#it's called the hammer of the waters | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gogogodzilla · 6 months

Text

day 31, sex pollen

peeta mellark x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, dubcon, unprotected sex, fuck or die, semi-public sex, slight dirty talk, reader gets sad at the end, multiple orgasms, dedicated to @omgbrcat hope you enjoy it bestie kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

You didn’t think you’d ever run so fast and wildly in your life. Well, except for last year when you were fighting for your life and running away from everything that was trying to kill you.

Peeta was a few steps behind you, slower and stumbling a bit due to his prosthetic leg. You threw a glance over your shoulder every few seconds, just to make sure he was still there with you.

The various leaves and foliage of the jungle hit you as you ran. You hardly even notice as the foliage shifts from a normal lush green to unnatural shades of pinks, purples, and blues. You did notice, however, when one of the plants shoots a dusty substance directly in your face as you run past it.

You lost your footing as you attempted to wipe the dust off your face. Peeta came up beside you, arms outstretched and ready to pick you up.

“Don’t!” you shouted as you slowly stood, slightly relieved that your face didn’t immediately burn off. “I don’t want it to affect you, whatever it is.”

Your ears strained as you tried to discern if the mutts were still on your tail.

“Do you hear them?” Peeta questioned, echoing your thoughts. “Y’know since you have a Capitol-engineered ear and all.”

You huffed out a laugh as you listened. You couldn’t hear the familiar rustle of leaves, and you relaxed slightly. You knew never to get too comfortable in the arena, but your lungs were burning and you needed to get this stuff off your face.

“Do you still have the spile?” you asked, attempting to avoid the way your body felt like it was on fire and your heart was pounding in your chest.

“Yeah,” he breathed, as he began to hammer it into the trunk of a nearby tree. You prayed that the trees wouldn’t be as hazardous as whatever was covering your face. You watched as he stuck a finger under the liquid flowing out of the spile, checking to make sure it was safe.

He wrapped his hand around your elbow and it felt like fire bloomed under his touch. He was gentle as always as he guided your face under the water. You dragged your hands over your face as you washed off the dusty substance that had covered it. You attempted to rid yourself of the inferno burning under your skin.

Your cheeks flushed as you pulled away from the stream of water. Peeta’s touch was fleeting but your entire body ached for him. It was a strange feeling, unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

Your heartbeat pounded in your chest with every shaky breath you took. You hunched over, attempting to calm yourself. A thin sheen of sweat begins to cover your skin, and your eyebrows furrowed in something akin to pain.

You heard Peeta call your name, but the only thing you could get out was a whimper. He was on you within seconds, gripping your shoulders and shaking you slightly. You scrambled out of his touch, thinking clearly enough to know that you needed to get away from him.

“What’s wrong?” he questioned, voice desperate and eyes frantically searching over your form. You hurriedly crawled away from him.

You shook your head, as you pressed your back against a tree. “I— I don’t know. I feel hot,” you breathed, conflicted between clenching your thighs together and spreading them for him.

Peeta kneeled in front of you, eyes soft, “How can I help?”

You remembered before you’d entered your first Games together how he didn’t want the Game to change him. You were thankful that he was still the same sweet boy you entered the arena with. He was different in some ways, of course. No one left the arena unscathed, but who he was at his core was unwavering.

Your vision was becoming hazy, and a dull ache where you’d never felt it before emerged. You let out a low groan as the heat blistering down to your bones becomes almost unbearable.

Peeta crawled between your legs and cupped your face. You hissed at his touch, leaning into him. You gripped onto his sides, nails digging into the soft flesh through his suit. His touch felt heavenly against your skin, a ravenous hunger for more filled you to the very brim.

“Touch me,” you whimpered out, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “Please, Peeta.”

He swiped a thumb across your cheek, and your grip on his tightened. You tugged him closer, your limbs seeming to move on their own. You made a small, strangled sound in the back of your throat.

Peeta’s lips were hesitant against yours as he kissed you. He was always so gentle with you, never wanting to cross a line. You moaned against him, and swiped your tongue across his bottom lip, desperate to taste him.

You wrapped your arms around his back and clawed at the zipper to his suit, tugging it down as much as you could. He sucked in a breath as you yanked his suit off of his shoulders, practically manhandling him. You were giving the Capitol exactly what they wanted, but you didn’t care.

The ache deep between your legs was growing with every moment, and your body temperature rose along with it. Your kisses increased in desperation until you were pleading against Peeta’s lips and writhing against him.

“It’s okay,” Peeta soothed, reaching behind you to unzip your suit. “I’ll help, it’s okay.”

You hurriedly peeled your suit off your shoulders, letting out a sigh as Peeta’s fingers trailed over the newly exposed skin. Your cheeks flushed as he leaned down to press open-mouthed kisses against the column of your neck and your chest.

You ran your hands over the smooth expanse of his chest, the feeling doing little to quell the electricity crackling under your skin. His tongue circled your nipple, eliciting a breathy whine from you.

You raked your hands through the hair at the nape of his tugged and tugged on the strands. A groan vibrated in his throat, and his hands splayed against your ribcage.

“Peeta,” you whined as he kneaded your other breast and you clenched your thighs around him.

You couldn’t stand not having him for a second longer and you hooked your arms under his, gripping him tightly as you rolled to the side. You landed on top of him, straddling him. You panted as you finally got a good look at him. His eyes were half-lidded and he was flushed and breathing heavily. His pupils were blown wide as he looked up at you.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, “Is it getting to you, too?”

He nodded, attempting to steady his breathing. You stood and shimmied out of your suit, tossing it to the side. You leaned down to hook your fingers into the waistband of Peeta’s suit and looked up at him through your lashes. The quick dip of his head was all you needed, and you were practically ripping his suit off of him. It wasn’t the first time you’d taken off Peeta’s pants, but you flushed all the same. You were too focused on saving his life last time to worry about being embarrassed.

You were back on him faster than your hazy mind could process, your hips moving on their own accord as you ground against his thigh. His length pressed against your belly, warm and unbelievably hard, as you dragged your hips against him.

You reached down and stroked him in time with each rut of your hips. He let out a mix between a whimper and a sigh as you did. Your movements quickened, and you buried your face in the crook of Peeta’s neck. With each twist of your wrist around his cock, he was letting out noises that had heat pooling in your belly. His tip was leaking, and you loved the sound he made when you ran your thumb over it.

Peeta’s fingertips dug into the plush of your hips so hard you didn’t doubt that he’d leave bruises. The animalistic part of you that had taken control wanted him to mark you in every way possible. Your slick had begun to cover Peeta’s thigh, allowing you to easily grind against him.

Your strokes became more erratic as your pace against Peeta’s cock increased. You both were so wound tight you might burst. You’d never been so aware of your pulse pounding in your ears, and you came with a strangled cry. Tears coated your cheeks as warmth encased your entire being and you spasmed against Peeta. You had a moment of respite as you thought the plant’s effects had subsided, but the drive to ravish him returned with a vengeance.

He followed you off the precipice soon after you calmed down, back arched and head thrown back as his release covered your knuckles. The fog that surrounded your head cleared just enough for you to realize just how pretty Peeta looked like this. If you were going to die, you didn’t think you’d get a better view.

Your pace slowed but Peeta was still hard in your hand. The boiling heat still lingered under your skin, and your pulse quickened. You wondered if that was the Capitol’s goal; to make you so fucked out you succumb to exhaustion or burn you from the inside out.

Peeta looked utterly exhausted and a coil of guilt settled in the pit of your stomach.

“Just one more, please,” you begged, trailing kisses down his neck. He nodded against you, and you could’ve cried from the relief that washed over you.

You lifted your hips and aligned the tip of his cock with your entrance, gasping at the sensation. Peeta’s hips bucked up unconsciously, shoving himself deeper inside you. A pained hiss left you, and Peeta cried out a thousand apologies, his iron grip returning to your hips once more.

“I’m sorry. You’re just— Fuck… So— tight,” he babbled out, brown eyes glazing over. You pressed a featherlight kiss against his cheek, thoughts too consumed with his cock inside you to reassure him properly. You slowly lowered yourself onto him, sighing when your hips were finally flush. Peeta had his eyes screwed shut, gritting his jaw in thinly veiled restraint.

Your hands settled on his shoulders as you began to rock your hips against his. Peeta rested his head against the tree as you rode him, releasing little pants and moans with every thrust of your hips.

With each moment that passed your movements became more erratic, desperate to reach your peak once again. Peeta’s hands frantically roamed your body, grasping and kneading whatever inch of skin he could reach.

He reached a hand between the two of you and drew hurried circles around your clit. He lifted his hips to meet yours, jutting himself deeper inside you. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled your ears, and you prayed you were the only ones trapped in this portion of the arena.

It took no time for your release to hit you, practically knocking the wind out of you as you clenched around Peeta’s cock. Your vision went hazy, and for a moment you feared you’d pass out.

Peeta finished with a few more rolls of your hips against his. He filled you to the brim, his release hot and steady coated your walls.

Your vision cleared as you came down from your high. The fire within you had finally dissipated, and you breathed a sigh of relief. You felt exhaustion consume you as you slumped against Peeta.

“I’m sorry,” you slurred out, clinging onto Peeta like your life depended on it. Your face screwed up and you felt your throat tightening.

“It’s okay. You’re okay,” he rushed out, running his hands over your body, attempting to soothe you as quiet sobs wracked your body. Your last thought before drowsiness overtook you was of how much you didn’t deserve Peeta Mellark.

Your heart pounded as you awoke, adrenaline spiking as you heard someone calling your name. You jumped to your feet, eyes frantically searching your surroundings. Your movements caused Peeta to stir and his eyes shot open, the same panic gracing his features.

You tugged on your suit, grimacing at the dried cum that covered your inner thighs. You tossed Peeta his suit and pulled him to his feet. You didn’t know how long you’d been out, and the thought turned your stomach. Someone could’ve easily come along and killed you both.

You grabbed your weapon while Peeta removed the spile from the tree.

“Let’s just hope our sponsors enjoyed the show,” you joked, immediately cringing as soon as the words left your mouth.

The corners of Peeta’s mouth quirked up, “I’m sure they did.”

#peeta mellark #the hunger games #peeta mellark x reader #the hunger games peeta #thg peeta #peeta mellark smut #peeta mellark x reader smut #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #reader insert #no y/n #josh hutcherson

5K notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 6 months

Note

Hello, Congratulations on the 5k follows!!

I discovered this fandom a few months ago and have been living for your writing ever since.

I was thinking as a drabble of the taskforce gentlemen coming home at the crack of dawn from a long mission and seeing their spouse's hand, limp on the ground peeking out from the side of the couch. All the panic and worry going thru their heads, so much bubbling up, horrible scenarios. They rush over and find you sleeping on the floor. The power had gone out last night and the hardwood floor was the coolest place to be (you didn't want to open the window because you know how they worry), so you were watching stuff on your phone and drifted off. Crisis averted!

Thank you for your time 💜

—Wide-Eyed Panic

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Why were you behind the couch?] ❞

I’ll start by saying all of them would be concerned and immediately go into panic mode—why were you behind the couch? Why was your hand sticking out? Why, in God's name, were you not moving? Cue the horrible thoughts and flashes of what went on in their work lives.

John Price ➺

John entered the house with a sigh, slipping off his boots as the door was closed and deftly locked behind him. Grunting under his breath, the man rubs over his face, the lights off as he calls out with a tired grumble to his voice.

“I’m back,” his voice echoes, the tone moving through the darkness far louder than it should have. There’s no answer. “Love…?” Pausing, John blinks slowly at the wall, ear twitching to the utter silence of the home. No water in the pipes. No buzzing of electricity. No you. Eyes rising, they dart around quickly as his finger moves out to the light switch. A small push elicits nothing, just as he thought. The power was out.

Dread slowly creeps into John’s chest.

Hand reaching behind his back, the man’s fingers inch over the smooth metal of a pistol, grasping the weapon before he begins walking forward. He keeps silent, feet moving to where he knows the wood won't creak.

His mind runs.

Why was the power off? Where were you? Why didn’t you respond—were you hurt? John’s mind goes to blood and bullets, his jaw clenching tightly as the pistol comes out to rest in front of him; hands shifting the grip as he takes a soothing breath. Panicking wouldn’t help anyone, but it would be pointless to lie about how his heart hammers.

“Fuck,” he growls, eyes going tight.

That’s when he sees it. Blue eyes widen sharply.

“Love!” John shouts, all other concerns about intruders meaningless to him. Your hand was sticking out from behind the couch, a dark shadow in the low light. He rushes over as you jerk, yelling in alarm as he rushes to grab you, pulling you up into his arms and pulling you away into the closet across the room.

“John!” You blink rapidly as you’re set back against the wall.

“Shush now,” he grunts, eyes panicked. “Keep awake, let me look.” A hand moves all over your body, searching and pulling at clothes to touch the skin for any wounds. “Tell me where it hurts, then. Quickly. We have to move—”

“John, what the hell,” you push at him, moving him back. Your eyes try to adjust to being so rudely awakened at such an hour. “What are you doing?!”

You weren’t hurt.

The Captain’s face pulls in with confusion, back against the closet door and now in more darkness than ever before. He can barely make out your face before you sigh and put your hands against his arms.

Things begin to calm down as his hand rests at your hip, nearly tight enough to bruise. In his other is the gun just before you put your hand to it and softly peel the item away from him—putting it on the shelf that you know is to your left.

Hands find John’s cheeks as he pants.

“John,” you say his name again. “...what happened.”

“Why were you on the ground?” He forces out firmly, voice a low grunt. “Why were the lights not—”

“The power went out for everyone, okay?” You speak slowly, rubbing your thumbs over his beard. “It was on the news. I didn’t open a window because I knew you would worry about that—the floor was cool and it was getting too hot in here.”

Your mind tells you to explain quickly and fluently. You move forward and press your forehead into John’s as he sags with a great exhalation of breath—his arms circling you tightly until your spine might crack.

He doesn’t speak for a long while, just holding you.

“Scared me,” he mutters, missing you deeply on the forehead, speaking into your skin. “Fuck, you scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He keeps you to his chest, eyes fluttering shut and his spine hunching over you, fingers splayed over your back. You run your hands through his hair and calm the swelling of your heart.

You can feel his pulse mirroring your own.

Simon Riley ➺

When he sees your hand, he freezes.

Simon wasn’t a stranger to the lights being off in the home—you opted for lamps and low light more often than not; this wasn’t new. He had only quirked a brow when he came home to the pitch-blackness, off from his recent deployment and eager for a warm bed to fall into. He admits he’d let himself calm down on the car ride home—your home was where he could relax and release tension until it became as unimportant as an ant on the pavement.

But when he’d closed the door silently behind him and walked the few steps it would take to enter the living room, where he was sure you were still up either reading or watching something on your phone under a blanket, his body had stiffened immediately.

Your hand sticking out from behind the couch. Limp.

