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adelheidvonschicksal · 3 years

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NSFW Content Warning

Word Count: 1.6k

Megumi watches closely as the curse disintegrates in the mouth of his divine dog. The last of the monsters are dispatched, and Megumi can finally relax as the heavy pressure around him slowly disappears. The veil opens up to an unrelenting sky—rain finally falling down on the town for the first time in months thanks to the curse’s destruction.

His sharp gaze glances down to find you kneeling next to him, your hand buried deep in the black fur of his shikigami. “Who’s a good boy? You are. I’ll make sure Megumi feeds you lots of treats,” you praise to a happily obedient demon dog, his tongue hanging out from a joyful smile while his fluffy tail wags back in forth in tempo to your pets. Megumi huffs, rolling his eyes lightly at your antics, which causes you to glance up at him with a smile.

With an innocent grin, you plop your hand right on top of his head. He groans softly as you begin to ruffle black hair into a further mess as if such a thing was possible given his questionable hairstyle. “You too, Megumi. Good boy.”

“Cut it out.” Megumi grunts, shaking your hand off of him.

“Aw, but it’s so soft,” you say with a childlike coo causing him to turn his head out your reach as you pout about him being no fun.

If there’s one thing Megumi hates more than missions with Gojo then it would be missions with you, his 3rd year senpai. You aren’t necessarily bossy or prying, and you are definitely skilled in your technique, and there’s the bonus that you’re the only third-year who didn’t get suspended, but he couldn’t stand the way you treated him like a child even if he is younger than you. You’d always baby him and coo over him. It’s innocent on your end so he can’t get too mad, but he still wishes you wouldn’t do it.

As the rainy weather begins to grow heavier and cause his clothes to cling coldly to his naked skin, Megumi sighs and releases his technique. “We should get moving before we end up stuck here.”

“Right behind you,” you state, following alongside him.

As you reach the town again, the rain had developed into a full-blown storm, where seeing ahead of yourself is near impossible as everything comes down sideways and lightning cracks over the sky.

“You might want to hold my hand, so you don’t blow away,” you jokingly sing, your voice getting lost in the gust of winds. Megumi ignores your comment until he sees you stumble backward with another strong blow.

“Here,” he says, grabbing onto your arm and pulling you along with him because he’s really afraid you might actually blow away if this weather continues. You walk until the two of you manage to make it to a bus stop.

The two of you manage to huddle together temporarily under a bus stop shelter as Megumi tries to get in contact with your ride. You eye him patiently as he talks on the phone with Ijichi. The area is much too dangerous for someone to pick you up right now, all the missing rain coming down at once. Luckily, Gojo managed to call in a room for you at a local hotel.

The two of you walk into the room, finding it comfortable and warm compared to the cold and rain outside even as the lights occasionally flash and the ceiling fan shakes.

The only thing that bothers Megumi is the fact that there is one singular king-size bed in the center of the room. “Of course, there is,” Megumi grumbles, already warming at the idea of having to share a bed with his cute senpai and also thinking of how he’s going to punch Gojo for messing up so bad. Megumi guesses he can ask the front desk for extra sheets so he can take the floor instead of risk waking up with a hard-on and embarrassing himself.

“I’m going to go request extra sheets. You want anything?”

“What do you mean? This bed is huge, we can share no problem,” you say, and Megumi notices that your voice sounds fairly distant. He turns to see you standing in front of the hotel’s dryer. You cross your arms at the edge of your shirt and stretch to pull it over your head, your breasts raising with your arms as you arch your back.

Megumi instantly blushes.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You blink once then twice before motioning to the wet shirt in your hands. “Drying my clothes?” you say, tossing the shirt in the dryer before going for your skirt but you pause when Megumi voices another complaint.

“Can’t you do that in the bathroom?” he asks.

“I want them dry when I get out the shower,” you answer, your lips poked out in an adorable pout as you look at him with innocent puppy eyes. “You should take yours off too before the wet dog smell sets in,” you recommend teasingly before closing the distance and grabbing his shirt.

Megumi shakes, his mind instantly dropping into the muck of the gutter as he hastily looks anywhere but directly at you, standing half-naked and alone in the room with him with your hands dangerously close to his body. You were so oblivious to the danger you put yourself in. If he was any other sort of man, he’d already tried to have his way with you.

“Your senpai will throw it in the dryer for you.”

Then, he remembers.

You’re being reckless because he’s your underclassman, unwary because you see him as a child to be taken cared of. It frustrates him but he’s too embarrassed to call you out on it. That is until you start to pull his shirt up to expose his smooth skin underneath, his pelvic lines and the thin line of stomach hair drawing to his crotch, and he prays for his dick not to rise with your hands so close to it.

”Senpai…you shouldn’t do that,” Megumi mumbles, a light blush on his cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, head cocked to the side.

“It’s just…” he pauses, unsure how to word the fact that you’re dangerously close to turning him on, “…I’m a man too.”

Megumi can feel himself grow more embarrassed as you blink at him. The wheels in your head are obviously turning to comprehend what he’s said, and Megumi instantly regrets saying anything.

Then, you smile, not the usual sweet girlish smile he comes to expect from his senpai. It’s crooked, wickedly amused but somehow seductive in a way that makes him gulp as you lean close towards him.

Megumi shudders as your breath blows on his ear, and you whisper, “Are you now? Then, show me.”

“I don’t—”

You repeat yourself more forcefully as your hand slowly slides down to press against his cock outlining, and you purposely press your breasts to his dampened chest. “Show your senpai how much of a man you are, my cute little underclassman.”

Megumi licks his lips, eyes focused on your cleavage pushing together against him. He releases a calming breath. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You can only smile.

Megumi whines, hands gripped tight into your plump thighs, sinking into your meaty flesh in attempts to hold back your aggressive grinding but to no avail. His cock is sunk into your center, the sound of your wet pussy sucking in his girthy length echoing in his ears along with your heady moans.

You don’t stop the rutting of your hips, no matter how much those beautifully deep moans of his break upon exit from his lips and his emerald eyes tear up from the overstimulation of coming one too many times. His balls are aching, drained empty, and the strain of them tensing as he closes in on another peak echoes each time you impale down to the hilt, smacking them with your ass.

The only thing distracting him more is the strong, desperate throbbing in your silken walls as you grip around him, making it impossible for him to pull out despite the way your wetness creams and lubes around his erection.

With another groan, his throat constricts while his feet begin to cramp with his desperate squirming underneath you as he tries to gain some semblance of control, but you weren’t even giving him time to breathe, let alone turn you over and pin you.

As for you, you look absolutely blissed out with your hazy gaze locked on his beautiful face coated with sweat as he fails to hide his pitiful whimpers by biting into his bruised lips. He already knows it’s no use trying to preserve his pride, as you’ve already gotten one warning about how loud he was being, but he still tries so he can at least say you didn’t completely overwhelm him.

Yet it’s with a broken gasp that he comes for the fourth time. This time he provides a dry orgasm, his body too sore and drained too quickly to give any more. You didn’t pause, refusing to let him catch up.

Smirking, you lift off him instead, his softened cock still connected to your pussy by a thin white string of leftover cum. Megumi grits his teeth, releasing a hiss as your hand wraps around him again despite the protest his body is giving as you work him back into a premature stiffness.

“Come on, Megumi, don’t tell me you’re tapping out already. You’re a man, aren’t you,” you tease in between soft giggling. Flushed, Megumi hesitantly meets your eyes, and you give him one of those trademark sweet and innocent smiles as your hand begins to twist.

It’s then he realizes that his innocent senpai is actually a demon.

#megumi smut #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk megumi #notsfw #adelssmut

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jackrrabbit · 4 years

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Spoiled Rotten /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Request: What if Overhaul fucks spoiled rich reader because her dad owes the yakuza money and in exchange Kai takes the daughter as a form of payment using her as his personal stress doll whenever and wherever he wants making her into his perfect little doll

A/N: While I was writing this my roommate asked if I was okay bc cause I kept stopping to fan myself and blush lmaooooo god I’m such a brat. I did change the concept up a bit, hope that’s fine!

This is dedicated not only to the OG requester but also to everyone who read the excerpt I posted a while back and told me they couldn’t wait to see the finished product!! Love you guys ❤️

Tags/warnings: threats, dubcon/coercion, dom/sub, brat taming, degradation, exhibitionism, restraints, mentions of forced prostitution, verbal & physical harassment, kidnapping, kinda breath play?, long

The first thing you notice when you come to are voices. Multiple people talking to each other, speech overlapping in patterns you can’t make out. They’re quiet—not whispering for your sake, but quiet because you’re still half knocked-out and you can barely hear.

The second thing you notice is the pounding in your head and the lingering smell of something sweet spread over your nose and mouth.

The third thing you notice is the fact that when you try to blink your eyes open, your lashes brush against something soft and dark. You’re blindfolded…and gagged, and your hands feel like they’re cuffed behind your back. From what you can sense around you, it seems like you’re hunched in a kneeling position with your cheek flattened against the floor and your bare feet tucked under your backside.

At least you’re still in your nightgown. You can feel the frilly silk of it, a useless barrier between your skin and the cool air, and it reminds you of how you got here in the first place.

A loud noise in the night. Your father’s voice pleading. A heavy thump. The door to your bedroom banging open and a strange man holding you down to your bed…lifting a sweet-smelling rag to your mouth…telling you to “take a deeeeep breath, princess.”

“Hey, I think she’s waking up.”

An invisible hand fists itself in your hair and you whine in pain as your upper body is lifted off the floor. Once you’re properly upright, you hear squeaking, shoes against concrete, and the heat and breath and presence of someone behind you. Something rustles at the back of your head—you’re too scared to move so you stay still—and then the blindfold is being lifted off your face.

Once it’s gone, you have to blink for a moment even despite the low light of the dingy room where you’ve…apparently…been kidnapped. By the freaking yakuza. And for some reason, they’re all wearing bird-beak masks.

You close your eyes, almost wishing they hadn’t taken the blindfold off. You’d prefer to live in blissful ignorance of how decidedly unclean the floor is. How dare they let your face touch it? What happened to honor among thieves?

“Do you know why you’re here?”

Against your will, your eyes flick up to the speaker. He’s the only one sitting, and somehow that gives him a position of power among the others. The leader?

Unsettling golden eyes rest on yours, and you realize he’s waiting for your answer, so you slowly move your head from side to side.

“Didn’t know about daddy’s bad habits, huh?” This time the person speaking is behind you, the one who untied your blindfold, a thin man with lank, greasy blond hair. He’s the one who drugged me, you remember in a surge of panic, and you try to stand up away from him only for him to step on the chain that connects your handcuffs, jerking you back and pinning you—painfully—to the floor.

“Careful, Setsuno. I told you not to leave marks. Let her talk.”

“Got it, boss.” The blond—Setsuno—fumbles at the back of your head and then he’s pulling the gag out of your mouth.

You open and close your mouth a few times to stretch out the stiff muscles. “Oh. My. God. Was that polyester you just took out of my mouth? Do you have any idea how bad synthetics are for sensitive skin? I’m totally going to break out.”

A hush falls over the little room. You could hear a pin drop.

“…Are you complaining about the quality of the fabric we gagged you with?” the leader asks after a second.

“You may be yakuza, but you don’t have to act like savages,” you reply primly, aligning your knees together and sending a proud look off to the side.

“Ohh…little princess deserves better, does she?” Setsuno coos. He edges closer to rub his cheek against yours and laughs when you cringe away from him. “Boss, you shoulda seen her bedroom. All pink and frilly, looked like royalty lived there. Bet they treat you like a real princess at home, huh? No wonder your daddy’s in debt.”

“Daddy isn’t—“

“Your father…took out loans from my gang. My men came last night to collect,” the leader says, drumming his fingers over the armrest of his chair impatiently.

He’s wearing plastic gloves. Why is he wearing plastic gloves? Immediately your mind is spinning, imagining all the different gruesome possibilities of what they’re going to do to you. “That’s ridiculous. My daddy doesn’t need to borrow money—“

“Clearly he does, because it looks like he pissed it all away on his daughter.” The leader’s eyes are cold enough to make you shiver—although maybe that’s just the icy temperature of the floor soaking through your nightgown.

“He had a couple payments overdue, so we stopped by to ask nicely for him to pay up,” Setsuno says, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Didn’t find too many valuables in your house, but then we got our hands on a real treasure.”

“Don’t touch me—“

“You don’t seem to understand the position you’re in,” the leader says. “When I made my contract with your father, he understood that obligations like these are inherited. Since he can’t pay his debt, you’re going to be working it off in his place.”

Working it off? You swallow. Somehow you don’t think he’s talking about your little part-time job as a receptionist at your daddy’s company. “You can’t make me do that.”

“I’m not sure you’re getting the gist, princess,” Setsuno hums. “What we’re gonna do is we’re gonna put you in a room, and then men are gonna give us money, and then we’ll let those men fuck you. All that money’s gonna go toward paying what your daddy borrowed. Sound good?”

For the first time since you can remember, you’re shocked speechless. They’re going to…what? But you’re a quick thinker, and instead of letting these filthy, awful gangters boss you around, you raise your chin haughtily to look directly into the leader’s eyes. “I don’t think so. If Daddy’s the one who got himself in debt, you can make him whore himself out to pay it back. You can’t hold me responsible for something he’s done.”

Another brief silence, and then you hear a whistle echo out from the corner of the room (and you try not to look toward it, reminding yourself that this can only get worse if they know how scared you are). “She’s got a mouth on her, Overhaul,” someone says.

Overhaul. So the leader’s name is Overhaul. How ridiculous; it sounds like a villain’s name.

“Aww, princess,” Setsuno says, and once again his voice is too close for your comfort. “Little spoiled princess doesn’t know how to shut her mouth and suck it up when things don’t go her way? Well…you’ll learn.”

You don’t want to know what he’s talking about, although if you thought about it for more than a second it’d be obvious. You suck in a harsh breath and the cool, damp air stings against your dry throat. “You can’t just make me—“

“Ohh, I think we can. See, if your daddy’s been spending all of the Shie Hassaikai’s money on his precious daughter, don’t you think you owe a little too? Like, this dress—“ you jump as Setsuno’s hand tugs on the thin, floaty silk— “was bought with Overhaul’s money, so it belongs to him, right?”

You keep quiet, not wanting to prompt him to go further, but when his hands stroke up over your waist to grope your breasts in full view of everyone else in the room, you don’t really have to guess.

“And, y’know, your daddy’s been keeping you nice and healthy with Overhaul’s cash, making sure you grow up into such a pretty girl…” Setsuno’s voice is a purr in your ear as his hands squeeze your tits almost lovingly, then pinch your nipples through the fabric. “So hey—if you think about it, this tight little body…belongs to Overhaul too. Isn’t that right, sir?”

