#i noticed my baby blue chicken actually following the adult blue chicken | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hermannsthumb · 3 years

Note

Could you please write #43 grandparents/neighbors one?

43. we’re having our family meal at my grandparents’ house this year so fingers crossed your parents still live next door and you grew up to be even hotter

from winter writing prompts here

oh god this one got so long. sorry everyone! thank you to @k-sci-janitor for the alien bit because it was so fucking funny

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

Holidays have gotten a little weird to manage since Newt transformed into a fully-fledged adult with an apartment and a job and stuff, so while he hasn’t made it to the big Geiszler celebration in Germany every December since starting college out of elementary school, he still tries to make a point of dropping by his dad’s for dinner and a movie or something to fill his holiday quota. It’s fine by him; he loves his family, but they’re definitely overwhelming, and trying to submit final grades and work on syllabuses for the next semester all while distant relatives ruffle his hair and ask him when he’s going to hit his growth spurt is not his idea of a relaxing time. It’s a constant point of contention between him and his dad. This year more than most, apparently.

“Your grandmother misses you!” he tells Newt sadly over their Chinese takeout. “She calls me every week to ask how you are, and why you never visit with them. Every week.” He waves a fork at Newt. “You’re breaking her heart.”

“I’m in the lab, like, twenty-four-seven, dad,” Newt sighs. It’s a well-rehearsed conversation at this point, but it doesn’t get any less tiresome. Especially because he knows his dad is lying about the phone call thing—Newt is a great grandson and texts his grandmother plenty, thank you very much, he would know if he was breaking her heart. “I’m working straight through winter break this year. Seriously.”

“That’s what you did last year,” Newt’s dad says. “And the year before that…” Newt turns the volume up on the TV to cut his dad off before he can segue into the next part of his argument, which is (usually) that Newt needs to work on his personal life, maybe settle down, produce some grandkids of his own. Or at least adopt a cat. Also well-rehearsed.

He’s not sure why he says what he does next—maybe in a desperate attempt to distract his dad further. Maybe because of the sudden onslaught of childhood memories the mention of his grandparents’ house brought on. “Hey, do you remember that boy who used to live next door to grandma?” he says. “He had the weird haircut and always dressed kind of funny?” Old-fashioned, and a little too formal for the sort of things that little kids tend to do, climbing trees or playing in the mud—sweatervests and polished loafers and starched-white knee-highs.

Newt’s dad blinks at him. Newt half expects him to declare that Newt is nuts, and that he has no idea what he’s talking about, like this is one of those horror stories where the childhood friend turns out to be some ghost who died fifty years prior. The clothing would match up, he guesses. But he smiles in recognition a moment later. “You mean the Gottlieb boy?” he says.

“Gottlieb,” Newt echoes. It sounds familiar enough. “Hermann, I think. When I’d stay with grandma for the summer we would play together every day. I wonder what he’s doing now.” Hermann was a smart guy, a real geek like Newt; he used to carry a graphing calculator around in his pocket and build the most goddamn pristine model spacecrafts Newt had ever seen. Hermann’s dad shipped him off to a prestigious boarding school the last summer Newt spent there, when they were around twelve or so. Newt started at MIT not long after. “Dude’s probably designing rocket ships by now or something.”

“You could ask him yourself if you came with me,” Newt’s dad laughs. “The Gottliebs never moved away, and their children actually visit. I’m sure your Hermann visits, too.”

“Ha,” Newt says. “Yeah.”

It’s snowing by the time Newt and his dad finish their movie, and Newt (fearing his dad’s driving even in ideal conditions) declines the offer of a lift home to trudge his way through it to his T stop instead. It’s nice to have the chance to be alone with his thoughts, anyway, because he can’t seem to get funny little Hermann Gottlieb out of his head. What is he doing now?

A quick Facebook search on the train produces a few Hermann Gottliebs, but none of them promising—none of them have the brown eyes or strangely angular face (devoid of any baby fat even that young) Newt remembers, none of them are from the right German countryside, none of them went to a preppy English boarding school. Google (utilizing the information Newt does have) is a little more rewarding, and by the time Newt presses the button to request his stop, he’s scrounged up a decent amount of info: Hermann Gottlieb has a doctorate in astrophysics, Hermann Gottlieb publishes papers at a slightly terrifying rate, and Hermann Gottlieb turned out kinda hot.

As Newt stares down at a slightly grainy current photograph of his old friend—haircut and clothing unchanged, a cane in hand, some round librarian glasses perched on the end of his nose, wide mouth twisted into a scowl—he suddenly recalls another thing about Hermann Gottlieb: the summer Hermann was sent away to boarding school was the summer that Hermann kissed Newt goodbye, shyly and tearfully, under the shade of the tall maple tree in his yard. It was the last time Newt ever saw Hermann. It was Newt’s first kiss.

“Oh, boy,” Newt says.

He texts his dad when he gets back to his apartment. When do we leave?

Newt feels like the belle of the fucking ball when he steps into his grandparents’ house a week later, snow dusting his shoulders, small suitcase clenched in his hand. His cheeks are kissed; his scarf and hat and leather jacket are brushed off and tossed onto a coat rack; his hair is in parts smoothed down (too messy!) and ruffled (too flat!); he’s hugged more times than he has been in the entire last year, probably. “Still playing around with bugs in the dirt, eh, Newt?” his grandfather booms, tucking Newt into the crook of his arm with enough force to knock Newt’s glasses off.

“Actually,” Newt squeaks, scrambling for both what he remembers of his very rusty German, and his glasses before they can hit the ground, “entomology isn’t really my main focus at—”

“Newt’s studying jellyfish now,” Newt’s dad declares proudly. “He went on a diving expedition this July.”

“Diving? How exciting,” Newt’s grandmother says.

“Yeah,” Newt says. He pushes his glasses back on. “Yeah, it was fascinating, I was lucky to get the funding for it. You wouldn’t believe the sorts of—”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Newt’s cousin says.

“My little Newt’s a daredevil!” Newt’s dad says.

“It’s not that dangerous,” Newt says. “As long as you’re—”

“What happened to that nice man your father said you were dating?” Newt’s grandfather says. “With the, the what was it, the poetry? The poet? We thought you’d bring him!”

Newt flushes. Trust his dad to talk up some random guy Newt dated in March like it was a long-term affair and not an elongated one-night stand that fizzled out after three weeks. Though maybe that one’s on Newt—it’s not like he mentioned the one-night stand part to his dad, after all. He definitely didn’t mention that the guy ended it with a poem, too. “We broke up,” he says, weakly. He wriggles out from the throng of the crowd. “Look, it’s so great seeing you all, but I’m actually, like, really tired, soooooo…?”

“Oh, of course you are,” Newt’s grandmother says. She pats his head. “What a long flight you must have had! We’ll send someone up for you for dinner—you can have your old guest room.”

“Cool,” Newt says.

He scurries up the stairs.

The guest room he slept in during those summers is almost exactly the way he remembers it, but a little dustier—the floral quilt on the bed, his grandma’s sewing table crammed into the corner, the bookcase stocked with a weird combination of kid’s books and illustrated encyclopedias that Newt used to pore over for hours as a kid, often with Hermann. Newt draws back the embroidered curtains and peers out the window at the Gottliebs’ snow-capped house next door. Hermann’s window was directly across from his. It still is, technically, though the curtains (these navy blue and embroidered with little constellations) are pulled tight, and Newt has a feeling that Hermann hasn’t set foot in his old room in well over a decade. Two decades, probably.

He remembers the one summer he showed Hermann how to make a soup can telephone, and they managed to string it all the way across between their windows before discovering it kinda didn’t work as well as Newt said it would. He remembers when Hermann’s dad banned him from the Gottlieb house for tracking water all over their front hallway after he and Hermann went wading in the creek, but it was really Hermann who did it, because he forgot to take his shoes off and they got soaked, and Newt just took the fall for it so Hermann wouldn’t get in trouble. And when Hermann asked Newt to play astronaut with him, and Newt insisted on being an alien and mimed the chestburster scene from Alien, and Hermann freaked out so bad he fell in a mud puddle and got grounded for ruining his clothing, and Newt got grounded for that and for watching Alien when he wasn’t supposed to, and they spent the following few days staring sadly out across at each other before Newt’s grandma finally got tired of his moping and sent him to work weeding the garden. He remembers knotting a little friendship bracelet for Hermann out of embroidery thread he found in his grandmother’s sewing basket and Hermann vowing to keep it until he died.

Newt’s half of the soup can phone is still on the windowsill, though the string snapped and crumbled apart years ago. He picks at the peeling Chicken Noodle label, so distracted that he almost doesn’t notice the light suddenly seeping through at the edges of Hermann’s curtains, or the way they’re pushed open—almost.

Hermann—real, live, adult Hermann, botched haircut and round glasses and all—stares out at Newt with a shocked expression on his face. Newt drops the can with a clatter.

Then he waves.

“Hey, Grandma?” Newt says, poking his head into the kitchen. Tonight’s dinner is a massive pot of soup boiling away on the stovetop, dessert a mountain of cookies and tiny pastries on serving platters on the counters. Newt hasn’t had food that looked this good since he moved out, to be honest. The intersection of Newt’s sad lack of cooking skills and his attempts at vegetarianism means he eats a lot of boxed mac-and-cheese and frozen Vegetable Lovers’ pizzas. “Are you—?"

“Oh, Newt!” Newt’s grandmother says. She sets down her wooden spoon. “Are you feeling rested, then?”

“Yeah,” Newt says. “Grandma, I was wondering, could I—uh—maybe run some food over to the Gottliebs? To be…neighborly? We just have so much, and—”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Newt’s grandmother says. “They keep to themselves, mostly, but I can’t imagine they’d turn it down. You might even see your little friend again! What was his name? You were so fond of him.”

“Hermann,” Newt says, quickly shoving cookies into a red-lid plastic container. “Thanks, Grandma.”

He tucks the tupperware under his arm and nearly wipes out on the icy front path he runs to the Gottliebs’ so fast. Before he can so much as catch his breath and knock, their door swings open; Hermann, dressed in a tacky Hannukah sweater, arches an eyebrow at him. “I saw you sprint over here like a bloody madman,” he says, in blessed English. He must’ve remembered how shitty Newt’s German was when they were kids. “Hello, Newton. What’s so terribly important?”

His voice got deeper—expected—and he swapped out his German accent for an English one somewhere along the way. Probably at his stuffy boarding school. He also got taller—he’s got a few inches on Newt now, but Newt admits that’s not exactly hard. God, he’s even hotter in person. “Uh,” Newt says. Why is he here? Oh, right. He thrusts out the tupperware. “I brought some cookies over for you?”

Hermann peers down at the offering over his glasses. His forehead wrinkles. “How considerate,” he says. He pulls an olive-green parka on and steps out onto the porch, tugging the door shut behind him. He taps at a peeling porch swing with the end of his cane. “Just leave them there. Would you like to take a walk?”

It’s freezing, and snowing, but for some reason, a walk sounds like the best idea in the world right now. “Yes, please,” Newt says, and chucks the cookies onto the swing.

“I must say,” Hermann says, after their meandering walk around the Gottliebs’ yard takes them to the old maple tree. The branches are bare, but thick, and shield them from most of the falling snow. Hermann’s breath puffs out white in front of his angular face. The last time I stood here, Newt thinks, he kissed me. “I really did not expect to see you.”

“I didn’t expect to see you, either,” Newt admits. “From what I remember, you and your family weren’t—uh—well, very close. I didn’t think you’d be coming back to share in the holiday cheer with them, is what I mean.”

The corner of Hermann’s mouth twitches up. “That’s certainly one way of describing it. Yes, I suppose you’re right—my father is a bit of a bastard, isn’t he?” Newt laughs awkwardly, unsure whether to agree or attempt to weakly the defend a guy who openly hated him for being a bad influence on Hermann most of his childhood; he’s grateful when Hermann continues and saves him the choice. “This is the first year I’ve come home in a long while. My brother’s just had a daughter, you see, and I thought I should start getting used to playing uncle.”

“Oh, congrats,” Newt says. Hermann shrugs, and Newt has the distinct feeling that this is Hermann’s older brother, who used to dissemble Hermann’s telescope and hide the pieces around the house when Hermann annoyed him, and tattled on Newt and Hermann to Hermann’s parents the one time Newt snuck in to see Hermann after he got banned. He always made Newt thankful that he was an only child. “Same here, actually. Not the uncle thing—I mean I haven’t visited since I was in college. Too busy.”

“I know,” Hermann says, and then adds teasingly (in a way that makes color flood Newt’s cheeks and his heart beat just a little faster), “I’ve looked you up online. Er—quite a bit recently, in fact. I was curious. You’ve made quite the name for yourself, haven’t you, Dr. Geiszler?”

“I,” Newt squeaks, and then coughs. “I mean, I guess? I like…science.”

“I oughtn’t be surprised,” Hermann says. “You were always giving me bugs, and salamanders, and funny little frogs—”

Newt liked bugs, and salamanders, and frogs, but he liked Hermann more, and the gifts had a lot more to do with the latter than the former, because what kid wouldn’t want bugs or salamanders or frogs, right? Not that Hermann ever appreciated them—especially not the worms Newt would pluck from the sidewalks after rainstorms. He thinks he got grounded for that one, too, because his grandma wouldn’t believe that he really wasn’t trying to terrorize the poor Gottlieb boy. “And what about you?” Newt says. He pokes his elbow into Hermann’s side. “Dr. Gottlieb? Guess those model rockets paid off.”

(“No, Newton,” Hermann would snap at him on the rare occasions he would allow Newt to watch him piece one together, “the glue hasn’t dried yet. You have to be patient, or else it’ll fall apart.”)

“Not yet,” Hermann says, “but I hope soon.”

Hermann smiles at him. A snowflake catches in his eyelashes—his long, pretty, dark eyelashes. “Do you remember when you kissed me here?” Newt blurts out.

“It’s hardly the sort of thing I’d forget,” Hermann says. He reaches out and tucks a piece of Newt’s hair up into his hat. “I like your tattoos—I saw the photographs on your social media accounts. They suit you.” Newt wonders if this means Hermann saw the shirtless selfie he posted on Instagram. “I’m also pleased to see you’ve gotten your braces removed. It wasn’t a very pleasant experience last time.”

Then he leans in and kisses Newt. Again, technically. It’s so light and brief Newt hardly believes it even happened. Their glasses clack together, and when Hermann pulls away, he straightens out Newt’s.

“I confess,” Hermann says, “that I’m wholly pleased to see how you’ve turned out. I hope that wasn’t too forward of me. I’ve been thinking about doing it all night.”

“Jeez, dude,” Newt says, blinking at him, his head swimming just a little. Hermann looks smug. “Not, uh, not too forward. So. Uh. You wanna get dinner or something this week and catch up?”

Hermann snorts, and nods.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

98 notes · View notes

et-lesailes · 4 years

Text

nice & tight

pairing: mobster!steve x virgin!reader

word count: 4283

summary: you are best friends with steve’s stepdaughter, but you’ve had a crush on steve for as long as you can remember-- despite his notorious reputation as a gang leader.

themes: smut, age gap

taglist:@evanstush, @tanyam93, @bval-1, @wonderwinchester, @patzammit, @rohaintahquil, @deidrashouseofpain, @sammyslonglostshoe, @jadedhillon, @bohemian-barbie, @whysparker, @sebastian-i-stan, @sebabestianstan101, @lille-kattunge, @teller258316, @peach-acid, @allsortsofinterests, @xoxabs88xox, @heyiamthatbitch, @cptn-sgrogers, @heyyouwiththeassbutt, @bangtan-serendipity, @troublermalik, @beardburnsupersoldiers, @hannie-stark, @bookish-shristi, @kind-sober-fullydressed, @whores4thor, @gingerninjaprincess16, @straightforwardly, @denisemarieangelina, @frencchfries, @xlanawriter, @littlemoistcarrot, @pottxrwolff, @arianatheangelworld, @ifuseekamyevans, @southerngracela, @nsfwsebbie, @rororo06, @savemesteeb

notes: patreon saw it first! be sure to join if you’d like early access to my one shots as well as unreleased ones as well ~ i hope you guys like this, i know it’s been a while since i’ve posted a good ol’ smutty fic! graphic creds go to @thewritingdoll!

You were sitting at the pool with your legs dangling in the water, though you weren’t interested in the partying going on before you. While everyone was drunkenly dancing around the massive yard or engaging in a huge chicken fight in the water, your eyes were casually flickering towards the windows of the mansion, teeth tugging on your lower lip.

You practically grew up in the Rogers’ household. Your own parents were often away on business trips, and your best friend Ciara Rogers basically ended up becoming your sister when her mother and stepfather extended their home to you whenever your parents were traveling for long periods of time. However, Ciara’s stepfather was not any normal working man.

Steve Rogers was a mobster, and a damn good one at that. He was the head honcho of his crew of men, hence the reason he had the money to buy and maintain such a huge home. Even the police in the area wouldn’t dare mess with him, and it wasn’t as though they had reason to- whatever Steve did, he was clever about doing it. He’d leave not one piece of evidence or reason to be suspicious, and so he got away with pretty much… anything.

You didn’t know exactly what he did. He wouldn’t particularly be sharing these details over a family dinner with his young stepdaughter and her friend. Whatever it was, he wanted his family out of it, and that was understandable. Still, no matter what his occupation was, you couldn’t help yourself- you had had a crush on the man since you were practically twelve, finding him to be exciting yet gentlemanly at the same time. You followed him around like a little puppy, and he simply found it cute and amusing. Ciara wasn’t even fazed; she had been raised in the gang life ever since she was a baby. She had seen relationships and sexual endeavors much worse and far more messed up- her own parents’ marriage was actually an open one, and so she had been used to each of them having other partners her entire life. Whenever she’d catch you staring at her dad, she’d simply laugh, roll her eyes and shake her head to herself.

Now, however, you were nineteen. A nineteen-year-old virgin, to be exact, and there was only one person whom you wanted to fix that. The kitchen lights turned on and your own eyes lit up as well. You stood up, looking down at your body. You had worn your skimpiest bikini, and it certainly wasn’t for the college boys who had been ogling you all night. Glancing around and seeing that Ciara was busy making out with someone clearly at least ten years older than her, you shook off the water from your feet before making your way to the door to the kitchen.

There stood Steve wearing nothing but a black wifebeater and jeans, rubbing his bearded jaw as he opened the fridge-- probably looking for a beer, no doubt. He grumbled something incoherently and you made a point of closing the door behind you for him to hear, a light smirk upon your face. “Sorry, the boys probably got to ‘em. There’s more bottles in the fridge in the garage, though, Ciara and I made sure to keep the garage door shut so your cars wouldn’t get ruined.” He turned to you, eyebrow raised in slight amusement. “Am I that much of an alcoholic that you knew I was looking for a beer?” he spoke in a naturally gruff tone, and you shamelessly nodded your head-- this was someone you had practically lived with for years, you didn’t have to try to be polite. “What can I say? I know you pretty well.” You murmured, making your voice as silky and airy as possible. Your eyes couldn’t help but wander over his muscled arms; even his pecs were practically rippling through the thin piece of clothing covering his chest. Could Ciara really blame you for being so attracted to him? The man could snap you in half with one hand, and for some damn reason, you loved that.

“Wanna walk with me?” you asked before he could respond, smiling innocently. “I was gonna get a drink too.” You took the opportunity to go ahead first, blatant about wiggling your ass in your tiny bikini bottoms for him as he followed behind. It would be too obvious to look back and see if he was staring, but God, you hoped he was. You wanted him to see you as an adult. Not the little girl who rushed to sit next to him at dinner or asked him about a million questions a day just for the purpose of talking to and being near him. The two of you entered the large garage and you switched the lights on, revealing his several prized luxury vehicles. You weren’t even the type of girl who was attracted to materialistic things, but you’d be lying if you didn’t think it was sexy that Steve had so much money.