Lifeless.

He’d been staring at it for only a few seconds before the memories came back—the ones of gore splattered to the walls and ceiling of an old flat back in Manchester.

Simon’s thoughts had hit him like a bullet.

Not again.

Rushing forward like a bear, the man slips along the hardwood as his knees go down, shaking the home at the force at which he grabs at your body and flips you from your side to your back.

You gasp awake and instinctually throw out a fist, connecting with a stone chest as you hiss and blink in panic.

Fingers ruthlessly dig into your shoulders, wide brown eyes open, and…and afraid.

“Simon?” You mutter softly, all fear in your heart is squished in an instant.

The man breathes through wheezes, balaclava fabric moving from the force of his breaths. His fingers are shaking, blinking as his head jerks to look your lying form up and down swiftly.

You hesitantly put a hand on his cheek and he flinches before nuzzling into it.

“Don’t…” he takes a quivering breath into his lungs, and after, loosens his grip on your skin. Simon’s hands go to your waist, dragging you up and stapling you to his chest. “Don’t do that again.”

His voice is low. Vulnerable.

You blink, hands holding him back on the floor.

“...The power went out,” you try to explain only half of it softly, muffled by his neck.

He only holds you harder, eyes open and blankly staring at the floor a foot away.

Johnny MacTavish ➺

Johnny hums a song under his breath, hanging his keys on the hook near the door.

“Dearie!” He calls to you loudly, itching at the side of his head and chuckling. “Don’t run too fast to me now, I’m all yours for two w—”

The light switch is moved by his finger, but no light illuminates his path to the living room. Pausing in the entrance, the man’s brows furrow tightly, speech cutting off like scissors to paper.

“...eeks?” Johnny ends his sentence, turning back around to look at the switch in confusion. “The hell’s going on with that?” He mutters to himself, a frown growing on his face before he refocuses on his mission to find you—now with the added task of figuring out why the power was out in the house.

“Swear,” the man grumbles, huffing while he runs a hand over his face, “if those kids down the street did something I’ll be livid. Little devils, I swear.”

Johnny steps farther into the living room, glancing around.

“Dearie?” He pauses, listening before calling out your name. “Where’s she off to?”

He sighs softly, wanting to hold you now that he’s home to do so—squeeze you in his arms and take in your scent again; he’d missed you immensely while he was away.

Johnny came across your hand sticking out from behind the couch by accident, moving to make his way into your bedroom thinking that you were sleeping. He sees an odd shape in the blackness and pauses, feet slowing to a stop.

When he notices that it’s a hand—your hand, he doesn’t even realize that he’s completely gripped the side of the couch and wrenched it back until the scratch of the wood floors screams in his ears.

You wake up to hands on your cheeks, sharp yelling, and your head being shaken up and down until you’re conscious.

“Dearie, hey! What the fuck,” the last sentence is growled on fast lips. “What the fuck.”

Your hands slap to Johnny’s wrists, nails digging in.

He breathes out quickly, looking into your eyes to look for dilation as the darkness forces him closer. “There we are, tell me where you’re hurting, now, yeah? Did you hit your head? Let me take a look. It’s okay, I’ll get you all fixed up, there’s no need to worry.”

“Hey!” Your hands push at his, trying to shove the brick wall away from you. “Quit it! Johnny! I’m fine! ”

The man pauses at your animated movements, blinking rapidly before his grip loosens.

When it’s obvious that you’re perfectly fine, he moves back and groans, thumb and forefinger digging into his nose bridge.

“Hell’s bells, Hen.” You glare, panting on the floor before you push yourself up.

“‘Hell’s bells’, me?” Johnny’s head plops to your shoulder. “You just shook me like a fucking rabbit!”

“Scared the shite out of me, you terror.” The man huffs. “Need to put a heart monitor on you.”

“Piss off,” you sigh, putting a hand to your chest to feel the pace of your pulse and the blood that runs furiously.

Johnny, moments later as he’s still resting on your shoulder, starts…laughing. Low at first, then gaining noise the more it goes unchecked—a deep rumble into chest-jerking amusement. You look down at him, the couch tilted and long scratches over the floor. Pausing, you blink at his shaking shadow before your lungs start quivering. The two of you bend over one another with shared, house-shaking laughter.

“What the fuck were you doin’ behind the damn couch?” Johnny grabs you close, kissing along your neck as he picks you up, dragging you to your feet.

“The power went out!” You giggle, chest hurting from the fast gasps of breath as more kisses are spread over your skin. “It was colder down there and I didn’t want to open one of the windows because I knew you’d throw a pouting match about it.”

“Christ, Dearie.” Lips meet your own. “I had half the mind to think you had a heart attack. Nearly gave me one.”

Kyle Garrick ➺

Kyle sighs as he rubs at his jaw, itching the skin and slipping out of his jacket.

“I’m home, Love!” He says, his voice echoing over the flat. “Want me to start on supper or have you eaten yet?” The man smiles, taking off his cap and putting it on the coat rack, sighing softly.

It was good to be back.

Bending down to unlace his boots, he pulls at them until they’re loose enough to slip out of, thumping to their sides on the rug until he reaches out and fixes them.

“What’s that, then?” He calls into the darkness, not hearing your answer as he quickly checks the time on his phone. “Fuck, it’s late,” Kyle utters to himself.

Walking into the kitchen, he touches the light switch only to be met with nothing. Pausing, the man’s face pulls in—fingers twitching at his sides as he glances at the window and the moonlight that seeps in to glare along the floor.

A deep frown takes hold of him, and he looks around once more before backing up.

“...Love?” Kyle wasn’t too concerned—the building wasn’t always the best, and power outages weren’t unheard of. But, damn, if the high of getting off of a deployment didn’t put him in a negative head-space when it came to a change in routine involving you.

Why weren’t you answering him?

Walking slightly faster into the living room, his hand nearly reaches into his pocket to call your phone if you didn’t end up in any of the rooms—pulse beginning to be infected with a steady injection of adrenaline.

Brown eyes find your hand behind the couch when they’re about to shift to the open door of your bedroom. A sharp gasp is inhaled instantaneously.

Kyle races over, grappling to it and pressing his fingers to your neck for a pulse. You softly breathe, none the wiser as you lightly shift and sigh in your sleep; a delicate hum moving out as familiar fingers dig into you.

It’s through his panic that a thought quickly cuts through the man’s mind. You’d mentioned this before.

Kyle pauses, just about to loudly wake you.

‘It gets hot when the power goes out, Kyle, I swear one of these days I’m going to just fall asleep on the floor. At least it’s cool down there.’

Well, the power was out, and, it seemed, you really had fallen asleep on the floor. Now that he thought about it, the flat was running hot—and he also knew that you knew he had gotten nervous of late when you left the windows open at night.

“Bloody hell,” the man releases a long breath, free hand moving to grip the back of his head. A few seconds later, Kyle chuckles to himself, shaking his head with a small smile. “You are losing it, Mate. Losing it.”

Without another word, he grips you, and with a grunt, picks you up and takes you to bed, setting you down on the pillows and making sure to leave the sheets off of you so you don’t grow uncomfortable.

A kiss is pressed to your forehead, and you hum in slumber, smiling unconsciously.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Love.”

He leaves to go make a quick supper of cereal and milk.

3K notes · View notes

vidavalor · 7 months

Text

Crowley actually says a barely-coded "I love you" to Aziraphale back in 2.03

In his proposal in the S2 finale, Crowley told us that he and Aziraphale know they're in love and have known it for damn ever but they pretend they're not a couple. This, by default, means that they've not specifically said the words "I love you" before, by Crowley's own admission. They've said I love you in their own little language and we've watched it before. It's little demonic miracle of my own. It's don't go unscrewing the cap. It's just a little bit of a good person and just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing... But what Crowley says in the S2 finale is that they've never-- ever-- said in 6,000 years is just I love you in those normal people, human words. It has always been too dangerous for too many reasons to count so they have euphemisms for it and whole conversations around it and have made that be enough. Why do I bring this up? Because Crowley found a middle ground between the words and their coded language with one another in S2 and it's flying under the radar.

So you know that scene when Muriel has shown up and interrupts Crowley and Aziraphale talking in the back room? The one where while Crowley is speaking, Aziraphale suddenly looks like he's about to pass out with sheer want? Yes, our angel always looks at Crowley like he hung the damn moon (which he did but lol...) but this scene is different. This scene is like... someone get Aziraphale a chair and a glass a water because he is pupils-dilated, audibly breathing, and eyeing up Crowley with naked want. More than the lust? He looks happy. He looks delighted. You can basically hear his heart race from that look on his face. Why here? Yes, Crowley looks hot. Yes, he's in profile in a way that is a visual parallel to Before the Beginning (which was an inspired choice for this scene.) Yes, he's here with a Plan and taking charge of the Muriel situation and swaying his hips a bit while he speaks. It's not any of that. Those are nice bonuses. Aziraphale likes them. He gets them all the time. It's what Crowley said in this moment. To Aziraphale. Through what he said to Muriel.

Crowley cracks a dry, kinda dark joke that is meant for an audience of one: just Aziraphale. He knows Muriel won't get it. Since Muriel is cosplaying as what they think is a human Inspector Constable and they are here to verify the miracle Aziraphale has told Heaven and so are monitoring them, Crowley quips that Muriel is here to spy on them (since they, well, are, actually) and that he knows that many human police officers like to make a bit of a hobby out of spying on "people in love."

People. In. Love.

In a one-two punch in the same sentence, Crowley called him and Aziraphale queer humans and he called what they have love, using the actual word *aloud* for the first time in 6,000 years. He said he loved Aziraphale in front of an angel of Heaven in a little coded joke but this time, using the coded bit to say the real thing for the first time.

Then, just to hammer it all home and make sure that Aziraphale really knows it was very much intentional, Crowley says 'love' again in the next sentence. He starts going on about how Muriel can come to him anytime with any questions about love and he's happy to assist with their understanding of human love with all of his implied vast, vast years of experience with the subject and how he'll be here to answer their questions, in the bookshop, while Aziraphale drives his car to Edinburgh.

Go back and tell Heaven I'm here, Inspector Constable, I don't give a fuck anymore. *We* don't give a fuck anymore. You go tell The Archangel Michael that I'm who they're going to get managing Angelic Embassy X aka The Bookshop until Aziraphale gets back-- yep, me, former Demon of Hell. The Boyfriend in the Dark Sunglasses. He's asked me to, which is his way of saying he wants to stop hiding and asking me not to sneak out to my car in the middle of the night which hallefuckinglujah, Inspector Constable... Go tell Their Beatitudes that we ravish each other all over the bookshop. You won't even be lying. As Maggie'll put it later in the season: I'm done being afraid all the time. I love him. We're in love. There's your hot intel.

Aziraphale:

Aziraphale: Inspector Constable, be a dear and spray me down with all 700 of our fire extinguishers, will you?

#ineffable husbands #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #good omens meta #good omens 2

3K notes · View notes

satorusugurugurl · 1 month

Text

JJK Men: Finding Your Toys

Characters: Geto Suguru, Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, FAB!Reader

Word Count: 4,952

Warnings: Sex toys! Dirty talk, squirting, smut, videotaping, degrading, holy heck, it’s spicy

A/N: This had me feeling things; I loved writing this. Each one of these hit differently, in the best ways. 😏

MDNI!!!

Geto Suguru:

“Suguru!” You called out from the kitchen, standing on a stepstool dusting the tops of your cabinets. “Can you do me a favor, please?”

Popping his head into the kitchen, Suguru stared at the curve of your ass peeking out from your shorts. “Anything for you.” He watched you stand higher, ass bouncing just a bit.

“Could you grab me the spring decorations? I put them on the bed.”

“On it.”

Ah, spring cleaning. A single day of the year, you deep cleaned your shared apartment. You were donating clothes and books, pretty much decluttering. Then you cleaned everything: floorboards, vents, every crevice. You always felt better after it was done. Plus, with Suguru helping you, you did it in half the time. All that was left was to put up the windchime and new throw pillows.

Then you both could relax.

Suguru was looking forward to a long shower and takeout food. Maybe if you weren’t too tired, he could have you for dessert. Before anything like that remotely happened, he needed to finish the task at hand. The bag was right where you told him it would be. Yanking it off, Suguru turned only to hear something hit the floor.

“Shit.” He cursed, watching your water bottle roll under the bed. Bending down, Suguru reached for the runaway water, only to feel the corner of an extended storage bin. With a tug, Suguru pulled the mysterious box out, his eyes widening as he stared at the transparent container.

Sex toys galore were inside. Glass dildos, clits suckers, vibrators, regular dildos. The sight nearly rocked Suguru's back as he opened the lid, glancing at the cleaned and organized toys. His cock throbbed painfully as he picked it up, putting it on the bed.

So this was what you got off with when he was on a mission. He hummed, picking up a vibrator and turning it over before grabbing a glass toy. It was long and had a large orb on the end. A g-spot toy. Did you use these to make yourself squirt? Have you squirted without him?

The first time Suguru made you squirt was when you both first started fooling around. His mouth was on your clit, fingers hammering against that spot until you screamed, soaking the sheets and his face. You freaked out at first, profusely apologizing. But your words were silent as Geto went feral, wanting to see you squirt again.

He didn't stop until you were nearly fucked out of your mind. All you could say was: “D-Didn't know I could squirt!”

“Suguru!” Your voice called out from the kitchen. “Did you find the bag?”

“Oooh, I found something alright.”

His tone had you turning your head towards his voice. “Oh? Was it the fairy lights? I thought I forgot to grab that bag at the store.” Your boyfriend hummed.

“I mean, a few of these light up.”

Okay, the man was definitely up to something. You finished up what you were doing before treading down the hall. As you turned the corner into the room, you froze like a deer in the headlights. Your toy bin was out, and Suguru was eagerly digging through it, a smug smile on his face.

“Ah!!” Bolting across the floor, you snatched the toys away, throwing them back inside before reaching for the lid.

Suguru chuckled, grabbing the lid from you and tossing it. “Oh no, you don't! We're not putting this away.” With your plan foiled, you held your arms out to block his view.

“No! It's embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” Looking at your boyfriend, your cheeks flushed as he pulled his sweats down an inch. He's showing you the bulge in his boxers. “It's fucking hot.”

The humiliation slowly began to fade, a fire replacing it. “Really?”

Suguru nodded while digging in the bin. “Yeah, I like seeing the stuff you get off with.” He pulled out your g-spot dildos and vibrator. “Trying to make yourself squirt?” The knowing smirk on his face left you a blushing mess as you glanced away, nodding in response. “Did you do it?” This time, you shook your head.

“I don't think I'm doing it right.”

You felt Suguru behind you before you heard him. “Oh? Maybe you should show me~?”

One heavy make-out session later, you sighed softly as you slowly thrust the glass toy in and out of your dripping pussy. Suguru was on his stomach between your legs, watching you like a hawk. The glass toy rubbed against the sweet spot inside of you perfectly. The sensation was almost too overwhelming.