You squirm in place as best you can but with the metal cuffs digging into your wrists, there’s nothing you can do to get away from his touch. You’re desperate enough to shoot a terrified glance up at the leader—surely there are rules about treating an innocent girl like this, even for the yakuza—but he looks as unmoved as before. “Get her out of my sight. We’ll give her a rest for the next few days, and then…”

“No!” you yelp, too panicked to keep up the pretense of confidence. “I won’t, I can’t do that, please don’t make me—“

“Shhh. You’ll get used to it, princess. And if you don’t…” Setsuno’s hand combs though your hair and then trails down your neck, tracing the path of your spine between your shoulder blades. “…well, you won’t really have much of a choice, will you?”

And then he’s tugging on your cuffed hands, pulling you to a standing position, but you wriggle away from him and do everything you can to stay planted on the ground so they can’t take you away from here, away from the only man who is capable of stopping this. Overhaul. “Please! I’m— I can work it off another way! I’ll be useful— I’ll—“

Overhaul leans forward a fraction in his chair, and you wonder if you’ve caught his interest. “What, exactly? How do you think you can be useful to me?”

You bite your lip and wrack your brains, not knowing whether the question is rhetorical. What skills do you have that would be valuable to them? Suddenly all the knowledge you’ve gained in your short life seems so meaningless. You’re a decent receptionist (well, decent is a stretch), but if Overhaul wanted someone to answer calls for him you’re pretty sure he would’ve asked.

Why did you spend your life learning such impractical skills? The four-year weekend course you took on horseback riding jumps to mind and you want to hit your head against the wall. Why didn’t you ask your father to sponsor a class in something that would actually matter in the long run? And what would even be useful to these people? Accounting? Bookkeeping? Extortion?

There’s nothing valuable you can offer. You’ve wasted your life, and now you’re going to pay for it. Seriously, the only thing you’re actually good at is keeping your boyfriends (or, rather, the men you cycle through once a month) happy until the novelty wears off and you get bored and move on to the next lovesick target—

—wait. Keeping your boyfriends happy. That’s a skill, isn’t it?

Once, a little bit after you turned eighteen, you’d had a rather illicit conversation with one of your more sexually adventurous friends about being a sugar baby. Your friend had just secured a very generous benefactor, and you’d been so intrigued by all the designer purses and vacations to Cabo that you’d almost considered trying it for yourself. She’d even helped you set up a profile on Seeking Arrangements that listed your physical features and interests, but you’d blanched when it came time to post photos.

“But why do men even like this?” you'd asked your friend after your picture-less profile received its dozenth unsolicited offer. “Rich, successful guys shouldn’t have so much trouble finding girlfriends that they have to resort to paying for sex.”

“It’s a power trip,” she’d replied. “Most men never get the chance to have a woman who’s willing to do and be whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. You’re his ideal girlfriend, his therapist, his wife, and his stress relief all in one.”

At the time, you’d decided against it, deleting your profile and telling your friend you’d rather just keep taking advantage of your real father doting on you than have to fake orgasms for rich men in their 50’s. But back then, you’d had a choice; now that you’ve been kidnapped by a gang who wants you to get fucked by a bevy of strangers to pay off a debt you’ve never even heard of, you no longer have the privilege of a way out. Or, at least, the options are a lot less appealing than before.

You tilt your head back to Overhaul, eyeing him for the first time with real scrutiny instead of prideful disgust. Judging from what you can see of his face under the ornate bird mask (and again, what is with the freaking bird masks?), he’s fairly young, mid-twenties at the oldest. Short, sort of wavy dark hair (you’ve always had a thing for dark hair), a trim suit and tie, and those eyes. Like he can read your mind just looking at you.

He’s…handsome enough, you have to admit to yourself. But it’s not just that. There’s something pristine about him, something untouchable that commands discipline. He’s clean. You and him are probably the only clean things in this hovel of a room.

“Well? I’m waiting,” Overhaul says.

And now that you’ve got the idea in your head, it’s almost too embarrassing to meet his gaze. But you can do this; you have to do this. At least it’ll be your choice, and—you’re hoping—it’ll be better than the alternative.

“I could be yours,” you tell him, taking pride in the fact that your voice isn’t breaking.

His eyes narrow and you think god, his eyelashes are long. It’s not fair. Men never appreciate having long eyelashes. What is he thinking? Is he going to kill you for even suggesting it? But it’s too late now…you have to dig yourself a little deeper if you don’t want to go through with their original plan for debt fulfillment.

You force your muscles to relax, knowing this’ll be impossible to pull off if you’re tense and biting down on the words like they’re going to choke you. If you’re going to make him believe it, you have to make yourself believe it too. “You… This job must be hard. Even for a—a powerful man like you, it has to be stressful, right? Always looking out for the interests of the gang instead of your own…needs.”

Overhaul doesn’t move, but you’re so focused on him it would be impossible for you to miss the way a single muscle in his neck flexes. You’ve hit a nerve.

You take a cautious step toward him, trying to channel the sexually-liberated vixen you consider yourself when you’re not in your nightgown surrounded by men who could murder you with their bare hands and not miss a minute of sleep. “You’re always giving, aren’t you? Looking toward the future of the gang? Doesn’t it get frustrating when—when a pretty thing is in front of you and you don’t even get…a little taste of her?”

Oh god, you can feel the humiliated heat rushing to your cheeks. How can you be saying this? You’ve played the role of seductress plenty of times before, but never in such a risky situation. You just have to keep moving toward him and hope it feels authentic enough to convince him.

“You’ve worked hard. And…like he said, my—my body belongs to you.” Now you’re close enough to Overhaul and he hasn’t stopped you, so you lower yourself onto the floor, knees bumping softly into the cold surface. Kneeling between his legs.

Overhaul stares down at you, gaze as sharp and cold as before—and you’re sick with anxiety, so scared you can feel your hairs raising up on end—but if he wanted you to stop, he would have said something, right? So you shuffle a little closer and nuzzle your cheek over the inside of his clothed thigh like a kitten, then raise your head up to him to give him your best bedroom look, the one that says, I want you. I need you. No one but you. The look no man has ever been able to resist.

“…You deserve something to yourself, sir,” you murmur.

There’s a collective intake of breath as every person in the room simultaneously realizes what you’re offering. Overhaul’s expression doesn’t change, but once again, a tendon jumps out white under the skin of his throat and there’s a creak of latex on leather as his grip on the arm of the chair tightens.

“Damn,” Setsuno says under his breath from behind you. Someone whistles. You’re pretty sure you hear the word ‘slut’ being tossed around, but there’s reverence behind it.

“And what makes you think you’re so valuable?” Overhaul asks.

You close your eyes to ground yourself for a second. He’s interested, you know that much. You’ve never really had to convince someone to want you, but there’s a first time for everything. Besides, you only have to look at him for a second to know he does want you, which isn’t a surprise. Who wouldn’t?

“I’ll do anything you want, be anything you want,” you tell him, echoing your conversation with your friend back then. “Take out your anger on me if that’s what you’re into. When you’re tired of me, you can consider my debt paid and let me go.”

“And?” he prompts.

‘And’? And what? You’re offering yourself to him, your body and your mind—what more can he possibly ask from you? You cast your thoughts around, wondering what else you have to give him. “And…and I’ll do it willingly. You, um—you look like a man who appreciates obedience.”

And that’s it. Your last shred of pride is gone. Not only are you offering yourself up to a man to use as his personal stress doll, you’re saying you’ll be compliant every step of the way. Knowing yourself, you’re pretty sure that’s impossible, but you just need to make him believe it long enough for you to find a way out of here. You can pretend to enjoy getting fucked by a gangster a few times. You’ll live.

But you’re naive. And with the stream of thoughts pushing through your head, you never really consider one thing, one essential thing: how you look pleading up at him in that pale pink nightdress—soft, pure, immaculate against the filth of the underworld, the only clean body that Overhaul’s seen in a long time.

And you’re right. He is a man who appreciates obedience.

“Willingly…so you’d be willing to prove it.”

Your head jerks up and down in response. Yes! He’s taking the bait, now I just have to get him alone and—

“Then demonstrate.”

When a moment passes and you don’t move, Overhaul tips his head to the side, gaze still locked on you, and gestures vaguely at his lap. You blink and then shy back, shrinking under the hungry gazes of the onlookers. “You can’t mean—in front of them?”

“And here I thought you were going to be obedient.” There’s no mercy, no amusement in his voice. No hint of humanity.

So he’s serious. He wants you to give him a blowjob in front of—how many? one, two three, four—four other men!? Your first instinct is to jump back away from him and your next is to slap him for even suggesting it; you can actually hear the jingle of your cuffs as you attempt to raise your hand. You’ve gotten a little kinky before—blindfolds, vibrators, maybe a hand tied to the bedpost with a Hermès scarf once or twice, but this is a whole different level. And the way they’re all looking at you…like they’re itching to see you brought down. How absolutely disgusting.

But Overhaul’s waiting for your answer, and you know full well that you’re not going to deny him.

“O-Of course.” You lean forward over the seat of the chair so your face is just inches from his lap. “Um. My hands...?”

They’re still cuffed behind you, but it seems like they’re going to stay that way when Overhaul gives a curt shake of his head. “Use your mouth.”

Once again, you’re stunned into silence. How are you supposed to—? Without your hands? It doesn’t even seem like he’s going to undo his pants for you. It’s like he wants to humiliate you…oh, wait. As soon as the thought crosses your mind, it’s clear that’s exactly what he’s trying to do.

You give him another doe-eyed glance, bidding him to at least undo his belt, but he remains unmoved. Bastard.

After aiming another glare at him (because as obedient as you’re attempting to be, you’ve never been good at concealing your emotions) you lean deeper in and take the stiff leather of his belt between your teeth, gently easing it out of the buckle and trying to ignore the mixture of earthy and metallic tastes it leaves on your tongue. It takes a few tries, but eventually you’ve got the tail of the belt out of the buckle and you pull your head back to guide the metal down until the belt is hanging open from its loops.

A rush of accomplishment surges through you when you get it open, and then you want to slap yourself. Accomplishment? From doing this with your mouth like an animal—like a dog? You can hear laughter and mocking encouragement from the men watching, but you steel yourself and dip back in to get Overhaul’s pants undone. The button is tricky, especially with your face nudging into the hard muscle of his abdomen through his shirt, but somehow you manage to tug the fabric slit over the button and then—delicately, delicately—clamp the zipper between your teeth and peel it downward.

“Oh, she’s good,” someone says from the background. Setsuno. You look up warily, but Overhaul’s eyes haven’t moved from you.

Now that you’ve got his pants open, you’re face to face (literally) with what you’re going to have to deal with. The outline of his cock is bulging the fabric of his boxers outward, and he’s not even half erect. You snatch a look back up at him—and damn it, you have to stop doing that, because every time you look into those golden eyes and that stupid bird mask you feel like a lamb looking at a bird of prey right before it snatches you from your safe little lamb-house in the meadow and—fuck, you just have to get on with it.

So you dip down and mouth over him through the fabric, spreading the flat of your tongue over the length of his thick cock. Your mouth feels like you’ve been eating cotton (probably because they drugged you earlier) but you force yourself to salivate, letting drool spill over your tongue and dampen his boxers. When you duck and spread your lips down on the place you can feel the tip stretching out, you know the friction must feel good, because despite the lack of even so much of a deep breath from the man above you, his cock is getting harder.

You nudge your mouth over the tent between Overhaul’s legs again, letting the heat of your breath wash over him—but when he doesn’t do anything, you pull back and blink up at his face. Does he expect you to get him off through his underwear? You could, but most of your moves depend on skin-to-skin contact. There’s no way you can get his cock out with your mouth like you undid his pants, so…what? “Are—are you going to take it out?”

Overhaul brings a gloved hand to his face to rub absently at one of the straps on his mask. “…Beg,” he tells you.

Your mouth drops open and you reel back from his lap like he asked you to lick the dirt off the floor. What!? He can’t seriously expect you to—to beg him to put his dick in your mouth when you’re clearly disgusted at the whole situation. When he doesn’t give any indication of retracting the statement, you can’t help the mocking sneer that forms over your face. “Please, sir,” you spit, and a deaf man could hear the spite in your voice.

Now, that gets a reaction. Overhaul’s eyes flash and you take a certain degree of pride back at the anger you’ve clearly inspired in him. But it’s extinguished as soon as you see it, and then he’s reaching down to cup your chin, tilting your head back and rubbing his thumb over your lower lip.

“I think you can do better than that, princess,” he says, and you can hear your own mocking tone reflected back in his voice. “Unless you’d like me to give my men a turn?”

This, more than anything, scares you. He must be able to feel the way your spine goes stiff, adrenaline rushing, your fight-or-flight instinct kicking in at the prospect of what he’s threatening.

“Each of them, one by one. Between the four of them, I think they could cure that smart mouth…although they might just break you in the process,” he continues, and then his thumb is pressing into your lip, into your mouth, and you loosen your jaw to let him in. You can taste the rubbery latex of his gloves and the other men mutter agreement, encouraging their leader to turn you over to them, and you want to cry.

But you hold the tears back. “Please, sir! Please, please may I s-suck your cock sir? Please!” Your voice is more terrified than obedient, but that’s probably what he’s into anyway. When he doesn’t say anything, you babble on, unwilling to let yourself get gangbanged by a group of men who could probably wreck your pussy in a single round. “Please, please, Mr.—Mr. Overhaul, um, boss? M-Master?”

“Sir will do just fine,” Overhaul says, apparently satisfied, and he pulls his hand away from your face to free his cock from his boxers.

You let out a hot sigh of relief and angle yourself back toward his lap so you can zero in on his cock (and, hopefully, do a little to block out how sickeningly degrading all of this is: how easy it is for him to threaten you; how he has all the power and you have none; how the men around you are goading you, taunting you and calling you things that should get their mouths washed out with soap). You can focus on this, and this, at least, you’re good at. You’ve always been good with your mouth.

It’s a nice dick, too, you have to admit to yourself as you stare at it. Perfect length, girth, and a thick, cut head that you know just by looking that you’re going to have to stretch your jaw to get around. All his hair is neatly trimmed and groomed, and he even smells good, clean and fresh like soap. You’ve never been in front of a dick that didn’t smell like day-old ball sweat, so this is a first. It’s got a nice upward curve, too, and there’s a bead of pearly precum oozing out of the tip. The kind of cock that’s made for penetrative orgasms—

No. Fuck. You cannot be thinking this. You cannot allow yourself to lust after a gang leader who thinks of you as little more than an interactive sex doll. A tingle of blood rushes to your cheeks as you feel wetness pool in your panties and you adjust your stance, shuffling your thighs apart under the pretense of getting closer and hoping Overhaul doesn’t notice.