“You didn’t seem like you were having too much fun out there.” Steve noted, leaning against the wall as you opened the fridge. “Mm? Were you watching me?” you asked nonchalantly, though you were secretly delighted. Was he finally coming around to the fact that you were a woman now? If not, you now had the opportunity to prove it even more-- his beloved beer was on the bottom shelf, and so you did not hesitate to bend over to reach for two bottles.

A scoff escaped his throat, his blues lingering on your ass shamelessly. “Bit hard not to when you’re strutting around in nothing but a few strings holding everything together.” He replied boldly, and you barely widened your eyes though couldn’t help but feel triumphant. So he did notice your body. You straightened back up and turned to face him, your demeanor cool and slightly seductive. “Would you rather me wear a turtleneck to a pool party?” you teased, handing him the bottle. He smirked, nodding for you to follow him back into the kitchen. “Maybe if it’s a party of horny, inexperienced boys, yeah. I don’t think they even know how to handle themselves around you, sweetheart.”

The word “inexperienced” stood out, suddenly making you feel a little self-conscious. What would he think when he found out you were, too? Sure, you had done other stuff with boys in the past, but would he think it was lame that you were a virgin? He was a gang leader, for Christ’s sake, he probably had perfect, sexually talented girls all over him every single week. However, you quickly shook the thoughts away. Ciara had once told you that men loved virgins. They loved how tight they were, and they loved the idea of taking away their innocence. You hoped this applied to Steve.

“What do you mean?” you asked, curious nonetheless; he took a bottle opener from a drawer and motioned for you to hand yours over, and you obliged. “I mean they probably think squeezing a girl’s tits like a goddamn sponge or practically scooping her vagina out with their fingers makes her orgasm.” He answered bluntly, opening your bottle and sliding it back over the marble island before opening his own. “Those schoolboys wouldn’t know what to do with a girl like you even if you gave ‘em a fucking manual.”

You took the bottle, taking a sip before nonchalantly leaning to rest your elbow on the counter, purposefully squeezing your chest together in your bikini. “A girl like me?” you repeated, your voice a little softer as you looked up at him with a small smirk. “And what kind of girl am I, Steve?” He studied you for a few moments, his eyes slightly darker as he stepped closer to you. Your heart was pounding now. Were you finally going to get your chance tonight? No, you couldn’t get your hopes up. You had been trying for this ever since you turned eighteen, and nothing yet. You were starting to think Steve simply wasn’t into significantly younger women, or perhaps he saw you as too much of a daughter figure.

“The kind of girl that’s been a little fucking tease, and clearly trying to get me in trouble with my wife.” Steve replied, his voice an octave lower as his eyes locked onto yours-- you almost had to look away from how intense they were. “Oh, please,” you whispered, trying to sound as confident as possible. “I know you guys have an open marriage. I’ve literally seen her giving head to your damn pool boy.” You retorted, straightening your body but remaining close to his. “She wouldn’t care.”

“Mm. You’re different.” He hummed, his voice still low as he took a sip of his beer, though kept his eyes on you afterwards. “You’re her daughter’s best friend. Which, I see, doesn’t seem to be of any concern to you…?” he remarked; at first, you felt a pang of guilt, but as you looked up into his eyes, you didn’t see any disgust or sense of reprimanding.

If you were reading him right, he was... turned on by this.

“It’s not.” You murmured straightforwardly, reaching for your beer and taking a large gulp before stepping even closer to him, boldly reaching out to run your fingers over his muscular biceps. Your heart was still racing, but your gut was telling you that this was going to work. “She doesn’t have to know. And even if she did find out, we both know she’s seen and done a lot worse.” To be honest, you weren’t quite sure how Ciara would react. Sure, she tolerated your crush on her father, but she probably didn’t think you’d ever act on it. The guilt came back for a second, but when Steve suddenly leaned down close, every thought in your brain disappeared. “As her father, I should probably be more concerned about what exactly you’re referring to when you say that, but you’re so fucking naughty you’re distracting me from even that responsibility.” He growled into your ear, and you had to physically force yourself to breathe normally. “Yeah? And do you have a problem with that?” you whispered, slowly turning your head to face his. Your lips were now inches apart, and at this point, if he didn’t have his way with you, you’d be mad. His eyes were practically boring through your own, almost as if testing your confidence and boldness to go through with this-- and you weren’t going to fail. You stared right back, even slowly running your tongue over your lips. “The only problem I have right now, darling,” he drawled deeply, “is that I’m rock hard because of you and you’re not doing anything about it.”

Before you knew it, he was scooping you up into his arms, lips on yours in an almost violent kiss as he easily carried you towards the staircase. You gasped in surprise but did not hesitate to kiss him back, happily allowing him access when his tongue pushed its way into your mouth. You slid one hand down to rub his bulge, and you almost squeaked in the middle of the kiss; he was certainly not lying about being hard, and he already felt big. You were starting to wonder what you had gotten yourself into, but you were immensely turned on at the same time.

He carried you into his grand master bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him and locking it. “You know,” he murmured as he tugged on your lower lip with a devious smirk, “my wife has a rule about bringing other partners into the bed, but I’m going to make you an exception.” You couldn’t help but giggle breathlessly, letting out a squeal when he suddenly tossed you onto the bed. You sat on your knees, looking up at him with flushed cheeks. “Oh? What did I do to deserve such an honor?” you teased, slowly playing with the strings of your bikini top. He watched hungrily, eyes remaining on your breasts as he muttered, “Oh, I don’t know, persistently tease the fuck out of me for the past year?”

You blinked, looking up at him hopefully. “You noticed?” He scoffed as he stepped closer, unbuckling his pants and palming at his bulge through his briefs with a low grunt. “Of course I fucking noticed. The way you’d wiggle that perfect ass just for me to see, or how you’d change with the door wide fuckin’ open. You were only being a little damn obvious.” He lowered his underwear and you couldn’t even respond to his observations-- you were too focused on being utterly shocked by his large, throbbing erection. It was safe to say you were a little intimidated.

He noticed this and smirked proudly, cocking his head as he suddenly tangled his fingers in your hair. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? You’re not too scared now, are you?” he teased with mock sympathy, his other hand pumping his shaft. “No!” you instantly exclaimed, a little too fast. He barely lifted a brow and you cleared your throat. “N-no, no, I’ve just… never seen one as big as yours before…” You mentally cursed to yourself; you needed to tell him you were a virgin, especially if he was using that thing-- there was no way you wouldn’t bleed. He didn’t seem to catch on. “Of course you haven’t. You’re so used to those scrawny boys too busy spending Mommy and Daddy’s money to pleasure a girl instead of knowing how to use their damn bodies. Has anyone even been able to make you finish before, princess?”

You bit your lip. Sure, you had been fingered and eaten out, but you had never reached your climax. He was right; the boys you were used to were useless. “I’ll take that as a no.” Steve stated after simply seeing your expression, shaking his head to himself before suddenly nodding authoritatively. “Well. Looks like we’ve got to make up for lost time, then.” He pushed you onto your back on the bed, hovering over you as he moved his mouth down to your neck, sucking roughly. You gasped in pleasure, tilting your head and letting out little whimpers-- and then you suddenly felt his fingers brush up your bare thigh, reaching your bikini bottoms and rubbing at your entrance slowly yet firmly. You couldn’t help but moan, tilting your head back and gripping the bedsheets with curled fists. You were so damn sensitive as it was, and with how skilled he appeared to be with the simplest of movements, you had the feeling he was definitely going to stick to his word. “That’s right, baby. Moan for me. Tell me you like it. Are you all wet for me?” he growled into your skin, and you nodded desperately as you rubbed your thighs together. “Y-yes, yes Steve, I’m wet! P-please, I want your fingers…”

He chuckled deeply and moved the skimpy piece of swimwear aside, rubbing your clit with his thumb. “Patience, baby girl. Patience. I’m going to teach you how a real man does it.” You widened your eyes, moans becoming louder as he toyed with the highly responsive bundle of nerves, your breathing becoming airier. He pulled back to watch your face, clearly turned on from what he was seeing. “Damn. Those boys really had no idea what they were doing. How did they even fuck you, flop around on top of you like a dead fucking fish?” You were in too much of a daze to even feel nervous about the subject being brought up-- he soon pushed a finger inside you, pumping slowly as his thumb still flicked your clit. “Fuck. You are tight.” He noted with a low growl, his eyes studying your facial features as he moved his broad finger deeper. You could only reply with a whimper, barely beginning to rock your hips. He smirked and inserted another finger; you were only in discomfort for a few seconds before he began moving them expertly, letting you adjust. “Steve!” you gasped, instinctively reaching down to grip his wrist, though you were not trying to stop him. “Th-that… that feels good… m-more, please,” you begged, completely shocked; you had no idea that fingering could actually feel… nice. You really had been played by boys who had no idea what they were doing.

He kept pumping faster and deeper, fondling your clit even harder than before. “Mm fuck, you like that, don’t you sweetheart? You gonna cum for me, you naughty girl? Come on, let go. Show me how good that made you feel.” Your whines became more high pitched as you felt yourself getting close, your walls clenching around him and your back lifting off the mattress; you let yourself release with a loud gasp, completely breathless as you stared at him in awe. He simply removed his fingers nonchalantly, sticking them into his mouth and sucking as he looked at you with a cocky smirk. “Fucking delicious. I think I need more. But you know what I also need?”

He moved to your side to lay on his back, grabbing you and pulling you on top of him. You let out a little squeal, breathing heavily as you stared down at his face. “Wh-what?” you asked, and he smirked, making a “turn around” gesture with his finger demandingly. “Your lips wrapped around my cock, baby girl.” You almost let out a sigh of relief, glad to avoid the subject of your virginity for just a little longer-- you were great at blow jobs, you could handle this. You turned around, your ass hovering over his face as you leaned forward to pump him with a little smirk. “Yes, sir,” you purred, delighted to already hear the little grunts escaping his lips. You leaned down and gave his bulbous tip small kitten licks, making a point to wiggle your butt for him as you slowly began to take him into your mouth. Fuck, he was thick, but you were desperate to please him as much as you could. You hollowed your cheeks, bobbing your head up and down fitting in as much of him as you could. He brought his hands up to your ass, lowering your bottoms to squeeze and grope hard making you moan along his shaft, sending vibrations up his length; he groaned as he bucked his hips upwards, muttering in an almost guttural growl, “That’s it, baby girl, fuck you’re so good.”

Thriving off his praise and noises of approval, you kept sucking him off, your tongue up the vein along his underside-- and then you suddenly felt him pull your ass down, your mouth releasing his dick with a ‘pop’ in surprise. “Ste-” you started to question, but you lost your voice as you felt his tongue swipe across your wet slit, your body shuddering slightly. “O-oh…”

“Keep going, baby,” he commanded, his tongue flicking at your entrance teasingly, “but relax your body. Ride my face like a good girl so I can have another taste.” You lowered your butt obediently, feeling somewhat bad to be smothering him, but you soon realized he was clearly not bothered by this. As you took him back into your mouth, he slowly pushed his tongue inside, moving it around lightly yet skillfully as he explored your wetness. His hands were still roughly palming at your ass, even slapping each cheek every now and then. You loved and hated it at the same time; you were the one who wanted to be giving him pleasure, and now you were very much distracted by that thanks to him. You did your best to focus as you pumped his base, playing with his balls as you sucked hard; when you felt his lips suck at your clit, though, you almost lost it. “Steve!” you let out a muffled moan, mouth half off his length, and he simply groaned in response, attacking it even harder. You came and you blushed feeling him lap it all up, your legs quivering slightly. You had never experienced anything like this before; he made you cum before you made him, despite the fact you were literally sucking his dick? You suddenly questioned your talents and experience, feeling nervous again. What if you were the worst he’d ever had?

Almost as if he read your mind, he let out a little groan as he felt your hand work his base, your lips wrapped around his thick length. “Shit, sweetheart. As wonderful as your mouth is, I’m not interested in coming there. For now, anyways.” He sat up and you took your mouth off obediently, shifting to get back on your knees on the bed looking up at him breathlessly. The way he was looking at you was practically carnal- fuck, you had to speak now. He removed his shirt with one swift movement, then grabbed you and pushed you down on your back again, hovering over your smaller frame with a devious smirk as he pumped himself. “I’ve been waiting for this for a while now, you know that? You grew up to be so fucking sexy, it’s been driving me crazy.”

“Steve,” you suddenly blurted out, looking up at his face (which proved to be very challenging considering the fact his glorious abs were now revealed), “I-I’ve never… um… had sex before…” you practically whispered the last part, but he heard it. He blinked, his expression changing slightly, the smirk fading. “You’re a virgin, baby girl? Fuck.” He muttered, though he did not move as he stared down into your eyes. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I-- I thought if you knew, you wouldn’t find me attractive,” you admitted shyly, slowly reaching up to hold onto his biceps. “But I want to do this, Steve, I swear, I want you to be my first. Please. You said yourself, the boys I know wouldn’t know how to handle me, right? So you do it, you show me how it’s done, I-- I know you’ll make me feel good.” He looked down at you somewhat incredulously, letting out a soft scoff. “You thought I wouldn’t find you attractive? Hm. Baby.” He shook his head to himself. “I can’t think of anything better than being able to fuck that sweet, tight pussy and have you cum over and over for me again, whether you’re a virgin or not. As long as you’re giving me the okay.” He reached over to the nightstand, opening the drawer and taking out a bottle. “But I think we might need this.” You watched him open the lube with wide eyes, whispering, “Is it going to hurt?”

He looked down at you honestly, nodding his head murmuring naturally gruff, “A little. But I’ll make it feel good, sweetheart, I promise. You trust me, don’t you?” You immediately nodded your head. “Yes. Yes, I do. I-- I want you to fuck me, Steve, please.”

He was right-- it definitely hurt. He had been generous with the lube, considering the size of his length, but it took a while for him to enter even slightly deeper inside you; you were extremely tight and sensitive, after all, but he managed to be patient. His teeth were grit and his jawline was tense as he watched you, moving his hand to wipe tears from your cheek. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, and you shook your head immediately. “N-no, no, I’ll be fine.” You took a deep breath, just barely rocking your hips, letting yourself get used to his size.

It wasn’t long before you found out he was right again. It felt good. It felt great. He was soon moving his hips harder and faster and you were gladly rocking yours back against his, gasping and moaning in ecstasy as you tilted your head back. You didn’t care if anyone heard you, though you doubted it; his room was facing the front, and besides, the music playing for the party in the backyard was loud. All you cared about was him fucking you, making you feel euphoric with every thrust and groan that escaped from the back of his throat. “You’re so goddamn tight baby, fuck it feels good,” he growled, moving his hand to practically push up your bikini top and massage your breasts. “Shit, even your tits are perfect. I’m pissed at myself for not doing this sooner, you know that?” You could only moan in response, arching your back towards him as he toyed with your nipple in his fingers. He smirked weakly, pounding into you even harder. “God, I love watching you come undone just for me, baby girl… I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it.”

You were a breathless mess by the end of it all. Your orgasm ripped through you, your moans practically becoming screams, your nails digging into his bare back. He groaned loudly and pulled out, releasing his load all over your torso. You were panting as your eyes drifted along the thick, white streaks upon your stomach, slowly lying your arms down by your sides as you caught your breath. He moved to lay by your side, a smirk crossing his lips as he admired your features, clearly pleased you were so worn out because of him. “How was that for your first time, hm, sweetheart?”

You slowly turned your face towards him, your eyes staring at him in amazement as you tried to control your breathing. “I couldn’t have imagined it any better,” you whispered, smiling in excitement. “Thank you.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers au #steve rogers smut #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

princess-of-riviaa · 4 years

Text

Tastes So Good

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Reader

Summary: He’s your best friend’s step-dad, but that hasn’t stopped you from lusting after him since day one.

Author’s Note: Dark(ish) oneshot with Henry Cavill’s Walter Marshall from Night Hunter. Although he has a daughter in the movie, the character Ana is made up for this story.

Warning(s): age gap (reader is 18), daddy kink, size kink

Word Count: 4.1k (I’m really sorry, this was supposed to be short but my Henry-Cavill-thirsty ass can’t shut up about this man)

YOU

“I’m gonna go get a drink,” you told Ana as you climbed out of the pool, water droplets sliding down your body.

Your best friend didn’t even reply, too caught up in the conversation she was having with her boyfriend. The pool was filled with people and the backyard was loud. Ana knew a lot of people and had invited at least thirty people to her seventeenth birthday. Your birthday was last week, and though it was a milestone--18 years old, you were finally an adult!--you had opted to just spend the day with Ana at the mall.

You walked inside the house. Everyone was busy partying outside, so the living room was completely vacant and quiet. You entered the kitchen to find Mr. Marshall standing at the island with a cake, looking very much out of his depth. You giggled at the look on his face. He wasn’t one to get overwhelmed easily. And he clearly had yet to realize he wasn’t alone, otherwise his face would have been a blank mask. It was impossible to tell what your best friend’s dad was thinking at any given time.

That was the main reason you’d refrained from making a move on him all these years; that, and the fact that, as a loyal follower of the law, he wouldn’t have gone anywhere near you as a minor. So you were left to your own fantasies of what those muscled arms would feel like wrapped around you and exactly how skilled those hands were at certain activities.

But now you were an adult. And currently, you were half naked, dripping in his kitchen. You mustered up your courage and moved closer to him. “Need help with the cake?”

He looked up at you, then eyed your outfit and the way it did little to cover up your intimate parts. Though his eyes lingered, his face was unreadable as always. He said, “I didn’t hear you come in, Y/N.”

You gave him your sexiest smirk. “I’m good at sneaking around.”

Whether he caught the double meaning in your words or not, he said, “This is embarrassing but, uh, I can’t seem to figure out this icing.”

You laughed and walked around to his side of the island. He held the icing container in his hands, though the cake was still undecorated.

“I’m not exactly an artist,” he admitted.

You held your hand out to him. “Good thing I am.” You weren’t an artist actually, but you did know how to cook and bake, and you’d been decorating cookies and cupcakes since you were a little girl.

He handed the container over to you and began your work. You were only half aware of the way he watched your tongue stick out slightly in your concentration, though the majority of your attention was on the icing. It took no more than five minutes to cover the cake and write “Happy Birthday Ana” on the top. Your body had stopped dripping with pool water by the time you finished.

“Thank you,” Mr. Marshall sighed, clearly relieved. “The cake would have been a horror show if I had touched it.”

You giggled.

He grabbed the container and slid some frosting onto his finger before handing the container to you. “Want some?”

You nodded, but instead of taking the container you grabbed his hand. His eyes were locked on you as you put his finger in your mouth and licked the icing off, keeping your eyes on his the entire time. You continued licking his finger long after you’d gotten all the frosting off and moaned before saying, “Tastes so good.”

“You really don’t know when to stop,” he said, but he didn’t pull his hand away, his focus locked on your mouth.

You watched his gaze darken as you added a second finger to your mouth and began sucking and licking, showing him just how good you could make him feel if you had another part of him in your mouth. You pulled his hand back just to say, “I’m eighteen now, you know.”

His blue eyes jumped back to yours. For a second he looked between your eyes and your mouth, and your stomach clenched because you thought this is it, he’s finally going to kiss me. But he looked away and sighed. “You’re Ana’s best friend.”

“She’s thinking about graduation and college and her boyfriend,” you pointed out. “I doubt she’s really going to care who her father is fucking--”

He snapped back to look at you and brought his hand back to his side. His expression was hard, cold. “I never said anything about sex, Y/N.”

You raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “So you don’t want to fuck me? You don’t want me on my knees for you, my tongue teasing the tip of your co--”

He closed the distance between you and grabbed your chin in his hands, making you shut up. “Don’t say another word.”