“C-Can’t.” Your legs clenched together in an attempt to ease the throbbing.

“Yes, you can.” Hands grabbed your thighs, forcing them open. “Stop closing your legs; I can't see.”

With an almost pained whine, you kept thrusting the toy in and out of your cunt. It was tight, so tight, your walls were hugging the toy, making it difficult for you to thrust it in and out. You were getting so fed up with this. Glaring down between your legs, you chewed on your bottom lip. Every time you tried to make yourself squirt, this happened. You'd get tired and annoyed before tossing the toy to the side with an irritated growl.

Suguru was focusing less on your dripping sex and more on your face. You were frustrated, focusing too much on the task at hand. You were never going to cum like that. So he gently wrapped his hand around yours, helping you with the pacing of the thrusts. The warmth of his hand and the subtle change of pace had you tilting your head back.

“You need to relax,” Suguru whispered, pressing hot kisses against your thigh. “You’re too tense. Stop focusing so much on the mechanics of it and more on the sensation.”

Letting out a trembling exhale, you relaxed, focusing more on how the toy slid in and out of you. Frustrated groans turned into low whimpering as Suguru sucked at your skin. Fuck, this felt so good, like when Suguru would finger you. The familiar coil tightened in your abdomen. The same tightening you usually felt when you would squirt.

“Ah, ah fuck.” You arched your back off the bed, pussy throbbing around the toy. “Fuuuuck, Suguru~!”

“Yeah, feel good?” He asked, still gripping the toy. “you’re getting the hang of it. It would help if you did a little of this—” he bit his lip in concentration, curving it up more. When he did that, you saw the entire universe. A scream escaped you as the toy rubbed perfectly over your g-spot. “there it is; you just gotta curve it a bit.”

“Holy fuck! Holy fuck!” Your legs began trembling as they began to shut.

Suguru sat up, growling as he shifted his body, preventing your legs from closing completely. “I thought I told you to fuckin’ stop doing that.” All you did was whine in response. “Ah~ too fucked out of your mind to even notice? God, you're so fuckin’ cute.” The hand he had on top of yours set a fast pace. “You're almost there, don't stop~ good girl~ good fuckin girl~!” the sweet praises had you speeding your hand up, making your boyfriend chuckle in surprise. “Oh, Y/N, you want me to praise you more~? You get off on that?” When you whimpered, he cooed. “My pretty princess is doing such a good job fucking her pussy. Are you going to cum? Gonna cum for me, princess?” Your boyfriend's freehand began rubbing your clit.

“Y-Yes! Fuck ohhh fuck!” Tears formed in your eyes as Suguru grinned, letting go of your hand. Watching as you sped up, not needing his direction anymore. “I-I’m gonna, gonna cum!”

“That's it, squirt for me. Make a mess, princess. Ooh!” Suguru scoffed, sitting back as you convulsed, squirting all over the bed and him. His hand rubbed your clit, extending your orgasm, making you squirt even more. “Fuck~! Look at you, making a mess, you nasty slut.”

Suguru made sure to watch you. The way your body slowly came down, hips against the mattress as your eyes fluttered shut. The subtle way your hips jerked, trying to evade his hand, which was now drawing gentle circles around your clit.

You were so damn beautiful.

Hungry, starved eyes bore into yours, his chest heaving as you pulled the toy out. “S-Sugu?” Your timid voice didn't seem to break his trance. “Baby? You okay?” Instead of responding, Suguru answered by grabbing your hips and flipping you so your face was in your pillow. “Mmmph!”

“You did okay,” his voice was dark, gravely, “I'd give you a five out of ten.” All you could do was listen, tensing up when you felt the tip of the glass toy prodding your entrance. “But I think you need a demonstration.” You couldn't even respond as the toy was shoved back inside of you deeper than you could have managed on your own. “Maybe, just maybe, if you cum hard enough, I’ll fuck you.”

Gojo Satoru:

The smell of freshly baked cookies wafted from the oven as you pulled the hot tray out. The viral cinnamon roll cookies smelt as good as they looked. While placing the cookies on the cooling rack, you heard footsteps hurrying down the hall. Seemed as though Satoru’s nose was as keen as ever.

“Am I the best girlfriend ever or what?” You tossed the oven mitts on the counter with a fist pump. “Not only do I bake, but I suck co—” Turning on your heel, you were about to wink at your boyfriend, only to find him towering over you.

His face was flushed, and his smile was as wide as could be as he smirked. “When the hell did you get this?” Gojo dangled your pink, blue-tooth bullet vibrator in front of your face.

“Satoru!!!” You reached for the toy, only to have him yank it out of reach. “Give it back!!” Satoru shook his head, holding the toy above his head, making it impossible for you to reach it now. “Toruuu!!!”

Satoru was as excited as a child at Christmas. He was practically vibrating (not from the toy) with horny energy. What a fucking find! All you asked was for him to grab the blanket from the closet! When he pulled it out, the box to his new friend fell.

“The box said I can control it with an app?! An app on my phone?! Oh my god, this is great!” He promptly held the box with his other hand, reading its functions. “Long distance play, waterproof, and it syncs to music and sound?!” His white brows furrowed in disbelief as his grin widened. “Y/N, why didn't you tell me?!”

“Because it sucks.”

All of the excitement on Gojo’s face vanished. “Sucks? What do you mean it sucks?!” His cerulean eyes darted from the toy in his hand before focusing on you. The pout he was sporting was almost impressive.

“It sucks, Satoru.” Pushing past him, you headed for the couch. “I tried syncing it to my playlist. It didn’t get me all hot and bothered. I even tried using the sound function. The app syncs to the sounds of porn videos, or any sound in general, but they just.” You shrugged a shoulder, plopping down on the couch. “They were so phony that the vibrations were so weak. I hated it so much that I didn’t see the point in telling you about it.”

Something about what you had said had Gojo blinking in silence. “You synced it up to some random porn video online?”

“Yes, Toru, and like I just told you, it sucked.”

“Right, but you watched two rando’s do it?” Something in the tone of his voice triggered your sixth sense. The danger was approaching, and it was in the form of your very horny boyfriend.

“Y-Yeah?” What should have been a statement was more of a question as Satoru dangled the toy on his index finger with an almost sadistic smirk. “What are you getting at with this?”

”Ah, you see, dear Y/N, my sweet perverted girlfriend.”

”Hey!”

Gojo crouched, twirling the vibrator around his finger like his house keys. “The problem isn’t the toy.” His pink tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip. “It’s the content you’re viewing. You need something more—personal.”

”Ah! Ah! Fuuuck! Fuck!”

The toy deep inside of you buzzed at an intense speed. “Holy shit!” You cried out, your hand squeezed Satoru’s cock tight.

“Take my fucking cock.” Satoru’s voice from your television was sultry while the Satoru beside you wheezed out a laugh.

“Fuck, easy baby, you’ll break my dick.” Peeling your eyes away from the television screen, you tilted your head back against the couch, your Y/E/C eyes focusing on Satoru’s throbbing cock. “See, I told you it was the content and not the toy.”

He was right about that. When he suggested you put on the porno’s the two of you made together, you didn’t have high hopes. But holy fuck were you wrong. Your moans, Satoru’s dirty words, god it god it got you going, along the vibrator was buzzing like mad inside of you. Firmly pressing against your g-spot, teasing it as you watched Gojo fuck you into the mattress.

Satoru decided to join you for ‘research,’ wanting to see for himself that the toy sucked, as you said it did. Little did he know that you were going to start stroking him as you both watched yourselves on the screen. He rocked his head back as your thumb rubbed gently circled over his slit.

“Y/N fuck, playing with my pre like that.” his hand slid over, rubbing circles over your clit that had you jolting. “You're so pretty when you're feeling good. Such a good girl~”

His voice next to you was a sharp contrast to the Gojo on the television. He had the camera turned to his face. He was sweaty, biting his lip as he slapped your ass hard in the video. “You're such a nasty girl~! God fuck, grinding up against me on the dance floor, telling me you were soaking wet in the car.” Another sharp slap had both of you in the video and on the couch whining. “My dirty fucking slut, couldn't wait to get dicked down, could ya’?” The vibrator buzzed louder, your toes curling as you watched the screen. Slapping skin, whines, and guttural moans had your vibrator buzzing like a beehive.

“Hey, look at me~” Turning to look at Satoru was so hard from how hard you were jerking. “You're so beautiful~ do you like your toy now? You love it?” Please say you do, please, please, please. Satoru begged in his mind as you jerked his cock harder. If you liked it, it would make phone sex a million times better.

“Toru, Toru, yes, feels good~ love it~!” Fuck you were close. Your moans were beginning to meld in with your moans from the video. Louder, desperate, and ducking porn worthy. “Toru wanna cum, wanna cum with y-you!” Satoru gritted his teeth, eyes darting to his cock, that you were jerking off like a crazed woman.

“Yeah, ah, pretty girl, I’m close~ cum with me, okay? Be a good girl and cum~” The Satoru on the television snarled as he came, while your

Satoru whimpered, thrusting into your clenched hand until ropes of hot sticky cum painted your hard and his clenching ab’s. “Cumming, of fuck yes, I’m cummin’!” He cried out in time with his television persona.

It was the combination of the vibrations, Satoru’s fast circles over your clit, and watching yourselves cum that had you gushing around your new favorite toy. You screamed, eyes rolling back into your head. You came all over the couch. Fuck when was the last time you came that hard? It was probably when you and Satoru made the video you were viewing.

“So,” Satoru asked between pants, “does the t-toy still suck?”

You didn't answer his question. You instead grabbed your phone with shaking hands, typing on the screen. Satoru was about to ask what you were doing when a little chime went off. You tossed your phone to the side before gently pulling the toy out of you.

“Aw, done already?” Satoru’s cocky voice cut off as you straddled his hips. “Y-Y/N?” You cupped his face, turning it to the side, allowing you to kiss down his neck. “Fuuuck baby.”

“Mm,” Kiss after kiss trailed down his neck, “no, I love it~ I love it so much I just bought you the matching fleshlight.”

Satoru’s large hands gripped your hips, massaging them. “Oh really?” He gasped out as you sucked and bit the crook of his neck, marking his ivory skin. “A-Are you gonna make me watch the same video when it gets here?”

“Oooh, no.” Satoru watched as you grabbed his phone, propping it against the lamp beside him. “We're making a new video,” Satoru whines louder, wincing as you bite him harder. “Oooh, good boy~ Toru~ be extra loud for us~ that way, the vibrations are super strong.”

Nanami Kento:

The second the elevator door opened, Nanmi bolted out, running towards your shared apartment. He was nearly breathless from all of the running he had done in an attempt to get home as fast as he possibly could. Fuck, if only he could teleport like Gojo, maybe his heart wouldn’t be pounding inside of his ears in fear and panic.

He had been meeting with Yaga at the school when his phone went off, alerting him of your text. You were constantly sending messages throughout the day. Asking how he was doing, what he would like for dinner, or if he needed anything while you were out shopping. He did not feel like he deserved to have someone like you in his life.

His blood ran cold when he read the screen, his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach.

Y/N: I need your help; please come home ASAP!

The second those words processed through his mind, he was moving. Telling Yaga there was an emergency and he needed to hurry home. Every single terrible thought rushed through his mind at once. Was there a cursed spirit chasing you? Did one of the students get hurt? Were you hurt? He needed answers to the questions that were on a constant loop in his mind.

“Y/N!?” Nanami yelled out as he entered the apartment, slamming the door behind him. “Y/N?!” No traces of cursed energy, a sign of intrusion, or blood was in sight.

”I-I’m in the bedroom, Kento.” Immediately, Nanami knew something was off with your voice. It was far too timid.

When he walked into the room, he expected to find something terrible awaiting him. Much to his relief, you were laying in bed, a blanket covering your lower body propped up against your pillows. That’s how he had left you this morning and countless other times. Either you received some bad news from your family, or there was something his observant eyes were missing.

”What happened? Are you okay? What’s the emergency?”

Your face twisted from unreadable to one to a pained one as you shifted slightly. Anyone else would have missed it, but Nanami knew everything about you. He moved so fast you gasped as he crawled on the bed, looking you over for injuries.

“What's going on?” the stern tone of his voice made this ten times more embarrassing.

You brought your hands to your face, rubbing them gently as you tried to find your words. “I-I uhm—” Peeking through your fingers, you found Nanami staring at you with that serious look. “It, uhm, it's stuck.” Could this day get any worse? God fuck, this was mortifying.

“Stuck? What's stuck, Y/N?”

“M-My toy.”

“Toy?”

Not wanting to get into the details of your activities, you sighed, slowly pulling the blanket off. Laying on the bed beside you was a bottle of lube, and as you spread your legs, Nanami hissed at the sight. A toy, one he had never seen before, was lodged inside of you. It was thick; it made your poor pussy throbbed and twitched around it. Your wet slick glistened around it.

Nanami sighed, looking away from you, trying to keep some composure. Fuck you looked so hot, but a twinge of insecurity hit him in the chest. Nanami loved using your toys on you. He didn’t see them as competition; they were more like allies. He’d do anything, use anything to make you feel good. You both were very good at communicating your needs and wants with each other. If you were horny, all you needed to do was ask him.

Even if you wanted to masturbate, he had no issue with that at all! He encouraged it. Nanami Kento was not one of those men who saw you pleasuring yourself as a hit to his ego. He bought you a lot of the toys you shared. Kento wanted you to be satisfied and happy. That’s all his heart desired.

But something about this stung. It wasn’t because he was hurt that you didn't ask for help. You were not required to tell him if you were horny or needed help. Nor was it the fact that you were getting off on your own. What it was was the fact you were in pain. You had hurt yourself. That’s what stung me the most.

“Kento?” The stoic look on his face said everything without the use of words. “Baby, look, I just, I—!”

Kento said nothing as he stood up, walking to the dresser. He shrugged out of his suit jacket; his suspenders stretched as he took his watch off before rolling the sleeves of his blue dress shirt up to his elbows. Nanami, not saying anything was more stressful than him yelling at you. The room was too tense; it was thick and suffocating as Nanami turned around, getting on the bed.

His hands slowly slid up your thighs, spreading them apart. “Let’s get this out of you.” He nearly whispered before glancing into your Y/E/C eyes. “Ready?” You nodded, giving him the approval to proceed. His hands gently grabbed the base of the toy, tugging it.

“O-Ow.” You winced, watching him closely.

Nanami clenched his jaw at your pained whine. “Did you not use enough lube?” Gently, he twisted the toy before pushing it back into you.

“Ah~!” A loud moan escaped you, hands covering your eyes. “N-No, I d-don’t fuck, ah fuck, c-could you maybe not push it back in?”

A blonde eyebrow cocked at your request. “Do you want this stuck inside forever?”

