Peter's mouth before his lips met yours again.

He walked your entangled bodies over to the kitchen counter without breaking the sloppy kiss.

Peter used one hand to blindly clear the counter and place you on it, which sent your box of things flying toward the floor.

Not that either of you cared.

"Too much clothes," you were barely able to say in between kisses.

You followed up by shoving Peter's jacket off his shoulders which fell to your hardwood floors with a thud. He immediately got the message and got rid of his t-shirt as well.

A shameless whimper left your lips at the sight of his very toned muscles. You easily maneuvered Peter's body closer to you and began kissing and sucking his neck and every other available inch of skin just as you had pictured earlier, making sure to leave a few purple bruises in your wake.

“You’re killing me here baby,” Peter harshly swallowed, his eyes sliding closed as you continued to have your way with his chest.

"Wouldn't be a terrible way to die though, right?" you mumbled between lovebites and licks. You felt like an animal in heat but you just couldn't get enough of him, the occasional flex of his muscles with each slither of your tongue and his deep groans only egging you on more.

The taste of his skin alone could've made you cum easily.

But the same could be said for Peter as the feel of your tongue slithering all along his chest had him practically creaming his pants then and there.

Fucking enhanced senses, he cursed inwardly.

“Alright, ease up pretty girl,” he reluctantly grabbed your head, detaching your swollen lips from his body.

“Your turn,” he tugged at the hem of your top.

You quickly pulled off the oversized t-shirt you were wearing to reveal your bare top half to him.

He spared no time in cupping your breasts with his eager hands. "Fuck, I missed you so much," he mumbled.

"Me, or my boobs?" you jokingly raised a brow at him.

"Definitely both," he grinned, bringing his mouth down to your tits.

As his tongue made contact with the soft mounds, you loudly moaned and wrapped your fingers in his unruly tangle of hair.

He switched between nipping and sucking on your nipples, in the way he knew you liked, while his free hand pinched and squeezed the other.

"Just like that Peter fuck-" hearing his name fall from your lips drove Peter insane.

His tongue flicked your sensitive nipples harder, and his eager sucking pleased you to no end.

Peter eventually pried himself away from your supple breasts, remembering the other parts of you he wanted to worship, and brought his hands to rest on the sides of your head. Your lips connected once more in a delicate kiss.

Though you knew what lay ahead for the evening, you were both perfectly content with each other's lips at the moment, just enjoying the constant waves of pleasure from the intimate contact.

But it wasn't long before the kiss grew heated and you tried to take control. Peter, however, wasn't giving you a chance.

"I leave for three years and you think you're hot shit, huh," he smirked.

"Why don't you ask the guy I fucked on this counter last week," you retorted, knowingly riling him up.

"Don't say shit like that, it's not funny," he nearly growled as his grip on your ass grew more forceful.

You secured your grip on his hair before pressing a small kiss on the side of his lips. "Gimme a reason to shut up then," you challenged him.

“Trust me, I will,” Peter grabbed your hands from his hair and forced them to your sides. His movements were swift as he laid you flat on your counter and ripped your thong off your body.

There he is, you smiled to yourself. This is the Peter you wanted to fucking ruin you.

You felt his face ghost your drenched opening as he deeply inhaled your scent. "You smell fucking delicious baby," he praised you, his mouth actually watering at the thought of tasting you.

A genuine smile found its way onto your face but morphed into a gasp when Peter teasingly ran his tongue up your sensitive slit.

"You taste even better," he added, using his strong arms to bring your thighs closer to his head. He wanted to tease you but it was getting harder to resist the urge to dive right into your heat like a man starved.

"Holy shit," you all but screamed as he briefly nipped at your swollen clit before sucking on it to soothe the sting.

His grip on your thighs combined with the ministrations of his tongue was pure bliss.

You attempted to slip your hands in his hair once more, but found that they were suddenly held in place against your counter by two of his webs.

Your eyes briefly widened at the feel of the rough, sticky material against your wrists, not having felt it in a few years. Back then, you expressed to Peter your desire to engage in some bondage, but being the daughter of a super soldier, it was clear that no rope or wire would be able to hold you. Peter's webs became the next best choice.

"That's not fair," you pouted, though it melded into a moan as Peter continued to suck and lick between your glistening folds.

The sounds of Peter devouring you resounded through the small apartment.

"I'm close Pete," you whined, your chest heaving in arousal.