“Tell me you don’t want me,” you dared, your hand trailing down his chest. “Tell me you don’t want me to touch you, or you don’t want to see me naked, or you don’t want me writhing beneath you and moaning your name--”

His mouth was against yours a second later. The kiss was fast and rough and dizzying. His beard scraped against your jaw and the feeling made your stomach knot with need. You moaned into his mouth, half out of surprise and half out of lust, and he wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you tighter against him. The outline of his erection pressed against your bare stomach. You wrapped your hand around his length and began to stroke him over his jeans.

But as quickly as he’d kissed you, he stepped back. A shaking hand shook his curls out of his face. You stepped towards him but he spun and put his back to you. “I can’t do this. You’re a child.”

“Mr. Marshall--” you began, but he was gone before you could finish your sentence.

...

WALTER

The house is quiet when he comes home from work. Ana is at her mom’s until summer break, so he has the place to himself for the next two months. He tosses a frozen, pre-prepped dinner in the microwave and waits for it to warm up. One glance at the island, at the spot where he’d kissed Y/N less than forty-eight hours ago makes his stomach knot. She’d offered herself up completely for him, the picture of temptation, and he’d almost given in. He’d almost fucked her right on the island besides his daughter’s birthday cake. His dick twitches in his pants at the thought of it. Ana’s best friend. Of all fucking women to be attracted to, it had to be his daughter’s best friend.

The microwave beeps and he jumps, startled from his thoughts. He takes the steaming food out--an unappealing meal of chicken and steamed vegetables--and grabs a fork before moving to the living room. He opens the file of his current case and begins reading the overviews of the top three suspects.

Walter’s only halfway through his meal before there’s a knock at his door. He’s instantly tense. Ana is at her mom’s. There’s no one else who should be knocking on his door at eight in the evening. He grabs his gun from the kitchen table, where he’d set it down after coming home, and heads to the front door. One look through the peephole tells him it’s Y/N. He sighs and tucks his gun into the back of his jeans before opening the door.

She’s dressed in a black trench coat and heels. It’s May, so the weather doesn’t warrant the need for a trench coat, and Walter’s instantly suspicious. He can see the faint shine of lipgloss on her mouth and her hair is hanging around her shoulders and wavy--she didn’t straighten it like she normally does (which is definitely not a feature he’s noticed about her, that she can’t stand her natural hair and straightens it every morning before going anywhere).

“Y/N,” he sighed, hating how his body reacted to the sight of her--his hands longed to reach out to her; his mouth ached to kiss hers; and his dick was suddenly alert and awake. “Isn’t it a school night?”

“I graduated last year,” she reminds him. “You keep forgetting that I’m a year older than Ana.”

Ana. The first and foremost reason Walter couldn’t claim Y/N as his own.

“She’s not here,” he told her.

“I know,” Y/N confessed. “I just finished hanging out with her an hour ago. She’s cramming for her AP tests next week.”

“Then why are you here?” Walter questioned. It came out colder than he’d intended for it to, but if being mean made Y/N go away then he’d do it, even if he didn’t like it.

But it seemed to have the opposite effect. Her eyes lit up, making the brown of her irises look golden. “Can I come in?” When he opened his mouth to say no, she added, “I’m thirsty.”

He sighed. It would be ungentlemanly to turn her away while she was needing a drink, so he stepped back and let her in. He walked to the kitchen and she followed him. She stayed back as he poured her a glass of water. But when he offered her the glass, she didn’t take it.

She looked up at him through long lashes. “That’s not what I’m thirsty for.” Before he could respond, she untied her coat and let it fall to the floor. She didn’t wear anything more than a bra and underwear underneath. They must have been a set because they were the same shade of baby pink and had the same lace designs. Walter’s dick jumped, straining against his jeans that were suddenly too tight.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” He questioned, but his voice came out weak and breathy. God, the things he wanted to do to this girl.

Y/N stepped closer to him and said, “I’m proving to you that I’m not a child.”

YOU

Your heart had been racing as you’d knocked on the door, when he answered it, when he finally let you in... But the look on his face when you took off the coat had made all of it worth it. He wanted you. You knew that without a doubt now. And tonight you were both going to get what you wanted.

“Y/N...” he said as you knelt in front of him. His tone was a warning, but he did nothing to fight you off as you reached for the button of his jeans.

You pulled down his jeans and boxers enough to release his cock. You gasped at the sight of it, already hard. Hard for you.

“What are you--fuck!” He cried out once you wrapped your mouth around his tip. You ran your tongue along the sides of his cock, teasing him. “I’m going to hell for this,” Mr. Marshall moaned as he closed his eyes and let himself enjoy you.

You spit onto his head and wrapped your hand around him, moving your spit up and down his entire length. He was large in length and girth and you struggled to fit all of him in your mouth. The tip of his cock brushed against your throat and you struggled not to gag and you continued taking in all of him. You struggled to breathe through your nose as he gripped your hair and began moving your mouth along him to a speed that he liked. You coughed and gagged, your throat tightening around his length with every other thrust, but he didn’t stop fucking into your mouth. Your eyes began to water. Your tears mixed with drool but you didn’t care. You’d wanted this for so long, wanted to taste him and let him use you, and now he finally was. God, you loved being legal. His cock twitched in your mouth. You’d been with enough guys to know that that meant he was close to coming. You moaned around him and he grunted as he began thrusting into your mouth faster, faster, faster--

And then his cum was shooting down your throat. It was warm and salty--addicting. You wanted to taste him again and again. After several moments he pulled out of your mouth. The kitchen was filled with the sound of both of you breathing heavily.

You looked up at him, your eyes still watery and vision still slightly blurred. His eyes met yours and he cursed under his breath. With the tears and drool all over your face, you probably looked disgusting. You stood up and stepped towards the sink, wanting to clean yourself off, but he just pulled you against him and kissed you. His lips were soft but rough against your own, a completely different feeling from his cock. His tongue pressed against your mouth and you parted your lips, letting him lick inside your mouth. He was rough and needy and impatient, fighting for dominance against your tongue. You let him win, basking in the way his tongue licked inside your mouth and made you feel like he was kissing every inch of you at once.

“Jump,” he breathed into your mouth. He moved his hands under your thighs and you understood what he wanted. You jumped and he wrapped your legs around his waist, your mouths never leaving each other. You gripped his curls in your hands, clinging to him. He began walking somewhere but you didn’t know where. You were too busy kissing him like your life depended on it to notice what was going on around you.

He finally set you down against something soft and warm. You pulled away from him to see you were now in the living room. He’d lain you down on the couch, still slightly warm from where he’d been sitting a few minutes ago. There was a TV tray to your left, upon which sat a plate of chicken and broccoli, half-eaten, and a folder with work documents inside.

“Mr. Marshall,” you said as you looked up at his body hovering over yours.

He frowned and said, “Don’t call me that, Y/N.”

“What would you prefer?” you wondered.

“I’d prefer for you to stop talking so I can kiss you,” he said before latching his mouth onto yours.

You moaned into his mouth and reached for him. You clutched his shirt in your hands and struggled to take it off. He understood what you wanted and pulled back just long enough so he could take it off and toss it on the ground. He leaned towards you again but you pushed his chest back, wanting to admire all the muscle and hair on his chest. He looked even bigger without a shirt on. You hadn’t thought that was possible. He was twice your size and ripped with muscle, from his shoulders to his abs. His arms were huge too, veins barely visible along his biceps. You eyed the dark hairs that swirled around his pecs and the hair along his stomach waist, which disappeared beneath his jeans.

“Like what you see?” The words were joking but his voice was serious.

“You have no idea,” you admitted before reaching for his jeans. “Take these off.”

He paused and considered something. “Tell me you’re not a virgin.”

“Would you still fuck me if I was?” you wondered, purely curious.

He thought about it. “I don’t know. I can’t say yes, but I can’t say no either. Your first time should be right. You should be with someone you care about, a boyfriend that’s actually your age.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his sweet words. “Well then it’s a good thing I’m not a virgin,” you said as you began tugging at his pants.

“Someone’s impatient,” he noted as he rose to his feet and undressed himself.

“I’ve been wanting you to fuck me for two years,” you admitted. “Of course I’m impatient.”

“With that filthy mouth, I’m not sure why I ever thought you were a virgin in the first place.”

You didn’t reply. The words had been lost in your throat as you took in the sight of him in front of you. His thighs were thick and sculpted with muscle like a greek god. You wanted to ride those thighs, to feel them clench and press against your pussy as you came on top of him... You eyed his cock, already growing hard again. His body was so perfect it was unreal. The thought of this man fucking you... You moaned.

He was back on top of you a second later. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pressing him against your clothed core as he looked down at you. He took in your dark, lustful gaze; the way your mouth parted with need; the way you arched your throat for him to kiss.

“How bad do you want me, baby girl?” he whispered in your ear before sucking on your earlobe.

You threw your head back and latched onto his shoulders. You were dripping for him already. You had no doubt you’d already stained your thong--the thong you’d bought specifically with him in mind. He pressed his bare thigh to your core and applied just enough pressure to make you moan. “Fuck, daddy!” you cried out, and then you froze with embarrassment. You couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Daddy, hmm?” he growled into your ear. “I like the sound of that, little one.”

You moaned and writhed beneath him, bucking your hips up against his thigh.

“You’re dripping,” he breathed, feeling your wetness pool in your underwear. “Already so needy for me.”

“Fuck me,” you moaned.

“Ask nicely,” he replied with a smirk as he kissed down your neck and chest before grabbing your breasts between his hands.

Your body warmed under his touch as he massaged your breasts in his large hands, which made you look so tiny underneath him. “Please fuck me, daddy!”

“Shit, baby girl,” he breathed before burying his face between your breasts--

And then ripped your bra clean off. You gasped in surprised and looked down to find your breasts bare to the world, your nipples hardening in the cold air. “That was a hundred dollars!”

His blue eyes jumped to yours. “I’ll buy you a new one,” he promised before taking one of your nipples in his mouth and squeezing the other one between his fingers.

You moaned and clenched onto his hair as he made your body writhe with pleasure. “Daddy... I need you inside of me.” Your hips continued to buck up desperately. You rubbed your core along his thick thigh, but that wasn’t enough. Not right now. You needed his cock. You needed him to make you come undone.

“Okay, baby girl,” he agreed before pulling back and resting his weight on his thighs. He eyed your thong and smirked mischievously. “Well, since your bra’s already ruined...” In one quick pull he ripped your panties in half. “Might as well finish these off too.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he raised your underwear to his nose and sniffed the mere sight of that filthy act made your walls clench around nothing.

“You smell like heaven, baby girl,” he muttered. “I can’t way to see what you feel like.”

You whined and reached for him. He let you hold onto his forearm as he lined himself up with your entrance and entered you. You cried out, both in pleasure and in pain at the size of him.

His gaze jumped to you. “I really don’t want to stop, but if you need me to--”

You shook your head. “Just go slow.”

He hesitated before pushing himself further inside of you. Your walls clenched so tightly around him that you thought you were going to cum before he’d even bottomed out. He leaned forward and kissed you softly as he entered you further. Your moans and occasional whimpers were swallowed in his mouth between kisses. It took a full minute for him to fit all the way inside of you. Even then he didn’t move for another minute, letting you adjust to his size. He kissed you deeply as he began to move inside of you. His hands grabbed onto your breasts and began massaging them again. You cried out, already feeling yourself too close to the edge.

“You gotta stop,” you breathed, “or I’m gonna cum.”

“That’s the goal,” he replied against your lips and moved even faster inside of you.

You cried out, clutching tightly to him as your vision went white and you came around his cock. He didn’t slow his pace, didn’t show any mercy on your body as he claimed you as his own.

“Fuck daddy...” you whimpered.

“You feel so good baby, feel so good around daddy’s cock,” he murmured, clutching tightly to you as he picked up his pace again. “I want you to cum again. Cum for daddy, baby girl.”

Your legs were already clenching tightly around his waist as you neared your second orgasm. He felt like pure heaven inside of you. His cock was so big, touching every inch of you as he pounded away. Within a matter of seconds you threw your head back and came again, milking his cock with all the energy left inside of you.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck. “You’re gonna make me cum, baby girl.”

“Cum inside me,” you moaned, only half aware of everything in your blissful state.

He continued fucking you hard as he said, “As much as I want to, and you have no idea how badly I wanna fucking cum inside your tight little pussy, I’m not about to start something I can’t finish.”

“Then cum in my mouth,” you compromised. “I wanna taste you again.”

He groaned at your words and tightened his grip on your hips, chasing his own high. He let out filthy groans and grunts as he fucked you. The look on his face was so fucking hot--the way his mouth fell open in a grunt, how his eyes and nose scrunched up in absolute pleasure. God, it was filthy. He pounded into you a few more times and then pulled out of you in a flash.

“Get on your knees,” he barked.

You complied and a second later he shot his load straight into your mouth, your lips wrapped around his cock. You swallowed every last drop of his warm seed, savoring the bitter aftertaste.

He pulled out of you once he was done and sat down on the couch. The look on his face was impossible to read. “You should get home. It’s late.” He wouldn’t look you in the eye.

You shook your head, though he couldn’t see. “No. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to have your way with me and then just kick me.”

His eyes were cold when they flicked up to you. “That’s what you wanted.”

“I wanted the first part,” you agreed, “not the part where you treat me like a whore after.”

He looked like you’d slapped him. “Y/N, we shouldn’t have--”

“But we did!” you exclaimed. “And we both liked it.”

He breathed in deeply. “You’re right. I’m sorry. You’re not a whore, Y/N. I care about you, and that’s why I can’t let this happen again.”

“No,” you were sobbing now, your heart breaking right in front of him. “You don’t get to do that either. Don’t act like you’ve had your fill of me!”

“What the hell do you want me to do?” he shot back. “It’s not like you can be my girlfriend. I can’t take you out on normal dates. Even if you were closer to my age, my lifestyle... I don’t have room in my life to date someone.”

“You mean you can’t risk it,” you clarified. “You can’t risk losing someone.”

“No!” he agreed. “And I sure as hell can’t risk losing you!”

The fear was clear in his eyes. You didn’t know what to do to comfort him. So you just straddled his lap and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, hugging him for as long as he needed it. Hesitantly, he hugged you back.

“Okay,” you agreed. “We’ll figure this out. But you don’t get to shut me out.”

His arms just wrapped tighter around you in answer, like he was never going to let you go.

#henry cavill #henry cavill smut #henry cavill kiss #walter marshall #walter marshall smut #night hunter #geralt the witcher #clark kent #superman #charles brandon

1K notes · View notes

hoffmannwrites · 4 years

Text

You Better You Bet

Previous - PART EIGHT - Next - Masterlist

Author’s Note: We are back in business BAYBEEE!! I posted a full detail update if you want to read that for all my juicy secrets. Thank you ever so dearly for being to patient and so kind. I can’t even fathom that so many people actually like this. It’s really crazy. Y’all are the best. Stay safe and stay home if you can.

Pairing: Riverdale, FP Jones, and 19-Year-Old Reader

Description: A bet with Jughead leads to so much more than winning.

Warning: Language, Adult themes, Age Gap, Teenage drinking, Sex talk (but no actual hanky panky here), Wholesome female friendships, Pining, Brief mention of female masturbation

Song Inspiration: Savage (Remix) by Meg Thee Stallion Ft. Beyonce (Nothing to do with the chapter, but this has been on repeat for 24 hours)

It’s been 7 days. One whole week since you last saw Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Second. The morning after your last little rendezvous proceeded much like that after the first, however when you finally returned home, you stayed there. No texts from a taunting Sweets. No follow up calls from the man himself. Not even a disapproving glare from dear old Juggy. A whole week had passed and nothing changed at all. It seemed to be that the entire world had forgotten you fucked FP Jones (many times). School crawled on as usual. Betty and Jug were off playing Holmes and Watson. Archie and Veronica were fucking on every expensive piece of furniture they could find. Cheryl bought a new red lipstick. Kevin decided that Spring Awakening was his latest Magnum Opus. Homeostasis achieved. Right?

Wrong. Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t seem to pry your mind away from thinking about The Serpent King. You’d find yourself in the middle of a class, biting on your pen, absentmindedly thinking about the way his brown eyes looked right before he was about to...until someone called your name loud enough and often enough to snap you out of it. You’d get a shiver down your spine getting a flashback of his hands on your hips. The worst, though, was the smell of him. It followed you around and cling to your hair and clothes no matter how much time had passed. When the wind blew the right way or you turned your head quick enough, you’d get a strong gust of him that was enough to make you whimper.

No one tells you this, but it sucks when someone you don’t particularly want to date is the best lay you’ve ever had. It’s not so much that you didn’t want to date FP, but you couldn’t. He’s more than double your age, and a father of 2 children (one of whom is your best friend), AND he’s the leader of a gang. Imagine brining that home to mom. As much as you didn’t have any feelings for him, you couldn’t very well track him down anyway. You didn’t have his phone number (and weren’t planning on trying to get it from anyone else) and a trip to the Wyrm alone again would look needy at best. Instead, you were stuck alone, rutting against your fingers or your pillows, chasing after a high that only FP could give you.

Saturdays were for the boys, sure. But Sundays? Sundays were for the girls. Pops on Saturdays was a ritual of catching up and hanging out and making plans for the week. Sunday’s were for shit talking and chicken wing eating and face mask applying. This Sunday was extra special, considering you had bailed on last week’s event due to a mild limp and the overall body ache. When Betty and Ronnie showed up at your house, already in PJs with Twilight DVDs, buffalo wings, and the finest Champagne Veronica could steal from her parents’ liquor cabinet without being noticed, you knew this was just what you needed to get your mind off FP.

Or so you thought. Soon the wings had been devoured, the Champagne bottle was emptied, and Edward was left sparkling in the sun. All that was left to talk about was the elephant in the room. “So (Y/N/N)... care to spill some sinful details to your doting BFFs?” Veronica inquired with a shit-eating grin.

“I have no idea what you could ever be talking about, my dearest Lodge,” you replied, sad that your I-don’t-need-no-man bubble was being popped.

“(Y/N), come on, girl. Even I want to know what happened.” Betty pleaded with you.

“Betty just wants to know if big dicks and praise kinks run in the family. For her sake, spill!” Veronica teased, earning a bright red blush from Betty.

And so you did. Perhaps it was the liquid courage, or maybe you just needed someone else to know it was real too. You told the girls everything- no detail spared- gossiping like a bunch of, well, teenage girls.

“Fuck.” Betty was the first to break the silence after your monologue was over.

“But he hasn’t called you?” Ronnie asked, indignant.

“Nope.” you replied.

“Men are such fucking trash. They can cum in you for 48 hours straight, but god fucking forbid they pick up a phone!” She continued her rant. “You should call him. Show him you’re more than just a two-night stand.”

“By doing what?” you questioned. “Asking him to fuck again? Plus. It was just a fling. It was a bet. Remember? And I won. So it’s over now. Done. Finito. Terminado. Fertig. Ip-shay has Ailed-say.”

“Oh yeah you sound real happy about that...” Betty giggled, pulling her knees up to her chest with a smile. You shot her a glare. “I’m just saying! Those Jones men are addictive. I think you should shoot your shot.”

“How would I even do that? I can’t go to the bar AGAIN. People are gonna think I have a problem,” you deadpanned.

“Well...it just so happens, that I am dating your paramour’s son. So it would be justifiable that I would have said paramour’s phone number, in case of emergencies.” Betty said, chin resting on knees.

“It’s an emergency,” Veronica declared, holding out her hand for Betty’s phone.

She obliged and soon your phone screen was looking up at you, with FP’s number in the contact line and a blinking line waiting for you to type out the perfect message.

“Okay. What do now?” you asked, looking to your friends bug-eyed. “I don’t talk to people.”

“How about ‘Hey it’s (Y/N). with a little smiley face,” suggested Betty.

“OUH!! Or you could send him a nude!” proposed Ronnie.