“No. I’m sorry; I’ll shut up. Fuck this is embarrassing.”

“Mm.” Nanami sat up on his knees, looking over you. “Keep your legs open.” You pouted, doing as he said, while he twisted the toy inside of you, watching your reactions closely. You withered under him, pleasure starting to replace the pain. “You should have known better, or you could have warmed yourself up a little more.” He chastised, twisting and pulling at the snug toy again.

Your hands gripped the sheets, fisting the fabric. “N-Nanami, please don’t scold me.” You whimpered, cheeks flushing under his gaze. “J-Just ah, fuck, take it out.” From the mixture of embarrassment and lust, your voice had a tone; one Nanami didn’t care for.

He clenched his jaw tight. “It’s not coming out because you pushed it too far in! So now I have to work it out!”

You whined louder; this was not the way you thought this would play out. You bought this toy for both of you. “Oh my god! Just fuckin yank it out! This is so fucking embarrassing! I wanna die right now.” You laid your elbow over your eye, hiding your teary gaze from him.

“I’m your boyfriend. Why is this embarrassing?!” It wasn’t often that Nanami snapped at you, but your attitude was getting under his skin.

“Because!! I ruined the surprise!!” You removed your arm, showing him your teary gaze. Nanami’s eyes went wide. “T-This is the custom toy we made. It was delivered this morning, and I freaked seeing how big it was. I wanted to see if it would fit because I didn’t want to ruin tonight. But I ended up ruining it anyway.”

Honey-brown eyes darted towards the toy. Kenton wasn’t able to tell from the base. But upon further inspection, he recognized the custom marble coloring of blue and yellow the two of you picked out when you designed it. The one that he had all added ridges and bumps, especially for your pleasure. You were doing a test drive for him. All for him.

“Y/N, love,” he smiled softly, “you didn’t need to do this. You wouldn’t have messed anything up. We could have taken it slow. Just because it got here didn’t mean I would want to use it. I would've helped ease you into it. Besides, you didn’t ruin anything.”

You were wiping at blubbering tears, only managing to smile and nod in agreement. It was so relieving to know you didn’t ruin the experience. Things would be perfect if this toy weren’t stuck inside of your pussy.

Nanami leaned down, pressing his lips against yours, kissing you deeply. “Mm Y/N~” Feeling his lips against you had you moaning as you kissed him back. Nanami pulled back, his cock throbbing in his pants. “Alright, let’s get this toy out of you. But I need you to put in some effort.” You hummed, nodding eagerly.

“Okay, how can I help?”

“Be good,” Nanami commanded before fucking the toy into you.

You threw your head back, turning it from side to side as the custom ridges and bumps hit your g-spot perfectly, just how Nanami had designed it. Your toes curled, thighs shaking as you gasped out cries of pleasure. Nanami smirked, listening to the squelching sounds of your pussy.

“Fuck, you like that? Your pretty cunt sounds like she loves it~.”

“Ah, fuck, yes!! Nnngh!” You gripped your pillow, staring at him through your lashes. “B-But I want you more~! Please, I want to feel you.”

“Yeah, you do?” His voice was full of faux curiosity. “But Y/N, you were bad.” His eyes were dark as he twisted the toy he fucked in in and out of you. “You got yourself into a situation, didn’t you? One that you had to call me to come fix.”

Your eyes were wide, pupils dilated, fixed on him. Fucking hell, he looked so fucking hot. Eyes dark, eyes focused on the toy he customized for you. You needed him inside of you. You needed him to be the one rearranging your guts. Slowly, you slid your foot over, rubbing your foot over the hard bulge straining in his dress pants. The contact had him hunching over, jaw-dropping as he groaned.

“Please, Ken~ I need you. I need you so bad.”

He was breathing heavily, glaring down at you. “Fine.” He yanked the toy out, chuckling at the gasp you let out as the giant toy popped out of your cunt. “Do you need me?” His hands quickly moved, undoing his belt before tugging them down as he slotted between your thighs.

“Yes Kento, I need yo—oooh!!!” Nanami’s cock slammed into you before you finished your plea.

“You feel so fucking good.” Kento tilted his head back, hips slamming into you at a pace that had you seeing stars. The veins in his neck popped out as he gritted his teeth. “Holy fuck, your cunt is so wet! You were feeling it, weren't you?”

You weren’t going to last. You were already so close. Nanami wasn’t doing any better himself. His cock throbbed deep inside of you as he set a brutal pace. Slamming in and out, fucking you as deep as he could. The tip of his cock slammed against your cervix. It was a painful pleasure that had your mouth dropping in an ‘O’ shape. God, you might die. This was too good.

Nanami grabbed your face, jerking your head to look at him. “You look at me when you cum, you fucking hear me?” His mouth was on yours, tongue sliding against yours, capturing every whine and moan you made as his cock slammed into every sweet spot.

As much as you wanted to close your eyes, you obeyed Nanami’s instructions. Y/E/C on his as you screamed into his mouth. You came, squirting, whining, and crying. Nanami pulled back, face flushed as he growled like a fucking incubus. Feeding off of you, your orgasm, every part of you. Feeling you cum, seeing that fucked out expression plastered across your flushed face. It had Nanami cumming so hard. His balls clenched as he emptied his seed inside of you, painting your walls.

“Fuuuck, Y/N, fuuuck.” His hips slowed, his hands gently massaging your hips as he laid down with you. His arms wrapped around you, spooning you close. “I love you, god, you’re perfect.”

Breathing heavily, you giggled, relaxing in his arms. “I-I love you too.” You lazily smiled as you ran your fingers over his forearms, tracing shapes. “Thanks for saving me, Kento.”

His chest vibrated with a rich chuckle, lips grazing your neck. “Anything for you my love.” His lips pressed against your cheek, and you knew he meant every word.

2K notes · View notes

dilemmaontwolegs · 16 hours

Text

Angel || LN4

Summary: Kingsday gets a little wild, in honour of Lando’s nose. Warnings: alcohol, injuries, blood WC: 1.7k

Lando wasn’t drunk, but he was by no means sober either. Everyone had warned him the Kingsday event was a marathon not a sprint so he was taking it slow, sipping his rum and coke out of the orange paper cup while the river boat cruised its course.

By midafternoon it was another story completely.

Martin had taken a break and let a playlist continue the party without him on the deck while he went in search of Lando. The British driver had reached the point of being tipsy and fallen into a state of drunkenness where he could no longer block out his intrusive thoughts. Everywhere he looked couples were dancing or making out and he couldn’t help the despair of loneliness that separated him from the fun.

Leaning back on the cushions that covered the bow, Lando looked up to the bright blue sky and wondered why he couldn’t find someone that loved him with the same passion he had. He was always the one to fall harder and knew it was why things didn’t work out long-term.

The half empty cup was stolen from his hand and Lando lolled his head to see Martin drinking it dry. “No more for you, my friend. Smile! It’s Kingsday: the sun is out and the music is loud.”

“Sorry,” Lando sighed, not quite able to muster up a real smile.

“What’s wrong?” Martin dropped onto a cushion beside him and nudged his shoulder until Lando spilled the thoughts he was harbouring.

—

“These heels are killing me,” you complained as they wobbled on the cobblestone. “Can we stop for a minute?”

There were groans from some of the guys in the group but their girlfriends silenced them. You smiled gratefully at your friends but knew they were in just as much pain after hours of drinking in the city for Kingsday. The thought of walking any further to the house party someone had invited everyone to nearly had you calling for a taxi, despite the chances of getting one next to nothing.

“Lennon said there will be tons of single guys at the party. In that dress you will totally pull a 10,” Sarah said as she leaned back against the bridge rail and rolled each ankle to ease the ache.

You laughed at the statement and mirrored her position, careful not to drop the glass you had accidentally stolen from the last bar. “Getting laid isn’t the problem, it’s getting the guy to stick around afterwards.”

“Relationships are overrated,” she said, blowing a kiss to Lennon when he looked her way and raised a brow. “Not ours, baby.”

You sighed longingly as they shared a smile. “I want what you guys have.”

“Well then you better hurry up because the love of your life might just be waiting for you. Wouldn’t want to miss that, would you?”

You rolled your eyes but decided that you would continue the walk barefoot and put your heels back on when you got to the house. Leaning against the rail, you balanced on one foot and reached for your heel just as a drunkard went flying past on his e-bike.

“Ah, shit!” you screamed as you lost your balance, toppling back over the rail and straight towards the murky water below.

—

Martin yawned as he listened to Lando’s long winded explanation for why he was alone and all his friends were in relationships.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I was putting you to sleep,” he sassed.

“Well if you want some advice, from someone in a relationship, you’re not helping yourself moping around. For starters, you need to get up,” Martin encouraged as he rose to his feet and offered his friend a hand before the sunlight disappeared, the boat passing under one of the many bridges. “Love isn’t going to just fall into your lap-”

A scream pierced the air before a flurry of orange material crashed onto Lando, both their eyes squinting to readjust to the bright sunlight out of the tunnel.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you realised you were still alive and you looked around to see what had broken your fall. “Holy shit, I am so sorry!”

A stunned man sat beneath you and you reached for his face as you noticed the blood running down his nose. “Oh my god, did I do that? Are you alright? Shit, you probably don’t speak English.”

“He speaks English. It’s getting him to shut up that’s the problem,” a man standing above you said with a laugh. “Lando, mate, snap out of it.”

You started to climb off his lap but his arms tightened around you and he shook his head with a wince. “Don’t move, you might have broken something.”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” you apologised again.

“Not me, you muppet,” he laughed. “You might have broken something.”

You patted yourself down, straightening your dress back into place at the same time, but everything felt fine. You tested your wrists and ankles too, only to notice you had indeed broken things.

“What’s the damage?” Lando asked.

“Ego mostly,” you admitted sheepishly. “I think I broke my heel on your face.”

“Pretty sure that was your glass,” he said looking at what remained in your hand, the sting of the cut on your palm finally appearing when you noticed the blood on the broken glass. “How bad is it? Am I hideous?”

“You are still a 10,” you giggled after noticing he was devastatingly handsome, even with the cut across his nose. Grabbing the hem of your dress, you gently dabbed the blood away before realising that it was a stupid idea. “You don’t have any diseases, do you?”

“Rabies,” his friend joked.

“Speak for yourself, mate,” Lando shot back and while they bickered jokingly you heard your name called from the river bank. “Is that your boyfriend?”

“Are you alive?” Lennon shouted as he ran along with the boat.

“Nope, I’ve died and gone to heaven!”

“I’ll let Sarah know!” He grew smaller as he stopped running and the boat continued downstream to some unknown destination.

“That’s my best friend’s boyfriend,” you explained as you patted your bra but found your phone missing. “Can I borrow your phone? I think mine drowned.”

Lando carefully shifted you so he could get to his pocket before settling you back on his lap. The grateful smile you gave him almost made him drop the device and he had to enter his passcode in twice before he got it right.

“Where is this boat heading to?” you asked as the dial tone connected. “Hey, it’s me, calm down, I’m alive.”

“Good, I’ll kill you myself! You gave me a fucking heart attack, woman!” You had to hold the phone away from your ear as she shouted her concern.

“I didn’t do it on purpose, but I’m sorry for giving you a heart attack.”

“As you should be! Len said you landed on some guy. Is he hot?”

Your face heated and you knew he had heard the question with the curious look on his face. “Mhmm, very.”

“You should invite him to the party and do a little sexy dance for him!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I kind of…broke his face.”

The silence was damning before you swore you heard her laugh from all the way upstream. “Only you could have the worst luck with men.”

“Trust me, I know all too well. Anyway, they are stopping at the Rose Bridge so I’ll just meet you guys there. Guess my luck isn’t all that bad.”

You ended the call and handed the phone back.

“What party are you going to?” Lando asked as he pocketed it again.

“I don’t know, it’s some house party. There’s a local DJ playing.”

Lando’s smile grew and he pointed to his friend. “Local DJ, ha!”

As it turned out the house party wasn’t actually a party at someone’s house and the DJ wasn’t just locally renowned. Once you were finally introduced to Lando’s friend you found out he was the DJ, Martin Garrix, and Lando was even more famous.

“I can’t afford a lawsuit,” you groaned when you realised you had practically assaulted a celebrity.

“It’s just a scratch,” Lando assured you after Martin found a first aid kick. His poor attempt at wrapping a bandage made Lando look like a mummy so you took the box yourself and found a couple of small butterfly stitches. “Nothing a kiss wouldn’t fix.”

You giggled at his flirty nature you had come to adore in the last hour and if you hadn’t drunk so much liquid courage at the bar you probably wouldn't have been able to lean closer and kiss his cheek. His skin was warm and soft beneath your lips and when you opened your eyes you found his blue eyes staring intently back. “Better?”

He shook his head. “Nope, I think it needs another try.”

“Hmmm, good idea.” You kissed his other cheek and grinned when he pouted. “No? One last try.”

Your fingers delighted in the feel of his soft hair as you combed the curls and dipped your head to his. Your heart rate spiked and you closed your eyes as you kissed his pillow-soft lips teasingly slowly before his hands cupped your face and he deepened the kiss.

You broke away with a small gasp and your eyes were wide with the want for more. It was a look reflected on Lando’s face as he gently stroked your heated cheeks.

“Hey, lovebirds! We’re here,” Martin called as the boat reached the canal edge.

You kicked off your broken heels and Lando frowned before he gave you his, looping his fingers into the straps of your shoes to carry them. You were already wearing his shirt since your dress had his blood on it and you were certain you looked at absolute mess.

“Ready to party, Angel?”

“Angel?”

“What else would I call a beautiful woman who fell from the heavens?” Lando wondered if he was making a mistake and moving to fast like he always did but it was too late, the question was already out there.

“You could call me your girlfriend.” You cringed in an instant. “I mean not tonight, that would be way too quick but-”

Lando cut you off with a kiss and you felt his smile against your lips before he asked, “How about tomorrow?”

#Spotify #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x reader

895 notes · View notes

familyvideostevie · 5 months

Text

steel drum weight of me

joel miller x fem!reader, 18+ mdni

summary: joel comes back from his wall shift with hands in need of some serious tlc. but why stop there? | 3.2k

warnings: fem!reader, fluff turned to smut, a tender blowjob, p in v sex, unprotected sex, riding, creampie

a/n: this could be in the same universe as come care about me and watching you with wonder but who knows. what matters is it's a post-part i jackson au and all is well. this is my first fic in a while and i hammered it out today so hopefully it's coherent. <3 series masterlist here.

Jackson looks its best in the winter.

You've always thought so with its endless skies gone white, blending in with the grey clouds carrying the constant threat of snow. The peaks you never tire of, such ethereal beauty in a world otherwise gone to shit, looming over town with a steadfastness that you can fool yourself into thinking means protection, means safety. In reality, they're just something nice to look at when you have a free moment.

It's also fucking cold.