If he notices, he does the merciful thing and keeps quiet (which makes you think he has no idea you’re feeling the way you’re feeling, because he’s probably never chosen to do the merciful thing in his life). He does, however, shift one of his knees farther apart to accommodate you as you crawl close enough to him to get your head all the way between his legs.

So now you’re staring up at that unfairly pretty cock and wondering how the fuck this is supposed to start, but—best just get on with it. Pretend it’s not him, pretend it’s…no, wait, pretend it is him, it is Overhaul, the same bastard who’s looking down at you like you’re trash, except pretend you’re in control. Because no matter how many orders he gives, once you’ve got his cock in his mouth he’ll have to be the weak one. Right?

Lightly, slowly, you trace the tip of your tongue in a wet path up the underside of his cock, sliding up from the hilt to caress every bulging vein with all the delicacy and accuracy of a surgeon. When you reach the tip, you flatten your tongue to curve it around that bulbous head and then slip it off, the suction providing a wet smacking sound as your skin leaves his.

The breath of his barely-heavier exhale ruffles your hair and you relish the knowledge that he’s getting impatient. Yes. The bastard can wait.

You kiss the tip of his cock, barely moving your lips around the slit, only enough to let your tongue flick out against the precum and gather the bitter liquid up in your mouth. And then—right when he’s getting annoyed, when you can tell by the tension in his body that he’s five seconds away from shoving your head down to fuck your face—you duck closer, relax your throat, and swallow.

Like a fucking python. Or so you’ve been told.

The exhale that escapes him isn’t light this time. You can almost hear the barest hint of a groan under his breath, but you’re more focused on holding down your gag reflex as you let that heavy cock hit the back of your throat. Once he’s all the way down (or at least as far as you can get him), you rock yourself back an inch and then take him deeper, forcing yourself to hold still so he can feel the walls of your throat convulse around him, sucking him in, dry-gagging on the mass that’s filling you up.

“Fuuuuck,” you hear someone whine, and it’s not even Overhaul. It’s one of the men watching, and you feel a perverse mixture of hatred and arrogance rise up in you.

Overhaul’s cock is too big for you to properly moan around it, but you give it a go anyway so he can feel the vibration of your voice through his skin. You’re rewarded with a tangible twitch with it sitting on your tongue, and—oh—your mouth is watering out of where you’re clenching down on him at the back of your throat.

Spittle slips out over your lower lip and onto your chin, but you ignore it in favor of jerking your head up and down in fractional strokes, trying your absolute best to get yourself down to his base but knowing that he probably doesn’t give a shit anyway, not with how good your throat feels around what you’re capable of stuffing in.

What were you saying about ‘valuable’, sir? you think, and then you pull your head off his cock, so slow it’s almost cruel, sucking your cheeks in and hollowing out so those wet walls are rubbing up on every millimeter of his skin. When you reach the tip, you savor it, letting your tongue do the dirty work and looking up at him through your lash extensions before you release him with a nasty wet pop.

“Holy fuck, can I have her next?” one of the other men says, but you and Overhaul are too focused on each other to even look and see who’s talking.

His gaze is trained firmly down at you, and—no way, damn it—he looks bored, like he could be waiting in line at the DMV instead of getting sucked off by you, a girl who’s been complimented by every man she’s ever been with (including her first) on her bj technique. You know he’s feeling it—he can fake calm, but he can’t fake the way his cock’s throbbing under your tongue as you lick up the shaft. Still, now that you’ve got it in your head that Overhaul’s not going to make a sound, all you can think about is forcing him to moan. Let him look weak in front of all his little lackeys.

With renewed vigor, you lap up the length of Overhaul’s cock in sloppy dabs, leaving strings of saliva dripping off your mouth and his cock only to slurp them up, audibly, wiggling your tongue over the tip when you reach it. And that, that gets him, because you feel more than see the buck of his hips into your face as he hisses out a curse.

And—oh dear, maybe you shouldn’t have done that—because the next thing you feel is Overhaul looming forward over you, hand gripping the back of your head, and is he going to force you down? You hate that—so you take the initiative, tilting forward to take him into your mouth again, head bobbing up and down so quickly that your hair is falling all over your face, but it’s okay, because he’s got you, he’s got you, got his hands combed through your hair holding it out of your face, pulling so lightly it barely even hurts, but it does hurt, and he’s guiding you up and down on his cock and it’s hitting the back of your throat every time, and—and it hurts.

You really shouldn’t have done that.

“Take it deeper,” Overhaul instructs, almost encouraging, although you’re not given the option to pull off because he’s holding you down, pushing you firmly toward the base of his cock. You sputter around it, gagging, and you’re almost fucking choking, and he won’t let you up.

God, you’re not—not breathing, you can feel your throat choking down on him—“breathe through your nose,” he says, and this man, this villain has no idea what he’s fucking talking about, because you’re trying, eyes stinging and then you can feel tears down your cheeks. You try to squirm back on your knees, but somehow the combined force of every muscle in your body is outmatched by his single hand on the back of your head—and—and—you squeeze your eyes shut, relax, open your throat as much as you can and—

Overhaul forces your mouth down to the hilt.

Fuck, is he going to keep you there? You can’t, you can’t—if you could move, you’d be shaking your head and begging him to let you stop and as it is you’re whimpering around his cock. Your throat is making gagging noises and you’re crying, actually crying, actually fucking crying on a man’s dick. So this is what it feels like to be used?

“Good.” There’s something lower and darker in Overhaul’s voice, a husky undertone from the growl he’s trying to suppress. “Hold still…remember, you asked for this.”

You did. You asked for it. Begged for it. Pleaded.

“Want me to forgive your father’s debt…? You’re going to have to earn it.” He pulls out an inch just to ram himself back in. You make a weak attempt to move your tongue around his shaft and you can feel the shudder all the way through him, his cock twitching where it’s locked in your throat. “Mm…good girl. Just a little—little longer—“

His fingers are tightening in your hair, curling around the strands and tugging instead of just applying pressure to your head. He’s close, you think, and then you struggle back, not wanting him to cum down your throat, what if you choke on it? Like, really choke? You don’t want it, don’t want his cum in your stomach, but then he sighs and tells you again that you’re a good girl, and ohfuckohfuck you must be so scared you’re desperate for praise because you feel heat rush into your cheeks and your cunt when he says it and you try to move your tongue like you did earlier and his hips jerk forward and—he cums. In your mouth.

It’s salty, you think. The next thing you think is that you want to gag, because you’ve never had cum in your mouth before. For all your sexual experimentation, you’ve never let a man cum down your throat like this, always telling them it shoot it on your tits or whatever because you are not a person who should have semen in her mouth, much less ingest it.

But right now, with Overhaul lazily dragging your head up and down for a last couple pumps on his softening dick, your choice isn’t spit or swallow. It’s swallow or choke.

Hot. Thick. The texture is slimy, so viscous you can feel it going down your throat in strings. Part of you wants to throw up. It’s repulsive. Filthy. You hate this.

Part of you has to shift your position again so you don’t have to feel your own wetness slicking up the insides of your thighs.

How. Is. This. Possible. You may have just had to swallow your pride (and not just that), but what about your dignity? You’re a good person…okay, well, even if you’re not a ‘good person’ per se, you don’t hurt anyone with your selfishness. You don’t deserve to be kept as a pet by a sadistic bastard who gets off on watching you almost pass out on his cock, and you certainly don’t deserve the humiliation of finding that you’re turned on by it.

And yet. Here you are. Still held securely in place until Overhaul slides you off him. As soon as your mouth is free you suck in a dizzyingly deep breath, but even that is too much for your battered throat and the breath turns into a cough; you instinctively fold down away from Overhaul so the mixed saliva and cum you’re hacking out spatters in cloudy white flecks across the floor instead of on his clothing.

“Stop that,” Overhaul scolds, hauling you back up by your hair and forcing your mouth closed with a hand on your jaw. “If you make a mess, you’ll be cleaning it up.”

Considering what he just made you do to him, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s implying you’ll have to lick it off the floor. You clench your jaw, holding back the convulsions of your throat as best you can, and hope he doesn’t press the issue.

Now that you’ve got your coughing under control, you can start to sense things that you had been tuning out before: the men hooting and wolf-whistling and applauding your performance, the traitorously persistent throb of your clit pulsing under your panties, and Overhaul’s hand releasing your chin to pet down your neck. “Now. What do you say when someone gives you a meal?”

Just you wait, bastard. I’m going to tie you to your bed and set fire to it. But you’ve got the sense that that answer won’t go over well, so you take a deep breath and look up at him again, meeting those piercing gold eyes with your own. “Thank you, sir,” you say in a soft whisper because it’s all your abused throat can manage.

“That’s right.” His hands feel colder than the concrete under your legs as he spreads his hand down your neck, only to toy with one of the lacy pink straps of your nightdress. “Stand up.”

You stand shakily, too cowed to even consider stepping back from him. Without warning (much less permission), Overhaul lifts the hem of your stupidly short dress up past your thighs, exposing your panties and lower belly to view.

“Hold this in your mouth,” he says, and after only a few seconds of hesitation you open up and bite down on the fabric so you’re effectively holding up the skirt for him. Overhaul skims gloved hands down the sides of your hips and comes to a rest when he reaches your panties—and why did you have to wear these today? Shiny red satin in the front; the back is just flowers worked in crimson lace. You know exactly how good you look in these panties, and judging by the things Overhaul’s men are saying, they’re more than appreciative of the view.

But Overhaul ignores them in favor of hooking his fingers under the elastic and pulling the panties down until they’re resting stretched between your upper thighs. You don’t have to see them to know there’s a string of slick connecting the lips of your cunt to the fabric, betraying in full technicolor detail how turned on you’ve gotten just from sucking him off. He gazes down at your pussy and then up to you as if waiting for you to admit it, but you stay silent.

“Well, well. What a nicely-trained slut I’ve found myself.” He gracelessly pulls the panties the rest of the way down your legs and lets them fall to the ground. “Do you always get this wet when you let your boyfriends fuck that smart mouth?”

It takes you a second to comprehend that he’s expecting an answer. “N-No, sir,” you reply, voice muffled by the fabric you’re still holding between your teeth.

“I suppose I can’t leave you like this, not after you took me so nicely.”

Does he mean he’s going to get you off? No freaking way. You drop the hem of your dress, let it flutter down over your thighs, try to scramble back, but his hand on your waist keeps you from moving. “I— It’s okay, I don’t need—“

“No, I think you do. I think I’m going to reward my pet for a job well done.” He leans back, eyeing you without sympathy. “I’d have you touch yourself, but—“

The mere possibility that he might remove the handcuffs has you straining against them again, and the sound of metal against metal rings out from behind you.

“—but, I think it’s best to keep the cuffs on for a few days…until you’ve settled down.”

Days? He can’t leave you in chains for days, helpless and powerless, so easy to take advantage of. “You can’t,” you whimper, and even though you mean for it to be a decisive statement, with your throat ravaged and hoarse it’s downright pathetic. Overhaul doesn’t even bother reprimanding you for talking back.

“My men have been patient,” he muses, and an enthusiastic wave of agreement wells up from the others. “Any of them would be happy to do it.”

You may have been through a lot in the past hour alone, but there is no way you’re going to let those rowdy criminals have their way with you. You send a nervous glance around the room and as predicted, not a single one of them looks like they have the slightest shred of control over themselves.

None of them…except Overhaul.

Still eased back in his chair, he looks just as relaxed and unaffected as he did when he was explaining your father’s debts to you. But there’s something flickering in his eyes, something he isn’t going to say to you, isn’t going to say out loud. A challenge.

Maybe, once again, he’s waiting for you to ask for it yourself. And if it’s a choice between him and one of the grimy ruffians who’ve been looking at you like dogs look at meat, you know what you’d prefer. Well—really, you’d prefer option C: none of the above (your current state might be uncomfortable, but you’re not so wanton that you’d rather cum in front of strangers than keep your legs together). Unfortunately, you’re starting to come to terms with the fact that ‘no’ is no longer an option.

Overhaul’s stare flicks from you to an unseen figure behind you, and you can tell he’s about to summon one of them over so you force yourself to move, lurching forward and climbing into his lap to straddle one of his thighs with all the grace you’re capable of. You feel the stir in the air when he inhales sharply, surprised, and his masked face is so close to your neck that you wonder if he can smell the lotion you put on before you went to bed last night.

It’s one of your favorite scents: vanilla, lilac, orange blossoms. You bought it because it smelled pure.

“Please, sir, I don’t want them,” you breathe next to his ear, injecting every ounce of sexual frustration you’re feeling into the needy tones of your voice. “I’m yours. I belong to you, just you. No one else—please, sir…Overhaul.”

He’s quiet for a long, tense moment, and you think he’s going to hit you, or maybe even kill you for your disobedience. Push you off his lap at least. But just when you’re teetering on the edge of jumping back from him and begging for forgiveness for talking out of turn, you feel it—a low rumble of laughter from deep in his chest.

Big, cold hands wrap around the sides of your ribcage under your breasts and his fingernails dig into you through the layers of latex and fabric. He tilts forward, forcing you to arch away and all you can think about is how horribly weak you are compared to him. Are you trembling? Will he be angry if you feels how afraid you are?

“You know, I guess I’ll keep you after all,” he hums, stroking his fingers through your hair and down your neck. “How does that sound, princess? I think you’d like that very much, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” The response comes all too easily, even if the words taste bitter in your mouth. You’ve never said the word ‘sir’ so much in your life…but as he repositions you on his lap and slides a single hand up the inside of your thigh under your dress, you bite your lip and decide to hold back your protest.

If you’re going to have to learn manners, you’d better do it sooner rather than later. Something tells you Overhaul’s not going to accept any less than your best behavior if you want to pay off your debt.

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brownflower23 · 3 years

Text

Not My Father

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

*Mature Content Warning*

Summary: Reader gets arrested at a bar. Her boss comes to save her, but after months of frustration she doesn't get the response she expects. However, she receives much more than she can handle.

"That pervert is lucky all I did was break his nose" You roll your eyes at officer idiot questioning you. Treating you as some sort of criminal, when in actuality you put the worst of criminals away. "Well we called your supervisor; you can take it up with him" The officer snickered, a lump instantly formed in your throat.

"You called who?" You yell at the dumbstruck officer in front of you, clearly not expecting your panicked response. Just after the words left your mouth, your boss crossed the barrier into the holding room. Your stomach instantly flipped, as if you had been caught by a parent as a child. Your eyes meeting his; he stared with the same scolding glare you were expecting. The same look you'd seen many times; it always gave you chills. However, you had never been the one sitting on this side of the table feeling its full force. He folded his arms tightly over his broad chest, eyes lingering at the cuffs connected to your wrist.

At that moment, you couldn't find words to defend what he was seeing, you could only imagine his thoughts. Your barely appropriate dress, your makeup, unlike anything he had seen at work. He finally peeled his eyes off of you, somehow that making you feel even worse.