Peter decided to focus his tongue on your eager bundle of nerves while he slowly inserted two fingers into your pussy. He instantly curled the digits causing you to briefly squirm at the sudden pressure against your G-spot.

"More," you begged, and Peter delivered, adding another finger inside of you. He immediately sped up his motion inside of you, making sure his fingers gauged that spongy spot to drive you over the edge with each thrust inside of you.

“That feels so fucking good, Peter, oh my God," you loudly moaned at the feeling of his fingers inside of you, calling forth an orgasm with no warning.

You repeatedly bucked against Peter's face as you came, white-hot pleasure filling your veins. Peter locked onto your stare, still skillfully working his fingers in and out of you, loving the way you constantly clenched around his fingers.

"Jesus fucking Christ," your legs jerked when Peter dove in and drank every ounce of slick you had to give while still fucking you with his fingers.

With his face now damp of your juices, Peter looked up to meet your blissed-out eyes. "Gimme one more, angel," he placed a soft kiss on your thighs, "I know you can do it for me."

You would do anything to keep Peter's mouth between your legs.

So, you eagerly nodded in response before taking a deep breath in preparation for another onslaught.

You didn't have to wait long.

Peter’s tongue went to work on your glistening hole while his fingers fiddled with your overstimulated clit. And, within minutes, your thighs were trapping Peter's head as an even bigger orgasm rocked you again, the borderline pornographic sounds leaving your lips shooting straight to his hardened cock.

Peter seemed perfectly fine with staying between your legs all night, but you had other plans.

"Pete, I need you inside me," you begged, tears of pleasure leaking from your eyes.

He rose from beneath you and climbed up to free your hands from his webs. "I know, baby, I know," he softly replied, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips and using his hands to soothe your reddened wrists. Your own taste on his tongue flooded your senses which made you even more desperate.

Peter obliged, slipping out of his sweatpants and sliding his girth between your folds. He used one hand to hold himself up above you on the counter, and the other to slowly guide his dick into you.

You both shared a long moan as he buried himself to the hilt inside your pussy, your wetness making it way too easy.

He held still for a few seconds, waiting for you to adjust and give the all clear for him to move.

Eagerness guided your words. “Fuck me, please.”

Peter set a brutal pace, knowing you were more than capable of handling it. Satisfied cries left your chest as you dragged your nails along Peter’s back, hard enough to leave trails.

“You can take it, pretty girl, I know you can,” he groaned as he continued to pound into you, trying desperately not to blow his load with the way you were constantly clenching around him and marking his back.

You tried to reply, but all that you could form were sloppy moans and broken syllables.

“Oh look at you, drunk on my cock already?” he teased with a particularly hard slam that prodded your cervix, “I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

Pleasure-filled cries mingled with words continued to fall from your lips as Peter gently moved a few fallen strands of hair behind your ear with a hand. "-feels so fucking perfect," you muttered, your lips curved into a drunken smile.

Peter reached down and pinched one of your nipples, gaining a loud whimper from you. “I love hearing you make those pretty sounds for me baby,” his strokes grew harder and deeper.

“All for you, Pete, all for you,” you panted as he fucked into you, the delicious smell and sound of sex lingering in the air.

Peter used a hand to wrap around your throat before using the other to reach down and fiddle with your aching clit.

The combination of Peter’s dick hitting that perfect spot, his fingers massaging your clit, and the lack of air from his hand around your neck was making you dizzy and overstimulated.

You fucking loved it.

“God, I missed you,” you spoke breathlessly.

He moved closer to kiss you briefly and tenderly. “I missed you too, baby.”

No amount of time could take away his knowledge on how to please you, how to get you like this with ease, not when you were all he thought about for years on end.

Peter pressed a quick kiss to your forehead then continued to fuck you on your kitchen counter.

"I'm gonna cum again baby, right fucking there," you moaned out.

Peter's grip on your neck grew tighter. "Not yet, don't you cum until I tell you to sweetheart," he commanded you, removing his fingers from your clit.

A frustrated groan rumbled in your chest as you forced yourself to sustain your orgasm.

"Don't pout," he smirked.

And before you could realize it, Peter had pulled out of you and effortlessly flipped you onto your stomach.

A hand soon gripped your hair, yanking you up against his chest and eliciting a pitiful whine from you.

"Tell me what you want,” Peter commanded, using his free hand to strike your ass. Hard.

You whimpered again at the sting of his slap. “I need you inside me. Please,” you pleaded.

He seized your hair harsher and leaned forward for his lips to graze against your ears. “Beg.”