But you can deal with that. You've spent more winters in the last twenty years than you'd like to remember mostly outside, freezing your ass off, fingers so numb you could barely pull the trigger. But when it counted, you did.

Winter now means a town full of children laughing and having snowball fights. It means big pots of stew and your pick of hats, scarves, and a good pair of boots. It means a warm house to go back to every night, a bed to crawl into, and a man you love to hold you.

Things could be worse.

You're home first today. Joel and Ellie are on the wall and have been since mid-morning. The light is already going, the sun dipping behind the Tetons, sky that winter mix of purple and pink that makes the breath catch in your throat no matter how many times you see it. There's a flu going around and taking people out for a few days at most but it means fewer bodies free for the wall and for patrol. You're pulling a double tomorrow and you're already looking forward to the hot bath you'll take after.

Today, though, you change from your work clothes to something softer, a sweater that travels between your drawer and Joel's, thick socks Dina gave you for your birthday last year. It's hard to heat houses like yours the way you used to but it works well enough to fight the chill so long as you layer. That's the name of the game these days: adapting.

You set the kettle to boil and forgo thinking about dinner for a few hours. Joel won't drink tea with you but if Ellie stops by she'll have some. Maybe you can convince her to watch the movie you pulled from the library this week. You love him, but Joel just doesn't appreciate comedies.

The front door creaks, the bell you have hanging from the doorknob jingling.

"S'me," Joel calls into the house. "You home?"

"Making tea." The kettle isn't steaming yet so you lean against the counter and wait.

The sounds of his return are familiar even though you can't see him. He locks the door with a click, shrugs his jacket off with a sigh. He sits down on the bench you put in the entryway so he can take his boots off. The thunk of one and then the other. He'll tuck them next to yours under the coat rack. When the weather is bad you try to come in the back door so not as to track snow through the house but you don't want his back to get any worse so a bench in front makes sense.

The kettle screams. You pull it off quick and pour the water into your mug -- a chipped green one with a dinosaur holding a cookie that you find endlessly amusing -- and leave it to steep. The floor creaks under your socked feet as you make your way into the hall. Joel still sits on the bench digging into the meat of one palm with his thumb like he's working the feeling back into them.

He looks up and his jaw softens a little. His cheeks are rosy from the cold and his hair a mess from the wind. "Evenin," he says.

"How was the wall?"

"Fine." He stops messing with his hands and rolls his shoulders back with a grunt. "Ellie swears she saw a moose on her last patrol. Said to tell you. I think she's fuckin' with me. How was your shift?"

"Fine," you echo. "Is she coming for dinner?"

He shakes his head. "Game night at Jesse's."

You cross the remaining distance between you and he parts his legs automatically so you can stand between his knees. You run a hand through his hair, pushing the greying fringe back from his eyes. He looks up at you and finally smiles, just a little. You drag your hand down the side of his face and enjoy the feel of his beard on your skin.

"Maybe she did see a moose." He rolls his eyes and brings a hand up to cover yours. You lean down to kiss him but something catches your eye and you pull back, tugging your hand from beneath his to circle his wrist.

"Jesus, Joel." He makes a surprised sound.

"Hey now, what --"

You pull his other hand from his knee and hold them both close to your face, turning them over in the light of the entryway. "You didn't wear gloves, did you?"

He just shrugs. That means someone else on the wall -- probably Ellie -- forgot theirs and he handed his own over.

The skin of his knuckles is dry and cracked, the rest of his palm dry and cold to the touch. You've seen them bloody, broken and bruised, and compared to that, this is tame. Welcome, almost. But you know he won't do a damn thing about it, let himself bleed rather than take a second to make things better.

And you've never minded this part. Taking care of him, making him slow down and rest for even just a little bit. You both know you'd get your hands dirty or worse for him and he for you, but this is the part he has trouble with. So you take the reigns.

It's part of how you fit together -- part of how you look after each other.

"We've got something for this." Joel looks unamused. You press a light kiss to one of his knuckles and his nostrils flare. "Go sit on the couch," you say.

"I'm fine --"

"Joel, they'll bleed if you don't let me --"

"I said I'm --"

"Hey," you say. He hears the finality of your tone and lets you have it, sighing your name in one long breath.

"Alright," he says. "Move, then."

You press a quick kiss to his lips and release his hands to step back. He stands with his usual grunt and you have to stop yourself from leaning into the width of him, from wrapping your arms around him and slotting your nose in his neck and never letting go.

"It's that salve Dina brought over last week," you tell him. "The new one for the winter. Smells nice. Good for this kind of stuff."

Joel makes his way to the couch and you fetch the tin from the kitchen.

"What's it made of?"

"Uh -- oil? And some flowers, I think? Wax, maybe."

He's settled into the cushions when you return, smirking. "It's okay to say you don't fuckin' know."

You sit next to him and unscrew the top, folding your legs so you're facing him. "Well then, I don't fuckin' know." You're sure to imitate his drawl.

"Cute."

"Gimme those hands, big guy."

The salve smells faintly of lavender and it's cold on your fingertips. Joel extends his right hand and you work it into his skin slowly, extra careful around where it's cracked and split. You feel his eyes on you but you let him look.

"Feels good, huh?" He hums. "If you'd wear your gloves then --"

"What was I gonna do, let her freeze?" So it was Ellie, then. You flick your gaze up and find his brow furrowed. If you have a free hand you'd smooth the crease with your thumb.

"No," you say. "Guess it's a damn good thing you have me here, then."

He chuckles, a throaty, rusty sound. "Guess so."

You finish the first hand and motion for his second. He gives it to you and you dig your thumbs into the meat of his palm. Joel lets you touch him whenever you like, for the most part. Pressing into his side when you walk down the street in town, trailing your lips down his neck until he whines just a little in your bedroom. You've worked knots out of his shoulders and cleaned blood from surface wounds. You can never get enough of him, of his warmth, the expanse of his tanned skin all yours for the taking.

And, boy, he touches you back.

So you take your time. You rub the salve between his fingers, over the ridges of knuckles split so many times you don't even know about. His hands are rough even when they're not dry and cracking, callused from years of hard work. From years of violence and playing guitar, shooting a gun and holding the people he loves. Dotted with scars and nicks, hands that have touched every part of you.

Joel's slightly slimy finger taps your chin. "You okay?" You've been stroking the same bit of his hand for who knows how long.

"Yeah," you say and mean it. You rub your own hands together to soak in some of the salve before putting the lid back on the tin and standing. "Need to let it soak in."

"Feels soaked in already," he grumbles.

"Stay there." He purses his lips. "I mean it, Joel."

"Bossy today," he says. "There's wood that needs choppin'." You ignore him since he's just being annoying. The salve goes back in the kitchen and his voice trails after you. "And I told Tommy I'd --"

You turn on the tap. "You gotta let that soak in," you say again from the sink.

"What? Can't hear over the water."

You turn off the tap and dry your hands. Joel is still on the couch when you return. "Sorry," you say. You run your hand through his hair again and settle back down next to him. "I said be patient."

"Don't think that's what you said."

"It's what I meant."

And he looks at you in that way that always makes your face feel hot. Like he's seeing right to the bone of you, like he's laying you bare on the floor in his mind. Like he never wants to stop looking at you, next to him on the couch, leg pressed to yours. Like he loves you.

"Alright," he says.

You get an idea, the flames licking at your belly and your hands itching to touch him again, to touch him differently than before. That idea has you grabbing a pillow and tossing it to the floor, has you getting up and drawing the curtains before you sink to your knees before him.

Joel only looks mildly surprised, eyebrows raised, mouth tugging up at the corner. "Now, I ain't gonna complain but --"

"Then don't," you say. You tug his shirt from his waistband and start working on his belt. "Gotta pass the time somehow. And I don't know what we're doing for dinner yet, so maybe I'm just stalling."

"Hell of a way to stall." He reaches for you to touch your face, maybe, or help you with his belt, when you click your tongue. "We can just go to the community hall--"

"Don't touch," you remind him. "You have to let it--"

"Soak, Jesus, yeah, yeah." Joel tips his head back along the sofa and takes one deep breath. If he really wanted to he could ignore you and you'd let him get away with it, but if there's one thing you and Joel have solidified, it's trust. He trusts you to take care of him, to handle him with hands that love him.

So you do. He lifts his hips just a little so you can tug his jeans down, zipper undone and button popped. You pull out his cock, already half-hard at the promise of what's to come. You spit into your palm and stroke him once root to tip and he hisses. More blood flows and he stiffens in your hand.

"You just gonna look at it?"

You give him a squeeze for being a shit. He laughs but it sounds punched out, on the edge. Frankly it's an effort not to take him in your mouth right away. You've always loved this -- the exchange of power, the trust. You're the one on your knees but you're calling the shots. And he's mouthwatering. The way his cock curves a little, the vein that runs along the underside. The mushroom head a little pinker than the rest, the wiry hair at his base. The hefty weight of his balls in your hand, on your tongue. You know how to make it good for him and it's good for you, too.

Joel opens his mouth to no doubt say something else annoying so you finally drag your tongue along the vein, swirling a little at the top before taking just the tip of him in your mouth. His precome is salty. You work your hand along the rest of him as you start to suck in earnest, hollowing your cheeks and taking a little more each time.

"Look so pretty, baby," Joel says. His voice is gravely, broken in his throat. You manage to take almost all of him and you swallow, just once. Your reward is your name spilling from his mouth in a groan.

It's messy. Spit beads at the corner of your mouth and drips a little as you work him, breathing through your nose when you take him all the way. So good, takin' all of me, keep goin'.

Joel has clearly forgotten your directive as he winds one hand in your hair and pulls just a little, just enough to make you moan around him. You don't scold him for it, instead keeping your eyes on his face. His head is tipped back just a little, lips parted at he gazes down at you. His other arm is stretched along the length of the couch, his fingers digging into the fabric as you bob on his cock.

You know he's close. You can feel how he's trying hard to keep his hips down, trying not to fuck your throat cause usually he asks first. So it's only a little surprising when he pulls you off him, eyes a little glazed and some color high on his cheeks.

He wipes spit from the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb. "Why don't you c'mere?" he says. "Let me fill you up."

"Joel." This was supposed to be about making him feel good. You know even if he comes in your mouth he'll ask you let him touch you, so frankly you don't mind if he fucks you or not.

He smirks, presses his fingers into the side of your neck a little. You swallow so he can feel it. "We both know you can take it," he drawls, eyes dark. "Always gets you goin', my cock in your mouth."

You can feel the heat between your legs, the arousal pooling in your gut. He's right but he's also an asshole. "You're annoying," you tell him.

"So is that a no?"

You drag the flat of your tongue up his shaft one last time as punishment before standing, using his knees as leverage to get off your own. He shucks off his jeans the rest of the way as you drag down your pants, letting them pool with your underwear at your feet before stepping out. Joel holds out a hand for you to balance on and you take it, putting your other on his shoulder.

"Feels softer already," you mutter. Joel snickers and you straddle him. He uses one hand to drag his fingers through your cunt and you fail to swallow a gasp.

"Well, look at that," he says. "I was right." He pushes two fingers into you and they go easily, your hips jerking as he pumps them in and out once, twice, and then you're empty again.

"Smug bastard," you manage. He brings his hand to his mouth and takes a long lick before surging forward to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you even wetter.

Joel licks into your mouth and you kiss him back sloppily, desperately, in the way you know he likes. You're so busy with that hands on his face, his beard scratching your skin deliciously, that you don't notice what else he's doing. His hand presses into the bare skin of your back under your shirt and you lift up a little on instinct and then --

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance and his hand presses again and you meet the movement of his hips with your own and he fills you with just one stroke.

You moan in unison, Joel's arm wrapping around your back as you curl yours around his neck, mouths not so much pressed together as hovering as you pant, as you adjust. Even with how wet you are Joel is a stretch, a welcome one, but a stretch regardless. You shift your hips, roll them back and forth a little.

"Go on, then," you tell him. "Fuck me."

He laughs.

His lips leave yours and trail down your chin, sucking spots onto your neck and on that spot that makes you keen as he does what you ask. He goes slow at first, letting you meet him thrust for thrust. One hand snakes up your shirt, thumbs at your nipple when he finds no bra in the way. You wing your fingers in his hair and tug, tug until he picks up the pace, until all you can hear is the smack of his flesh against yours.

"Joel -- Joel -- right there --"

"M'not gonna -- I -- fuck --"

"Said you were gonna fill me up, didn't you?" you pant, managing to find a bit of cheek in the haze of your fucking. "C'mon, Miller. Don't keep a lady wait--"

His hips pick up the pace, his hands pressing into you hard enough to bruise. You give up trying to tease him and hang on for dear life, managing to snake a hand between your legs to rub at your clit as he pounds into you. The only thing you can say is his name over and over as you feel the hook pull taught, feel the head of his cock brush against and then pound that spot that makes your vision blur.

Joel comes just before you do, his thrusts stuttering and his name on your lips. You feel it, the heat inside you and it's enough to send you over the edge, your cunt squeezing him as he empties inside you.

You press your forehead to his and catch your breath. He palms your neck, your jaw, slides his thumb lazily under your eye and kisses the corner of your mouth.

"Hell of a salve," he manages.

You slot your lips over his. "Wear your damn gloves." Joel laughs and it shifts him inside you. Even softening it makes you both hiss a little. "Just gimme a second."

His hand drags up and down your back, pressing into your spine. "Take your time," he says. "M'clearly not goin' anywhere."

"You never stop, do you?"

Joel kisses you again. "'fraid not."

You laugh into his neck. "Good."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

verstappen-cult · 4 months

Text

THE BOYS TAKING CARE OF YOU WHEN YOU’RE SICK | F1 GRID

★ — LANDO NORRIS (4)

after you text lando that you won’t be able to make it to your date because you’re in bed with a cold, lando doesn’t hesitate to go see you, even after you’ve warned him not to. “i don’t care if i get ill.” he has said through the phone. he feels awful seeing you so sick, and makes it his life mission to take care of you. once he’s sure you’re warm in bed, lando rushes to the kitchen to make you some tea. and stays all night taking care of you, barely sleeping just to make sure you have a good rest. the next day you feel a lot better but lando still doesn’t let you get out of bed or do anything, spoiling you and doing everything by himself because, “it’s the least i can do.” and, of course, he ends up catching a cold too.

★ — CHARLES LECLERC (16)

chales knows something is wrong when you don’t get out of bed in the morning and begins to worry when he returns home a few hours later and you are curled up on the couch with a blanket all the way up to your head. he sits next to you, wrapping his arms around you, making you rest your head on his chest. “how do you feel? what can i do for you?” but you can only groan in frustration, feeling absolutely hammered. charles gives you a kiss on the forehead before disappearing to the kitchen. he can’t cook, but makes his best effort to make you some soup, searching on the internet and even calling his mom for some advice, and then feeding you, not letting you do anything by yourself.