"Please remove the cuffs, I can handle it from here. Thank you again for the call." Hotch finally spoke, but only to the officer, nodding to him. He returned the nod and quickly walked over removing your restraints.

"Thanks." You gripped at the idiot who arrested you, rolling your eyes at him again. Hotch shot you a warning glare, causing you to sigh while massaging your wrists. This night was utter bullshit. The officer finally left the room, you stood expecting to follow.

"Where do you think you're going?" His stern voice forcing your body to freeze, sending chills down your entire spine. "Um, I thought I was allowed to leave." You replied without looking directly at him, you didn't think you could handle it right now. "You have nothing to say for yourself?" Hotch scoffed.

"I'm sorry?" You questioned, failing to sound sincere. He doesn't respond this time, after an uncomfortable moment of silence you finally looked to meet his stare. He let out a frustrated sigh "Let's go. Before I change my mind." He cautions before leading us through the police station, again thanking the captain and same officer.

"Where is my car?" You ask once outside after you were returned your phone and I.D. "I'm guessing still at the bar you were picked up at, or by now at a towing company. You can deal with that in the morning, get in." He answers not stopping his strides toward the black SUV. You hurry to enter, afraid he might leave you here, the cool night air sending additional chills over your body, still buzzing from earlier.

The ride has an eerie silence, you had never made Hotch this mad at you, the feeling honestly made you want to hurl. You notice you aren't familiar with the street signs you were passing. "Can I ask where we are going?" You break the silence. "My place." He answers blankly, not removing his attention from the road. "Why?" You dare to question. "Because it is late, and you were picked up from a bar." He shot back gripping the steering wheel tighter, not seeming to give you another option.

After ten more agonizing minutes, he finally pulls into a parking garage. You quickly jump out of the car, following Hotch through a few hallways. You felt a wave of awkwardness once he finally stopped at the door. He quickly unlocked it and opened the door for you. You look at the open door, feeling like it was a threshold you shouldn't enter.

"Look I'm fine, I can call a cab to take me to my car." You insist, still not crossing the threshold. "No. You shouldn't be driving, you can stay here." He replied like it was an order. "We aren't at work." You spat not believing him. "Lower your voice, your yelling will wake others." He corrected you again, you noticing the clenching of his jaw. You groaned pushing past him into the apartment.

"Look I appreciate this but.." you start to continue your previous argument but his deep voice cuts you off. "You're correct agent, we are not at work. Meaning, that I did not have to leave my home in the middle of the night, coming to save you from being thrown in jail. You're lucky Jack is away or you would've been there until Monday." He chastised you again, but this time he was right. Although; still being a dick to you of all people.

"I didn't ask you to, I didn't even tell them I was an agent so don't try to make me feel guilty." You plead your case as he began to walk away. "I'm not trying to make you feel anything, maybe if you had more control of your actions you wouldn't be in this situation." He argues turning back in your direction. You finally noticed his different appearance, no jacket or tie, but jeans with an athletic shirt, his hair not styled but falling casually onto his face.

"I don't even want to be in this situation, I'll just go to my car." You huff turning back walking to the door. You just reached the handle, when a large hand came in your line of sight, pushing against the door.

"I'm not letting you leave like this. I don't know your mental state." You hear spoken close behind you. You spin on your heels, slightly taken back by how close your boss was to you. "I promise I'm fine. I wasn't drunk, and it's been hours." You roll your eyes again. "Obviously not, I have never seen you act like this." His voice was desperately trying to hide his frustration with you for the evening, you could see his chest rising against the fitted shirt.

"What? Not perfectly following your orders? Not everyone is perfect like you Hotch." You were yelling at this point, and you didn't care. You had never seen a person with more patience and composure than Hotch, but you finally broke him. "You allegedly assaulted someone at a bar drunk, get arrested, risk your career, the reputation of the BAU, and my credibility as Supervisor. You honestly think you should go back out right now?" He yelled back shocking you, feeling his minty breath fan across your face.

"You don't even know my side of the story!" You gasp at his assumptions. "How am I supposed to when you wouldn't tell me?" He hisses, still holding his same position, you had never seen such fire in his eyes.

"You are not my fucking father Hotch" You yell again, refusing to let him overpower you.

Your back hit the door with a thud, causing you to groan into his mouth. His hands gripping onto your hips roughly, pulling your bodies as close as possible. One of your hands latching his shoulder to steady yourself, while your other tugged at his soft hair.

"Then stop being a damn brat" He all out growls directly in your face, not missing a beat. Your not sure who moves first, you honestly think it was instantaneous, but before you blinked your mouths clash desperately, hands frantically grasping onto wherever you could reach first.

You purposely tugged harder, retrieving a groan from him, hearing it igniting a hunger in you. His lips slightly parted, so you took advantage sliding your tongue over his, still determined not to be overpowered.

Your control is short-lived, as he shifts his leg up, making you gasp at the contact, your head craning against the cold door. Even on your tiptoes, you couldn't relieve the pressure, perching you upon his thick thigh, causing your dress to bunch leaving only your damp underwear as a barrier.

"Did you think after your little game, I'd let you control me, sweetheart?" He huffs against your ear, in an even deeper tone than he usually held. You had never been affected by a pet name, but just coming from him made your walls clench, further agonizing you. You finally open your eyes, batting up at his dark eyes innocently. "I don't know what you mean" you smirk. You felt a low chuckle in his chest, and then you were swiftly moved, flipping you to face the door.

"I'm having a hard time believing that y/n. You've spent months purposely teasing and frustrating me. This..." he pauses his sentence, using his foot to spread your ankles, gripping your wrist together. "Is exactly what you wanted correct?" He completes the question as a whisper against your ear, making you shutter against him. You weren't giving in that easy.

"I honestly didn't think you had it in you...old man." You further push him, knowing your slight age difference being one of the things you regularly tease him about. He groans lowly at your words, pushing you harder against the door. "I still remember exactly how to handle a brat like you"

He punctuates the end of his sentence by effortlessly ripping your thin underwear from under your skirt, throwing the torn fabric to the floor. You shook at the cool air hitting your core, finally noticing how wet you were. His fingers brush over your center, gently spreading your arousal. You bite your lip to keep in the moans your body desperately want to release.

"Then why are you so wet for me sweetheart, hum?" Hotch hums in your ear, pushing his thick finger slowly into your pussy. You don't bother trying to hold in your moans this time, overwhelmed by the feeling of your muscles clenching around this finger, attempting to take it as deep as possible.

As if a single finger wasn't enough, he added a second stretching you delightfully. You scratch against his hand, as if some sort of plea, but the last thing you wanted was for him to stop as you could feel the pleasure building in your stomach. "Something wrong?" He coos arrogantly, watching your face morphing, as your pants of pleasure increase.

"Nothing" You manage to smart back without it sounding completely of a moan. By this point, you drenched his fingers, coating them entirely, letting him fuck his fingers into you as fast as he pleased. You hear a faint growl come deep from Hotch's chest, almost sounding frustrated. "Don't you lie to me; If you are not honest you don't get what you want sweetheart" "And what do I want?" You laugh through a heavy breath.

He shifts an unoccupied finger up to graze your clit every time his fingers plunge into you, making you gasp against the cold door. He leans down to your neck, tickling your skin with his beard. "To be fucked like you wish those boys you entertain would fuck you." Hearing your boss talk like that sends you spiraling, throwing your head back onto his chest to support you as your legs began to feel weak. Just as you clench around his fingers he retracts them, leaving you dripping down your thigh, craving satisfaction.

"What the fuck?" You yell spinning quickly to face him, he catches you by the neck placing you against the door again. Your breath caught, you felt like you didn't have a voice with his large hand around your throat. The way he was staring at you, like his prey. It made your knees weak.

He lifts his other hand between your bodies, you could see his middle fingers glistening. He keeps his eyes nailed to yours, you still trying to calm your pathetic pants. Your mouth gapes as you watch him take the fingers in his mouth, he groans out twirling his tongue, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment savoring your taste. You were fucked.

He removes his fingers slowly, still watching you staring at him with big doe eyes. Then wiping the edge of his mouth with his hand. "Watch it, sweetheart. I'm not sure if you haven't caught on... but I always give the orders. You will not cum until I allow." You whimper loudly at his declaration, you had never had a man command you like this, but you couldn't deny the effect it was having on your body.

"I'll do what you say." You whisper, barely audible, looking away from his eyes. Loosening his hand on your neck, using it to make you look back up to him. A faint smirk now played at the corner of his lips. "What was that?" He lightly chuckles. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes.

"I said I'll do what you say. Happy?" You return the smirk. "Hmm, honestly I thought you'd be harder to break. I think you're just trying to get what you want." He informs you, moving his face closer to yours. You shrug your shoulders innocently. "Is it working?" You breathe against his lips before gripping onto his shirt pulling him flush against you.

His mouth explores yours again; it's without a doubt the best kiss of your life. He was so skilled in his movements, and how he taunted you with his hands without actually pleasuring you. Maybe you had been dealing with boys before.

Hotch gripping into your hips, lifting you slightly before walking your bodies away from the door. You hardly notice he was moving you until your legs hit the back of a couch. He instantly spun you around making you a bit dizzy, folding you at the waist over the couch.

You couldn't help the smirk that grew on your face hearing the chime of his belt buckle, you were getting exactly what you wanted. "I wouldn't gloat so quickly y/n" Hotch warns. You try to look back to observe but cannot move from him keeping a hand on your neck, pushing your chest into the oversized cushion.

"And I shouldn't because?" You entertain his warning. "Because this" is the only answer he provides, and you then feel the pressure. That of him forcing his cock in you with a single plunge, burying himself to your brim, ripping through any defiance left in you.

"Aaron!" You scream out his first name, gasping for the air he just knocked from your stomach. He was massive, stretching you uncomfortably, you didn't have to see it to know you had never taken a cock this big. You were also sinfully a sucker for pain.

"Fuck" he groans above you, surly your tightness was affecting him also. You knew that he rammed into you purposely, not wanting you to be able to conform to his size before punishing you.

He made the single motion again, burying himself again and stopping, making you cry out again. "What's wrong sweetheart? A brat like you can take it right?" His breathing is labored now, one hand still tightly holding you down, the other now roughly gripping your hip. He repeats the same hard single thrust, you can feel tears building at your lashes. The way he filled you was overwhelming.

"Please" you beg, squirming under him. You weren't sure what you were begging for at this point, you just needed him. Every time he stills you could feel his cock pulsing deep in you, not delivering enough pleasure to relieve you, but only to further drive you mad.

"Oh, now you want to do what you're told huh? Now you beg like a pathetic whore." He responds with another snap of his hips. You couldn't take much more, you felt as if you could combust at any second. "Aaron I can't..please" you cry, feeling the tears stream over your face, he had finally broken you.

"Go ahead baby, call me what you really want. Go ahead." He groans, pulling your head back by a fist full of your hair. He didn't have to say it, you knew exactly what he meant, and he knew you wanted it. So you let everything out, all the months of frustration boiling over.

"Daddy, please...I'm yours...please" You wish you could've recorded the sound that escaped Aaron at that moment, a loud groan mixed with a needy whine. Matched by feeling his cock twitch inside you, struggling to stay composed hearing that name.

He throws his hips into you again, but this time it follows with another quick thrust, over and over, filling the room with a slapping noise and your moans. He keeps your hair pulled back, making your body hold the arch for him to angle deeper, brushing your g spot with each hard thrust.

"Yes yes yes, don't stop" You scream, him finally giving you what you needed. "Can you take it, baby? You're so damn tight" He grunts, you weren't going to last with him calling you baby. "Yes, daddy, harder please" you plea, wanting him to ruin you. He grants your wish, fucking you harder, you gasping feeling it all the way in your stomach. You would certainly be bruised tomorrow, but the pain would be worth it.

"Fuck daddy. So good... so fucking deep." You cry, feeling your body begin to tingle, your legs shaking against him. He groans feeling you tightening "Cum for daddy sweetheart." He encourages through his heavy breaths, and that's all it takes to make your body snap. He slows his motions slightly letting you ride out your orgasm, your walls still fluttering around his thick cock.

He releases your head, you not having the energy to stay upright you letting it hang down against the couch. "Shit that's was amazing" You whisper, causing him to chuckle and slowly begin to move into you again. Your eyes flash open realizing he still hadn't finished.

"Aaron I can't" you whine, your body couldn't possibly take more of this. "Oh I'm not finished, and neither are you" He growls in your ear, you couldn't help but moan out at his tone. "I can't take anymore" You whine again, only fueling him. He releases the hand that was holding you, now gripping onto both of your hips harshly, definitely leaving a mark. There was no reason to restrain you anymore, he knew you were his.

Hotch returns to the same pace he held previously, causing your eyes to roll back as you yelp, grasping onto the couch for dear life it felt. "Don't forget your place sweetheart. You're done when I say brat..." he pauses his sentence, repositioning one of his hands to your front. "And I think you can give me one more." He states as he set fire to your body rubbing fiercely over your clit, steadily pushing himself deep, determined to make you unravel again.

"Daddy" You scream, feeling your body giving in to him, his thrust becoming frantic, his moans become beastly with each thrust. "Give it to me y/n. Ahh... fuck. I know you want to baby." Is his final pleasuring cry to take you with him, as he made a final slap against your body to sheathe himself fully.

"Oh, Aaron" Is all you can cry as the air hitches in your throat. All at once, your body erupts again, feeling him filling you with his seed. Grasping onto him to anchor yourself to reality, uncertain this level if euphoria is real, or if you'll ever get to relive it again.

Drained of any energy, your body collapses into his, feeling his arms catch you and lifting you sweetly into his embrace. Although; unable to open your eyes, you feel him carefully carrying you, and then the soft cushion of a bed. You weren't sure how long he was gone, but your body slightly jumps at the feeling of a wet cloth between your thighs.

"Wha..what are you doing?" You mutter against a pillow and hear him softly laugh at you. "I've got you, sweetheart, just rest" He replies in a very tender voice. He softly wipes your leg, erasing the proof of your shared pleasure. Even half-conscious you had never felt so adored. Following; you feel him slide the heels off your feet, and then tug at the end of your dress to remove it. Your dress is finally off, and you feel it would be silly to care about after the deed you two just committed.

You are only naked for a couple of seconds before he wiggles a soft t-shirt over your body, oversized enough to be a nightgown. It smells strongly of him, which comforted you, but not as much as him pulling you into his bare chest, kissing your forehead just as you slip into an exhausted sleep.

Please let me know if this should be turned into a short series! Thanks loves!

#aaron hotchner #hotch #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #Smut #ssa hotchner #hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x reader #hotch x y/n #thomas gibson #thomas gibson x reader

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likeastarstar · 3 years

Text

Invisible String- Jungkook

(A/N: This is my first time writing a soulmate au piece but I really love them and I hope I did it in a non-cheesy way. I really love this one and I want you guys to like it too. Feedback is always appreciated!)

masterlist.