Your brow furrowed and you turned to the brunette “...no....” you said, almost concerned for your friend‘s mental stability. “How about something...flirty. Something so he knows it’s me. Like an inside joke or something. OH. Wait i think i got it.” You tapped on the screen excitedly, like a child writing a letter to Santa. You showed the girls the finished message before you sent it.

“Hey, Jones. You up for another round of pool? Promise I won’t make you dance this time.”

With their approval, you pressed the little blue send button and practically threw your phone to the ground like it was a hot potato.

You waited.

And waited.

And waited. It felt like you were staring at the screen for hours before three little gray dots made their debut. You screamed. You couldn’t bare to look. Veronica did it for you. Men never made you act this nervous or childish. (Women did, but they had boobs and nice hair, so it was a completely different set of rules. Girls are pretty, yo.)

You heard it. The faint sound of a message hitting your line. Veronica picked up the phone and read the text quickly. “Bitchhhhh...” she said, handing the phone over to Betty. “Oh my god...” the blonde whispered into the palm of your hand, before handing the phone back to its owner.

You read the screen.

“Wyrm’s closed on Sundays, baby girl. But my door is always open for you. Don’t you practically live here anyways?”

Somehow, all the air you had was sucked out of your lungs, while an anvil lifted itself off your shoulders.

Taglist: @ragweed98 @reblogserpent @cassidyiscool @cyberbadman @ohhmyexo @anondunar @startwiththeridingcrop @colie87 @derangedcupcake @scintilla-morningstar @princess-east @xxghostnappaxx

#fp jones #fp jones smut #riverdale #riverdale smut #riverdale imagine #rattwrites #riverdale fanfiction #fanfic #imagine #betty and veronica #veronica lodge #betty cooper

244 notes · View notes

snowdice · 4 years

Text

Road Trips and Missing Persons (Part 1)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Patton & Virgil (more to be added)

Characters: Patton, Virgil (more to be added: probably everyone)

Summary: Patton was just getting groceries. The next thing he knew, there was a knife at his throat and he was an unwilling uber driver. Virgil’s on the run after the murder of his dad, and it’s not just his paranoia that’s telling him he’s being chased down. He has to get somewhere safe, somewhere he can trust, and all he has is a couple of stories from his dad and a name: “Green Bellow Foods and Dispensary.”

Notes: Secret Agents AU, knives, carjacking, kidnapping (more to be added)

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve affectionately named it the Goblin Brain Fic because it’s helping my brain actually get motivated for studying. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined!

Patton had just been getting himself groceries. He was planning on making homemade macaroni and cheese for himself this weekend and went around the store grabbing all kinds of different cheeses (some which he did not recognize the names of and might not actually make good Macaroni and Cheese, but how could he resist the cute little goats on it) and little mini shell pasta. He also picked up some heavy cream and then headed to the cash registers with his spoils.

He’d been a bit distracted with his plans for cooking when he’d gotten into his car to drive home and hadn’t been paying as much attention as he probably should have.

The next thing he knew, there was a knife at his throat. He paused. “Hi?” he said tentatively.

“Put your keys into the ignition and drive,” a dark voice said into his ear.

Patton took a deep breath. “Sure,” he said, reaching forward to slowly do as the man asked. “Any particular direction we’re going in?”

“Fucking, I don’t know. Just drive,” he said. “I’ll decide later.”

“Alright,” Patton agreed and put the car into reverse. “Can I turn my head to make sure I’m not backing into anything?” he asked.

The knife retreated a bit in answer. Patton turned his head slowly and looked back while letting his foot off the break and quickly scanned his new friend out of the corner of his eye. There wasn’t much to be seen. He had a dark hoodie covering most of his frame, but a few tuffs of dark hair stuck out of it, framing a pale face with a streak of blood down his cheek and a purpling bruise near his eye.

Patton didn’t indicate that he’d seen any of this, instead choosing to turn back to face front and drive out of the grocery store parking lot.

The knife returned after that, though it didn’t touch him this time. It just hovered. Patton chose to drive towards the interstate, careful to keep his hands on the steering wheel and make no sudden movements.

“Why are you getting on the interstate?” the man behind him asked. There was caution in his tone, but he didn’t seem too suspicious of the move.

“You wanted me to drive and I don’t know where or how long. There’s a lot more driving to do out here than in town,” Patton explained. “Is that okay?”

“I…” he responded. “Yeah, sure.”

So, Patton continued to drive.

Eventually the knife started to retreat a bit, though it was still there. About 30 minutes into the ride, Patton decided it was okay to speak. “Would you like to come sit in the passenger seat?” he asked softly. “You can lean the knife across the console at my side. It’d probably be a bit more comfortable.”

The knife returned to Patton’s neck. “No,” he said firmly.

“Okay,” Patton agreed calmly.

Yet, despite his initial reaction, it was less than 5 minutes later that the knife dropped a bit again. “… I’m moving to the front seat,” he grumbled. Patton suppressed a smile.

There was shifting around in the back and then a body threw itself up into the passenger seat. He scrambled into a sitting position and rushed to point the knife back at Patton. Patton just kept driving. After a few minutes he relaxed a bit again.

Patton bit back the words ‘Put your seatbelt on,’ and instead said. “Figured out where we’re going yet?”

“Uh…” he replied. “Do you know any places associated with Green Bellow Foods?”

Hmmm... “There’s an abandoned factory near Livington. Would that work?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Let’s go there.”

“Okay, but fair warning, it is about a 3-hour drive from here.”

“Great,” he hissed.

Patton glanced over at him. He was still just a blob of black fabric for the most part as the hoodie still covered most of his body, but when he looked over at Patton, he revealed a bit more of his face. Patton was surprised by how young it looked. He looked like a teenager, likely not even a legal adult. “Since we’re going to be driving for a while,” Patton broached after a few more minutes to let him settle in the front seat. “Can we get something to eat? I have a lot of cheese in the back, but I’m lactose intolerant so that’s probably not a good idea for a closed car.”

“You…” the boy started. “If your lactose intolerant why do you have an entire bag full of just cheese?”

“And heavy cream and shell pasta! I was going to make mac and cheese when I got home!”

“That doesn’t answer the question.” Patton noticed that the knife had drifted away from him as they spoke.

“I like cheese,” Patton said with a shrug. “Anyway, I can go through a drive through,” he tempted.

“I…” Patton saw him bite his lip nervously out of the corner of his eye. “Fine, sure. I guess. Just… just you’re going to have to use cash so no one can track your credit card.”

“Okay then,” Patton agreed with a small smile in his direction. “We’ll get off at the next exit!”

“Uh, yeah, okay,” he said. “Er… Don’t… try any funny business?”

Oh goodness. He was a baby. “Of course not.”

Signs for the next exist started popping up a few minutes later. They passed a blue sign with a couple of restaurant emblems on it.

“Looks like your options are Wendy’s, Chick-fil-A, Hardees, or Freddy’s. What’re you thinking?”

“Uh I don’t know? I don’t care.”

“You have to have some preference,” Patton said. “Go ahead and pick.”

He hesitated. “Maybe Freddy’s? I don’t think I’ve tried that before.”

“Sounds good!” Patton chirped. He pulled off at the exit into a medium sized town. The exit dumped them straight onto the town’s main street and Patton could see the sign for Freddy’s a bit down the road. “So…” Patton fished while they were stuck at a red light. “Why Green Bellow Foods?”

“No reason! Why do you care?” he asked, suddenly intense and defensive.

“Woah,” Patton placated. “I’m just curious. I’m the one driving you over three hours to get there after all. I just wondered why.”

“Right,” the boy said, curling in a bit on himself. After a moment he mumbled. “My dad knew the owner.”

Did he now? Patton thought. He didn’t comment on the use of the word “knew.” The light turned green and Patton glanced over at him. “How old are you?” he asked.

“You don’t need to know.”

Patton hummed as the light turned green. “What if I guess and you tell me if I’m right?” He didn’t respond, instead crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “Let’s see,” Patton said anyway, glancing over at him. “Twelve?”

“What?! No! I’m 15!” Then he paused. “Hey!”

“Fifteen, huh?” Patton asked. “Is that why you didn’t just steal a car? You don’t know how to drive?” His new friend gave him a wounded look that edged on a pout. “What do you want to eat?” Patton asked.

He bit his lip. “What type of food is there?”

“Mostly burgers and fries, but also chicken sandwiches and hot dogs. And ice cream! Well frozen custard, but ice cream!”

“Er… just order me a cheeseburger and fries.”

“And ice cream!”

“I don’t need ice cream,” he mumbled.

“Well, I’m getting ice cream.”

“Do whatever you want,” he grumbled.

Patton narrowed his eyes at him. The kid wanted, no he needed ice cream, Patton decided.

Patton pulled into Freddy’s drive through and ordered two burgers with fries and drinks and a Dirt ‘N Worms concrete. Patton reached for his wallet and the boy startled, but he didn’t instinctually reach for the knife, Patton noted.

“Just getting my wallet,” Patton soothed, continuing to move slowly to take it out. He flipped open his wallet and took out a $20 bill. The boy relaxed again.

Patton greeted the drive-through worker with a cheery “hello” and exchanged the money for their food before thanking the employee and driving off. He pulled into a parking space in the Freddy’s parking lot.

“Do you mind if we eat real quick before hitting the road?”

He hesitated. “No funny business?”

“No funny business,” Patton swore.

“Then, fine.”

Patton put the car into park, and they started to eat their food. “So, what’s your name?” He got a suspicious look in return. “My name’s Patton,” he offered. “You can just tell me a nickname.”

“…You can call me Anxiety.”

Patton frowned a bit at the name but accepted it for the moment. He balled up the burger wrapper and stuck it in the bag. ‘Anxiety’ who had been just holding his awkwardly, followed his lead.

“Now for dessert!” Patton enthused and then made a show of freezing. “Wait. I forgot. I’m lactose intolerant.”

“How do you forget-?”

“And I forgot my lactaid pill. Guess you’ll have to eat it while I drive.”

‘Anxiety’ glared at him but took the ice cream. If Patton caught him smiling just a bit as Patton started to drive again, he didn’t mention it.

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 2 My Master Post (since it won’t show up on mobile. AHH.)

#sanders sides #patton sanders #virgil sanders #platonic moxiety #knives #kidnapping #carjacking #study break stories #adriana writes #road trips and missing persons

184 notes · View notes

wordsysayswords · 4 years

Link

After picking Wash up on Sidewinder, it’s going to take everyone a while to get used to the new living arrangements. Especially Wash, who’s a bit directionless now that he’s finally free of the Project. Tucker doesn’t care for Blue Team’s new leader. But he can’t help noticing some of the man’s odd habits and wondering what caused them.

Part 2: Sleeping Habits

It hits Tucker that violently shaking the sleeping Freelancer out of a nightmare might be an exceptionally stupid idea at the exact same time Washington headbutts him in the nose.

Or, Wash wakes up swinging.

Tucker doesn’t know how he manages to fall asleep, but Caboose’s snoring wakes him at about 6 am. He blinks around the room, taking in the crayon drawings and machine blueprints—also drawn in crayon—plastering the walls.

Beside him, Caboose is spread-eagle on the bed, drooling into his pillow. Tucker rolls his shoulders, trying to relieve the stiffness earned from sitting up against the wall all night. His gaze falls to his deactivated energy sword in his lap.

Right.

It isn’t like Tucker forgot what happened during the night. His chest is still tight with the remnants of nightmares that had seen the incident end differently. Bloody.

Somewhere in the base, a floorboard creaks. Tucker jolts, sword flashing to life in his hand. His eyes fly to the door.

The handle doesn’t turn, the door doesn’t open. There isn’t even the shadow of feet passing by. The base is eerily silent—save for Caboose’s cartoonishly loud snores. After five minutes, Tucker’s starting to think he imagined it. He almost misses the distant sound of a door clicking shut.

Tucker listens. One minute. Two.

Pushing Caboose’s beefy arm off him, Tucker hops off the bed and tiptoes across the room. Ever so slowly, he reaches up and unlocks the door. He takes a deep breath.

He opens the door.

The kitchen is empty. So is the common area. The base feels cold and gray in the hazy morning light. The coffee pot is off, which is weird considering the unspoken rule that the first person up and about is in charge of prepping it. That’s usually Washington, what with his absolutely fucked sleep schedule.

But Tucker doesn’t want to think about Washington right now. What he wants is an ice pack for his nose because it might not be broken, but it hurts like a bitch. Deactivating his sword, Tucker grabs some ice and heads for the bathroom.

After nudging the door open to make sure a rabid Freelancer isn’t hiding inside, Tucker looks in the mirror to check the damage. Oof. The bleeding has stopped, but his shirt looks like a crime scene. Tucker hadn’t thought to grab tissues or gauze or even a medkit before locking himself and Caboose in the blue soldier’s room for the night. He gingerly inspects the colorful swelling he’s going to be sporting for a while.

He wonders if he gave Washington any bruises to add to his already sizable collection.

Tucker pulls back from the mirror and scoffs. He doesn’t give a shit about how Washington is feeling because it serves him the fuck right after almost murdering Tucker.

Tucker heads back to the common area. There’s a basket of laundry beside the door that the teal soldier hasn’t gotten around to folding. Tucker is fishing out a clean shirt to replace his blood-stained one when he notices the boots lined up neatly in the entryway. The two sets of boots.

There’s supposed to be three.

Wash’s room is empty.

The sun has barely crept above the distant glacier peaks on the horizon. There’s no snow this close to Sidewinder’s equator, but the landscape remains a tundra of frozen earth and hardy brown plants.

Tucker catches up with Washington two miles up the road, slowing the warthog to a crawl beside him.

“You goin’ my way, baby?” Tucker drawls, leaning out of the driver’s side with a wink.

Washington doesn’t stop walking. He glares ahead at the long dirt road stretching into the windswept wasteland, pointedly not looking at Tucker.

Okay, well, fuck. Dead silence wasn’t an option Tucker considered when mapping out this conversation in his head after he realized Wash had up and left. Then again, catcalling the guy hadn’t been on the agenda either, but Tucker’s mouth is always one step ahead. He’s a lot better at this whole banter thing when the other person can dish it out as good as they get. That was one of the nice things about Church. The asshole always had an answer, even if it was just “fuck you.”

“It’s cold as balls,” Tucker says, jumping on the first thing that comes into his head. “Where the hell are you going dressed like that?”

Washington is wearing the poorly fitting fatigue pants and shirt Caboose and Tucker had gifted him (though, Tucker was a lot more begrudging about it than Caboose). The Freelancer must have found the frayed military jacket somewhere in the abandoned base they’d taken over following the fight with the Meta. One of his hands holds it shut against the perpetually icy air. The other grips a sagging duffle bag thrown over his shoulder.

Washington picks up speed.

“You going somewhere?” Tucker prods, the engine of the warthog growling as he gives it just enough gas to keep Washington’s pace.

Tucker watches the man’s jaw clench, mouth set in a grim line.

Tucker sighs dramatically. “Listen, I don’t wanna have to be the one to tell Caboose that his pet ran away, so get your broody ass back t—”

“Take it!” Washington snarls, rounding on Tucker and causing him to slam breaks. Wash hurls the duffel bag to the frozen ground beside the warthog.

“Just fucking take it, okay?” Washington snaps louder, dragging a hand through his hair as he paces the road. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken anything, so just fucking take it, okay?”

Tucker cranes his neck out of the idling car to look down at the contents of the bag now spilled across the dirt. Two MREs and a flashlight.

Tucker doesn’t know what Washington sees in the confusion on the teal soldier’s face, but the man lets loose a harsh laugh. Washington rips off the jacket and flings that to the dirt as well.

“There,” he says, folding his arms firmly across his chest. “You have everything. Now, just fucking go.”

Tucker just sits there for a moment.

“What the—god damn it,” Tucker snarls right back, throwing the warthog in park and clambering out. “I don’t give a fuck about a flashlight and some bags of chicken-fucking-flavored rice!”

Wash has the nerve to look pissed.

“What do you want then?” He yells, throwing out his arms. “WHY THE HELL ARE YOU OUT HERE?!”

“That’s MY LINE, you ABSOLUTE ASSWIPE!” Tucker shouts back. “What are YOU doing out here? Are you actually running away?”

“What do you want? An apology? Like that’s going to fix this?” Wash shouts. “Fine! I’m sorry!”

And the words come pouring out.

“I’m sorry!” Wash yells again. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep, but I did, and I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear? I’m sorry I’m broken, I’m sorry I killed Church, and I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

With that, Wash drops to the dirt, the fight sucked right out of him by the outburst. He sits there, head drooping and silent save for his uneven panting.

For some reason, it hits Tucker at this exact moment that this is the longest conversation he and Washington have ever had.

“There,” Wash says finally, voice subdued. “I said it. You can go. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.” He doesn’t make any move to stand up.

Tucker actually laughs. “Seriously, dude? The nearest settlement is like 70 miles away. What are you going to do? Walk?”

“I can handle it,” Wash says dully.

“Dude,” Tucker says, pointing to Wash’s shirt. “You’re bleeding.”

Wash startles, looking down and finally noticing the slowly growing patch of blood at his side.

“Shit,” he curses, lifting the fabric to reveal a soaked square of gauze.

Tucker pulls a face. “Ugh, I thought Doc stitched you up.”

“Tore them,” Wash mumbles, pulling at the bandage to inspect the wound and face pinching at what he finds. “...Last night.”

Wash glances up at the cold, dirt road ahead and then down at the blood seeping out from around his hand pressed to his wound, frowning.

Tucker rolls his eyes and sighs. “Alright, get in.”

Wash narrows his eyes. “Where are we going?”

“To Mars,” Tucker says flatly. “Where the fuck do you think? Back to base to get your sorry ass stitched up again.”

Wash blinks. “What?”

“No, you heard me,” Tucker says, turning heel and climbing back in the car. Last night is still too fresh for him to offer the man a hand. “Get in the car.”

Still looking a little like a deer caught in headlights, Wash shakily climbs to his feet, wincing all the way. He hisses in pain bending down to pick up his things before limping around the warthog to climb in the passenger seat.

Staring straight out the windshield, Tucker grits his teeth and grips the steering wheel like it owes him money. It would be so much easier to hate Wash if he made excuses or pretended last night never happened. It’s a lot harder to hate someone when they’re standing in front of you in the cold, bleeding and apologizing for taking a coat and some meager rations. Goddammit.

“I still hate you,” Tucker blurts out, every word tasting like a lie.

Wash just nods, tired eyes still fixed on the place where the dirt road meets the horizon in the distance. He sags against the seat, pale and with sweat beading at his brow.

“Look,” Tucker says, slumping his shoulders, “I’m not stopping you from leaving. You’re a grown-ass, presumed KIA adult and can do whatever the hell you want. I just…recommend doing it with proper supplies and when you’re not bleeding everywhere.”

Wash looks over at him.

“I can leave later?” he asks quietly.

Tucker shrugs. “It’s up to you. You don’t owe us anything.”

Wash looks like he’s about to argue but seems to think better of it. He’s visibly shivering now. Tucker cranks up the heat before turning the warthog around and heading back towards base.

“Are...are you okay?” Wash asks softly.

Tucker looks over at him, taking in how he’s slumped against the seat even as his hands tightly gripped the wound. Up close, Tucker can see a ghastly bruise peeking out from under the collar of his t-shirt. Whether it’s from him or the Meta, Tucker can’t be sure.

He turns his eyes back to the road. “I’m fine,” Tucker says, even as his nose pulses in pain at the memory of the previous night.

“I should have warned you not to come near me when I’m sleeping,” Wash all but whispers.

“Is screaming like a...like an opera-singing howler monkey... normal for you?”

Wash shrugs.

“Whatever,” Tucker says. “Just try not to get blood all over the seats. I just had this thing cleaned.”

“What? How?”

“It’s a joke, Wash.” That’s weird. When did Washington become Wash?

“Oh.”