A small whine left your lips at his words. You were so desperate you didn’t even care how embarrassing this would be in retrospect. “I need to cum, Peter. Please baby you're the only one who can make me cum.”

Peter pressed a kiss to your neck, nearly causing you to lose your footing. And he soon complied by ramming himself back into you.

“Oh my Fuck-“ you cried before biting your lip, suddenly aware that you had neighbors.

But Peter pulled his cock from your heat, with just the tip remaining, before roughly slamming into you, his hips slamming against your ass with the motion. “Come on, lemme hear you angel.”

He repeated the action, knocking the air out of your chest, “Peter!” your hands gripped the sides of your counter with such force you were sure you felt it crack under your grasp.

Peter caught wind of this and freed your hair before using his hands to pull your hands behind your back. "You're so perfect baby," he mumbled in your ear, continuing to brutally fuck you from behind, "So fucking beautiful with my cock inside you."

"I can't hold it anymore," you cried, "I need to cum, Peter, please."

With that whiny tone and those overstimulated tears to top it off, Peter couldn't deny you any longer. "Let it all out for me sweetheart. Cum for me," he littered your shoulders with kisses.

Your eyes slammed shut as your walls contracted around his cock, pleasure shooting through you and rocking you on a seemingly cellular level. Your mouth opened in a silent moan, unable to form a sound from the satisfied tremors attacking your nerves. The intensity of your finish is one only brought on when Peter fucked you and it was damn near cosmic.

"Shit," you groaned in relief, your long-awaited climax passing.

Peter slowed his movements inside of you and released your hands. "You did so good for me angel," he pushed your hair aside and kissed your neck, trying to stave off his own orgasm for a little while longer.

Aftershocks rocked your body while Peter continued sporadically moving inside of you, yet you couldn't get enough. Your body was more than ready to keep taking whatever he dished out.

Peter didn't need to read your mind to see that, but he needed to make sure. His lips kept up their onslaught on your neck as he softly spoke, "You wanna keep going?"

"Hell yes," you panted with a grin that he couldn't fully see, "You still haven't cum yet, and my bed is still fully made."

Happy with your response, Peter gave your ass a sharp smack. "That's my girl."

He pulled out of you and turned your body to face him, smiling at the sight of your fucked out face. "Three orgasms and a handful of tears later and you're still the most beautiful girl in the world," he held you by the sides of your face.

His words left you reeling, causing a slight blush to dust your cheeks and butterflies to swirl within your stomach.

Before you could form a response, Peter leaned down to kiss you. He soon hoisted up your legs around his waist, preparing to escort you to your bed as per your own demands.

As he looked around for the bed's location, you took advantage of his momentary distraction and latched your lips onto his neck, reapplying the bruises you left there that were slowly fading already.

Peter was the happiest man on earth as he walked over to your bed, his cock prodding your soaked entrance, and your lips ravaging his neck.

He carefully sat on the edge of your bed, with you now on his lap and your legs still around him. You expected him to ease his length back into you but he slowly brought your head down to meet his intense stare.

You carefully wrapped your hands around his shoulders to keep yourself up, the silence in the room growing deafening.

You could tell from his eyes that he desperately wanted to say something, and you wondered if it was the same thing you had been considering as well.

But you were both aware of what saying those words would mean for your broken relationship and simply settled for smiles instead.

Peter brought a hand up to lay your forehead against his, allowing your breathing to momentarily sync.

"You ready for me?" he questioned you with a hand at the nape of your neck to hold your head against his.

You immediately nodded in response causing his own head to shake in time with yours. A small laugh was shared between you both as your nose continued to brush his own.

"You're adorable," you said before you could stop yourself.

That stupid full-toothed grin that you hadn't seen in a while soon spread across his beautiful face at your words, gaining another laugh from you.

"Last round?” you eventually pleaded with a smile.

"Anything for you," Peter replied, meaning it in every way. Adoration littered his stare as he slowly lowered you onto his length.

A satisfied mewl slipped your lips at the familiar feel of him.

The slow drag of his cock in and out of you, while he rocked your hips back and forth to grind on him, had your bottom lip sucked between your teeth with eyes closed and head thrown back in pleasure.

But Peter wanted to see it all. He wrapped a hand around your neck and forced you to meet his dilated eyes. “Keep your eyes on me, baby.”

His soft yet stern tone caused you to swallow back a moan as you continued to move on his girth.

He then slapped your ass with his free hand, silently urging you to move faster.