He was either meant to be your soulmate or your demise.

You really couldn't tell which yet, since you didn't even know how you felt about him quite yet. Either way, there was a string connecting the two of you and someone kept tugging on it. Call it fate, call it misfortune.

The first time you met him, you forgot to ask his name. You weren't even supposed to be at that crossroad, but you had woken up freakishly early and felt like taking a walk to that bakery you always meant to visit. It was a bright day, sunny for the first time in a week. The air was cool on your skin and things felt right.

You waited idly for the traffic to die down even slightly so you could cross, a couple other people waiting beside you. There was one man, tall, in the fattest pair of shoes you had ever seen. Seriously, they were gigantic black boots that looked like they could stomp out an entire village. The only reason you noticed him moving before the walk symbol lit up was because they were all you could stare at.

He must've had headphones on, because he didn't notice the car rapidly speeding in his direct path, blaring it's horn loudly. You reacted quicker than him, grabbing the back of his bomber jacket and yanking him backwards with so much desperation he fell back onto you.

"Are you stupid?" You snapped, stumbling backwards. You couldn't quite catch yourself and found yourself falling on your ass, the man who was much larger than you toppling over as well.

You landed with a muffled thud, groaning in pain.

"Are you okay? I-I'm so sorry!" The man gasped, scrambling to get off of you. He stood above you with his hands outstretched towards you, his cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. "I didn't see the car- I was looking at my phone."

You frowned up at him, propping yourself up on your elbows. His eyes were as big as his boots and he had a strangely innocent look to his face that really contrasted the standoffish outfit he has on, but maybe that was the point. He stretched out a hand towards you, offering to help you up.

"You should probably not do that while you're trying to cross the street," You sighed, taking his hand instantly. It was soft, strong. He pulled you up easily, with a speed that surprised you, gripping his arm to steady yourself upright. Ooh- strong bicep.

"It was for work," He grumbled defensively, a hurt look coming over his face before an annoyed one took its place. "Not that you needed to know that. Thank you- for stopping me, but I'm in a bit of a rush."

You stood speechless, sputtering for a response while he turned to walk away. He was moving so fast his hair flopped everywhere in a funny way, hustling across the street.

"Hey!" You called after him, to no use. "You're welcome, I guess! Asshole!"

The next time you met, things were a little different.

You stared at the shelf of porcelain figures, wondering why on Earth your mom would collect these tiny freaks of nature. Why did anyone collect knick knacks anyway- they just collected dust, dust meant sneezing, sneezing meant bacteria, bacteria meant death. Death was bad.

You reached for the least offensive one, trying to avoid touching anything else. Behind you, the door to the store opened and a slight breeze blew in.

"Welcome!" You heard a worker say cheerily, a familiar voice mumbling a response.

You tried to place it, unknowingly swiping your hand a little too far to the left and knocking over at least five of these stupid little figurines. You gasped, watching them fall to the floor and shattering- directly next to a pair of the largest black boots you had ever seen.

"Shit."

You traced the boots upwards- black boots, black sweatpants, black bomber. Same guy, same outfit. Did this guy have a uniform or something?

"Shit," You nodded, parroting what he just said.

A spark of recognition flashed his face, mouth falling open slightly- he had a mole beneath his bottom lip. Cute.

"You break it, you buy it!" a worker called out, not so cheerily.

Shit.

You groaned, knowing you definitely could not afford this. How were you going to pay for all of these stupid figurines? Why were they so goddamn expensive in the first place? You crouched down to pick up the pieces, boot boy mirroring you.

"I can pay," He said quietly, helping you as a staff worker came over to the pair of you with a broom and a dustpan. "And if you think they're stupid, why were you even looking at them?"

You stared up at him in confusion- had you said all of that aloud?

"My mom likes them, it's her birthday." You mumbled, "Not that you needed to know that. You don't need to pay, I'll figure something out."

"Consider it payback for the last time," He shrugged, "Pick out an unbroken one for your mom and pay for that at least- I'll get the broken ones."

You promised to pay him back and meant it- exchanging numbers and offering to meet up a week later. He told you a bank transfer would be enough but you insisted on buying him coffee at least- if not to even the playing field then to see if he wore the boots again. Except that he gave you the wrong number, an elderly woman picking up when you tried calling later that day.

The next time you ran into the boy, who's name you found out was Jungkook, was three weeks later.

"Can you at least try to act like you're having fun?"

"No," You laughed, staring at ceiling.

This club was too crowded, too hot, too...much. Your friend had dragged you out and so there you were- stuck until she wanted to go home. Sure, you could've abandoned her, but you were a good friend and good friends stayed until the entire group wanted to go home.

Except that she ditched you the second she found a guy to go home with. Somehow, you weren't surprised.

Now it was down to you and this guy who followed you on your way out of the club, standing too close to you.

"I said I wasn't interested," You repeated, feeling deeply annoyed. "You have two seconds before I beat the shit out of you and I don't mean that as a joke. I literally will kill you."

"Sounds kinky," He slurred, grinning in a way you didn't appreciate.

You sighed and whirled around, ready to stick by your word until a familiar face caught your eye.

"Jungkook," You gasped, his eyes wide and trained on you. He raised his eyebrows and looked at the man next to you, his eyes narrowing slightly before flickering back to you.

"Hey, asshole," He frowned. Wow, he gave you a nickname. "You never called me. What happened to paying me back?"

"Me, asshole? You, asshole. You gave me the wrong number," You defended, now completely ignoring the man pressing himself into your side.

He seemed to be with friends, nudging one before waving goodbye and stepping closer to you. God- he was hot. He wasn't wearing the boots for once, instead he had a sleek pair of sneakers on with fitted black jeans and a button down shirt, enough buttons undone for you to ogle openly at his chest. The bomber jacket was gone, replaced by a leather jacket and his fluffy hair was sleeked back neatly.

"Do you know this guy?" The man from before whined, shoving himself half onto you.

You grunted and slammed him backwards, "You're still here?" You snapped, throwing him the meanest look you could muster.

"Your friend said you were interested!" He exclaimed, just as you felt Jungkook step closer behind you, his chest touching your back lightly.

"She's obviously not," He snapped, placing a light hand on your shoulder.

No, you weren't interested in that guy, but you were interested in Jungkook.

TO BE CONTINUED...

PART TWO

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #bts fic #jungkook fluff #bts drabble #jungkook drabble #jungkook fic #jungkook oneshot #soulmate au #soulmate!bts #soulmate!jungkook #bts imagines #jungkook x y/n #bts one shot

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elfwoodfae · 3 years

Text

Eowells x og Eobard x reader.

Warnings: toxic Eo, smut, threesome, double penetration. Also, this is completely consensual, it’s reassured through the fic that they can stop any moment if any of them wants to.

Eobard sighed for the tenth time since the argument had started again, it had been like this since you both had made it to the future. Things seemed a little too tense in between you both; it was always the same argument, the same fight and he could tell you were getting tired of it too. Since finding out about him, finding out what he had to do to survive, you had always expressed interest in knowing what his real body looked like, you wanted to know the real him, but he had never allowed you to. Never said any details about himself. He was too stubborn to do it, specially since there was no winning for him in doing so, if he showed you what he really looked like and you liked his original body more you would still be stuck with Harrison’s body, but if you liked Harrison’s more than the original it would feel like a blow to his pride, even if he would never say it out loud.

He took in a breath, seeing you there standing with your arms crossed in front of you, the frustration radiating off of you, your eyes squinted in his direction, the tension in the air was not helping him see straight. He decided to do what he did best when neither of you could see eye to eye, leave and give you space to cool off, even after years of being married it was still hard to get to an agreement once you both had reached this level of frustration. He left through the window in a fit of red lighting, speeding through the city, trying to calm himself but he was just so tired of this constant argument that seemed to follow him week by week, that he ran, ran so fast until he saw a speed portal opening and swallowing him before he could slow down.

He had traveled to the future; everything seemed fairy equal but after looking around he noticed the year, he had traveled one year ahead. He should have turned around and speeded back to his time, but curiosity got the better of him, making him speed through the city to the house you both shared, looking for you and seeing how things were between you both. He knew he shouldn’t know this much about his own future, knowing how fragile something like time was but he couldn’t help himself.

Once outside he looked through the window, he saw you, walking inside, all doll up and looking as beautiful as ever, but what he saw next made his blood boil. Walking behind you and rubbing his hands up your legs was a stranger, a man he had never seen before. It was clear he wasn’t in the picture and he hated the second he saw you close your eyes and sigh when the man’s hands ran higher up. He closed his eyes before speeding back and creating a portal, it seemed he wouldn’t be with you for much longer if he didn’t change a few things. He made a split second decision as he entered the portal, speeding through time with a goal on mind. He would make sure you were bound to him for life.

He made it back to the house, noticing you were now seemingly more relaxed, but he was even angrier than before. He saw you there, sitting on the couch with a big shirt on and the image of that idiots hands up your body flashed through his mind, infuriating him even more. He flashed to you, grabbing you roughly and speeding you to the bedroom, his hand roughly cradling your face, making enough pressure to show who was in charge but without hurting you. His eyes were like fire, blue oceans with red lightning storming in it, his face adorned with a scowl as he pushed you closer to himself. An animalistic growl escaped his lips before he collided his lips to yours, connecting them in an angry kiss, putting all his rage and fury into it.

His hand found the back of your neck, tangling his fingers in your hair hard enough to make you whine in pain. His other hand traveled up your leg under your shirt, grabbing it forcefully, taking it off of you. His mouth found your neck, biting and nipping at the skin as his hand grabbed your butt cheek, squeezing as a moan escaped you. You could feel the anger coming off of him, this was a different kind of mad, he was furious, possessive, you had no idea what had happened to make him this mad after he left, but still you felt safe in his arms, knowing the moment you wanted to stop he would stop just by you asking him to.

His hand came to your cheek, cradling in roughly once again as his finger squeezed your lips, moving your face up to look at him.

“You are mine y/n.” He growled, squeezing his hand just lightly to make his point clear while his other hand moved down your stomach, passing the hem of your underwear and feeling the wetness that had pooled in between your legs.

You moaned in response, trying to grab his shoulders and get him off the suit he was still wearing. He phased out of it, before turning you around and standing behind you, his hand squeezing the softness of your breast as he made you look to the door before whispering in your ear.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, if you want another man, I can be another man. I will give you what you want so bad.” He angrily growled in your ear while grinding his hips agains the crevice of your ass.

Your eyes widened as you saw what he referred to; there, cradle in the same suit was another speedster, or a copy of Eobard, but when he stopped vibrating himself and pulled his cowl down, your eyes connected and you saw that this man, was a completely different one. His hair was blonde, his eyes where still blue, but a different kind of blue, almost kinder than your Eobard. His body was the same height but a little more wide and full. He was still a sight to behold.

Your mouth opened but no words came out. His eyes took you in form, as his other half, the one wearing Wells’ skin, his words echoing through his mind, the other one had said how there was someone, someone who held their hearts and if they didn’t act fast they would loose her. He had never met her, but he could see the urgency on his other version’s eyes. He knew this version of himself in a different body was from much farther up in the timeline, somehow the way this other him had talked about you made him see that perhaps there was hope for him, that everything he had done would be worth it in the future.

He moved closer, his hand softly touching your cheek, feeling your skin as he closed his eyes, a shocking contrast from how rough his other half was being. Your eyes trained on his face, looking up at him full of adoration. He was beautiful to you, he was yours. His cheeks, his lips, his chin, everything about him was hypnotizing. You saw him opening his eyes, looking directly at yours, your hand softly touching his face, feeling the shadow of a beard.

He looked up to Wells, their eyes connecting and you felt him nod behind you, giving him some kind of confirmation. He brought his hands up your face, moving them to the back of your neck before lowering himself and connecting your lips to his. They were rougher than Wells but his kiss ignited a fire within you, making you throb around Wells fingers. You felt him smirk on your neck, lifting his mouth enough speak.

“She likes it.” He said, a smirk on his face as he took his fingers out of you, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean.

This comment made Eobard growl into the kiss, his hand trailing down your body, squeezing your waist before moving to your ass, squeezing the flesh there.

“How are we doing this.” he practically growled, his eyes moving momentarily to his others face.

They looked at each other in a way that represented they had gotten to an agreement without needing to utter a word. Wells hand started trailing down your stomach again, tangling in the elastic of your underwear before pulling it down, leaving you completely naked in between both of them. His hands moved lower, his finger moving in between your folds, vibrating once they connected with your clit, making you throw you’re head back into his shoulder, a moan escaping you as your hands gripped Eobard’s shoulders.

Eobard’s fingers kept trailing around the curve of your ass, dipping lower until they found your opening. He circled a finger around it, applying pressure and testing the waters. He felt you stiffen a little at the contact, giving him the feeling you had never done this before, the sole idea of having you this way for the first time made his pants tighten. He felt Wells giving something to him, a bottle of lube. He opened it, pouring some on his fingers before moving them back to your entrance. His lips connecting to your neck, nipping at the skin, marking it and sucking on it enough to distract you from the finger he was beginning to push inside. He worked it slowly, inserting only the first half of it, thrusting it in and out until he could feel you relax around him. Once your body began to relax he pushed it further into the tightness of your ass, curling it slightly and pushing to the sides to start to stretch you out, he waited a moment before adding another finger, feeling how hot you felt around him, working his way into opening you up for his cock, he would need to get you stretch if he wanted it to fit comfortably inside.

Wells moved his own fingers over your clit, still applying vibrations but switching them to his thumb, allowing his other two fingers to move closer to your entrance. He ran them over your opening, teasing along side it until your wetness dripped down them. He pushed one inside, following the other close behind. You were so wet and hot around him, he could specially feel how tight it felt with both their fingers in each hole and he couldn’t imagine how tight it would feel when both their cocks were inside of you, just the idea made him groan in pleasure. His fingers worked their way deeper, curling and stimulating that spot inside of you that always made you moan and twist in pleasure. He felt you clench around him, your walls tightening around him the harder his finger moved over your clit and soon he could feel your legs shaking as his counter part grabbed one of your thighs to hold you in place while your orgasm hit you, making you arch your back further into Eobard’s fingers and your head connect with Wells shoulder.

Eobard phased himself out of his suit, and in a lighting storm they had switched places. Now he was behind you while Wells was in front of you. His hands moved under your thighs, grabbing them firmly before lifting you up, wrapping your legs around his waist while your back rested against Eobard’s chest. Eobard grabbed his cock, giving himself a few strokes, his lips connecting with the curve of your shoulder as he left a trail of kisses from your neck down your shoulder blades.