They ride in silence for a few moments before Wash speaks up again. “Tucker?”

“Hm?”

“...Thanks.”

Tucker stares straight ahead as the base comes into view. “Don’t mention it.”

#red vs blue #agent washington #lavernius tucker #rvb #fanfic #fan fic #fanfiction #fan fiction #wordsywriteswords #wordsy writes words #blue team

85 notes · View notes

solesurvivorkat · 4 years

Text

Get to Know Me!/About Me/The Self Care Tag Game

Tagged by @the-dubstep-strawberry and @ja-crispea, thank you guys! <3 :-)

(This is long, so I put it under a tag)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Who were you named after?: My maternal aunt (Kathy), middle name from my other maternal aunt.

Last time you cried?: (snorts) ...Okay... there’s this book that my toddler son has, called ‘Love You Forever’ - and the damn thing always makes me cry and I HATE it, lol. It’s basically a mom that watches her son grow up from a baby to an adult, and she rocks him to sleep his whole life saying, “ "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, As long as I'm living My baby you'll be." “. ...IT’S A MENACE. He asked me to read it to him the other day & I couldn’t say no, so my husband was kind of sympathetically laughing at me (not in a mean way) b/c I was definitely crying by the end. IT’S EVIL.

Do you like your handwriting? Ehhh.... sometimes? When I CONCENTRATE on it, it’s fine. When I scribble something out in a hurry, I don’t love it so much (though it’s still a million more times legible than my husband’s ‘chicken-scratch’ handwriting, LOL).

What is your favorite lunch meat?: Roast beef. I don’t buy it often b/c it’s usually expensive, but a good roast beef deli meet? Oof.

Longest relationship?: The one I’m in w/ my husband. We’ve been together since 2008, married in 2011 (for those who hate math like me {lol}, that’s together for 12 years in August, married for 9 years in December).

Do you still have your tonsils? Yes.

What is your favorite kind of cereal?: Don’t really have a favorite, but I like Lucky Charms (I know, I’m a stereotype, LOL), Captain Crunch, one of the Post ones w/ cranberries in it (forget what it’s called), Honey Nut Cheerios, Frosted Flakes, Peanut Butter Crunch, and a bunch of others.

Do you untie your shoes when you take them off?: Right now my sneakers are the slip-on kind (though I really need to buy new ones sometime), but I have to untie my boots when I wear them b/c they have roller skate laces in them and they stay put (don’t move around a lot, which is what they’re supposed to do), so if I didn’t untie them I’d never be able to get them on/off, lol.

Do you think you’re strong willed?: Oh my GOD, yes. ...Almost to a fault, lol. *XD

Favorite Ice Cream?: Don’t really have a favorite, but I tend to go for either Oreo, Cookie Dough, or chocolate & peanut butter.

What is the first thing you notice about a person?: Usually their eyes. I think I mention eyes a lot in my writing (again, almost to a fault, lol), but it’s b/c eyes are so expressive. ‘Eyes are the window to the soul’, as they say.

Football or baseball?: Neither - I’m really not a sports person. But if I HAD to choose one, I’d say baseball (Red Sox!).

Favorite donut?: Chocolate frosted donut with sprinkles (...yes, I like the sprinkles on it, I ‘donut’ know why. HA!!! .....I’ll show myself out. LOL)

Last thing you ate?: Chocolate-frosted Pop-Tarts, & currently, gradually drinking water flavored w/ store-brand caffeinated fruity drink mix (need this at work to keep me going b/c I don’t like coffee).

What are you listening to?: Nothing right now - quiet at work (I love when it’s peaceful at work... I don’t really get peace at home often, lol)

If you were a crayon, what color would you be?: Cerulean. ...Shut up, I like that color. (lol)

What is your favorite smell?: Don’t have one favorite... I love the smell of cookies/brownies baking, woodsmoke, cedar, Old Spice (my husband wears it, and yes - my grandfather actually DID wear it, lol!), freshly mowed lawn, mulch (I know that might sound weird, but it smells nice to me - earthy!), that smell that happens before it’s about to start raining (...I’m weird, I know lol)

Who was the last person you talked to on the phone?: Probably my husband... (thinks) ...well technically it was my boss, actually. He calls us every morning when we go in to work just to check-in (not in a condescending way, just to make sure we’re doing okay & to let us know if anything’s new).

Hair color?: Medium/honey blonde. (I’m not allowed to color it b/c of work, but I would love to try a funky color again, like pink or purple... or maybe rainbow! <3 )

Eye color?: Blue on the outside/edge, brownish-green on the inside/around the pupil (I have ‘central heterochromia’ - look it up, I’ve mentioned it on my blog before, lol)

Favorite food to eat?: Don’t have one favorite, but I tend to go for pizza, Italian, or American food

Scary movies or happy ending?: Happy ending. I know it’s lame of me, but if a movie doesn’t end happy it bother me.

Last movie you watched in a theater?: I... honestly don’t remember, lol. I think it was ‘Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker’.

What color shirt are you wearing?: It’s a purple-y, mulberry kind of color.

Favorite holiday?: Christmas, hands down. Halloween is a close second.

Beer or wine?: Neither (don’t like the taste - you’ll usually find me drinking Diet Pepsi, lol. I know, I’m a dork.)

Night owl or morning person?: Used to be a morning person when I was younger, but now I’m kind of a mid-day/twilight kind of person (I usually veg at night, lol).

Favorite day of the week?: Probably Friday or Saturday

Favorite animal?: LOVE Red Pandas, they’re so cute! I would totally get one for a pet if I could. I would also love a Husky/Shiba Inu/Klee Kai (dog), but I don’t have the time to devote to one right now, unfortunately. :-(

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rules: answer 17 questions and tag 17 people you’d like to know better!

Nickname: Kat, Sprocket, Kit-Kat

Zodiac: Aries

Height: 5′5″ (technically a hair under, but it’s 1/4″ or less so I round it up lol)

House: Hmm... either Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, I think

Last thing I Googled: (thinks) Ugh, I just did something this morning, too... I totally forget what, though. x__x*

Song in my head: Nothing, for now.

Followers and following: Currently followed by 259 awesome people, for which I am VERY grateful. <3 Following 80 people. (...I am NOT trying to insult people if I don’t follow you - I swear it’s nothing personal, I just don’t have time to catch up on the people that I’m following now.)

Amount of sleep: Usually anywhere between 6-8 hours

Lucky number: 4, 7, 13 (yup lol)

Dream job: Hmm... honestly not sure. As long as I get a paycheck & don’t hate/dislike my job, I’m usually pretty happy, lol.

Wearing: Slide-on sneakers, socks, black capri leggings, short-sleeved shirt, hair braided & clipped up

Fave songs: Don’t have a lot, though I always like ‘The Sound of Silence’ covered by Disturbed. I know there’s a bunch more that I like, but none are hugely standing out to me right now.

Instruments: Played the clarinet for a year in 5th grade, played the acoustic guitar in the 12th grade, don’t currently play any.

Random fact: One of my ancestors signed the Declaration of Independence, and there’s a town in NH named after him that I’ve never gotten to visit (heard that one before? Well I only have so many facts about me, lol)

Favorite Authors: Don’t really have one

Fave animal sounds: My chinchilla makes some cute noises, lol. I like hearing cats meow too, even if I’m more of a dog person. Ever hear a Husky ‘talk’? Hilarious. I love hearing guinea pigs ‘purr’ too, so cute!

Aesthetic: Woods, rustic, ‘comfy’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Favorite comfort food: Chocolate (shocker, I know), particularly Lindt brand

Favorite drink: Diet Pepsi

Favorite relaxing activity: Relaxing on my couch, surfing the ‘net

Favorite fluffy/feel good fic:

Favorite calming scent: fresh laundry, the ocean, woodsmoke, mulch (I know, I know, mentioned above)

Favorite white noise: Maybe the sound of ocean waves or birds chirping in the woods

Favorite relaxing (or uplifting) song: ...Can’t think of one off the top of my head.

Favorite book to get lost in: Reading friends fanfics

Favorite TV show to chill-out: Don’t usually watch a lot of TV (usually put something on to entertain my toddler)... maybe Kitchen Nightmares, or anything w/ Gordon Ramsey - not that I really like cooking shows, I just find him fun to watch, lol. (Or Bar Rescue - John Taffer is fun to watch too lol)

The best advice you’ve ever had: Hmm... I guess just variations on being true to yourself. The people that matter the most will love you no matter what and will always be in your corner, even when you’re having a bad day. Don’t try to impress people that aren’t worth your time/don’t truly care about you - it’s not worth your time and energy. Find and be with people that make you happy, that accept you for who you truly are. Be the best person you can be, but also remember that everyone has ‘off’/bad days. You’re not perfect, you’re not meant to be perfect. Do what makes YOU happy (...assuming it doesn’t hurt anyone else, obviously, lol).

Tagging whoever would like to be tagged in!

#tagged #about me #me irl #katie irl #about katie #self care tag game

3 notes · View notes

harveywritings92 · 5 years

Text

Batboys scenario: Secret Model Girfriend. 1/2

The following is a non profit fan based story Batman, Red hood, Nightwing etc. belongs to DC Comics please support the official release.

I gain no profit from this nor do I own anything other then OCs and whatever sprouts from my imagination. Thanks for reading!

Batboys Scenario 1: secret model girlfriend.

Boys are dating a nerdy, clumsy and very plain looking girl, not knowing she's a very gorgeous model they've been obsessing over and one day they're invited to a shoot to meet s/n [Stage name] and let's just say the boys say some pretty hurtful shit, needless to say they get the biggest shock of their life when the model sounds an awful lot like their girlfriend!

Dick Grayson: Kori got him backstage he was so giddy about meeting [S/n] he has a lot her posters on his old bedroom back at the manor and a few cleverly hidden magazines hidden back at his and Y/n apartment, His girlfriend has no idea he's here...His eyes wonder around the set ladies of every shape and various stated of dress eye him, some flirtatiously, other curiously and few could care less.

You meet a lot of attractive men in this industry so the more seasoned models have learned *not to flatter yourself, chances are he's just window shopping or fishing for attention.* Then she came into his view [s/n] she looked more stunning in person than on paper.

She wore a dark blue cover dress over a white bikini, her short/long glossy hair was flowing, her plump red lip were curled into a friendly smile that brighten the room her eyes were covered by sunglasses, Dick felt butterflies in his stomach as the [y/height] woman approached the he caught wisps of her perfume in the air...

that caused Dick to stall for moment. It was familiar he quickly pushed that aside and introduced himself. Y/n being the ever good actress she was used her s/n's [accent], They hit it off pretty well they talked about the show and her up coming tour and eventual somehow got on to relationships. "So.. Kori says you have a girlfriend, what's she like?"

the model asked as the raven haired snorted, not his cutesy 'OMG I thought you'd never ask!~' snicker this was a sarcastic snort. "Oh...yeah, she's nothing special... pretty boring really." Kori and S/n both gawked at as he continued. "It's not serious, I'm only with Y/n because of a dar-" he was suddenly cut off by a seething Kori "Richard! that is Y/n!" she snarled ready to pummel him.

Dick's stomach suddenly felt like it was full of sand a lumped formed throat as the familiar little hiccups his girlfriend would make when she was trying hard not breakdown crying filled the very quiet set. he swallowed hard as S/n took off her wig and sunglasses letting her natural hair fall over her face, as her teary e/c eyes looked up at him in betrayal,

before Dick could say anything she pulled the keys to their apartment off her key-ring and threw them at him before running off sobbing, Kori went after her while all the other models gave the flabbergasted man the evil-eye, now Dick really was living up to his name sake.

Jason Todd: Artemis was your bodyguard when she wasn't with the outlaws, Jason got curious where the amazon was getting her extra cash from and followed her. to say he was excited was an understatement, S/n was he dream girl,

he had her posters,magazines and a few of her interviews saved on his phone, he used to and still does have a few inappropriate dreams about her, So, when he saw the Amazon talking the the Model who was in a red bunny girl outfit; Jason was over the moon.

While Artemis was very against the idea of letting Jason meet S/n..."He's going to hurt you." she said in hush tone, But you brushed it off saying that you've known Jason since before he was the hood and knew he wouldn't do anything!

Sure, he's S/n fanboy, but he loves you...Or so you thought! It's seemed like a normal interaction he asked for S/n's autograph and talked about her her travels and shoots then...got bad, Fast!

One second Jason was talking about his time in Japan talked about the cherry blossom festival how the petals reminded him of pink snow, the model felt a little off by this...he never talked to Y/n about this maybe thi...no, she was being silly!

"Oh, I've always wanted to go during that time, but scheduling is a bitch." She suddenly Jason's hand on hers the model cocked a brow looked up at the raven haired man, He said he was in the country for an escort mission got to spend a few night in a traditional hotel in the mountains...it was pretty relaxing.

"And it just so happens they gave me a free trip for two the next time I was there, how about it?" he smirked as S/n pulled away from him "Artemis tells me you have a girlfriend why d-" Jason's smirk immediately dropped then S/n mentioned Y/n who was hoping Jason was just joke flirting with her alter-ego.

But was soon throw out the window along with your broken heart! "Oh..her..Yeah, she a real prude, just dead weight" Y/n felt her anger boil over as he continued talking shit about her.

Y/n didn't even realize she punched Jason in the face, till she heard a crunch, and felt pain erupt in her left hand that was now broken. When her vision cleared she saw Jason on the ground clutching his now broken nose looking up at her shocked. "What the fuck? You broke my nose!" he snarled as the model took off her wig and sunglasses and his eyes widened in horror and awe as his girlfriend glared down at him tearful and angry.

"Fuck your nose! and fuck you!" she spat before running off, Artemis looked between them both before helping Jason up as she glared the raven haired man in anger and disappointment. "I told her this was a bad Idea..." the amazon huffed as she gathered Y/n's things and went looking for her, all while Jason just stood there too stunned to move as his mind kept repeating...

*Y/n is S/n...Y/n is S/n,* Y/n his small mousy (ex) girlfriend who he's known and trusted since his Robin days, was the pin-up model glaciers would sprout a pair of legs for, and earn a degree in linguistics just the for the off chance that she'll talk them?!...and he just fucking ruined it!

Tim Drake: Stephanie who found out S/n's true identity by accident, was the one who convinced Y/n to tell Tim about her other life, he was getting suspicious about her business trips, and late night phone calls...However, every time she had the opportunity to say something she'd chicken out or something would come up for either Y/n or Tim leaving it for another day of cancelled plans or Tim giving her the silent treatment for standing him up.

Then she came out of her bathroom to find Tim going through her phone! "What are you doing?!" The h/c demanded the raven hared man lips formed a tight line. "Who's Grant?" he huffed ignoring her question. "Nobody, just a co-worker!" she hissed trying to snatch her phone back but Tim kept it out of her reach. "Really? then how come I've never met him?" his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"He's been overseas the last few months, It's a lunch meeting we're discussing filming locations?" Y/n said wasn't a complete lie she did say she worked in a photography industry, And Grant was a fellow model who also doubled as location organizer for the firm, But Tim was still skeptical he could tell she wasn't being truthful.

"Really, Just a co-worker?"

" Is that a problem?"

"Yeah..actually you're my girlfriend, why hell is he calling you his sweetheart and baby?!"

"Sorry, I didn't realize my friends needed your permission to call me nicknames!"

Y/n snapped as Tim's jaw set indicating he was furious. "OH! So, now he's a friend, what the hell happen to just a Co-worker?!" The raven haired man demanded as the h/c flinched at his raised voice, This wasn't fair this wasn't fair at all! "I don't see that the big deal is, I don't give you shit for hanging out with Stephanie or Cassie?!" She huffed bringing his exes into the mix big mistake..."Well at least I can trust them!?" Tim seethed shoving passed her.

"What are you talking about?!" Y/n demanded she already knew where he was going with this. "I know you're cheating Y/n, So just save us both the god damn time and just tell me!" Tim snarled as Y/n looked affronted she knew it was coming, but it still stung that her Timmy would assume that she was sleeping around!

"Fine! You want the truth Tim? Well here it is, I'm S/n!" She said crossing her arms as Tim gave her a once over a sneered. "The model?...Right, If you're gonna play around at least make up a better lie then that..." He spat storming out of her apartment... leaving a sobbing Y/n in his wake.

Later while on patrol with Spoiler, Tim let her know that he and Y/n broke up when the blond demanded why? He told her how he went through Y/n's phone and found her texting Grant and how the H/c had the audacity to lie and tell him she was S/n the pin-up girl! "Tsk, can you believe her?" he snorted then noticed how nervous Steph suddenly got.

"Uh, Tim she wasn't lying..." the blond said meekly as Red robin looked at her incredulously. "Wh-What you mean?" he asked feeling clammy all of the sudden, Stephanie explained that Y/n pulled a Hannah Montana and really was S/n..Grant is gay and her set manager they really were just co-workers...

She was actually going tell him in the morning before she left for her meeting, But he had to be jealous,distrustful and nosy...then the reality slowly crashing down on him like bucket of cold water... He broke up with Y/n over nothing, he went back to her apartment intending to apologize, but it was locked down tight and Y/n was gone...

Adult! Damian Wayne: Y/n was bored she was stuck at home playing Skyrim and eating junk food, "Well I can't be having a worst time than Dami." she mumbled to herself, her boyfriend Damian Wayne was stuck at some conference in Bludhaven...the poor guy. After doing the thieves guild quest line, the h/c got bored and decided to watch some TV when she switch over she was met with a Vicky Vale live at a Wayne charity gala...

*Gala? Damian never mentioned a Gala.." Y/n was confused as she saw Dick,Tim even Jason on the screen with dates...Did Dami lie? She though for a moment. No, he's up-tight but Damian isn't a liar...The h/c stomach dropped when she saw her boyfriend on screen with some d-listed blonde wrapped around his arm.

Y/n's face contorted into anger as she shut the TV off, What the hell! why didn't he tell her about the gala?...She looked at her reflection from the floor length mirror, She was wearing her big glasses, no make up and a Transformers t-shirt...Was Damian embarrassed of her? the h/c felt tears welling in her eyes then shook her head and wiped them.

She'll show him! But first she needs a date! Y/n pick up her phone and called her friend Robbie Reyes (ghost Rider)."Ey, Robbie! It's N/n are you still in Gotham?" The Latino man confirmed that yes he was still in the city. "Good, there's this charity thing downtown and I need a date."

She smirked as the mechanic said he'll go but, he doesn't have anything to wear. "Oh,don't worry about that I got you covered." Y/n already called her stylist and the formal wear shop they got there the same Time Robbie did.

by the time they were done getting dress S/n and Robbie Reyes looked like a Hollywood couple. She in a dark purple gown with gold flowers decorating the front and dipped low in the back, and Robbie was in dark tux with a matching purple shirt and gold tie.

"Remember, I'm only doing because we're friends...And you promised an autographed poster to Gabe." the Latino chided causing the model smile that's Robbie always big teddy bear when it comes to his little brother! "Don't worry I haven't forgotten.." She eyed him int the tux and smirked Y/n was Robbie was fine.~ "Y'know you should clean up more often! you'd be a real chick magnet...you could use a girlfriend."

the man next to her snorted and rolled his eyes annoyed "You sound like my brother..." he sighed as they pulled into the Hotel parking lot a few men whistled in amazement at the black 69 Charger. the Valet took Robbie's keys eagerly, but not before the Latino gave him the 'don't hurt my car!' speech causing Y/n to roll her eyes...Men and their cars, She doesn't get it and never will, She looped her arms around his left arm as Vicky Vale zeroed in on them.

"Oh, speaking of late arrivals S/n has just arrived with a Bad boy!~ could love be in the air in Gotham?" The reporter questioned as S/n fans booed or cheered as as the 'couple' walked along the carpet. "Is it always this bright and loud?" Robbie whispered in the model's ear cringing as some girls squealed at the little interaction and the camera flashes went off around them.