★ — OSCAR PIASTRI (81)

oscar does everything he can to make you feel good and comfortable. he sits in a chair next to your bed and reads your favorite book aloud and holding your hand all the time because he knows you get clingy when you’re sick. he also sets an alarm so you don’t forget to take your medicine, whispering “there you go, my sweet girl. you’re doing so good.” while giving you water and stroking your hair with his free hand. oscar doesn’t leave your side until you are fast asleep, and even when you’re apart he tries to be as present as he can.

★ — MAX VERSTAPPEN (33/1)

max goes crazy, it’s hurts him seeing you like that. he calls every doctor in monaco to get them to see you and buys everything they tell him you need. he can’t get sick, so max keeps his distance “i just want to get under the covers and hug you until you feel better.” he complains, hands itching to touch you but you won’t let him. when he sees that your favorite water is running out and there aren’t anymore tissues, he makes a quick trip to do the shopping and ends up buying a lot more things than necessary. he doesn’t leave without a huge bouquet of your favorite flowers that then places in your nightstand when you’re sleeping.

★ — ALEX ALBON (23)

alex finds out you are sick only thanks to your mom who tells him, and he immediately shows up at your door. he’s angry, a well-prepared speech on the tip of his tongue, but once he sees how bad you’re feeling, alex forgets all about his anger. he guides you with a hand on your shoulder back to your bedroom and stays with you all day even if he doesn’t know what to do. alex panics when you run to the bathroom to throw up, but follows you and strokes your hair through it, words of affection leaving his mouth. “what you want to do? it will make you feel better.” so you two end up cuddling in bed after doing your skincare, watching your favorite movie.

★ — DANIEL RICCIARDO (3)

daniel doesn’t let anyone come near you or disturb you because “she needs to rest and if i see anyone bothering her you’re out of the house.” he takes care of you but he also lets you know how upset he is that you are sick, listing all of the times he told you to be careful and take care of yourself. daniel constantly checks your temperature to ensure you are okay, leaving kisses all over your face and making you giggle because that’s the only way to tell, according to him. to help you sleep he brings out his guitar and signs you a lullaby until you stop cringing and, eventually, fall asleep.

★ — MICK SCHUMACHER (47)

mick treats you as if you’re made out of glass and are going to break at any moment. he’s more scared than worried and you have to assure him that you are going to be okay, that it’s just a simple cold. he hugs you like you’re going to disappear whispering “i wish i was the one sick and not you.” which makes you feel so loved. he stays glued to your side until you are no longer sick, and even then he stills checks with you that everything is okay.

#꒰꒰ 📁 ─ verstappen cult files ꒱꒱#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #f1 grid x reader #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc fluff #alex albon x reader #charles leclerc imagine #mick schumacher x reader #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #max verstappen fluff #oscar piastri fanfic #f1 imagine #lando norris fluff

1K notes · View notes

ghostbsuter · 6 months

Text

Water drips down in the corner, the steady dop drop drop— does wonders for the bat.

Batman has been taken, tied up, and undressed of his utility belt. It takes him a second to figure out who took him, by the large but empty and run down warehouse, the sound of the shore not far away.

The docks. He shuffles, bound and comm off.

Then, the steel enforced door slams open and Joker enters.

"Batsy!" He calls, overjoyed. The man walks to the bound vigilante and crouches to his height.

"It's been so long, hasn't it been?"

The vigilante grunts. "Joker."

"Today will be different." He goes on, "today, we have," the crime Prince drums his fingers on Batman's thigh. "A guest!"

He freezes at that, Joker has a civilian.

(Oracle sends out the message, her voice firm, and the coords are shared to the rest of the clan in seconds as she looks at her monitor. Batman's red dot at the harbour bright.)

"I'm a guest now?" The voice of a child asks, it brings slight confusion that the boy wasn't tied nor harmed in any way.

It's relief that he seems okay, but the danger of standing next to the Joker has Batman wiggling in his restrains.

"Is that a promotion or demotion for son?"

A brief look of annoyance enters Joker before being smoothed out, the boy is dealing with a delicate time bomb. Uncomfortably close to the madman.

(He hurries in the process of breaking free.)

"My son! My blood!" Sings the clown, throwing his hands around the boy's shoulders and prancing around.

Which brings another question.

Son?

Cool lighting hits the boy's head and the tuffs of pink, blue and green become more obvious, hidden beneath black hair previously.

Joker and Harley have a child. A son.

He will visit harley later. The boy comes first.

"Dante! Danyal! Daniel?" Joker croons, shaking the boy. "What was it again?" He stops, turning his son toward him with a grin.

(Robin drops down behind him, hiding, katana ready to be swung.)

"Danny, actually," the child— Danny– shrugs off the hands and steps back. Unflinching from the judging stare, simply waving off the hands creeping to his throat.

"Danny," the name is tested, and the Prince of Crime hums to himself. "We can always replace it as Joker Jr! It fits you better than Danny."

(Red Robin and Spoiler get on position above them, ready to pounce from the construction pillars.)

"Yeah, I don't know about that." He chuckles nervous, catching Batman's eyes and—

His eyes alone scream of fear, scared– scared—!!

"We will get you an acid flower, a new suit as well, the hoodie looks horrible on you." The man notes, humming.

"I prefer hammers." Danny replies with tense shoulders.

Joker clicks his tongue, "You always went after your mother." he hisses, outright glaring at his son now. His hand tightened around the crowbar he'd gathered not long ago.

"I mean," he hesitates, eye trailing off the Joker and over his shoulder. "I did come out of her."

The sound of a loaded gun shatters the silence, and Joker is pulling Danny, switching their positions and pushing him right in front of the gun in Red Hood's hand.

"Always a coward, hiding behind others, aren't you." Danny stops himself from squealing. That's the Red Hood!

(Escrima sticks light up with electricity as Red Hood speaks.)

Joker is ticked off, party ruined and surrounded now that he looks around.

Oh well, he can get his son on his villain path another day.

Cackling, he evades the escrimas, dodging the wonder boy and evading the twin attacks from above.

He pulls out a trigger and presses the bright red Button.

"Have fun bats and birds!"

The warehouse is completely flooded with fear gas, scarecrow wouldn't be mad he sacrificed one of his warehouses, will he?

It's all blurry. In one moment, his view is shrouded, and he's coughing. In another, he gets picked up and brought outside, the Joker gone.

An oxygen mask is placed on him by a paramedic, being handed off to an ambulance that had been called.

Peeking around, he sees Red Hood (!) still lingering around. Danny catches his eye and with a wave, the man is walking towards him.

He simply crosses his arms and tilts his head, waiting.

"Could I get a picture?" Danny blurts out, flushing after and coughing, holding the oxygen mask in his lap.

Red Hood makes a show of his shoulder sagging before crouching down and leaning toward him.

Later, Danny will look at the picture with a boyish grin, crooked and charming.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

A continuation

2K notes · View notes

pseudowho · 6 months

Text

Kento Comes Home Drunk

(help me find the Nanami artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

The reader manages her drunk, horny fiancé, Nanami Kento, like an absolute champ.

Link to the sequel here: Reader Comes Home Drunk

WARNINGS: 18+, soapy handjobs (F to M), mutual masturbation, cumshots, ethics of consent, Kento being a sloppy drunk

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Hope he's having a good time, you mused to yourself, nursing a late cup of tea. The clock ticked well past midnight; you were the overnight on-call for Curse-related shenanigans, so whilst you had wanted to join Satoru, Shoko, Ino, Ijichi and Kento for drinks, you had, instead, waved Kento off, and settled in for a night with your phone on loud, and late-night game shows.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Hate to see you leave," you'd sighed at 6pm, bobbing upwards for a kiss. He had traded his work attire for a buttoned black shirt, and simple dark jeans. Effortlessly handsome. You buried your face in his chest, breathing his cologne, and gave him a playful shove on the chest, like trying to push a truck.

He stepped backwards, with a lopsided smile and his hand reached out to pinch your chin affectionately.

"But love to watch me go?" You winked at him. You were wearing his favourite outfit; your oldest pyjamas. He found something so sexy about you being comfy. You preened at him, cradling your first tea of the night.

"You know it." He chuckled, but became serious immediately after.

"Call me if you're called out overnight. I want to be around if anything...happens." You nodded, hand on heart.

"Good luck beating off other women with sticks. Hope you've practiced your comedy rejections."

Kento hummed sagely, "Bold of you to assume I'm a man? My doctor said I shouldn't until the smallpox has cleared up? Undskyld, jeg taler ikke Japansk?"

You laughed, gave him one final kiss, and waved him out of the door.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Firmly lost in late-night TV and stifling a yawn, you noted the time; nearly 2am. As you smilingly hoped Kento was having fun, there was a firm tap at the door. You rose to answer it, and you paused to hear shuffles, bumps, hushed voices and fumbled keys. Rolling your eyes, you opened the door to a waft of whisky fumes dressed as your fiancé.

"Fiancé delivery service! Sorry for the late call ma'am, I tried to throw him over the gate but he was too heavy." Satoru heaved Shoko higher onto his back, and she groaned, face first in his shoulder. Ino and Ijichi swayed behind him, quietly huddled over Ino's phone and arguing over what food to order.

You smirked up at Kento, who was possibly more gorgeous while dishevelled, shirt half untucked, sleeves rolled, and stumbling into the hallway to kick his shoes off. He walked the confident walk of a drunk man back towards the door, possessively looping an arm around your waist and planting a sloppy kiss to your neck. Glaring at Satoru, he gripped the doorframe.

"I didn't need you to get me home, Gojo. I'm not drunk." Kento shuffled his whole face into your neck, gripping your pyjamas hard. You thanked Satoru, and sent him off to deliver the other drunkards home. Kento slammed the door hard, and backed you up against the wall while you laughed, slapping at his chest as he mumbled incoherent greetings against the side of your face.

"Behave yourself, buddy, you're hammered. Let's get you to bed." He groaned cheerfully, taking this as an invitation. His eyes met yours, unusually playful, and with a wink started to slowly unbutton his shirt. You rolled up a nearby newspaper and swatted his hands. Mouth watering at the sight of his abs, you sternly told yourself off.

"It is unethical to have sex with drunk people when you're sober. I don't know what you think you're getting tonight, but you should adjust your expectations." Bodily manhandling him, you turned him around while he grumbled at you, urging him towards the bathroom. He sat against the counter, bum accidentally setting off the tap in the sink, while you set the shower running. He stumbled and cursed behind you, trousers now wet and clinging to his muscled thighs. You heard him stripping while you waited for the water to heat up.

He thinks he's being sneaky, you thought to yourself as Kento pressed himself into your back, erection now full and visible against his underwear, and his hands slipped boldly under your pyjamas. While one hand reached up to cup your breast, the other snuck down to graze against the top of your mound. Involuntary shivers of pleasure ran down your spine, his wet mouth on your neck smelling of hot whisky and smoke.

"I have full capacity," Kento purred against your neck, tongue trailing up to your ear now, "and I'm so delighted my girl is still home, and I'd love nothing more than to make her the final taste on my tongue tonight." He stopped, musingly, his gaze at you still drunk and fluttering.

"Unless you don't want to," he pondered, taking his hands from your body. You pouted up at him, crossed arms and faux-angry, and nodded towards the shower.

"You smell like a bar. Behave yourself." Kento chuckled at you, cracking his neck and sighing, absent-mindedly palming his erection through his underwear. His cock sprang up as he finished undressing, pink-tipped and perfect, and you couldn't resist looking him up and down. He stepped into the shower, hot water cascading down his broad shoulders. Leaning one hand against the glass, he eyed you ruefully again.

"I'll manage myself then, shall I?" Still leaning on the glass, his eyes drifted shut as his other hand trailed down his body to grip his wet cock. "Please don't feel obliged to stay." You tried to appear unaffected, and moved to turn, but paused as you heard the slow wet strokes of him pumping himself under the running water. The drink lowered his guard, and he let out a long, slow moan of relief as he pleasured himself, now totally oblivious to your presence.

You felt heat pool between your legs, your arms covered in goosebumps and your nipples pebbling under the cool pyjama fabric. You considered your options.

Still stroking himself, and gradually increasing the pace, Kento was imagining you riding him on the sofa, like you had done only days before, his hands on your eager hips as you told him how deep you could feel him. He groaned to himself, desperate to feel that intense intimacy and pleasure again, enhanced by the alcohol running through his system.

Thoughts interrupted by a tap on the shower glass, he opened his eyes to you, leaning against the bathtub, one hand moving slow circles over your clit and another rolling your nipple between your fingers. Lower lip between your teeth, you blushed as you watched Kento pleasure himself.

Kento moaned unashamedly, swiping his thumb over his tip, cock twitching furiously in his hand.

"I'll return the favour, I promise," he begged you, eyes fully focused on where your hand moved steadily beneath your pyjamas, feeling his pulse quicken as you flushed and moaned, legs weakening against the tub, "I know what you're like when you come home drunk, you're a nightmare, saying no to you is a chore."

Lip still between your teeth you smiled at him, and, now feeling especially naughty, you moved to straddle the lip of the bathtub. Kento's jaw dropped as you began to ride it, sighing his name as if he wasn't there, now slipping your pyjama top down to release your aching breasts.

"Shit...please get in here before I lose my mind," and he stopped stroking himself, hand gripping the base of his cock as pre-cum trickled out, merging with the running water. His head was still spinning with the alcohol, but his senses were sharpened by your performance, so he watched you hungrily, determined that he'd cum inside you if he had any say in the matter.

You continued to hump the side of the bath, shuddering, eyes glinting with mischief.

"How can I trust that you know what you're asking?" You replied breathlessly, "It is unethical. I'd be taking advantage. I'd hate for you to regret me in the morning."

Kento grinned at you. "But watching me is fine? It seems worse somehow. Regret you," he scoffed. Humour aside, Kento shifted uncomfortably, grunting as his cock continued to throb in his hand. "Get in here," he wheedled, "and stop fucking the bathtub in front of me, and use me instead."

You acquiesced, resolve cracking. Stripping quickly, you slipped into the shower, pressing against him and immediately gripping his pulsing shaft. He stuttered and whined, hands pressed back against the glass, panting as you squeezed him.

"Alright, you win," you breathed against him, licking the flat of your tongue across his nipple, tasting the sweat and nightclub on his skin, "but I will absolutely remember this when I'm the one who's drunk and begging."

You spun Kento around again, and reached around his hips to grasp his cock just as he would as he pleasured himself. He continued to pant, whining and begging you for relief. You rubbed his tip with the flat of your palm, teasing, before starting to stroke from the head to the base of his cock in well-practiced motions.

Kento moaned and murmured sweet praise. His hands pressed against the glass, fingers flexing and unfolding as you fondled his bum lovingly, nipping his shoulder blades and sweeping your wet hand up and down his cock, gently twisting and squeezing at the head until he was gasping. You kept a steady pace, Kento occasionally thrusting forwards into your hand, calling you his good girl, his sweetest thing, being so good to him.