“Relax for me.” He whispered in your ear, while the tip of his cock pushed slowly against your hole. He felt you tense in his arms, he could hear you breathing out softly trying to relax yourself as he kissed your neck, trying to distract you from the discomfort of his member going inside of you. He gave you a few moments to relax after he was halfway through to push inside completely, sitting all the way in his teeth sank on your skin at the pleasure he felt being so tightly sitting within you.

He waited for Wells to make his move then, he worried how much your body could take both of them at the same time, reaffirming you that if you were in pain or you wanted to stop you just needed to say it. Wells hand grabbed the base of his cock, he moved it over your opening, against your lips, coating it with your wetness before he held your hips in place and started to push inside. Your eyes closed at the sensation it filled you with, the pressure and pleasure it brought you to have both of them inside at the same time. Wells had closed his eyes, his breath faltering at how tight it was to be inside of you. Making it almost impossible to move of how full they had you.

Eobard’s hands remained on your ass while Wells moved his to your thighs, keeping you in place while he began to thrust first, starting slowly and giving you time to adjust to the sensation, once Eobard felt you relax he began to move, matching Wells thrust, both of them going out and back in at the same time. They soon had you in a moaning mess, your head rested against Eobard’s shoulder while Wells kissed you, his tongue playing inside your mouth as his hips thrusted harder, making you moan and arch your back at the deep spot he had hit.

The faster he began to thrust, Wells could feel you tightening around him, making it even harder for Eobard to move, he was getting close and he could feel you and Wells getting closer too. He moved his fingers around you, moving them to the front of you and down your stomach, moving them over your bundle of nerves as he started to vibrate them. His fingers were thinker and rougher than Wells, they were taking you closer and closer to your orgasm, you could feel yourself contracting around their cocks, feeling so full you could barely breath. Eobard moved his mouth to your ear, bitting and nipping at your earlobe.

“Come for me y/n” he whispered before delivering a particularly hard thrust, making you lose it and come over them both. The feeling of your pussy tightening around him made Wells falter, his thrust becoming erratic as he made sure to push himself deep inside of you as he came. Eobard sped up his movements, moving his hips faster, gripping the skin of your ass hard enough to leave bruises, he grunted into your skin, feeling himself beginning to come, the flat of his tongue licking the sweat on your shoulder as he closed his eyes.

After a few seconds they both got out of you, Wells moved you to the bed, laying you down and moving next to your side, while Eobard moved to the other side. He shouldn’t stay long but he couldn’t help the warmth he felt near you. You curled on your side, facing Eobard, your hand over his chest while your head rested over his arm, you closed your eyes, smelling his scent and relaxing at having this moment with him. Wells didn’t mind, he watched from behind you, his hand resting on the curve of your waist, his eyes were unfocused as he looked at your both. The only thing he lamented was that the child he had put in you wouldn’t resemble his original form.

@harrisonwellsisdaddy

@jade-elite

@steamjunk90

@dumpeetintofyre

@yetanotherwells

@wintersire

#the flash imagines #eobard thawne fanfic #eowells fanfic #eowells x reader #harrison wells x y/n #harrison wells fanfic #eobard thawne x reader #harrison wells fanfiction #the flash fanfiction #harrison wells imagine #eowells x reader x mattobard fanfic #eobard thawne x reader fanfic #original eobard thawne x reader #eobard thawne x reader smut #eobard thawne smut #harrison eo wells smut #harrison eo wells x reader smut #eowells x reader x og eobard smut

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writefightandflightclub · 3 years

Text

End of the line (Santiago Garcia x GN! reader)

@autumnleaves1991-blog runs a fantasic # Writer Wednesday, and this week’s photo prompt sparked a lil idea! Of course I’m a day late, please forgive. The prompt is the photo below, and my response is a rather angsty Triple Frontier one-shot. This is different to my usual takes, so I’m so grateful for the prompt!

Summary: you are reaching the end of the line, and there’s only one person you want to pick up the phone to.

Word count: 2.4k, somehow

Rating: mature for themes of violence (18+ only)

Warnings: theme of reader being pursued / targeted; ongoing mentions of guns / gun violence (not graphic); reader injuries (not graphic); themes of character death; angst; vague mentions of past wrongdoing / implied illicit activities; theme of former lovers.

You run your fingers over your scathed knuckles and the bruises on your hands, flexing and opening your fingers and trying to work out niggles in your wrist that you doubt will ever truly leave you. You wince as the motion tugs on a spot which is particularly stiff, and a pain zips all the way up your forearm.

Your only consolation is that the other guy fared far worse.

Undoing all your attempts to unknot your taut muscles, your fists clench again as you hear the door to the dingy motel bar swing open to your right. Your head whips towards the newly-arrived patron and you tense, your hand twitching against the weapon concealed in your jacket. As it becomes clear the new arrival is an old, inebriated local and not a threat, you relax a shade; though not all the way.

You barely remember the last time you fully relaxed. You wish you could shake this state of hyper-vigilance. Eyes constantly sweeping the perimeter. Clocking every open-carry tucked into a belt, scoping every exit route, monitoring every micro-gesture and expression. But one slip now and it will cost you.

You bounce your leg under the table, filled with an onslaught of sadness that you can’t even enjoy a cup of coffee without the looming fear of retribution. Still, you are safe enough here for now, you assess. For at least one more night. At least, you hope. Certainty is a thing long-dead, just like your old life.

Your eyes flick out through the scummy window, reaching across the lot to the stretch of motel illuminated to your left. Not that there’s much to look at out there -snow and vehicles and the shitty exterior- but you are not looking at those things, after all. Your study is far more careful. You’ve been sat here long enough though to be sure that no-one is casing your room. No suspicious vehicles or individuals; at least - there are plenty of suspicious individuals, but none whom seem to have followed you here.

So, you allow yourself to shed one layer of worry, and you give your gaze permission to wander back to the only other thing you can see out there. The ominous looking phone box, stood directly in the path between your table and the window to your motel room. It glows in the dark like an illuminated angel, though you are not sure whether this signals it is a guardian or a traitor. Angels can be fickle things too.

Either way, the booth taunts you, like some dark harbinger or sentinel from a horror film, and, each time your eyes flick back to it, it seems to loom more prominent - even if that’s only because of the single, related thought which swells to the forefront of your mind.

Call him. It’s time to call him.

You promised yourself you would only call him as a last resort. If you had no other options remaining. If you were at the end of the line.

A nausea rolls in the pit of you when you realise that might be true. After so long on the run, you’ve called in every favour you were owed, exploited every scrap of intel you could, manipulated or paid-off every asset you could find to help you... And now there is no-one else left. No-one else left who owes you a favour. There is only the man who had once promised you he would always have your six. There is only the last person you want to ask for help, and the first person you want to see.

Santiago Garcia.

Your nausea turns to aching despair, and you wrap your hands around your cup of shitty coffee, reaching for some vestige of warmth, however faint. And yet, like everything else, it offers you little comfort. Indeed, you have lived without comfort for so long that you tell yourself you don’t need it, but as soon as memories of him flood you, you ache for the distant comfort of his arms.

Arms which will never encircle you again, you’re sure. Not since you’d been forced to compromise every ideal you’d once shared with the solider. Still, that was back in the days when things seemed a lot more black and white. When you still believed in good people and untarnished souls. When he still believed in you.

Your eyes flick once again to the boxy, mocking angel in the parking lot. Now you are sure it is fallen, and that it has come to drag you to hell.

Still, hell would be a relief, you think, compared to this. Compared to this vestige of a life.

Call him. It’s the end of the line.

You bounce your leg more furiously, your muscles tensing so hard they cramp as you think about the prospect. You used to carry his number on a little slip of paper in your top pocket. You’d long since memorised it, but it was the last thing he gave you - you suppose that’s why you couldn’t throw it away. Why you subconsciously kept it close to your heart.

If you ever needed him, he would be there. You knew it. Maybe you should have called him long ago, when things first went south. When you first pissed off the kinda man it wasn’t desirable to piss off. Maybe you would have, but then one thing after another kept happening, and the slow descent into hell began, one compromise and one mistake at a time. So, you called in every other favour rather than face him. Rather than having to explain how you’d let him down - become someone he could no longer believe in. Like a fallen angel.

Now, years had gone by.

Years on the run. Years of hyper-vigilance. Years that had taken their toll.

Now, you’re out of options. Out of money. Out of favours. You’re even out of burner phones until you can hitch a lift to the next town over.

So, the glowing phone box almost sings to you, as if it’s a siren luring you on to the rocks. As if it’s a magical item in a computer game and if you step into its circle of light you can have a new life. You can reset everything. Return to a prior save point.

You know exactly where you would go, if you could. Back to the last time your remember where you didn’t feel so alone. The last time you felt comfort.

You fumble some over-spilling tears from your cheeks and stand, pushing the chair back across the floor behind you with a harsh scrape. Then, with a soft smile to the barkeep you return your mug to the bar-top, to save her from having to clear up. You wonder then. You can’t help but wonder like you do every time. If she’ll be the last person to see you alive will she at least say, to who ever shows up looking, that you seemed kind?

She gives you a small smile and you hang on to this vestige of warmth too, wishing you could pocket it for later for when you inevitably feel so empty and so cold. If only you could have stored up warmth, you would have more than enough to thaw you. There was a time when you had an abundance, after all. Enough to carry you through the longest of winters.

Your face drops as you tread out, winding your scarf around your neck and your boots puncturing the fresh, powdery snow.

Would anyone who mattered even show up looking? you ponder. Is there anyone left who would remember all the things you were before all this? Before you were a cold, lost thing?

There may be one person left.

Your eyes patrol the lot around you, an automatic sweep for threats, and, seeing nothing of note, you track determinedly towards the phone box, tears near-freezing on your cheeks.

You pick up the receiver and you punch in that number you have memorised, your eyes closing and your other hand bracing itself against the scratched and cigarette-burn puckered surface. You don’t even know if it will ring, or if he will still be at this address, but you do know that your knees will buckle either way. With relief if he does, and hopelessness if he doesn’t.

The line clacks as the number connects, and you grip the receiver hard enough that a day-old wound on your knuckle splits, but you can scarce care. Instead you simply hold your breath as the phone rings once, twice, three times...

Your stomach lurches as the ringing stops.

“Santiago? Santiago Garcia?” you ask, hoarsely, tugging on the coiled phone wire so hard as you wind it around your fingers that you are close to breaking it.

“This is Mrs. Garcia. Can I help you?” a woman’s voice responds.

You want to dry heave. Your heart drops to your stomach.

“You’re his wife?” you ask, the question like a poison barb on your tongue.

“Yes, who’s speaking, please? Can I take a message?”

All this time, you had been the only one alone, it seems. You should be glad for him, but you are too sad for yourself to muster it.

You hesitate. You can’t say who’s calling. You can’t risk it. However, while he may not be at the end of the line, you are. This might be the last chance you get to say your piece.

You have to think on your feet, but that’s become second-nature for you. You haven’t enjoyed the luxury of plans or hopes or dreams for some time now.

You begin. Your voice is choked up.

“Just tell him... Tell him to remember me the way I was in Massachusetts. Tell him I’ve never been happier than then. Tell him not to worry. I won’t cash in that favour, but he’s already done enough.”

He has. He’s given you the strength to make it this far, even if he didn’t know it.

“Who is this?” his wife presses, her tone sharp.

You can’t say, but he’ll know. He’ll know - if he remembers you. Your eyes mist over with tears, and your chest tightens, emotion stealing the air from your lungs.

“Can you just tell him that? Please?” you beg, having been strong for so long and finally collapsing in on yourself, a desperate plea imbuing your voice.

Still, you don’t even wait for an answer before slamming the phone back down on its hook -can’t bear to hear her say no. Instead you surge towards your hotel room, sobs wracking your chest as you realise the cold hard facts. Now, you are truly on the run without any semblance of home to return to, even if you could ever stop. He did not wait for you.

So, you cry, even as you peel off your clothes from your pained body, leaning into the stream of luke-warm water in the motel shower. Water which may rinse the blood and grime from the surface of your skin but has no hope of washing the blood from your hands, or wiping the red from your ledger.

Nothing ever could.

Then, you lie alone in bed, your sleeping bag and liner protecting you from the motel bed covers, at least. You stare up blankly at the ceiling, and, as you often do, you try to pinpoint where it all went wrong. You try to rewrite history. You try to imagine all the ways in which things could have worked out.

As always, with certainty, you can say exactly when and where it all went to shit. And, as always, you wish that you could take it back.

You loll your head against the pillow, watching shadows dance through your curtains as snow falls past the glow of that ugly, beautiful phone box. It was a guardian after all, you think, if Santi got to know that you still think of him. That even now you can’t let him go.

Always. Until the end.

Then, your whole body jolts in shock as the phone begins to ring - a loud, shrill insistent noise sounding out into the night, setting off a dog barking across the way, and a baby crying through the paper thin walls to your left.

It couldn’t be? Could it? It couldn’t be for you?

Still, you have to know, and so, you scramble into your snow boots and dash into the brisk night, grappling to lift the phone from its receiver before it rings out, your breath a white cloud of exertion before you.

And, at the same time that you connect to the caller, you spot the second harbinger. You see the shadowed figure there, approaching you from across the lot. You see the outline of a gun in their hand, and their trench billowing around their shins as they maintain a steady pace towards you.

You have nowhere left to run. This is the end of the line. You know it in the depths of you.

So, you simply flatten your back to the phone box, facing your assailant.

You simply close your eyes, willing everything else to disappear as an unmistakeably familiar voice filters through the speaker into your ear. You grip the receiver tightly with both hands.

Santiago Garcia says your name. Your real name. Not one of many aliases you’ve had to assume, painting lies over your existence. He says your real name -one you haven’t heard spoken in so long- and your bottom lip begins to tremble. “Honey, is that you?”

You smile, tears of joy cascading down your face as his simple words stoke more warmth than you have felt in so long. Even as the cold bites at your skin. Even as you hear the continued crunch of footsteps in the snow. Even as you hear a gun cock, mere feet from your body.

Hearing his voice, you think your knees may buckle in relief regardless.

“Hey, old friend,” you say fondly, through an inexplicable, watery smile. And, despite the situation, you feel happy, for the first time in a long while. Bizarre as it is, you are finally able to relax all the way.

Will he remember me as kind, at least?

You grip the phone even more tightly as Santi’s voice surges, coming at you with a million urgent questions. You let them flow through you, and then they are gone, just as easily. You know you will not be afforded the chance to answer even one. So, you say something else instead.

“Remember me, okay?” you breathe. “Remember how I loved you. And I did, Santiago. Right until the end of the line.”

You hope that he will. You can only hope that when the stories and lies and secrets and compromises come out, that he will remember you the way you were in Massachusetts. Before things started to unravel. Before you went on the run.