"Yeah, but it get's pretty quiet once you get inside." She whispered back to the camera's it looked like they were flirting, as the blond reporter asked about their relationship, "Sorry, everyone but, Mr. Reyes is just dear friend of mine, he's got more important things going on then dating at the moment." The [fake/h/c] explained with a tight smile Robbie confirmed causing Vicky to pout as the two got inside.

Robbie was immediately blindsided by a man Y/n recognized as Jason Todd who started asking the mechanic about that sweet 69' outside! the two men started mingling and talking about cars.

while Y/n rolled her eyes and wandered the ballroom the model surveyed the room for Damian and found him and his little tart...Taking a deep breath Y/n made her way over to them, when she got close enough to hearing what they were saying.

her heart hurt as the man she loved told his fake entourage how plain and frigid she was not worth bragging about! Dick who knew about S/n looked very uncomfortable and disappointed in his little brother. then he noticed you and looked stunned to see you there, Damian must told them you were sick or something... feeling more determined Y/n stood up straighter and spoke.

"Really now, because an hour ago you were telling me how much you loved me..." She hissed in her normal voice Damian stiffened shoved his date away and whirled and looked around in a panic.

"Down here love." She said in her S/n accent his green eyes looked at her bemused as his date and 'Friends' all looked at Damian like he grew three heads. "Dude, your dating S/n??!" One of the men said befuddled remembering all the crap he was saying about his girl...they all pictured some librarian spinster type! Not one of Gotham's top desirable women.

"More like he was...oh, here take this I don't need it anymore." she huffed taking off the necklace he'd giving her for their anniversary and handed it to Damian, She got close enough for him to see some of her natural h/c peeking out from under her wig and the outline of her contact lenses. "I...But." Damian still in shock tried to figure out how to talk,

It was too late he dug his grave and he dug it deep. "It's been fun, Now if you'll excuse me I gotta find my date and go..." She said calmly and walked into the crowd disappearing in the sea people, Damian snapped out of his stupor and followed after Y/n just in time see her get in a black muscle car with an unknown male and drove off into the night....

#Dc #Batboys x reader #scenario #Damian Wayne #Richard Grayson #Jason Todd #Tim drake #dc x marvel #robbie reyes #ghost rider #batman #red robin #red hood #nightwing #koriand'r #artemis

151 notes · View notes

fallintosanity · 5 years

Text

the common fandom interpretation of mts is that they’re half-daemonified people inside suits of armor, which isn’t true according to either the main game or episode: prompto

but what the actual fuck besithia was doing with the clones is really hard to work out.

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15

“C’mon,” Future Prompto said over his shoulder as he sauntered toward the ramp down the side of the haven. “It’s a twenty-minute walk out to the water tower and if we take too long we’re gonna get sunburned.”

“Right,” Prompto said, and scrambled after him.

They walked for a few minutes in silence, following a faint track along the sun-hardened ground. In the distance, Prompto could see a short, squat water tower, probably their destination. His future self, despite what he’d said about sunburn, was walking at a lazy pace, his face tilted up to the sun again. Prompto trailed behind him, feeling awkward and unsure. How did you start a conversation with your future self, anyway?

He picked at the gauze that wrapped his right wrist in place of the familiar wristband Ardyn Izunia had sliced off. He couldn’t see his future self’s wrist; the crisp sleeves of his Kingsglaive uniform jacket covered it. The uniform looked surprisingly good on him. Prompto had never thought about joining the Kingsglaive, or even the Crownsguard, not seriously at least. The Crownsguard was for people like Gladio and Ignis, who’d trained since birth in all kinds of crazy fighting arts, who were muscular and powerful and brave. Prompto figured the former out-of-shape, shy kid who’d been too chicken to even talk to the other kids at school wouldn’t stand a chance.

No, Prompto had just planned to get through high school and find a job taking photos for magazines or something. Maybe see if Noctis wanted a royal photographer, though he’d known that was unlikely. Not that the Lucis Caelums didn’t have royal photographers, but like the Crownsguard, that was a prestigious role reserved for the country’s best. Not some nobody orphan with a barcode on his wrist.

But apparently his future self had ended up a Kingsglaive. He looked good, too - other than the unhealthy sunless pallor of his skin, which all four of the future adults had because apparently the sun went away in the future too, what the hell. But he was a couple of inches taller than Prompto, and while he was no Gladio, he’d filled out with muscle. Prompto’s own arms and legs were basically twigs, all skin and bone after a growth spurt he hadn’t planned for in his diet, and he felt constantly awkward and clumsy. His future self moved with easy confidence, the way Gladio did, the way the guards who followed Noctis everywhere did.

As if sensing his scrutiny, Future Prompto met his gaze. His mouth quirked, a small expression that wasn’t quite a smile. “Go ahead,” he said. “Ask.”

“Ask what?” Prompto said, nerves making his voioce less steady than he would have liked.

His future self waved a hand vaguely. “You have questions, right? Ask ‘em. It’ll be easier like that than if I just start babbling, you know?”

“Uh, right,” Prompto said. He rubbed at the gauze over his tattoo, took a deep breath, and blurted, “Your Noctis knows, doesn’t he? About… about the…” He waved his wrist. “Does that… does that mean you know, too?”

Future Prompto nodded. “Yeah.”

“So…” He almost couldn’t get the question out. He hadn’t thought he’d ever know the truth, and definitely hadn’t thought he’d learn it like this. “What is it? What does it mean?” He didn’t have to say what am I? If anyone would understand, it was his future self.

For a long moment Future Prompto said nothing, his gaze turned up toward the sky. Then he sighed and stopped walking, turning to meet Prompto’s eyes again. “You sure you want to know?”

Prompto opened his mouth to say Of course I’m sure, but the words didn’t come. Future Prompto wouldn’t be asking that if he didn’t think Prompto had a very good reason not to want to know. Instead he asked, very quietly, “It’s… it’s bad, isn’t it.”

His future self didn’t answer, which was answer enough. Prompto swallowed hard, looking away, eyes skating over the bright yellow desert landscape without really seeing it. But there really was only one option he could take. The barcode had haunted him his whole life; he couldn’t let it keep being a phantom holding him back. He said, “I’m sure. I want to know, even if it’s bad. Especially if it’s bad.”

Future Prompto started walking again. “Have you had that world history class yet, the one with, what’s his face, that one teacher who hated Noct?”

Prompto frowned at the non-sequiter, hurrying to catch up. “Mr. Malazan? Yeah, we have him this year, why?”

“Have you done the Niflheim module yet?”

“Yeah, last semester.”

“So you know about the origin of MTs.”

“Uh. I guess?” Prompto tried to remember what they’d covered. He hadn’t paid much attention to the lessons; he hadn’t thought he would ever need it, for one, and for two the whole idea of robot soldiers wigged him out. It wasn’t fair, Niflheim fighting with robots they could build and replace, while Lucis had to send humans to fight and die. “They were first created like thirty years ago by some Niff scientist, but didn’t start showing up in combat for another ten years or so.”

His future self nodded. “Thirty-two years ago from now. Forty-four from my time. The name of the scientist was Verstael Besithia. They didn’t show you a picture of him in class, did they?”

“They did, but it was some old grainy thing,” Prompto said. “All I remember was he was bald on top and kinda spotty. Why are you asking about this?” He wanted his future self to get to the point.

Future Prompto snorted. “Spotty,” he muttered, and shook his head. He held out a hand; blue magic shimmered between his fingers and suddenly he held a small, battered notebook. Prompto watched in amazement - even Noct didn’t use the magic of the royal Lucis armory that freely, and it was strange to see his future self treat it with the casualness of reaching into a pocket. Future Prompto handed him the notebook. “Take a look.”

Prompto frowned at him, but flipped through the book. The pages were covered with his own neat handwriting, and various newspaper clippings and photos had been wedged in between. Most of the handwritten blurbs were marked with the words “Transcript”, dates - all between ME 757 and 763 - and strings of letters that might have been abbreviated place names. The newspaper clippings were much older, dating back to 721, mostly from Niflheim and talking about Besithia and the production of magitek troopers.

Then he flipped a page and found a photo of himself staring back.

Except it wasn’t him. For a second he thought it was his older self instead, but that wasn’t right, either. The man in the photo was probably in his mid- to late forties, his blond hair fading to grey around the edges, his freckles turning into age spots above his beard. His outfit was ostentatious, brightly colored with a tall collar and broad shoulder pads, and matched the arrogance in his expression.

Prompto looked up at his older self in horror. “Who…?”

“Verstael Besithia,” Future Prompto answered shortly. His eyes had gone dark and shuttered, the way Noct’s did the rare few times someone mentioned the daemon attack he’d suffered as a child.

“But…” Prompto looked at the picture again, then up at his future self. They were damn near identical save for age. Even Gladio didn’t look that much like his dad. “He’s - he looks like—”

“Yeah,” Future Prompto said. “Noct mentioned where daemons come from, right? Last night?” Prompto nodded, not trusting his voice. Future Prompto continued, his voice flat, “Besithia needed daemon miasma to power his MTs. But using regular daemons didn’t work well, and when he tried using people who were in the process of turning, that didn’t work either because of something he called ‘ego death’. So he figured, why not use babies? They don’t have egos.”

His voice was bitter and sharp enough to cut, and Prompto flinched. His future self noticed and took a deep breath, visibly reining himself in, before continuing. “He cloned himself. He eventually figured out a way to speed up the babies’ aging without actually letting them develop as people enough to have egos. But before he did… some Lucian spy stole one of those cloned babies.”

Prompto stared at his future self, horror curdling his stomach; he was suddenly glad he hadn’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday. “That was—You mean—we were—”

Future Prompto nodded. “We were just one of thousands of clones meant to be infected with Starscourge and harvested for daemon miasma to power MTs.” He reached out and flipped the pages in the notebook Prompto’d forgotten he held, stopping on a page that had nothing but a photo taped to it.

A photo of tall narrow glass tubes, each one holding Prompto. A Prompto, a clone, one of many in a row, each with Prompto’s face and a barcode stamped on its right wrist.

“I was taking photos of every room I went into,” Future Prompto said tonelessly. “I figured the intel might be useful. I didn’t realize what I was looking at until after I took the shot.”

The world swayed and for a second Prompto had to focus on staying upright, on not collapsing to the hard desert rock and throwing up or passing out or screaming. The notebook fell from his fingers, shattering into blue crystal light before it could hit the ground. “But… but…”

Future Prompto said nothing. When Prompto looked up, his future self was staring at him, his expression grim. Prompto managed, “Noctis - your Noctis - knows? He knows?! And Gladio and Ignis?”

Last night, in the van, Future Noctis had said, It’s nothing to worry about. You’re fine.

Except Future Noctis had been wrong. How could Prompto be fine, how could he ever be fine again when he was—was that?!

His future self just nodded, and said softly, “They don’t care. They’re—It’s rare, people that good.”

“Does anyone else know? In the future?”

Future Prompto’s expression darkened and he gripped his own right wrist. “Everyone.” At Prompto’s horrified look, he added grimly, “Ardyn thought it would be fun to spread the news.” He met Prompto’s gaze, eyes cold and sharp and deadly. “He’s probably gonna do it again. He hates Besithia damn near as much as he hates Noctis, and Besithia’s dead in my time, so guess who he’s taking it out on. The guys are okay—” with a tilt of his head back toward the haven to indicate Noct and Gladio and Ignis— “but from now on, you don’t turn your back on anyone. Not strangers. Not people you think are friends.” His eyes closed for a moment, his fingers tightening around his wrist so hard the leather of his glove creaked. “Especially not people you think are friends.”

Prompto shivered. Despite the desert heat, a chill had seeped down into his bones, one he doubted any amount of sun or warmth could dispel. It was too much to take in all at once, too much to process, to understand. He couldn’t think, the photos of Verstael Besithia, of the clones in their tubes - him in a tube, hairless and placid and stamped with a barcode like the property he’d been created as - spinning through his brain. He doubled over, hands on his knees, breathing hard like he’d just finished a run, like he’d pushed himself past his physical limits only this time it was his mental limits, his ability to comprehend his own freaking existence, not who he was but what he was—

His future self hooked an arm around his shoulders, jolting him back to awareness. “Sorry,” Future Prompto said ruefully. “I didn’t…” He sighed. “I fucked this up. You need to know, but… it’s a lot to take in at once.”

That startled a laugh out of Prompto, watery and maybe a little more hysterical than he’d have liked. “A lot. Yeah.”

“C’mon,” his future self said, and ruffled his hair. “Let’s get to that water shed before we both get burned crispier than the steak when Noct’s cooking.”

Prompto snorted another almost-laugh, nearly choking on the hysteria before he wrangled himself under control. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Okay.”

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #chocobros #sanity's time travel fic #time travel #fanfiction #prompto argentum

44 notes · View notes

chaniters · 5 years

Text

Villain’s exposition

Kruk suggested I should write about Cyrus’ time at the farm, so here it is. Some warnings: It’s LONG, and a lot of monologuing.

IT’s got four of the major trigger warnings.

-TONS of SPOILERS under the cut !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-suicide -heavy self-depreciation -drugs -rape

Ortega is there to blunt the sword a bit but he ends up getting cut by it as well. -----------------------------------------------

Villain’s exposition

"What difference does it make now?"

"I want to know whatever happened to you!"

"And I already told you I don't want to talk about it!"

"So that's It? I find you're a villain? THat you're a Regene? That you've been beating us senseless and you’re not going to share a single reason as to why?"

"EXACTLY!" you say walking to the door. But he's too fast, standing in between.

"NO. No, you don't! You've lied to me ALL the time. Since the moment we met you. I thought I loved you, and then you died, and I've been dealing with it alone ever since. You owe me one big fucking explanation!"

"I don't owe you anything!" you say trying to push him. But he won't budge. "MOVE!"

"Fine! I'll move! But this is the last time I take any of your shit, you hear me? We're DONE. DONE!" He yells at your face moving to the side.

You walk through the door...

"By the way, it's your own fucking house you dumb asshole"

... fuck. He got you again.

You do the 180 turn, glaring at him.

You've never felt like this... there is a rage you didn't know existed in you. Taking over the reins.

"You know what? You win. I'm going to let you know what I've been up to these past years Ricardo." you say turning.

He's got his arms crossed, matching your glare. You walk up to his face once more, slamming the door shut behind you once more.

"You want to hear my side of the story? GREAT!" you say up close "But you better brace yourself because you're NOT GOING TO LIKE IT!" And that's an understatement.

You walk back to the living room. The lamp's still on the floor where you threw it, just like the overturned chair you were sitting on. You let him fix the mess and take the sofa. He’s still glaring at you, but you just look away. Staring contest is over.

You can see him taking a seat next to you in the corner of your eye. Good. This will take a while.

"Whenever you're ready," he says, arms still crossed.

"You want the truth" you sigh. "Well, I'm going to give you the truth. Enough for you to fucking choke in it."

"Be my fucking guest?" he says sarcastically "If you even can say anything resembling the truth"

"Let's go. Where do we start?"

"Maybe at the beginning?"

"Great. So let's go back to 2001 when I was born..."

"You're much older than 20 Cyrus... Maybe you just physically can't stop lying?"

"Shut it. I was born out of a liquid nutrient tube in 2001 at a place called The Farm in the Nevada Desert. I was made to look 14 years old from the get-go"

"Wha...?"

"I was MADE you idiot. what part do you not understand? They didn't need a baby to perform their covert operation missions. They wanted field-ready agents"

"You mean you're..."

"Yeah... I look older but I'm just 18 years old. Surprise bitch! I'm legal this year if you still want to fuck me. Want to know which day's my birthday while at it? We could have cake and all that jazz"

"I..."

"I suggest you record this because I'm not going to do this ever, EVER FUCKING again." you glare at him. You already feel the migraine. “It hurts to even speak about this. Also, they one rule they taught me was to keep my mouth shut, so speaking about this is just...” you can’t even begin to describe how it feels right now.

He says nothing for a few seconds... then presses a few buttons on a hidden panel on his mods. Of course. Living recorder.

"Go on"

"So it's back to 2001. I was sleeping comfortably in my tube marinating around my own bodily fluids. You know, usual perverted experiment stuff. And then BAM!. They activated me. Or more like electroshocked me, whatever the case I came into the world with a bang. But I wasn't really myself at first. I had the intellect of a potato because my mind had never been used before, not while sleeping and being grown to the ideal age. So they jumpstarted my implant... and boy, that's when all the fun started"

"Implant?"

"Yes. They put implants on our brains to impart basic knowledge. How to stand upright. How to use a toilet. The basics of speech. How to eat with your mouth shut. How to eat period. You know. Baby stuff. Because that's what we were, babies in the bodies of adults. They awoke a whole batch of us, and they immediately started imprinting memories and knowledge in our little lab-rat brains."

"So you never had a ..."

"Childhood? Nope. Sorry, that's not for me. And of course, no parents either, It was more like a chicken factory. And not all of us came out alright. Several were discarded that night. Not that I noticed, I had more important stuff to do trying not to have my head explode with all the new information. They processed us. Got us a bath. Dressed us. Gave us our first meal, a sort of milky liquid. Actually, maybe It was baby formula for all I know.. And then they got us to a group bedroom and made us all lay down, tied us to the bed to make sure we wouldn't fall off. Then they turned off the implants not to fry our brains, and left us to our own devices." "Most of us screamed or cried all night long, because, you know, we were essentially human DNA based and our instincts told us we wanted our mommies with us. But that wasn't going to happen. Not to us."

He just stares at you, unsure if you're lying or not. Of course, he would, your truth is far more outlandish than any lie you could make about it. Perhaps you should spare the details... but no. You're mad. Let him have it all, he asked for this.

You go on, detailing how several of you simply died off over the next few days, and the doctors were just discarding the bodies as if it was the usual. Because it was, there was nothing natural about being born this way and it was an extremely traumatic experience the human body was not designed for. Because some medical machine failed. Because of some doctor's neglect of fuckup. Because you were all loaded with Hero-Drugs from birth and didn't stand the dosage long-term... Or maybe no one knew why in some cases. And you were among the "Lucky" ones and survived.

"Then after the acclimation and basic imprinting period, we were assigned handlers and sent to classes. Speech, speech and more speech. They wanted us to talk. We were extremely fast at it, you know. Because we had baby brains back then. We learned 9 languages. Some of us even got to 12 languages or more. You know I talk Spanish. Chen doesn't know I speak Cantonese. And then school. And high school. And a few degrees. The Best education there in the farm. I'd recommend it if it also included basic rights..."

"Then there were physical classes too. Martial arts, personal defense. Combat. Guns. Driving cars. Driving bikes. Driving Helicopters. Driving whatever actually... you name it. Oh, and managing our powers too of course! And medical exams, all the time. Tests and more tests... They wanted to know everything about our abilities"

"How long did all this take?"

"Some years" you smile. "Some of us died in accidents... our handlers tried to keep us alive though. There was a big bonus for them in it."

"How was... your handler?"

"Oh, she was actually decent. Some were not so lucky," you say bitterly. He swallows, but you don't elaborate.

"Eventually they figured out my powers... They decided I was a low-key psychic, and trained me for information gathering and surveillance. And that's what made me who I am. They chose to make me a Cuckoo, so instead of dying my skin blue, they left it as is, and just tattoed my code bar on human-looking skin. So that's what it all comes to. Some stupid scientist decided I was good enough to have the get the fancy paint job. If it hadn't been like that, we'd never have even met" You smile. "Or maybe you'd have thought of me as one of those blue-skinned things that give you the creeps."

"I never..."

"Oh yes, you did. Numerous times. I threw a ton of oddballs at you to find out what you thought about regenes, and each time you made it very clear how disgusting you found my whole bio-engineered fuck-up species." he goes silent for a moment pondering on your words "Relax. Most people claim we should just be exterminated as an affront to god, so I'm pretty used to it..."