You leaned down and quickly kissed his lips before happily obliging, now beginning to bounce in his lap, chasing your next climax.

“There you go angel, just like that,” Peter’s stare never wavered.

Peter furiously fucked up into you, your moans and the constant smack of skin on skin filling the apartment.

His other hand which never left your throat now squeezed it harder. “Fuck!” You were barely able to moan out as your breasts bounced with your every move.

“Shit, you’re gripping me like a vice,” Peter groaned, his crude pace never faltering though his orgasm was closer than ever.

Your bed creaked under the onslaught of your bodies, but neither of you payed it any attention only having one goal in mind.

“One more time,” Peter planted his feet on the ground to get a better angle, "Need you to cum on my cock one more time."

But from the broken pacing of his hips to the strong furrow of his brow, you could tell he was close too. “Together?” You breathlessly suggested, grasping the nape of his neck with your hands.

Peter nodded in agreement before engulfing your chest and back with his arms, pulling you closer to his body.

Your breaths mingled, eyes focused on nothing except each other as his grip on your upper body allowed him to help you ride him even faster.

"Yes, Pete, oh my God-" pleas, curses, and moans tumbled from your lips as your skin buzzed at your incoming release.

"There you go, cum for me," Peter's voice grew strangled as his hips stuttered below you.

"Fuck," you wailed, your finish hitting you like a freight train and your pussy leaking into Peter's length.

The intense clench of your walls around him was all it took for Peter to explode with a groan, his pace faltering with that final pump.

"Holy shit baby," he panted, his cum painting your walls in spurts.

His firm hold on your body brought you collapsing on your bed together, satisfied and smiling.

And, for what felt like hours, you lay there in his arms. But of course, your thoughts began to run rampant.

Peter could damn near hear your thoughts spiraling.

"I don't regret this," he suddenly broke the silence you had elapsed into, "Do you?"

"Peter I-...I don't know," you freed yourself from his hold and sat up to look at him.

His brows furrowed at your response, hurt briefly flashing across his features.

"I loved you," you spoke, "I loved you more than anything."

"I know. I loved you too," Peter nodded with a small smile.

"And I will never blame you for leaving. Ever," you slipped a hand in his own and squeezed briefly.

"But?"

Your eyes stung with tears threatening to fall. "What happened to us, it damn near destroyed me, Peter. And it took so so long to put myself back together."

Peter swallowed harshly at your words.

"And then here you come, waltzing in here, fucking my brains out and making me feel things," you lowered your head, looking away from him.

You heard Peter move closer to you before feeling him lift your chin to face him again. His expression wasn't as disappointed as you'd expected, just confused. "Spit it out. I know you're holding something back."

"Why'd you come back here and-and do all this? Reminding me of what we had when you know you're gonna be gone again in the next few weeks?" you felt your voice shrink to a broken whisper.

Peter used his thumb to wipe away a lone tear that fell from your eye, his previously puzzled look now morphing into a smirk. There was obviously something he wasn't telling you.

You sniffled and lightly hit Peter's shoulder. "Well, now it's your turn bug face, spit out whatever you're hiding!"

You received no answer other than Peter leaning forward and pressing a deep kiss against your lips. You eagerly accepted and returned the spontaneous action but were left even more confused when he pulled away.

"That wasn't an answer," you arched a brow at Peter.

"I'm not going anywhere," he smiled.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I'm moving back to New York, or already moved, technically," he began to explain.

Your mouth opened and closed in shock as your brain fumbled for a response and came up inconclusive.

"I'm gonna finish out the school year online and stay here to take care of Aunt May. I mean it, baby, I'm not going anywhere," he grinned, watching tears of joy fall from your eyes.

"This better not be some sick fucking joke Peter, I swear to God," you pointed a finger at him accusingly.

"Can you shut up and just come here?"

You couldn't help but laugh as you obliged and grabbed Peter's neck before pulling him in for another kiss, your face still wet from tears and a smile almost permanently etched onto your face.

You pulled away but sank into his open arms. You relished how securely he held you. "I'm so happy," you said aloud, truly meaning it for the first time in a long time, though it was only meant to be an inner thought.

Peter kissed your forehead and looked down to meet your eyes, "I'll never stop making you happy, Y/N."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

#tasm peter parker #peter parker #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter smut #tasm!spiderman x you #tasm!peter x y/n #andrew!peter x reader #andrew garfield #marvel smut #smut #oneshot #welcome back #tasm!peter parker smut

1K notes · View notes