And, as your eyes screw themelsleves tightly shut, and you brace yourself for what is inevitably coming, you don’t think of him as he is now. Someone distant. Someone who doesn’t belong to you. Someone at the end of the line. You don’t think of yourself that way either.

You remember him the way he was in Massachusetts.

You hope dearly, that he will think of you that way too.

You finally feel warm.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #angst #writer wednesday #santiago pope garcia

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haworthiaace · 3 years

Text

Magic misfits! Did I update the masterpost specifically because of this fic? yes absolutely. A busy day for Scar, featuring TFC and some good ol’ Scar appreciation :]

The start of a new season was always interesting.

While TFC didn’t enjoy having to start from scratch every year or so; having gotten used to the comforts of late season riches, he did love the sheer amount of interaction that came with a new season. TFC was content to hear gossip about the others’ shenanigans while he stuck to what he was best at: mining. Some of the others called it cheating to use his earthbending down in the tunnels, but he called it cheating to be able to shapeshift, or use magic crystals, or any of the other crazy things the other hermits could do, so it evened out.

When he wasn’t down in his mine, TFC watched as all the other hermits scrambled to make the most impressive buildings and contraptions in as little time as possible. Many of his servermates placed more importance on finishing their creations than actually gathering necessities such as tools and armour.

As if to prove this observation, the Boatem village appeared on the other side of the nether portal, populated with structures that were much too large considering it had only been three weeks since they arrived in this world. There was also a… tree? At least that’s what it looked like; a thin oak tree stretching up past the clouds and out of view. Looks like Mumbo and Grian were up to no good already.

“TFC! Up here!” Scar’s voice came from somewhere above TFC’s head, and he looked up to see the wizard (although he no longer wore his robe and hat) standing on a balcony extending from a truly massive wagon, one hand on the railing and the other extended above his head, waving enthusiastically at TFC.

He climbed the ladder up the side of the wagon, entering a sparse storage room. Knowing Scar, he either hadn’t bothered to move in yet or lost all of his things in a cave somewhere. Despite his powerful crystal magic, Scar still managed to die more than any other hermit, so the second option was more likely.

“Well hello there! Welcome to my humble abode, please take a seat.” Scar led TFC to a balcony, where he gestured towards a table and two folding chairs. Scar sat down, crossing his legs and folding his arms in his lap. “So, what brings you to our little village today?”

TFC raised an eyebrow at the question, confusion evident in his voice. “Because you invited me? We were supposed to have tea today.”

Scar jolted in his seat, then proceeded to scramble out of said seat. “I’ll be right back! I have to go… feed Jellie!” This was quite obviously a lie seeing as Jellie hadn’t returned from her between seasons interdimensional travels yet. TFC’s laughter chased Scar into the wagon, where he frantically prepared the tea that he was totally planning on making because he definitely remembered his plans for the day.

After about five minutes of mildly concerning crashing sounds, Scar returned with two steaming mugs of tea (decorated with cat faces, of course) and a plate of chocolate chip cookies - Stress’ recipe if TFC wasn’t mistaken. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, appreciating the tea and cookies.

“So, how are you holding up this season, Scar?” TFC took a sip of green tea, looking out at the horizon.

“Oh you know, the usual. I don’t have my village anymore, but the magical misfits still come seeking my help.” He brought a cookie to his mouth and bit off half of it. “Not that I mind helping people!” He swallowed his mouthful before continuing. “XB was here last week convinced that he left his coat in season seven, but turns out it just ended up in one of Joe’s boxes.” He chuckled to himself, wiping crumbs off of his jacket as TFC stared at the distant ocean, lost in thought.

TFC broke the silence that had fallen. “You’re a good man, y’know that?” The wizard in question looked at TFC in surprise. He was used to ‘thank you’s, but the personal compliment caught him off guard. “You’ve created a safe space for folks from all sorts of places, and you’ve saved quite a few of them from bad people.”

Scar looked down, smiling at his cup of tea. He spoke quietly, a departure from his usual boisterousness. “Thanks TFC, that means a lot.”

Scar was in the middle of catching TFC up on what he missed from day one when something red and very fast crashed into the balcony. The something in question turned out to be Grian, shimmering wings protruding from his back. Something must have been wrong, since winged hermits tended to refrain from flying early in the season, in the name of fairness.

“Scar we need your- Oh heeey, I didn’t know you had company over!” He leaned on the railing, his urgency replaced with a forced cheerfulness as he (quite obviously) pretended nothing was wrong. What was probably supposed to be an easygoing smile stretched too wide, and his voice was more high pitched than usual. “How’s it goin’?”

Scar, completely oblivious, responded excitedly. “Oh, I was just telling TFC here about our adventure in the geode with Cleo!”

Grian’s uncomfortable smile grew wider, and his eyebrows furrowed. “That sounds great, do you think you’ll be done anytime soon?”

“Oh well, I’m not too sure. It depends on when we finish all of these cookies.”

“Oh that’s just wonderful,” Grian’s wings started to twitch behind him, “did you make those yourself?”

Scar took a breath, preparing for a tangent when TFC cut in, showing the poor fairy some mercy. “Alright Grian, out with it. What’s wrong?” Scar stared at Grian, somehow surprised that this wasn’t a completely ordinary visit.

Grian let out a long sigh. “Thank you so much TFC.” He turned his gaze to Scar. “We need a little help with curse breaking.”

Scar set down his mug and gave Grian his full attention, preparing himself for whatever strange curse one of the fairies had set on some poor hermit. “Really? How are you two cursing people already? It hasn’t even been a month!”

Grian’s tangent was accompanied by wild hand gestures that made it difficult to follow what he was saying. “Well, Pearl came up behind Mumbo and spooked him, he shouted something about not sneaking up on him, and now whenever he turns his back on her she teleports directly in front of him.” Grian looked nervously over his shoulder in the direction of Mumbo’s van. TFC followed his gaze, and burst into laughter again.

Mumbo was standing a few feet away from his campfire, spinning in circles and doubling over in laughter as Pearl kept popping up in front of him.

Scar pushed himself up from his chair, TFC followed suit. The pair headed to the door while Grian flew back down, Scar giving TFC a sort of briefing. “Alright, let’s go figure out what exactly Mumbo did before Pearl starts feeling particularly vengeful.”

It took two hours and a lot of trial and error (with TFC giving supremely unhelpful tips), but eventually Pearl could stand behind Mumbo again. At some point Scar accidentally applied the effect to both Grian and Mumbo, and he had to beg the two not to create a space time anomaly. But it was all fixed now, and TFC was sure Pearl’s revenge would be swift and cruel.

Scar made his way back up to the balcony, and the two continued their conversation. It was a good thing Scar had enchanted his mugs, something he had done back in season seven after his drinks kept getting abandoned and going cold.

After a few hours of peace (other than both Mumbo and Grian’s bases abruptly flipping upside down while the boys were inside), the pair was interrupted again by a voice behind them.

“Howdy, Scar. Oh, and howdy to you as well, TFC!”

Neither of them had heard Joe coming, so Scar jumped about a foot in the air while TFC nearly spat out his tea. It turned out that Cleo was there as well, looking quite a bit angrier than Joe, although that wasn’t too uncommon.

“Oh my goodness, Joe you scared the life out of me!” Scar held a hand to his chest and caught his breath as Cleo got right to business.

“Sorry about that Scar,” her voice was flat, and it was safe to assume that she was not, in fact, sorry about that. “But we have an emergency. It’s completely Joe’s fault, he-”

Joe smoothly stepped in front of his companion as he cut her off, “I wouldn’t say it’s entirely my fault, old magic is a fickle thing-”

Cleo shoved Joe aside, stepping in front once again. “He revived my leg!” She raised a foot off the ground and gestured at it with both hands.

Sure enough, both TFC and Scar looked down to see that Cleo’s right leg was significantly more flesh-coloured than the left, restored to what it presumably once was.

Scar’s lingering panic was instantly replaced by an amused grin as he gestured to the leg in question. “Cleo, why don’t you just get your leg reinfected? It’s not like zombies are hard to come by.”

The pair stood still, just blinking. (Completely in sync, it was eerie)

Cleo rounded on Joe and punched at his shoulder just as he raised a hand to deflect her fist. “How did you not think of that Joe?! I thought you knew everything there was to know about-” She gestured wildly about for a moment. “Everything?!”

“Shouldn’t you be some sort of zombie expert by now? How is that my responsibility?” The argument continued as the pair went back into the wagon and down the ladder. As they walked off, presumably to go find a cave, something occurred to TFC. He cupped his hands around his mouth to yell down at them.

“Cleo!” She turned around. “Don’t use Joe as bait!”

She snapped her finger like a defeated cartoon villain, as Joe turned to face her and presumably gave her grief for this evil plot.

It was only about five minutes after Cleo and Joe left (preceded by twenty minutes of arguing) that the next problem arrived, as it often did, in the form of Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango arriving on the shore of the village. TFC found this odd, seeing as how everyone was now connected by nether portals, but he assumed there would be an explanation shortly, even if it didn’t make a lick of sense.

Impulse shouted up from the ground, the three of them clustered near the front of the wagon. “TFC, we need your help!” Well that was a surprise, not many people asked for his assistance other than Scar. “We made an oopsie and Cleo said we could find you here!”

As every hermit knew, ‘oopsie’ was a versatile word with these three. It could mean anything between making a minor mistake in a build to banishing Impulse for the fifth time. “What happened this time?” TFC stood up and made his way down the ladder, since shouting down at them wasn’t very efficient and they didn’t seem inclined to come up.

Impulse started twisting his hands together while Zedaph and Tango tried their best to look innocent behind him. It didn’t work. “Weeell, Tango wanted a terraforming job done around his base, so we made a little deal for it.”

Oh boy. Not much good came out of magical deals, yet the other hermits continued to make them with each other. Demonic deals were especially tricky since the demon didn’t have precise control over their end of the deal, not that it stopped these three. “Tango offered me his first beacon in exchange for the job, and it turns out that a beacon is worth a lot more than I thought- it’s probably easier if we show you.”

“Quick FYI guys: firsts are very valuable in deals! It applies to you as well Impulse, not just the fae!” Scar called helpfully from his still seated position on the balcony.

They all ended up going over to Tango’s house/ shop, which was literally buried in a mound of dirt and stone, along with about three quarters of Bdubs’ giant moon house. That explains why they didn’t use the nether.

The earth was offended after being touched by demonic magic, but after a long negotiation TFC managed to convince it that Impulse meant no harm, and it was happy to return to its prior state. Tango was mildly annoyed that he would have to do the terraforming himself and give Impulse a beacon, but it was better than the wrath he would have faced from Bdubs.

By the time TFC and Scar returned to the Boatem village, the sun was starting to dip below the horizon. While TFC admired the beauty of it, Scar just looked disappointed.

“I’m sorry.”

TFC raised an eyebrow at the wizard, a frown making its way onto his face. “What do you mean you’re sorry? Did you do something to the tea?”

Despite TFC’s attempted joke, Scar still stared at his perfectly polished shoes. “This was supposed to be a nice relaxing day to catch up, and people were just showing up left and right. I mean, we hardly got to spend any time together! Maybe I shouldn’t invite people over with all this wizard stuff going on.”

“But we did spend time together.” TFC’s rough hand landed on Scar’s shoulder, the latter looking up at the former, startled by the contact.

“Well yeah we had tea for a while but-”

TFC had to cut off Scar’s rambling or he would never get to his point. “Yes we had tea, but I’m talking about the rest of the day.” Scar seemed genuinely confused at this. “I helped you un-curse Pearl,” he did air quotes on the word ‘helped,’ “We watched Joe and Cleo argue together, and you came with us to fix Tango’s house.” Of course he didn’t do much other than laugh at Tango’s misfortune, but it was the thought that counted. “Just ‘cause it didn’t go to plan doesn’t mean I didn’t have a good time.” After all, not much went according to plan on the hermitcraft server.

Now Scar was smiling. “So I didn’t ruin the day with magical misfits?”

“Not at all.” TFC reached for his mug and emptied it one last time, then stretched before heading out. “But now I gotta get going. I don’t like my chances against the mobs with my crappy iron gear.”

Scar waved once more as TFC disappeared into the nether portal. “Goodnight TFC! And thanks again, for everything!”

TFC smiled as he made his way through the nether tunnels back home. Scar did a lot more for the hermits than he realized, allowing them to be free with their magic in a way they couldn’t back home, TFC included. He’d created a home for all sorts of ‘magic misfits’ as Scar put it, and he performed an invaluable service, whether he realized it or not.

He’s a good kid. Just needs some reminding every once in a while.

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft 8 #magic misfits au #tinfoilchef #goodtimeswithscar #grian #mumbo jumbo #pearlescentmoon #joe hills #zombiecleo #tangotek #impulsesv #zedaph #im not too confident on the Emotional bits but #practice makes perfect i suppose #theres a few things i implied here so feel free to ask and clear things up

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samstree · 3 years

Note

hi dear!! what about 37 for the pining prompts?? only if you feel like it 💞💞

37. "Characters cannot touch for plot reasons." Thanks for the prompt Chrysa!! Here's more empath!Jaskier!

Unfinished Story

Empath!Jaskier, 2.4k, soft geraskier, ciri has a nightmare, hurt/comfort, mentions of past violence

Part of the Empath AU

Read on AO3

Ciri’s scream pulls Geralt out of his doze.

He springs up immediately, knocking Jaskier’s arm out of the way. The bard grumbles something incoherent on the bedroll before fully waking. “G’ralt, what is… Oh, shit.”

The scream continues, Geralt’s medallion thrumming because of the chaos carried by the sound. The ember is dying but the moon provides enough light for him to see Cir in a fetal position, her face buried in the crook of her elbow. Her ashen-colored curls obscure the view.

Geralt half-scrambles to her side, familiar panic seizing his heart. It’s been so long since she had a nightmare this bad, so long that it’s taking him a second to react.

“Ciri.” He shakes her shoulder gently, but she flinches away. The smell of fear rolls off of her in waves. “Ciri, wake up. You are dreaming.”

The sharp wail trails off to a quieter one, but her eyes stay shut, her brows agonizingly knitted tight. Geralt tries to soothe her by stroking her hair, only to have her snatch his hand and holding onto it for dear life. He squeezes, hoping it’s a comforting gesture.

Each of Ciri’s cries sends a pang of regret in Geralt’s chest. If only he could go back in time. If only he had found her earlier, before the horrors of Nilfgaard—

“Hey, let me help.”

A hand falls to Geralt’s shoulder, and Jaskier meets his gaze in the dim light, the bleariness in his eyes completely gone.

Please, he wants to say. The word gets interrupted by the girl’s writhing.

Jaskier takes over Ciri’s hand, despite her reluctance to let go of Geralt. She clings to him during bad dreams, even when she can’t properly wake up, but the witcher knows it’s important not to touch either of them right now. The wolf medallion vibrates more as the empath works, calming her through the touch.