"So where was I? Oh yes. TRaining. They made an agent out of me. It was a whole big montage with a song, like in those movies. And I was happy to be their agent! I mean, they gave me drugs to make me feel good when I succeeded in my missions, and they made me drugs to make me feel sad when I failed my missions, and they gave me drugs when they wanted me to sit tight and shut up in between missions, so whatever I did, I was in high cloud nine the whole time! No don't you feel sorry for me" you smile weakly.

He shifts uncomfortably. Of course, he can't handle knowing this. But this is what he wanted, so this is what he's going to get.

"So one of the handlers didn't follow protocol much, you know? He had a harem of young female regenes that absolutely adore him, and he treated them like his personal dolls... so he..."

"What?!"

You shrug "Our bodies didn't belong to us. We were state property and he just took advantage." you smile bitterly. "So many of them took advantage... doll fuckers they called them. It was a running joke... We were almost all used one way or another by then. And we all had teenage bodies... To tell you the truth, I think they just kept us on drugs to prevent our hormones from tearing us all apart"

"Where you...?"

"Nope! I guess I wasn't funny enough, or smart enough, or good looking enough compared to my brothers and sisters... you know I actually used to wonder why they didn't like me? Made me feel so ugly..."

"That's just sick Cyrus!"

"Of course it is, but no one cared about 412's inner unresolved sexual trauma. Oh, that was my name. 412." You keep the cheerful attitude as you go through your life. You try not to ponder how long can you keep it up.

"So this handler used to talk to his doll fans about life outside the farm to impress them. And you know, when I wasn't too drugged, I actually listened. And I thought it was the best thing i had heard about in my life. Which was quite a short time actually..."

"And thus, I became an agent and took part in several missions. Most of them were just finding out stuff or making sure there we no problems for the main agents, you know. Support stuff mostly. Until they started to order more complex stuff"

"Like what?"

"Oh, you know... Steal files.. infiltrate buildings... Also, they made me interrogate prisoners.. assassinate the odd terrorist..."

"You killed people??" he asks taken aback

"Well, I hadn't been taught to say no, you know? Didn't get the best role models."

"Hmr..."

"So I was a fine agent and all... until one of our missions went hella bad... Me and three of my friends from the orange-pinstripe-club..." you say tracing one of the lines on your tattoos "...we got captured by Russian intelligence. They killed our handler -you know, I actually miss her now that I think of it- then they tied us up and began cutting us open after using some sort of scanner. They were talking about removing our trackers...and that was VERY, VERY interesting to all of us."

You lift up your shirt to show you a small scar on your side.

"So they didn't know I was a telepath. I wasn't very strong back then, but I could do stuff if you gave me enough time and they were very close to us... When they least expected it, I made them undo our knots and my two friends took their lights out. We fled, on the back of a truck carrying bananas."

"Yikes"

"What did you expect a more elegant escape? It's me we're talking about. So we were cut loose, no trackers or so the Russians said... and well... suddenly none of us was in any no rush to go back... we could explore a bit of this real world we had heard so much about, you know? Those KGB guys did us one big favor."

"What happened to the other two?"

"Each of us took a new name... wished ourselves good luck... and split. Much better chances going our separate ways."

"You never saw them again?"

You smile at him. "We expected to be caught within days. This was just us acting up, throwing a tantrum. You don't understand the degree of control they exerted over us..."

"So how did it go?"

"Terrible. Within a day and a half, I was having withdrawal from the whole drug cocktail. Ended up on the streets, alone and it was winter. It was very, very rough and I had never been alone before, everything I tried came up wrong and I couldn't ask anyone for help. I was considering handing myself over when I met this old lady who needed someone to take care of her... and I did. She let me stay at her appartment.. and I started getting better eventually. Until she passed" you say, clearing a tear from your eye. "That's the first human I really cared for"

He nods slowly, waiting for you to go on.

"So a few months later, I was still living in her apartment alone, until Mr. Molotov moved on to the lower floor, and set up shop. Every night he worked out to make his weapons and suits, it was like a factory, I couldn't hear my own thoughts or sleep... So I had to find a solution"

"Waaait... is that why you came after me? He was too noisy?"

"You wouldn't believe how bad it was. No one complained because the building was full of squatters like me, and well... he was a supervillain. And I wasn't good enough to go toe-to-toe with him myself."

"You could have moved"

"Yeah. But they were MY apartment. That woman wanted me to have it. Why should I move? I think that's the first selfish thing I did"

"You know the rest... I got you to get rid of him, but the building burned down after the fight... found a new place to stay... and then the Eldritch mess happened and I became friends with Anathema..."

"But why did you become a hero?"

"Anathema. And you." you turn away "You were my first real friends... And I liked you... wanted to be like you. Made me there could be more to life than just surviving. That I could have my own interests. And I kept thinking ... Maybe If i do well enough, then they'll let me be a human as well!"

"But you are!!"

"No, I'm not. I never had a childhood. No parents. I never went to school or was in a sport's team. Never had a boyfriend or girlfriend. Didn't even know how to have my own opinions for the longest time. I'm just this thing they made to be a slave that's rebelled against them."

"You are still human!" he says holding a hand to your arm. You just pull away.

"I don't need your pity" you burst out. He retracts his arm startled by your reaction. You sigh "Shit... and we didn't even get to the juicy parts..."

"We can stop" he makes a peace offering.

"No. No, we can't, because you won't stop asking until I tell you everything, and I told you, I'm never going to do this ever again. So we're doing this" You say with teary eyes.

"Let me get you a soda," he says standing up.

"'kay," you say laying over the couch sideways. You close your eyes. Everything's spinning. But it's ok. It's under control... for now at least... Just have to keep your shit together and you'll get through this.

.............half a can of soda later.........................

"Hey... I'm sorry" you start

"No, I should be sorry," he says pacing around the room.

"For what? I've been dodging these questions for ages..."

"Yes, but I have no Idea It was so..."

"Horrible? Perverted?" you chuckle. "It gets so much fucking worse"

"You don't have to continue if you don't want to, really"

"I kind of have to now..."

"I just didn't know..."

"Ricardo... you and Anathema are among the only people that treated me like a real person... like I mattered at all. Every tiny moment of normality with you guys was something I had never experienced before. So I owe you a whole lot, You fucking know that, right?"

He turns, giving you an odd look. OF course, he didn't know that.

"Crap..."

"I never knew that the... regular stuff meant that much to you. I just thought you were... easily impressed"

"Well I was" you smile

He nods and takes his seat once more.

"Ok, here we go again" you start.

"You know what happened next... the Psycopathor mess... that kiss.. -you both smile at it-, The Phoenix massacre... a few other stuff... then Elyise... the Nanosurge..."

"And Heartbreak" he adds when you fail to do so.

"Yeah. Heartbreak"

This is not kool. You don't even know where to begin. He holds your hand... slowly. You don't pull back this time.

"You're cold," he says taking both your hands in his.

"So that bitch... he was from the farm too. But different. He just wanted to Kill everyone. Everywhere. Including himself. I think he got off killing himself while possessing other people's bodies if that makes sense? Addicted to suicide so to speak. I'd say he was a living weapon even."

"Shit"

"You saw what he did to the city... to everyone. To Anathema" You swallow hard. "I was right there... I should have done something... should have..."

"There's nothing you could have done"

"You don't know that... I just thought Steel's Mind Dampener would protect us? I couldn't use my powers all that much, so I didn't think anyone else could. But Heartbreak... went right through it..."

"None of us knew. They sent us in the dark"

"They did. The farm fucked up big time. Releasing that thing..." you sigh. "I managed to get up to it... I walked to it and shot it. Several times... and It still wouldn't die"

"Is that when..."

"It made taste the gun. It wasn't even angry. Just wanted me to taste it... Took his time. UNtil you stopped me."

"I couldn't stop you"

"No. No, you could not" you pull back your hands and cover your face. It's too much. The fucking memories.

"Want to stop?"

"I told you, we're doing this..."

"Then scooch," he says.

"What?"

"You heard me," he says. You stand up, and he lays down on the couch, then pulls you down over him too, wrapping arms around you.

"Seriously?" you smile "This can't be comfortable"

"Whatever. Now you can go on," he says tightening his grip for a moment.

"Idiot" You feel stupid like this, but at the same time, It's somehow making you feel safer. You decide to trust him, he's the one who knows the tricks of bodily contact after all.

"I can be your idiot if you need me"

"And now you're corny too" you clear some more tears again.

Silence. He waits for you to continue...

"He... It... It broke something in my mind. Made me stop caring about life. Found all of my fears and magnified them by a thousand. I never had such high self-esteem, you know that, but... he made me see myself as this repulsive thing... Like I had no right to be alive. Just a waste of oxygen, bringing problems to everyone... And offered me a release, If i just did what he said and jumped the window. I tried to resist. Tried to hold on to the good memories but... besides you, I realized I didn't have that many... That I was just a mess." Your voice breaks for a few seconds "He must have done the same to Anathema"

"You're a human just like me. And whatever he did to you, it's not true, you know this" he says giving you a soft kiss on the neck.

Your voice turns shakey as you share the darker parts of your story...

"They took me in that ambulance... I don't remember everything. Took me back, and fixed me... and then.. then started figuring out what to do with me."

"How did they do that?"

"They interrogated me... dampened the cell. Used different methods. I asked them to set me free. I told them ..." it takes a few tries to actually say it "...I told them the rangers were going to rescue me. I told them you were going to come for me. I kept saying that... so many times… I was sure my best friend Charge would come in, beat the bad guys and we’d be off, like always… I was so fucking naive!"

You can feel his reaction. Now it's his turn to cry.

"I didn't know Cyrus... If I had known... "

"OF course you didn't… But I still kept waiting for you. And you never came. Also, as I kept insisting with that, It turned out to be a huge mistake. They panicked"

"What... why?"

"Because they knew just how close Sidestep and Charge were. They thought you had to know I was a regene. That I would have told you at some point. They were thinking you would reveal what they had done to the world."

"But I didn't"

"No. And I told them that. I didn't know what would they have done if they thought you were a security risk to them... I told them I had never told you... and they didn't believe me. So they started the... enhanced... interrogation and re-education"

"Torture?"

"Yeah. THat's the word. And also they wanted to do full medical exams and testing... very painful medical tests... They thought my powers had improved a bit. They kept wanting bone marrow. I'm not sure why. They took samples so many times... "

"Shit... shit... How long?" he asks at last.

"I have no idea. Months at least. They did waterboarding, electroshock... truth serums... chemicals... sleep deprivation, food deprivation, cold... and then they brought in the psychologists. Those can torture you pretty badly as well, you know?"

He just holds on to you, listening to your words. You wish you could stop, but you're not finished. You have to get this out because if you don't, you'll never do it.

"They sent a new handler to oversee my... procedure. Funny thing he was a Sidestep fan back when I was in costume... So he was in charge of talking to me whenever I wasn't being dragged into some testing chamber. To be the "Good Cop"

and ... he... " you rub your eyes. This is too hard.

"What did he do, Cyrus?" you can feel he probably can already tell.

"He... used me. He fucked me. I was his plaything... He boasted about owning me with the others. I tried to get him to stop at first... but then he would beat me, and call the guards on me... and then it'd be even worse... so I just... let him. I just stopped caring."

Ricardo's gone completely motionless behind you, except for the heavy breathing on his chest. Now he's angry as well.

"I'm going to kill him... I'm going to kill him, Cyrus. I'm going to find him and kill him... " he repeats a few times. You just stay still. You used to dream about killing him, even before you left the farm.

"In the end, I didn't care. Because they reminded me I wasn't human. I was back to being a tool in their box. That's what they called this... "Induced depersonalization". Reduce us back to being what we were meant to be once more. They had a lot of experience with escapees like me. I couldn't understand why was this happening to me. Why was everything so unfair. I just knew it was my own fault because that's what they kept telling me..."

He holds you as if his arms could heal. You can feel him trembling behind you. His tears on your neck. You knew this would break him. Why are you even telling him this? These secrets only bring pain...

"One day he came in... and told me to stop asking for the Rangers to rescue me. He told me you knew all along. That it was just a delusion of mine. That you handed me over to the Directive after Heartbreak when you saw my Tattoos. He told me we weren't friends. That you had moved on. I didn't want to believe it... but they drugged me. And then they showed me a video of you living your ordinary life. Getting awards and medals for more heroics through the city without me. You know, being happy. While I was back there"

"Did... Did you believe it?" he asks unsteadily

"Yeah. I bought theyr story. My mind was a fucking mess, they could have fed me any story they wanted by then. I hated you. I hated you so much... and I hated myself mostly, for being so stupid. That very night, I tried to kill myself. Tried to force him to choke me, even trough the dampener. I didn't even realize I was doing it... until I felt I was inside his body."

"You.."

"They stopped him. They just thought he had done it by himself. You know, he had been torturing me for months. They thought he was losing sight of his goals. They replaced him soon enough. A new handler came in, and It went on, and on... But I had learned something. I learned I could still use my powers"

"And then?"

"They started trusting me with small things again. I had undergone their "Process" so I was a loyal tool once more. They had me mess up the minds of other regenes for them. Inside the farm mind you, they weren't going to let me out again...

"Until I escaped. It's a bit blurry about how I did it... I possessed several people. I was drugged half the time too. I just remember I had someone drive me off the desert, inside a supply box... the rest is ... gone" you say finally.

"I remember I squatted a room. I was just using my powers freely then. Got drunk. Did several drugs for months. I was always hiding in filthy hotel rooms or sleeping in alleys... I just... sort of gravitated towards Los Diablos I guess"

"I saw you" you continue. "I almost talk to you... but I was... very confused. I still think you knew what had happened to me and did nothing. I thought you abandoned me there. I walked up to my Tomb, and Anathema's... And I came up with a fucked up plan to cause a new mess I guess?"

"If only I had known..."

"Yeah... well at least... at least now you know."

He sighs softly.

"Well that's.. the whole story... except for one more thing I guess"

"Tell me"

"I just... You know... Sometimes I still feel like he was right? Heartbreak? When he told me that I don't deserve to live"

"Cyrus you're a good person. You have a lot to live for."

"Do I?" you ask him a bit unsure “Because sometimes I don’t know Ricardo. I mean do you even see a future for me? One in which I don’t end dissected on a laboratory?”

"You saved the city countless times. You're a hero. I'm going to be here for you, as long as it takes. And you do deserve to live like everyone else, ok? And we’ll make a future for you. I’ll make sure of it." he says behind you.

You close your eyes. Your eyes feel watery and you just are just weak and tired. He keeps speaking, saying something meant to be comforting. He holds you tighter as he notices you're shaking all over. You can feel the warmth of his breath over your ear tough the words lose all meaning.

You're overcome once more, with that familiar sensation of pointlessness. Feeling like you're dangling over a dark bottomless pit. He's holding you now, but does it make a difference?

Does it really?

"I'm here for you Cyrus. Always" he says as if he heard the question in your mind.

.......................................

He stays the night. He takes you for a walk through the beach the next day and makes sure you make an appointment with your psychiatrist before leaving to work.

Life goes on, not caring you can't shake the feeling that you were hit by a bus. There's a big relief, but also anxiety. You're not sure what's going to happen now that he knows.

And eventually nothing bad happens but you can’t shake the feeling that it will. You just know it will. Still, he just grows much closer than he ever was to you.

Having someone who actually knows you accept you as you are is a whole new thing. It’s scary, and it's not going to be easy getting used to it.

The numb sensation stays with you for a few more weeks. ____________________________ My fanfics: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero spoilers #fanfiction #Long chunk of text

45 notes · View notes

iluvsexyvoltageguys · 5 years

Text

Bad Romance - Part 4

Fandom: Scandal in the Spotlight (Love 365)

Pairing: Iori x Reader

Things have been good the past few weeks. Revance had been away on a short tour, so you didn’t get to see the guys as much, which meant you weren’t seeing Iori either.

Even while you were there, he was avoiding you. Well, avoiding wasn’t the right word. Was he still obnoxious? Yes, you figured he would never be able to stop with that. But he hasn’t tried anything sexual since you blue balled him. That stunt had given you more than you bargained for, but in a good way. Maybe that mess with Iori was behind you.

You were just hanging out at home when you got a call from Nagito. From his tone, you could tell right away he needed something.

“So funny story,” Nagito began, “We have no food here. And Kyohei isn’t here to cook for us. So...I was wondering if you weren’t busy if you could make dinner.”

“You can’t order in?” you asked.

“We’ve ordered in every night this week,” Nagi groaned, “We just really need a home cooked meal. We bought all the ingredients for chicken parm, well at least I think we did. But then we realized we didn’t know how to make it.”

You couldn’t help but let a laugh slip out. Those boys were hopeless.

“Are you laughing at me?” Nagito asked playfully.

“Yes, and I’m wondering if I should let this be a teaching moment because you need to learn to cook for chirst’s sake or if I should come over and help you out,” you told him.

“Come on ____, it would really help us- me out. I’ll starve if you don’t and there’s a show tomorrow. Don’t want us putting on a bad performance because we have no energy, do you?” Nagi skillfully changed “us” to “me,” knowing you were more inclined to help if it was for him and not the benefit of Iori. It worked.

“Alright you got me there,” you replied, “But I’m showing what I am doing so next time you can make food for yourself like an adult.”

Nagito chuckled, knowing you were right, he needed to learn how to cook. “You’re the best.”

“Don’t I know it. Be there in fifteen,” you hung up. You collected a few little things you thought you might need before heading out the door. The ride over there was quick, which apparently was a good thing for the guys.

“Thank god you’re here I’m starving,” Nagito greeted swinging the door open.

“Hello to you too,” you teased, following him to the kitchen. You were impressed they actually did get all the ingredients; you were sure you were going to have to take an emergency trip the the store.

You got to work right away, setting up bowls of flour, egg and bread crumbs. Iori floated in and out of the room as you showed Nagito how to dredge the chicken in each bowl. Iori didn’t say anything and you were fine with being ignored.

With Nagito’s help, the process went pretty quick. He was a surprisingly good cook, at least with you there to guide him. As the two of you were tending to the chicken browning in the pan, Iori wandered back into the room. He slid past you, pressing against you more than needed and his hand lingering on your lower back. You went to shoot him a dirty look, but he kept walking, not even looking in your direction. Maybe it was just an accident, you told yourself as you returned your attention to the chicken.

You and Nagito chatted in the kitchen as the smell of chicken parm filled the room. You hadn’t been too hungry before, but now you were starved. Both you and Nagito jumped up the second the timer went off. You pulled out the pan, nodding in approval.

“You did well chef Aoshima,” you said as he pulled out plates.

“More like assistant chef Aoshima,” he replied, “But I think I’ll get there one day.”

He placed a piece of chicken on each plate, calling Iori and the others in for dinner. You stole your plate, hurrying over to the table to claim your spot. You were so focused on your food you didn’t notice Iori take a seat beside you.

It wasn’t that weird. Their table was small, and Nagito sat himself down right in the middle of the other side, which would make it difficult for anyone else to sit with him. Kota and Taka had yet to show their faces. You didn’t think much of the seating situation until you felt a hand brush across your thigh under the table.

You shot Iori a look, but he ignored it, striking up a conversation with Nagito. His hand slid up higher, fingertips ghosting over your clothed core. You hid a shiver behind a glass of water, taking a long slow sip. You tried to cross your legs, but his hand was too strong, keeping you open for him.

You relinquished, not caring enough to stop him or make a scene about it. Besides, you knew you weren’t going to cum from just his finger rubbing you over layers of clothes. Even with your track record with not cumming with him wasn’t great, you knew you could handle that much. If he wanted to entertain himself, so be it.

“What do you think of _____’s chicken parm Iori?” Nagi asked innocently, mouth full.

Iori turned to you, a sly smile on his face.

“A little wet _____,” he said, “With the sauce I mean. But it’s good, I like that.” You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah well it’s not thanks to you,” you replied, maintaining your cool, “I don’t even know why we are letting you eat something you didn’t help make.”