Head swimming with the alcohol, Kento gladly accepted the handjob, overwhelmed by the pleasure and steam of the shower. As he was about to turn to insist on bending you over against the shower wall, your second hand crept round to his throat and squeezed just hard enough for his moan to catch in his chest. Balls tightening and abdomen twitching, Kento gasped as you whispered into his ear; "be a good boy and cum in my hand".

Kento broke, wave after wave of pleasure rushing through him, strengthened by the drink, as thick spurts of cum shot into your hand and against the shower glass. He moaned your name, hips thrusting sloppily, one hand reaching round to squeeze your waist. Your pace slowed, squeezing gently as you pumped every last drop out of him.

Kento slumped against the glass, a dopey satisfied smile on his face, and hummed happily as he felt a soapy sponge start to clean his back. By the time you had gently scraped your nails through his hair, rinsing him of the last suds, he was barely awake in the steamy bathroom.

"Come on, big guy. Let's get you to bed." Kento frowned at you, looking faintly guilty.

"But I haven't done anything for you." You stroked his cheeks, full of affection.

"Trust me, that did plenty for me. I'll be storing that in my head for a long time."

Kento blushed, but allowed you to lead him to bed and dry his hair. He was face down in bed and asleep within seconds, his body relaxed, his tense muscles loose and softened.

You hesitated before checking the time; if you hadn't been called out by now, you probably wouldn't be, you convinced yourself. Pulling on one of Kento's shirts, you sat your phone by the bed and slipped under the sheets, tucking close to his warmth with one knee lifted over the small of his back.

"Still think I took advantage of you," you mumbled to Kento, before falling asleep to his warmth and deep, soft breaths, safe and happy in the dark.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

This best boy deserves a soapy handjob

And the sequel, Reader Comes Home Drunk, link here.

1K notes · View notes

facts-i-just-made-up · 12 days

Note

tell me about the real historical figure Marco polo

Marco Polo is famous for finding his way around the world by shouting out his own name and following when distant people from unfamiliar lands called it back to him. He did so even from across land masses as he rode on horseback, hitting a ball with a hammer, and over bodies of water like oceans and pools, hence his nickname, "Water Polo." He also invented a new type shirt that could establish at a quick glance that its wearer was a rich pretentious jerk.

#marco polo #unreality

537 notes · View notes

j4gm · 7 months

Text

SPOILERS!!! REFERENCES AND EASTER EGGS IN F&C ep. 10: CHEERS

The finale!

Pawn Swan! This was another character who first appeared in Steve Wolfhard's post-finale loredump about the 1000+ world. I never expected to actually see him in the show.

Nuts how this is like the third time we've seen Simon's ass. I love how Shermy is just chilling and playing video games while GOLB lets this random old man take a turn at the wheel.

This establishing shot of Fionnaworld shows that it's very small. By the time it is restored at the end of the episode, this ominous white border is gone and there are more buildings, implying that it became a complete world.

I can't believe Gary was thirsting after Scarab in this situation.

There is a shop called Evergree Flowers; likely a reference to the episode Evergreen.

This shop window advertises that you can learn to kick bugs. Appropriately enough, Cake kicks Scarab through this shop window while in her Godzilla form.

The Betty statue has become GOLBetty.

It should be clear by this point that Casper and Nova are a parallel to Simon and Betty, with all of their decisions being made by Casper with little consideration for Nova due to their unbalanced power dynamic. This is why Simon realises that he should have been more considerate of Betty's dreams, rather than single-mindedly chasing the Enchiridion and the crown.

The credits confirm that genderswapped Ash is named Ashley. I wonder what happened to her after she fell into the void. Probably nothing good.

Poor Marshall never gets to finish his songs. Truly he is the genderswapped Marceline.

The name "GOLBetty" is now canon; Simon uses it in this scene.

I'm not sure what's happening to GOLBetty here. A loose thread to pick up if this story ever gets a continuation, perhaps.

Simon steps through several different universes, including all the ones we saw during this miniseries. I'm not sure what this world full of tiny bears is meant to be.

Some kind of industrial capitalist hell universe.

This is the Water Park Prank artstyle, implying that Water Park Prank takes place in a separate but canon universe. So Water Park Prank is now canonically canonical! (what a ridiculous phrase)

Some kind of Jake universe.

A universe featuring Magwood and his volcano lair, from the episode Evergreen.

The snail! It's not dead after all. And it's a great way of symbolising a return to regular Ooo, as is the reappearance of the smiley butterfly.

This was a strange selection of characters. I hope Jay hasn't left his younger siblings on their own if their dad is dead. At least baby Finn won't have to grow up in Vampworld, though part of me liked imagining what that would have been like.

Fionna mentions that his is her top fantasy. The other two of her top three fantasies were Cake being able to talk and a kingdom made of candy.

She gets a hammer, like she had in the dream sequence at the very beginning of the miniseries.

Kheirosiphon goes back to working in a teashop, just like he did on The Drift before he was imprisoned by Scarab. Also Marshall's outfit here is incredibly gay, it's great.

There is an ad here for a daddy issues themed comedy night. Sounds like Marceline's kind of place.

Prismo's face glitches for a second. Ominous.

Simon definitely needs to move out. This is probably an even more important realisation than coming to understand his influence over Betty.

In the credits of this episode, Simon is finally at peace.

And with that, the miniseries is over! Back to the long wait. Will this be it for Adventure Time? Or is there yet more to come...

#adventure time #fionna and cake #easter egg posts

1K notes · View notes

heartfullofleeches · 26 days

Text

Titus [Space Emperor Yan] and Executioner Deity Reader-

Whereas the og Executioner Reader is an axe for hire, this Executioner wants nothing more than the emperor's head on a spike. They've dealt with many of his kind before- Lawless tyrant, unruly beast. His crimes have gone unpunished long enough - They are the judge, jury, and executioner fated to give him his sentence and punishment. They have heard the pleas of those in his captivity who are aware of their legend and the only power capable of stopping them from taking the emperor's head is their forgiveness.

Titus has heard of the executioner in passing. He's lost a fair amount of... acquaintances to that old fairytale. He doesn't believe a word of it - deciding that it was some servant gone berserk who terminated his allies in such a brutal fashion. Sure, it is bizarre that they seemed to have been killed with the exact same blade, but Titus is certain fabled savior is nothing his guards can't handle themselves.

"Your Majesty, we have reports of a cloaked individual breaking into the easy wing of the castle. Several guards have already been dispatched, more have been sent to collect their bodies. Thankfully, they are only unconscious, but it is no longer safe for you here-"

"Tyrant....."

A hushed slithers down the walls - hoarse and raw like the throat of a parched soul without a lick of water to satiate their thirst. The Executioner staggers into view - weight elevated by their tool of trade.

"Tyrant.... For the crimes you have committed there is no salvation beyond your immediate execution. Pay for the blood you have spilled with your own. Lay down your own head as atonement for yours sins."

The remainder of Titus guard form a wall of defense around their king. The Executioner's teeth clench in rage. All while the emperor stares on at his adversary. Those muscles, toned from the heavy swing of their blade. That unwavering, cold stare. Had he been a lesser man that glare alone would have shot his still beating heart. Instead, it only increased the steady hammering of that feeble organ against the cage of his chest.

"I....must have them."

Titus tries shoveling past his guards. The less experience members assume their king to be taking first action. Those who know the tyrant for what he truly is can see the pure enlightened in his eyes.

"Executioner.... Is that what I may call you? Your title matters not to me so long as you are mine. Allow me to take you in my arms.... Surely a life such as yours has had scarce room for the touch of another. Allow me to free you of that burden.

The Executioner spits.

"Mock me as you will. I will grant you three nights for you to give yourself to me willing. For each night I shall return to you with the same question. Should you agree, you will face a swift death, unlike those you have associated yourself with in the past. Do not disappoint me."

Three nights. That's more than enough time for Titus to get them to come around. Then again, he'd love to see what torments they have in store for him. If they see to wrap that chain latched at their around his throat all they had to do was ask. He's just received a shipment of his favorite wine as well - what impeccable timing for love to bloom in the air.

Tangerine [Executioner Maid] is hiding in the vents speedrunning a 150k enemies to lover fanfic of her boss and his new obsession-

#Titus my oc #yandere emperor #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere blurb #male yandere #yandere insert #yandere oc #yandere alien #yandere drabble

446 notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 9 months

Text

Run Away To Me (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.5k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, medieval period-esc standards for women, arranged marriage, toxic family dynamic/relationship, intentional harm (in the recent past), blood, angst, protective Johnny, hurt/comfort, pining, speedy relationship, etc.

A/N: Johnny sweaty and working the forge...that is all.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You groggily awoke to the steady sound of a hammer meeting metal and the scent of eggs. Warm bread makes your mouth water. Eyelids peeling back, your lashes flutter in even intervals as you groan in the back of your throat, content and unbothered in this soft bed of fur and cotton. For a moment you had forgotten everything that had transpired—the run and the rain slamming into your scalp.

Had it all been some dark dream? A trick?

“Ow!” You hiss, hand darting out from the plush covers as a sharp pain darts through it. Your eyes blink on the bloody bandages, white now completely bled through with fresh crimson.

Everything comes rushing back in a lightning-strike moment of realization.

Quickly sitting up, your face moves all over the sun-lit room, rays of light leaking in through the opened shutters; past the glass of the windows, the nearly violent green of the near forest line meets your wide gaze. A small sound exits your throat, fingers sliding through the bear fur that had been once pulled up to your ears as you gather your senses.

Johnny. The blacksmith.

Your eyes lock onto the small table across the room.

As the hammering outside continues to ring in your eardrums, you tilt your head at the items sitting atop—slipping off the bed you go to tidy the fur but pause in your curiosity. A patch of blood from your wound stains the sheets and you slow at the sight, the air leaving your lungs.

“Oh,” you swallow down your slight nervousness, heart jumping for a moment as you bite your lip.

You would have to tell Mr. MacTavsish—your brows furrow.

Not Mr. MacTavish, he asked me to call him Johnny. A strange thing, now that you thought about it as you slowly back away and go to the table, gut rumbling at the sight of fresh eggs on bread. There was also a parcel covered in cloth sitting on the chair.

Carefully tiptoeing, you grab the plate with a delicate hand, picking it up as you lick your lips. Had the man…made you breakfast?

“What reality have I slipped into?” Your lips whisper, Johnny’s clothes hanging off of you heavily. Not only food but milk had been poured into a carved cup as well, and utensils placed on the table with care. Fork and knife on the right, spoon on the left; all forged and tempered.

It was sweet, perhaps. Kind.

You eat standing, bare feet taking you around the homestead as you listen to the blacksmith work outside. Your hands take up carved knick-knacks of animals, twirling them in a hand as you lick your lips before placing them back with all the care of a priceless possession. Chuckling at the poorly wooden face of a deer, you bring the last bits of food to your lips as you pass the window.

Sucking in a swift breath, your body freezes.

Perhaps it was the sudden freedom of your situation or even the want of true, honest, companionship, but you had suddenly never seen someone look as good as kind Johnny MacTavish as he worked his forge.

The earth was still layered in dew and mist, the distance between the main home and the small hut that was holding anvil, tongs, the flame of the furnace itself, and a great number of hammers. One of which was being wielded with firm efficiency by the sweat-stained hands of Johnny—being brought down again and again to the molten form of what would be a fine sword.

Clothed in a rolled-back white tunic, like the one from yesterday, and brown breaches, there was a leather apron tied ‘round his waist cinched tight. Lips parting, you watch with a guilty conscious for the frailness of your resolve; gaping at the sight.

Johnny works like the dead might rise, not faltering or slowing in the abuse of the metal—twisting the rough shape of the blade and flipping it with one hand while the other hammers. How he doesn’t overheat you’d never know; letting out a slow breath as the sweat slips down his strong jaw and drips from his chin, mouth open with a far-off pant of air.

Electricity of the same breed as last night sizzles down your spine like a finger caressing the knobs of bone, hairs standing on end as you quickly clear your throat against the burn of your face. You shift your body away, fearfully aware of the scent of Johnny’s clothes and the very bed you had slept in last night.

“My parents will never allow me back into their home,” you utter, picking at your bandages. “I shall never even be seen in the very air near them.”

But the true question was whether or not that was a good thing. While this freedom of yours was what you wanted, you were a woman of relative standing—having no family, no husband, and no money to your name was not ideal. In fact, it could very well be the death of you.

You stand and lightly lick your fingers of crumbs. “At the very least,” the wood under your feet is warm from an only recently dead hearth, “this Blacksmith is quite good with meals. Such a peculiar man, hm?”

Smiling to yourself, you chuckle and push back the heat in your blood; this odd attraction to a working man. So different from Lord Wilkin.

Not wanting to sink back into that hole quite yet, you remember Johnny’s hands slipping over yours as you take a final glance back out the window before heading back over to the table. Cobalt eyes meet yours in an instant of wide shyness through the glass.

Staring at each other, the Blacksmith's legs shift from where they dig into the packed ground, large biceps tight as they hold the hammer and the dulling metal.

Blinking quickly, you feel your heart skip beats at the soft contact.

Smiling awkwardly, you raise the empty plate in display, chuckling as a wide, pleased, grin builds on Johnny’s face. He mocks a small bow, hammer going across his abdomen as his dirty cheeks peel back at his glee—you see his chest move with a deep laugh. Like the scent of lavender in your nose, you can call the sound of it to your ears as if he was in the house all this time.

Quickly skittering away, you feel giddy, placing down your plate and taking a sip of milk before looking at the parcel. While your mind may be mingling with the blacksmith and the sweat of his body, curiosity was getting to you. And, mayhaps, a shyness at being caught.

It was covered in dark cloth, and when you touch it, the fabric immediately reminds you of a cloak—an expensive and finely spun wool dyed green. Lips parting, your hands pick it up and place it on the table; turning it over as you pull at the twine tie.

Your heart seems to grow like a flower, the pedals opening and the stem becoming strong with a rush of admiration.

“When did you do this, Blacksmith?” Your voice hits off the walls in a breathy gasp as the hammering picks back up outside.

Smiling delicately, you pick up the fine linen of a chemise and the paired kirtle dyed deep blue. It wasn’t the most extravagant thing you’d worn by a long shot but as you step back and size it to your body, you decide that it was the most meaningful.

When had he gotten up to ride into town and buy this for you? How much did it cost?

How could this blacksmith be as chivalrous as a Knight? Not wanting you to be forced to wear his own clothes in a way unflattering to your status even if you didn’t truly care about all of that.

You had no answer, body vibrating with warmth as you slipped out of Johnny’s sleep clothes and slid the gifted items over your skin. They were slightly oversized for ease of the man’s mind, not knowing your measurements. With a small bronze clip, you situate the cloak before the boots at the door add to the already bursting emotions in your veins.

Tears burned the back of your eyes, putting your fingers to your lips to hide the shaky inhale. All of this care after such horror was nearly unthinkable; by a complete stranger no less.

Your own family had never been so generous.

Taking up your now empty cup, you look to the water basin and let your ears twitch to the sound of physical labor; thinking, wanting to give even just a sliver of thanks back for this debt. As you lace your new boots, leather, you keep the memory of his calloused hands in the front of your skull with honied sanctity.

You fill the cup and that’s that.

Cheeks heating, you bring the water with you as you exit the home, breathing down the scent of rain and pulling your cloak tighter to your neck at the slight chill. Closing the door, you make your way to Johnny who continues to work away, now a small distance from the anvil and setting the iron back into the fire to heat.

His large back flexes and rolls with the movement.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” the cup stays steady in your two hands as you see Johnny’s muscles momentarily tense, blue eyes turning to look over his shoulders. There’s a moment where something swirls in his eyes as he stares down at your new clothes, standing up to his full height quickly. You blink. “...I’m sorry, but besides an offer of fresh water I’m unable to repay you for the gifts.”

“Ah,” Johnny clears his throat, looking back to his forge before turning back to you with a bashful look. “Please, none of that. I needed to go off and grab more grain for my horse, see.” He chuckles. “But I’m glad they fit, Dearie, was a bit worried I’d asked the wrong size.”

“They’re perfect,” you shake your head. “It was…far more than I deserve.”

Brows furrow. For such a presence, he slips the cup out of your hands with more care than your husband-to-be had ever thought to handle you, nodding a deep thank you.

“Now why would you say something like that?” Your head tilts, lips thinning. You suppose it was right to make good on the deal you’d struck last night.

Johnny takes a sip from the cup, waiting for your answer as one hand hangs from the neck of his apron, fast lungs steadily slowing. As you frown and gather your thoughts, you don’t notice his eyes narrowing, concerned.

“Well, anyways,” he clears his throat, itching at his stubble to change the subject as you startle back to reality before you can form a sentence. “I suppose I’d better take a look at that cut of yours, then, eh? Wouldn’t want it to get infected, do we?”

“That’s not…” He has already darted to a small chest in the corner of the open hut, cup placed on the anvil top before he opens the thing with a scratch of rusty hinges. “...necessary.”

The blacksmith laughs, taking out fresh badges.

“I don’t think gettin’ bedridden is in your plans, now is it? C’mon…I’ll be gentle.” Johnny winks with a smirk and your pulse flares; stuttering as he grasps your elbow—leading you out of the forge and to a small break in the trees.

A stump and a dead firepit take form, and you’re plopped down to the wood with a small huff, a stiff look sent to the man who only smiles and raises an eyebrow.

“Is my kindness wearin’ ya down, Little Lady?”

“You’ll make me lose my head and I’ve only known you for, at most,” you emphasize as he kneels down and takes your bloody hand, “half a day.”

“Being generous,” Johnny hums, unwrapping your hand and once again looking you over. Bloody, but still alright. His fingers move to pick up dew from the grass and wipe away some of the crimson pigment as if an artist. “When one goes and nearly makes a man’s house crumble from the force of ‘er fists, it’s only customary for him to respect her.” Blue eyes gaze up to you and twinkle. “I’m just savin’ my own hide.”

“How honorable,” you shake your head and turn to hide the full-face grin, moments later laughs slip your tongue. “They weren’t that loud,” your vise insists, “...were they?”

“Thought the world was ending,” Johnny says it was a fake expression of seriousness, re-wrapping your hand in clean cloth. “Damn near got to my knees and prayed.”

You find great amusement in that, placing a hand over your mouth as your spine shakes with loud laughs. The scene is similar to the one from last night—the blacksmith offering jokes and merriment to get you to laugh. It's as if every time he succeeds he smiles just a smidge wider. Realizing this, you feel your lips twitch and you look away, embarrassed.

“...I promised you answers, did I not?” You decide to ask, deciding that getting this over soon was the best course of action; also the more courteous one. After so much giving, you had to share at least the reason for all of this. “I’m sorry.” Johnny frowns at you, tying another loose knot atop your palm before sitting back on the ground.

On his bent knee, he rests his arm, hanging off loosely, while the other hand rests behind his back as a way to keep him upward. With all of this, with him, you'd entirely forgotten to mention the stained sheets.

“There’s no need to apologize to me, Dearie, I won’t do anythin’. I promised you,” he smiles, “remember?” You blink softly at his strong face, those eyes studying you as your hands rest in your lap; curled over each other.

“There’ll be no harm comin’ to ya as long as you stay under my roof.”

Johnny huffs a chuckle, shaking his head. “Take your time, eh? I won’t be needin’ to travel back into town again until late evening.” Your hands curl slightly tighter, touched.

The blacksmith watches you as you gather your thoughts, your face going stiff and new boots shuffling over the grass. Blue slides to your hand and his lips turn down.

He’d be lying if he didn’t say he’d been up most of the night and working before the sun had risen—mind occupied by the woman that had been in his bed and the little information he had. Obviously, Lord Wilkin was looking for you; adamantly.

Relentlessly.

When he’d been in town there had been guards everywhere, checking every shop and house like beasts of metal and sharp words. You were the Lord’s bride, of course. As the tailor had asked him, a bit dejected, if he’d taken a wife as he’d bought you your chemise and kirtle, the woman had mentioned the wedding.

“Little thing darted off during the Handfasting ceremony, I ‘erd. The Lord had only just put the knife to her palm before she yelled and fled. Oh, ya should have seen it, Mr. MacTavish. Like a bat from Hell, Lord help me. He’ll not stop till he’s found ‘er.”

Johnny’s stomach rolls, abdomen tightening as he shifts to release tension. Along the ground, his hand momentarily clenches. You hum under your breath, whispering out an easy, “Are we sure we should be outside for this?”

The man blinks in confusion.

“Well, would…you prefer being inside?” You look nervous, fingers flinching over themselves and Johnny sits up straighter, letting his large hand carefully grasp your knee. Your innocently wide eyes lock with his own. He offers a comforting look. “It’s no difference to me—you decide. Whichever’s easier, eh?”

“It’s just,” you begin, the skin below your kirtle burning you in the best possible way. What was happening to you? “Well…My family rarely let me out.” Johnny’s body stills to a near stone carving. “Said I was to stay inside. I suppose I’m not overly used to it, you see.”

It’s not impossible to understand the role that was placed on you. Arranged marriage, sold off to be a housewife for a large dowry paid up by the Lord. You’d been brought up to be tossed away at a moment's notice. The blacksmith’s jaw tightens, bone sharp through the flesh.

“...Well,” his voice is a bit ragged—scratchy. You listen with nervousness in your chest, a slow infection of unease. “I’m not your family, am I? It’ll be good to get some sun, I think—let’s stay here for a little longer and then we can go back in when you’re ready. There’s no rush to things.”

Letting you calm down, his thumb rubs a small circle before he pulls it away, perhaps realizing what he was doing before clearing his throat, cheeks alight.

A small breeze pushes through the pines, a wind filled with the scent of fire and earth—dirt and dew. It was peaceful here, among the old spirits and the hidden trails. So different in the light than it was in the pouring rain.

“I imagine you knew about the wedding?” You sigh, staring at your lap. “Lord Wilkin?”

“Aye,” Johnny nods, speaking quietly. He doesn’t want to force you. “I did.”

“I was placed into the marriage two months ago by my parents, an agreement of land and money was traded for my hand.” Watching, the man’s eyes go sad, lids tilting. He stops the grunt in the back of his throat as you continue. “I had resigned myself to it, truly. Being of enough standing all I was needed for was marriage—”

“That’s utter shite.” Johnny growls, angry at the sentence. “They would just toss you away like that? To a bastard ten times your age?”

You stare, brows tight. “I…I’m a daughter, am I not?”

Johnny’s jaw goes slack, eyes sharp with horror as his gaze looks deeply into your vision, biceps tense with cooling sweat and dirt. Such a sight it was, two beings as different as a mountain and a valley; so near but starkly contrasted in the harsh strength of rock and the gentle sway of grassy low-land. Bears and deer, barn swallows that sit on rafters and golden eagles that soar tempests.

The dark-haired man could never imagine raising a girl for nothing else than to be a man’s property—to sell as if a good and nothing more. Johnny turns his head away before he snaps at nothing, a low sound trapped in his chest. You never had a single choice.

Confused by his approach to this, you watch the side of his face as the man’s expression of anger slowly shifts back to a hidden seriousness. Eyes dark and his hand tightened into a fist.

“I’m sorry, Dearie. Didn’t mean to interrupt.” Johnny blinks, shaking his head. “Hope I didn’t scare ya.”

“No,” you motion a hand. “No, not at all.”

“Good.” He sighs, rubbing at the back of his head. “Ah, please, keep going. I’ll be quiet as a mouse, promise.” You smile tinily.

“At the wedding, when it was near the end, they brought out the cloth and the knife for the Handfasting ceremony,” Johnny leans forward, and you look down at him on the ground. He lent a sort of silent vigor, you think to yourself. A comfort. “He dragged it along my skin and then he gripped my hand and forced the base of my palm harder into it.”

Your words get smaller and hushed, flexing your damaged hand. “...I think…that he wanted it to leave a scar. I bolted off before they could tie the cloth.”

Johnny stands and brings you into a hug, a hand coming to the back of your head and pressing your skull gently to his chest.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus.” He breathes, and you slowly wind your own hands around his waist; melting into him without even knowing it. Johnny’s scent encompasses you like a blanket, and your very bones seem to sprout flowers from the marrow as your eyes get watery, held in such a way that most people only dream about.

When the first silent tears fall he doesn’t make a big deal out of it—only holds you more firm and sighs into your scalp.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whisper, honest and truthful. Could you run? Go to another fiefdom? How far would you even be able to make it? No food, no horse, no supplies.

You’d be found out in no time.

Johnny moves back, tilting his head down to you and grasping your face with a single hand. “We’ll figure it out, Little Lady. By my word, I’ll do what I can to make sure you’ll never go back to that bastard of a Lord again.” A hard thumb pushes back your tears and blue eyes soften on you. “Can you trust me?”

Can and not do.

Even the simple alleviation of pressure from a word makes you care for this man even more than you should. The simmering attraction to not only his appearance but his steadfast heart; indomitable morals.

“You, Johnny?” You sniffle, a grin twitching your lips up as the blacksmith’s face goes hot. “Yes, I can trust you.” Actions enough from last night had proven that.

Johnny huffs and lets the blush on his face spread along his neck, suddenly unable to look you in the eyes for too long before he has to clear his throat and gaze to the side. Not knowing what overtakes you, you lightly press your lips to his cheek—feeling the heat and the slight gasp that escapes his lips.

You giggle as he grunts a thanks, awkwardly shuffling on his feet as you both continue to hold one another. His grip travels down to your back as he raises a brow, trying to push past his beginning stutter as he speaks. “I’d tell ya that if you do that again, I might just have a fainting spell, Miss.”

“A fainting spell,” you tease, “from a kiss, Blacksmith?”

“Aye—especially if it’s from such a Bonnie woman like you, see.” You both laugh, faces burning up, as serious topics and tears fade into the past.

As you had said, where any other man would have been different, Johnny Mactavish had proven himself to be right and true. Even if you’d been impossibly tired last night, the small sliver of fear had still remained that something might happen to you here; in the presence of one man in the middle of the woods. No such fear remains.

Like a great Lord of old, Johnny had offered sanctuary from a man of cruel and horrible intentions. But perhaps he’d offered far more than that, with how he’s staring at you.

Your laughs steadily die down to a pulsing silence, hands around one another and faces only a few inches away. It’s bizarre how fast this had happened—these feelings brimming in the cup of your heart. A bowl overflowing with care and affection; of something else that cannot be named for fear it’s only a simple infatuation. A twin flame of red-hot fire that could rival Johnny’s forge.

“I…don’t want to overstep,” the man says, and your eyes are drawn to his lips as they move—a small scar you’d yet to notice living on his chin, a stain of lighter flesh. You swallow stiffly and dart your gaze back to his as you feel his heart pounding in his ribcage. It wasn’t a mystery to wonder if your own is doing the same. “Y’should tell me to stop, Dearie.”

“To stop what,” you pull the words from the depths of your throat. “What are you planning on doing, Johnny?” He shivers as you say his name as if put under a spell.

“Are you sure you’re not a witch, now?” You stifle a confused laugh, furrowing your brows with amusement.

“What?”

“One half-day is all it took for you to chain me to your will,” he grasps the bottom of your chin and angles your head up; you go willingly. His eyes search yours for any hesitation or flighty emotions. All he finds is wide awe. “Most would call that witchery, Little Lady.”

“Then it seems your will is easily broken, Blacksmith.”

“Perhaps it is,” Johnny smirks, his breath puffing out along your parted lips. Your body vibrates with anticipation of what was to come, hearing his voice lower to a deep rasp. “Haven’t ya heard…? Blacksmiths have a weakness for runaway brides.”

“Is that so? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Suppose I’ll just have to show you.” His lips are firm and his body runs hot.

Eyes fluttering shut, you sigh into him as his hands dig into your gifted cloak, meeting him with every pass. Low purrs of satisfaction echo from his chest and make you shiver, nose pressing into his lower cheek. Playfully, his teeth nip at your flesh and you gasp; eyes pulling back to stare half-lidded as blue sparks with mischief.

You should stop this—but you were starved for honest affection. Companionship, even. Johnny by far wasn’t the worst to throw your lott in with and he might just be the best possible to fill that role. Life in this era is fast and harsh; it’s unfair. You had to make quick decisions without thinking of the possible consequences.

So as you blink up at the man who watches you closely, you place your fingers on the side of his face and tilt his lips back to yours with a small smile. His hand at the curve of your spine twitches, sliding along the cloak in minute increments as Johnny’s heart hammers like his tools.

It’s as if the forge was still around the two of you—air hot and the feeling sticking to your skin like a brand of sin and forbidden magnetism. He shouldn’t have kissed you, but the hypnosis of the hammer was in his head; its rhythm and striking slam. You drew him in as the anvil does the iron.

In this moment of contentment, there is a fast sound of something in the air, something that rattles the two of you out of your tender embrace to gaze with contorted faces through the thin line of trees. Panting and open.

Through the foliage back to the homestead is the rapid movement of hooves and the baying of hounds.

It strikes you like a knife, eyelids moving far back as Johnny’s head snaps to the noise with something growing in the back of his expression. Calls; shouts. You know who it is, who’s found you out. You’d never heard it until it was too late.

“Johnny,” your voice says, fearful with wild eyes.

“Stay behind me,” he says, monotone with red lips. Shadows of horses and guards are near the house. You stare up at him in shock. A kiss is pressed to your forehead. “Nothin’ll happen to you.” His eyes dig past layers.

There was no running from this.

“Okay,” you whisper.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

1K notes · View notes