“Because you both love me so much,” Iori replied with feigned sweetness.

You were somewhat in awe of your ability to maintain a conversation with him rubbing your core purposely. It felt good, nothing crazy, but you were annoyed that you chose to wear leggings today, as he would probably feel you dampen through them soon enough.

The rest of the dinner went on normally - well as normally as a dinner can go with someone touching you under the table. Iori worked you up, very gently, but enough that it was getting you antsy. You wanted relief, but there was nothing you could do with Nagito sitting across from the two of you.

“You guys done?” Nagito asked. You both froze, thinking he caught you. However, when he motioned to the plates you realized it was just about dinner. You both nodded, Nagito collecting the plates and taking them over to the sink.

“When Nagito takes a shower we are going to have fun,” Iori whispered in your ear, making your pussy flutter.

The three of you reconvened on the couch, Nagito taking his normal spot between you and Iori. Normally you loved the barrier, but right now you wanted to jump over him and go at Iori. Thankfully, Nagito didn’t make you wait too long.

“I think I’m gonna hop in the shower,” Nagito said, standing up and stretching.

“You guys won’t kill each other without me, right?”

If only he knew. You both shook your heads and Nagito headed to the bathroom. You both didn’t move until you heard the water turn on.

Iori grabbed you, pulling you on top of him. “You’re gonna ride me,” he growled against your neck, “Still haven’t forgiven you for that stunt you pulled.”

“You’ll get over it,” you replied, quickly pulling at his jeans. His hands grabbed yours, stopping you from undoing his zipper.

“You don’t get that yet,” he stated, “You’re gonna ride my thigh.”

“You want me to dry hump your leg?” you questioned. It wasn’t exactly what you were imagining.

“If you want to get off that’s exactly what you’ll do,” he smirked, giving your ass a light slap, “Now get to it, Nagi doesn’t take long showers.”

“Asshole,” you grumbled, positioning yourself on his thigh. This was better than nothing, you guessed.

You rocked your hips slightly, trying to find a rhythm that felt good. You placed your hands on his shoulder, allowing yourself better leverage. You pressed against him hard, the friction sending little shocks of pleasure through you.

“Yeah like that,” Iori coaxed, his hands gripping your hips. He guided you over his thigh, flexing his muscle slightly to add to the sensation. Your head fell back, hands digging into his shoulder as you built yourself up.

“Fuck,” you moaned as your orgasm hit you. You kept yourself quiet, not forgetting that you weren’t alone. It felt better than you thought it would, making your inner thighs shake. Just as you finished, you heard the water shut off. You quickly slid off Iori, both of you adjusting your clothing so it didn’t look like you were nearly fucking.

“Nice to know I don’t have to even lift a finger to get you to cum,” Iori smirked, settling back into the couch.

“I could have done that on a pillow and gotten the same effect, you’re not that special,” you shot back.

“Now that I’d like to see.”

“Whatever,” you grumbled, shifting further away from him.

Moments later you heard the bathroom door swing open and Nagito joined you back in the living room. “What’d I miss?” he asked, shaking out his wet hair.

“Nothing,” you both replied at the same time. Nagito smiled, ignorant to what happened just moments ago on the couch. He plopped down between the two of you, separating you once again.

“I’m impressed I didn’t hear a screaming match while I was gone,” Nagito said.

“Oh she was almost screaming,” Iori replied smugly. The joke went over Nagi’s head, but not yours.

“You’re not important enough to scream about,” you quipped.

“Baby steps,” Nagito interjected, “I’ll make you guys be friends one day.”

You let out an exaggerated laugh, “Doubt it.”

SITS Masterlist

#scandal in the spotlight smut #sits smut #iori enjo smut #voltage inc smut #voltage inc fanfiction #scandal in the spotlight #sits #iori enjo #nagito aoshima

35 notes · View notes

numba99 · 5 years

Text

Hate to Love You Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Summary: You and Jimmy have never gotten along. To say you hated each other would be an understatement. But when a night at a party takes an unexpected turn, things between the two of you change forever. Word Count: 1,703

Warning: smut, proof reading who? i don’t know her

Things have been good the past few weeks. The Rangers were away on a roadie, so you didn’t get to see Brady as much, which meant you weren’t seeing Jimmy either. Even while you were there, he was avoiding you. Well, avoiding wasn’t the right word. Was he still obnoxious? Yes, you figured he would never be able to stop with that. But he hasn’t tried anything sexual since you blue balled him. That stunt had given you more than you bargained for, but in a good way. Maybe that mess with Jimmy was behind you.

You were just hanging out at home when you got a call from Brady. From his tone, you could tell right away he needed something.

“So funny story,” Brady began, “We have no food here. I was wondering if you weren’t busy if you could make dinner? I would have asked Gracia, but she’s back in Minnesota.”

“You can’t order in?” you asked.

“We’ve ordered in every night this week,” Brady groaned, “We just really need a home cooked meal. We bought all the ingredients for chicken parm, well at least I think we did. But then we realized we didn’t know how to make it.”

You couldn’t help but let a laugh slip out. Those boys were hopeless. In all the times he’s been in that apartment you don’t think you’ve seen the stove or oven used more than a handful of times. When it was, it was frozen foods just being heated up. Even then they managed to burn things.

“Are you laughing at me?” Brady asked playfully.

“Yes, and I’m wondering if I should let this be a teaching moment because you need to learn to cook for chirst’s sake or if I should come over and help you out,” you told him.

“Come on y/n, it would really help us- me out. I’ll starve if you don’t and there’s a game tomorrow. Don’t want us losing because we have no energy, do you?” Brady skillfully changed “us” to “me,” knowing you were more inclined to help if it was for him and not the benefit of Jimmy. It worked.

“Alright you got me there,” you replied, “But I’m showing what I am doing so next time you can make food for yourself like an adult.”

Brady chuckled, knowing you were right, he needed to learn how to cook. “You’re the best.”

“Thank god you’re here I’m starving,” he greeted swinging the door open.

“Hello to you too,” you teased, following him to the kitchen. You were impressed Brady actually did get all the ingredients; you were sure you were going to have to take an emergency trip the the food store.

You got to work right away, setting up bowls of flour, egg and bread crumbs. Jimmy floated in and out of the room as you showed Brady how to dredge the chicken in each bowl. Jimmy didn’t say anything and you were fine with being ignored.

With Brady’s help, the process went pretty quick. He was a surprisingly good cook, at least with you there to guide him. As the two of you were tending to the chicken browning in the pan, Jimmy wandered back into the room. He slid past you, pressing against you more than needed and his hand lingering on your lower back. You went to shoot him a dirty look, but he kept walking, not even looking in your direction. Maybe it was just an accident, you told yourself as you returned your attention to the chicken.

You and Brady chatted in the kitchen as the smell of chicken parm filled the apartment. You hadn’t been too hungry before, but now you were starved. Both you and Brady jumped up the second the timer went off. You pulled out the pan, nodding in approval.

“You did well chef Skjei,” you said as he pulled out three plates.

“More like assistance chef Skjei,” he replied, “But I think I’ll get there one day.” He placed a piece of chicken on each plate, calling Jimmy in for dinner. You stole your plate, hurrying over to the table to claim your spot. You were so focused on your food you didn’t notice Jimmy take a seat beside you.

It wasn’t that weird. Their table was small, and Brady sat himself down right in the middle of the other side, which would make it difficult for anyone else to sit with him. You didn’t think much of it until you felt a hand brush across your thigh under the table.

You shot him a look, but he ignored it, striking up a conversation with Brady. His hand slid up higher, fingertips ghosting over your clothed core. You hid a shiver behind a glass of water, taking a long slow sip. You tried to cross your legs, but his hand was too strong, keeping you open for him.

“What do you think of y/n’s chicken parm Jimmy?” Brady asked innocently, mouth full.

Jimmy turned to you, a sly smile on his face. “A little wet y/n,” he said, “With the sauce I mean. But it’s good, I like that.” You rolled your eyes. He must think he’s some sort of comedian.

“Yeah well it’s not thanks to you,” you replied, maintaining your cool, “I don’t even know why we are letting you eat something you didn’t help make.”

“Because you both love me so much,” Jimmy replied with feigned sweetness that made you snort. You were somewhat in awe of your ability to maintain a conversation with him rubbing your core purposely. It felt good, nothing crazy, but you were annoyed that you chose to wear leggings today, as he would probably feel you dampen through them soon enough.

The rest of the dinner went on normally - well as normally as a dinner can go with someone touching you under the table. Jimmy worked you up, very gently, but enough that it was getting you antsy. You wanted relief, but there was nothing you could do with Brady sitting across from the two of you.

“You guys done?” Brady asked. You both froze, thinking he caught you. However, when he motioned to the plates you realized it was just about dinner. You both nodded, Brady collecting the plates and taking them over to the sink.

“When Brady takes a shower we are going to have fun,” Jimmy whispered in your ear, making your pussy flutter.

The three of you reconvened on the couch, Brady taking his normal spot between you and Jimmy. Normally you loved the barrier, but right now you wanted to jump over him and go at Jimmy. Thankfully, Brady didn’t make you wait too long.

“I think I’m gonna hop in the shower,” Brady said, standing up and stretching. “You guys won’t kill each other without me, right?” If only he knew. You both shook your heads and Brady headed to the bathroom. You both didn’t move until you heard the water turn on.

Jimmy grabbed you, pulling you on top of him. “You’re gonna ride me,” he growled against your neck, “Still haven’t forgiven you for that stunt you pulled.”

“You’ll get over it,” you replied, quickly pulling at his jeans. His hands grabbed yours, stopping you from undoing his zipper.

“You don’t get that yet,” he stated, “You’re gonna ride my thigh.”

“You want me to dry hump your leg?” you questioned. It wasn’t exactly what you were imagining.

“If you want to get off that’s exactly what you’ll do,” he smirked, giving your ass a light slap, “Now get to it, Brady doesn’t take long showers.”

“Jackass,” you grumbled, positioning yourself on his thigh. This was better than nothing, you guessed.

“Yeah like that,” Jimmy coaxed, his hands gripping your hips. He guided you over his thigh, flexing his muscle slightly to add to the sensation. Your head fell back, hands digging into his shoulder as you built yourself up.

“Fuck,” you moaned as your orgasm hit you. You kept yourself quiet, not forgetting that you weren’t alone. It felt better than you thought it would, making your inner thighs shake. Just as you finished, you heard the water shut up. You quickly slid off Jimmy, both of you adjusting your clothing so it didn’t look like you were nearly fucking.

“Nice to know I don’t have to even lift a finger to get you to cum,” Jimmy smirked, settling back into the couch.

“I could done that on a pillow and gotten the same effect, you’re not that special,” you shot back.

“Now that I’d like to see.”

“Gross,” you grumbled, shifting further away from him.

Moments later you heard the bathroom door swing open and Brady joined you back in the living room. “What’d I miss?” he asked, shaking out his wet hair.

“Nothing,” you both replied at the same time. Brady smiled, ignorant to what happened just moments ago on his couch. He plopped down between the two of you, separating you once again.

“I’m impressed I didn’t hear a screaming match while I was gone,” Brady said.

“Oh she was almost screaming,” Jimmy replied smugly. The joke went over Brady’s head, but not yours.

“You’re not important enough to scream about,” you quipped.

“Baby steps,” Brady interjected, “I’ll make you guys be friends one day.”

You let out an exaggerate laugh, “Doubt it.”

#j vesey #jimmy vesey imagine #jimmy vesey smut #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction #new york rangers imagine #new york rangers smut

52 notes · View notes

baronessblixen · 7 years

Note

Hey I really love your work :) was wondering if you could write msr at a theme park/ funfair ? Maybe with one of them scared of the rides but trying to hide it ? Maybe season of secret sex..

Happy first day of Fictober! Thanks to everyone at the workshop Friday for your lovely comments. I tried to incorporate what was said, but as it turns out I really, really suck at sensory writing. I hope it’s not too bad.

It’s a post-ep for “Rush”.

“Hey Scully, what do you say? Want to feel youngagain?” Mulder’s grin is infectious. They’re on their way to the car whenMulder stops suddenly, grinning like this, staring at her like that.

“You just told me in the hospital that they closed upthe cave. Not that it worked for us the first time.” They really must betoo old. Any other day it might irk her that she’s not only considered old, butactually too old. But right now, Scully doesn’t care. She is not concerned withbeing on the wrong side of 30. Not today, anyway. In her mind, the case isclosed. She’s mentally written the report already knowing that Mulder won’t bemuch help. All she wants to do right now is get home, take a shower, have sometake out and sleep. Preferably with Mulder by her side for all of it.

“No, I know,” his voice cuts into her fantasies,“I have a much better idea.” Scully swallows the sigh that’s ticklingher throat. As much as she loves Mulder, and at least some of his ideas(particularly the ones he has in the bedroom), she doesn’t want to go on acrazy goose chase right now. They just solved a case. Can’t they accept thatthey’re not young and spent an evening like normal adults?

“You wound me, Scully.” Apparently she’s said herlast thought out loud.

“Mulder, listen,” this time there is no stoppingthe sigh, but judging by Mulder’s look he’s been expecting it, “In thegrander scheme of life we are not old. As healthy adults in our 30s we-”

“I’m sure you’re right, Scully,” he puts his handson her shoulders to turn her around, “but look at this.”

“What am I looking at Mulder?” She’s staring at awall that’s plastered with posters old and new telling her about music she’snever heard about.

“This.” His breath tickles her ear as he leans overher shoulder to point at the colorful sign reading ‘carnival’ in big letters.

“Mulder, please tell me you’re not serious.”

“Oh come on, Scully. Don’t tell me you don’t like carnivals!”

“That’s not what I said.” Though if she’s honest,she’s not particularly fond of them.

“Just for a short while? Just to feel young for anhour.” He pouts at her. It was hard to resist the pout before they starteddating. Now it’s impossible. He grins again, that charming irresistible smirk,and gives her a quick, loud kiss.

“We’re gonna have so much fun, Scully.” He sprintsto the car and Scully follows him feeling tired and yes, old. With every step allher plans fade away; no home, no shower, no take-out. At least she’s gotMulder.

She should have known that Mulder would turn into a big childat the carnival. His sweaty hand clings to hers as they make their way throughthe crowd. A group of teenagers runs past them and Scully is pushed against Mulder.They’re too slow here, too. The tinkling music leads them further inside past explosionsof red, yellow and blue colors while metal monsters and complicated gamespromise them excitement and fun. The air is laden with the smell of greasy,fried food that makes Scully’s stomach grumble. Mulder stops to buy twocorndogs for himself and a regular hot dog for Scully.

“We need to buy candy apples, Scully. For later.”

When he suggests cotton candy, though, Scully puts her footdown.

“Mulder that stuff is pure sugar.”

“So?”

“So? We have the candy apples.”

“But we’re not eating them now. Please?”

“How about we buy popcorn instead?” They share thesmall bag as they stroll around the fair. His hand is sticky, as is hers.Scully licks her lips suppressing a smile as she remembers awkward first datesnot unlike this. Once again Mulder was right; she does feel younger. Young andcarefree.

“This was a good idea, Mulder.” She tells him. Hestops walking and glances at her. His earlier grin fades to make room for oneof Scully’s favorite sights: the small smile that tells her that Mulder ishappy. It’s not often that she sees his face this relaxed.

“I’m glad you think so.” He leans down and kissesher. The kiss was obviously meant as a small peck of appreciation but Muldertastes likes popcorn, like fresh air and something that’s just so him that Scullydeepens the kiss.

“Now that was an even better idea.” Mulder says.His eyes are still closed. “But I have another one.” His eyes popopen and Scully sees enthusiasm sparkle in them.

“I have the perfect idea that I’m sure you’ll love. Comeon.” He takes her hand in his again and leads her through the waftingsmell of sugar and salt, past a few stalls and a ride that has people screamingwith delight – or fear. Distracted for a moment Scully almost doesn’t noticethat they’ve stopped. She looks around and realizes they’re in a line. Waitingfor…

“A roller coaster, Mulder?” The grin is back andit’s bigger than before.

“Nothing like a roller coaster to feel young again,huh?”

“I think I’ll pass.” Mulder grabs her hand as sheattempts to step away to make room for more eager people. Most of them teenagers.

“Hey, what’s the matter? You don’t like rollercoasters?”

“Does that surprise you?”

“Yeah. Actually yeah, it does. You’re not scared ofthem, are you?”

“What? No, of course not!” Scully answers tooquickly.

“You’re scared of roller coasters?”

“That’s ridiculous, Mulder. There’s a greater chance toget struck by lightning than to be injured during a roller coaster ride.”

“Here I thought you’d take the thrill out of it byexplaining the physics of the ride and I find out you’re scared. I thought Iknew you.” But he’s smiling softly at her. Her heart beat picks up eachtime they advance in line. The teenagers in front of them ramble on, laughloudly and point at the metal monstrosity that Mulder wants to get on, too.

“I’m not scared,” Scully says, “I just don't…like it. You know it’s merely a constantly changing pattern between potentialand kinetic energy, right? Do I need to explain it to you?”

“I know my physics, thank you. But does your scienceexplain the thrill?”

“It does, Mulder. The fluctuation in acceleration causeswhat people experience as fun. From a psychological standpoint, you’ll feelmost excited when they strap you in. The feeling of not being able to escape iswhat thrills you. The chain noises you hear that has people hold their breath?It’s a safety device.”

“Did you know roller coasters were inspired by Russianice slides, Scully? How’s that for facts?”

“In the end, a roller coaster is just a machine thatuses gravity and inertia to send a train along the winding track. It’s not thatspecial.” Scully ignores his comment and tries to concentrate on hersteady breathing. Next time the roller coaster comes around, it’ll be theirturn.

“I won’t force you to do this, Scully. But I think youshould try it. For science.”

“I have tried it, Mulder. And people have tested rollercoaster in the name of science before me, you know.”

“How old were you?”

“Ten, I think. Bill was… he said I wouldn’t dare. Iproved him wrong.” They were standing in line much like they’re now. Herheart was beating fast, too; this was the first year she was big enough to goon the roller coaster. She’d finally made the height restriction! In thedistance she could hear Charlie, still too small that year, bawling. 'You sureyou’re not too chicken, Dana?’ Bill kept asking, smirking at her. Dana’s angerwas greater than any fear. She cocked her chin and told him that she was nolonger a baby. She was not afraid. When they strapped her in, Dana thought herheart would jump out of her chest. She felt it in her stomach, in her throat;it beat everywhere and it was way too fast. Bill laughed. All through the ride,hardly more than two minutes, he laughed at her, loudly, cruelly and Danastared straight ahead, willing herself not to cry. She didn’t. Not until it wasover, not until she’d been sick all over her shoes. Back then she vowed neverto go on a roller coaster ever again. She shudders now, remembering.

“You don’t need to prove anything here, Scully. If youdon’t want to do it we’ll leave. There’s uhm… the ferris wheel? We could do theferris wheel.” This time it’s Mulder who steps away and Scully who holdshim back. Mulder is not Bill; he’s not going to laugh at her. Scully is not littleDana anymore; she knows the facts, the mechanics of it now. It’s time to letherself feel it again.

“There is nothing to be afraid of.” She says matterof fact and Mulder, very slowly, nods. “There isn’t anything to be afraidof… right?” Again, he nods.

“It’s perfectly safe, but I’ll follow your lead,Scully.”

“I made my choice… Mulder?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you hold my hand?” She blushes; what a stupidrequest. She is a grown ass woman with a gun on her hip and karate kicks in herrepertoire. Mulder smiles. He kisses her nose as a promise before he leans backto have a better look at her.

“I swear I won’t let go.”

#fictober #todayinfic #too tired to think today #i hope it's enjoyable #at least a bit #msr #xf fanfic #txf fanfic #my writing #my fic

189 notes · View notes