“It’s okay…” Geralt murmurs helplessly to the girl still asleep. “It’s okay, cub. We are here.”

The empty space around Geralt is excruciating. Under the clear night sky, his witcher senses allow him to see the two of them basked in the silver moonlight—Jaskier kneeling at Ciri’s side, one hand clasped around her wrist and the other carding through her curls. The girl’s pained expression eases slowly.

“Oh… Don’t be afraid, sweet girl,” Jaskier shushes her, the flow of chaos buzzing in the air. “Let me take your fear away, all right? Don’t fight me. Let me in, so you won’t be scared anymore…”

The bard continues to murmur sweet nothings to the girl, easing her resistance to his empathetic powers. At this point, Jaskier’s magic is like a second layer of skin to Geralt, gentle and warm and weaving around their hearts. Even when it’s not directly used on him, he feels somehow pulled to their connection.

To Jaskier and Ciri.

His empath bard and his child surprise.

Two halves of his world.

Jaskier’s eyes are closed to concentration, taming the waves of Ciri’s distress. The action exerts him, Geralt can tell from his elevated heartbeat and the slight slump in his shoulders. The witcher catches himself before he reaches out subconsciously. The gnawing urge to help almost makes him scowl in frustration.

Inaction has never been Geralt’s strong suit.

Finally, finally, Ciri’s eyes flutter open. She’s holding back the tears, as always, even when she’s confused from these dreams, even when she’s reliving her past and desperately searching for her family in the present.

“Geralt?”

Her voice is so small and he has to lean in to hear.

A relieved sigh escapes Jaskier’s lips as he lets go of the girl’s hand. With the magic dissipating, so does the stench of fear. The air settles. As soon as the medallion stills, Geralt surges forward to put a hand on her arm, so she knows he’s here.

On Geralt’s periphery, he senses bard stand and walk to the other side of the campfire—the empath usually needs a moment to collect himself after absorbing someone’s emotions—but right now Geralt’s focus is on his child.

“It’s okay. You are safe, Ciri,” Geralt whispers.

“I dreamed—”

“You are not there anymore.”

“It was burning…I—there was fire… and the man.” She sniffles, stubbornly refusing to cry. His child is tough, probably too tough for her own good.

“It wasn’t real.”

“Because you found me?” There’s a sliver of doubt in her voice that Geralt wishes more than anything to remove.

“Because I found you, Ciri,” he reassures. She’ll need reminding tonight. “You are my destiny and more. I’m here so you’ll never have to be lost again.”

A tiny smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. Geralt tucks away a strand of hair on her face and watches her eyelids droop heavily.

“I’m not. Not now that I’m awake.”

He returns the smile, although she can’t see it that well in the shadows. “That’s because of Jaskier.”

“Oh.” She searches for the bard. When Geralt looks back at the empath’s silhouette, he’s leaning against a tree, a few paces away from camp. “Thank you, Jaskier. Again,” she says.

“Of course, princess,” Jaskier says softly, “I know how scary nightmares can be, no matter how long it’s been. Those things may have happened a long time ago, but sometimes…they come back and haunt when you least expect it.” He pauses, looking to the distance for a moment. “I’d chase them away for you any time.”

She murmurs another thanks before her eyes close with exhaustion.

“Go back to sleep,” Geralt tucks Ciri’s blanket in, before taking her hand again, his thumb tracing a little circle on her skin. “Sleep, cub. We’ll be here. Both of us.”

It doesn’t take long for her to fall into a deep slumber, peacefully this time. Geralt sits next to her for a while longer just to be sure. When he finally leaves Ciri’s side to see to his bard, Jaskier is still standing with his back against the tree. He seems to be miles away, his expression hidden in the shadows, distant and inscrutable.

“Jask?” They are far enough from the girl but Geralt keeps his voice low.

With a surprised gasp, the bard notices him approaching and almost flinches. “Don’t—”

“Don’t touch you, I know.”

Jaskier rests his head on the tree bark. “Just for now.”

Geralt’s fists clench and unclench at his sides. Using those powers takes a lot out of Jaskier, and it leaves him unbalanced. The empath is so wary of hurting him by accident when he’s like this, with raw energy still rippling under his skin.

But in truth, Geralt doesn’t care. He wishes Jaskier could let him in, let him share the burden. Right now, with the space between them, he’ll have to rely on words instead of action.

It really isn’t his strong suit.

“Another nightmare… ” he decides to distract the bard while he recovers. “It’s been too long since Ciri had an episode. I thought it was all over.”

“Time doesn’t heal all wounds, Geralt,” Jaskier breathes. “We should all know better.”

Geralt frowns at the haunted look on his bard’s face. The tips of his fingers reach forward again, but he quickly hides the movement by crossing his arms before his chest.

“You sound like you are speaking from experience, Jask.”

“Do I?”

“Hmm.” Geralt’s stomach turns at the way Jaskier speaks about the girl’s trauma. “You know if you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

Jaskier squirms, chewing on his lower lip. Now he’s truly nervous, tense even. The witcher sees the way his posture stiffens and quickly adds, “Or not. Uh—it’s okay if you don’t—"

“No,” Jaskier interrupts him, shaking his head, “No, I want to tell you. I should tell you everything, at this point.”

Silence hangs between them as the bard adjusts his breathing. In and out, like he would before a performance.

“Years ago, when you first identified my powers” Jaskier chooses his words cautiously, the moon shining in his eyes. “I asked if you would use silver on me.”

Geralt’s heart sinks. “I would never, Jaskier. I—How could you ever think that?”

“Oh, relax, my love. I know.” the bard chuckles tightly. “Even back then, I knew you to be a decent man under all the gruffness. You wouldn’t even harm those confused monsters who drifted to human territory on accident, remember? You claimed that your life was just coin and contracts, but to me, it was clear that you were so much more.”

“You are not a monster,” Geralt argues.

“No, but someone else might think differently.”

The leaves rustle in the breeze, the air cooling as the night stretches on. Without the blanket, Jaskier shivers with only a thin chemise on his back. Geralt’s body gravitates toward him of its own volition. Fuck it, if he can just hold Jaskier right now…

“I was thirteen.” The bard is lost in memory. “This man, a magic user, came to our door. It was just me and my mother. He somehow knew about our identities and asked for her help. You see, she had been keeping it a secret for so long, so she couldn’t trust this man, this mage, who somehow just knew that we were empaths.”

He lets out a shuddering breath before continuing.

“His request was… weird. Something about a king or a royal court. I remember thinking that whatever he said sounded so sinister, it couldn’t have been any good. Mum sent him away on the spot, but afterwards she got so scared, like he’d come back again or something. That night, she barred the door and told me to hide in a storage chest. I refused, so she made me. She kept me obedient the entire time.”

Geralt frowns. “Her powers were the same as yours?”

“Stronger.” Jaskier starts pacing, a few twigs snapping under his feet. “She didn’t need contact to manipulate someone’s emotions like me, and she could influence many at the same time. I’m not as powerful—my father was human.”

“What happened next?” Somehow, Geralt knows the story will not end well. A mage usually means trouble. Or in this case, the shadow hidden behind Jaskier’s bright smiles and chirpy songs.

“She kept me calm the whole night, even when she wasn’t with me, but I could feel her fear. It’s was like an undercurrent beneath my skin. I could feel her emotions change. Then I heard the sound of fighting, but I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t go and help her…”

The salty tang of tears assaults Geralt’s nose, but they don’t fall. Jaskier looks up to the sky to hold back the grief that makes his hands tremble.

“Everything got fuzzy after that, but I still remember the pain and the despair. It was like a part of me was hurting with her. Part of me still does, during some nights.” Jaskier closes his eyes in agony. “When I got out the next morning, no one was there. Our home was wrecked, ruined. There was… There was so much blood, Geralt. I—I couldn’t…”

“Oh, Jaskier.” Geralt watches as Jaskier’s shoulders shake, whimpers choking in his throat. Under the night sky, the bard retreats into himself, making his frame look so much smaller. He sways a little and Geralt extends his hands again, hovering by his elbow. “Can I please touch you now?” he pleads.

With a sniffle, the bard composes himself. He flexes his hands to see if his magic is in check. “I think so, yes—oh.”

Geralt pulls Jaskier in for the tightest hug, his arms wrapping around the bard’s frame protectively. Through the thin fabric of the shirt, he can feel another shiver running down Jaskier’s spine, so he rubs small circles into his back to get some heat back in.

He breathes in Jaskier’s scent, not knowing if the lingering stench of fear is from Ciri or the bard.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jask…” Geralt keeps murmuring into the soft hair by Jaskier’s temple. Gradually, the bard sags against his shoulder, letting himself be soothed and supported. Geralt then places his lips to the skin under Jaskier’s ear, and then his cheek, his chin, all the while holding him impossibly close. He’s ready to help the empath restore his energy with all the brimming love in his chest. “Do you want me to…”

“No,” the bard shakes his head. “I’m good. For now.”

They stand there for so long, swaying gently while the world sleeps, before the bard speaks up again.

“I looked for her, and him, at so many courts.” Jaskier’s slightly colder fingers rest on the nape of Geralt’s neck, buried into the hair there. “No mage fit his description. No trace of her either. I think that deep down, I already knew that she was gone, even back then. Otherwise, I would have felt her in there somehow. No matter how far away she was, but all I had was just this emptiness. I was alone since then.”

“You are not. Not anymore.”

“No,” Jaskier pulls away, the tears have dried. Geralt brings the pad of his thumb to trace those streaks anyway. Under his touch, Jaskier smiles. “You see, back in Posada, I met this witcher, a dashing and heroic one. He fell for me so hard that he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving without me, so he begged me to become his travel companion.”

“And you agreed?” Geralt chuckles.

“Not at first, but he wore me down eventually.”

The bard is the most ridiculous man Geralt knows, and yet here they are. Shaking his head in amusement, the witcher steers his bard back to their bedrolls. As they settle back into their usual position, Geralt can’t help but pull him closer, making sure they are touching from head to toe.

The cover sets heavily over Jaskier's body, slowly warming up his skin. His heart beats against Geralt’s ribcage steadily, showing with solid proof that the empath has survived those horrors.

“I found you too, Jask,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss between Jaskier’s brows.

“Good.” The bard's reply is muffled by Geralt's skin. Not far from them, Ciri is still breathing evenly, sound asleep. Geralt has everyone he needs to protect right here with him, tucked away from their separate demons.

And yet, his mind drifts to Jaskier's story. It’s a tragedy with no end and no closure. There was never a body to bury, no vengeance to seek either.

Somehow, he doubts that an unfinished story will stay unfinished.

---

Tagging: @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @theultimatenerdd @percy-jackson-is-sexy-

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #empath!jaskier #empath au #witcher fic #soft geralt #soft jaskier #hurt/comfort #hurt jaskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #ciri has a nightmare #cw: past violence

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egoludes · 3 years

Text

let me come home: two.

Summary: After years at a dead-end job shouldering everyone’s expectations for you but your own, you’re finally free to be whoever you want, go wherever you want. That is, until a series of unfortunate events strand you in Amber’s End, where the sheriff – and notoriously unmated pack alpha – decides to take you in.

Pairings: alpha!Steve Rogers x omega!Reader; side alpha!Bucky Barnes x beta!Sam Wilson

Notes: Wowowow - I don’t even want to count how many months it’s been, but we are finally back in business! I can’t thank you all enough for the love you showed on the first chapter of this and I am beyond excited to share this and hear what you think. Big reminder from the last chapter that parts one and two are all about setting the stage for Steve and our lovely reader. So, this is more or less 5k of more background. But, I really loved introducing Bucky, Sam, and Nat (Bucky especially because he’s going to be huge here!) and hope you enjoy them too. Especially my Heat Wave readers - mechanic!Bucky returns! And I promise parts three and four will be extra juicy to make up for it. Divider credit goes to @writeyourmindaway!

Chapter warnings: Werewolf AU, A/B/O dynamics, incredibly basic knowledge of cars that is probably incorrect

The drive to Steve’s home is short: five minutes from the diner to the base of a wooded hill, another ten to reach the peak. You follow him up a slanted stretch of road with eyes trained on his tail lights, but there are moments when your gaze strays. Sunset lingers on either side of you, framing the forest in a pretty glow. The blend of deep orange and soft pink is hard to look away from, even when you know you should be focused elsewhere, and you make your way to the top in that dizzying in-between.

When you finally come to a stop, it’s on a patch of paved road - a welcome change to the gravel before it - in front of a large wooden cabin. Behind you, the town’s spread out in a panorama, spanning for what feels like an eternity. You can see everything from here: the humble spread of Main Street; the blues and greens of the Hummingbird; and finally, the mountains, majestic and steady beyond that.

It’s the perfect place for the pack’s alpha to be and, coincidentally, has been the home of Rogers alphas for three generations now.

That lived in feel is the first thing you notice when you make it inside. The structure is sturdy, hasn’t so much as gnarled over the years. The decor, on the other hand, is dated. Doilies on some surfaces and beer coasters on others, there are hints of Steve and the alphas who came before him throughout. Still, it’s cozy, and you say as much in an appreciative hum as you pull your bag off your shoulder.

The first floor is all open space, and you can see most of it from your spot in the foyer. It doesn’t take long for Steve to situate you - sitting room, kitchen, bathroom, and master bedroom — before leading you towards the stairs. The walls along the staircase are full of memory; pictures of him and his loved ones that catch your eye as you ascend. You don’t have time to linger now, but make a point to look them over before you go. He’s piqued your interest too much not to be a little nosy.

The second floor, on the other hand, isn’t nearly as wide as the first. There are three doors in the whole hallway, two on either side with the third directly in front of you. He identifies each as the guest room, the storage room, and a study in that order, though he’s careful to call out that no one’s used the study in a long time.

There’s a story there, you’re sure, but any interest in it leaves when Steve presses the guest bedroom door open. The bed inside is too big for the room, one side even touching the walls. And like the rest of the house, it’s decorated in a way that reminds you of your grandmother; a quaintness that’s endearing on a man like Steve. But, as out of place as things might be, there’s an undeniable comfort walking into that room. Steve smiles when he smells it on you -- that cinnamon-sweet rise of contentment as you sink down on the bed at his behest.

“It’s a short tour,” he admits, leaning against the doorjamb, “but this is about it. You’re welcome to anything in the kitchen if you get hungry again tonight or before you go tomorrow. I’m usually up early, so in case I don’t see you, enjoy the rest of your trip. Take care of yourself.”

It’s new to you, how easily people can offer such genuine acts of care. He hardly knows you, yet there’s no doubt that he means what he says. The thought of it makes you return that thoughtful smile. “Thank you, Steve - you’re seriously a lifesaver.”

With a final smile, he leaves you to it, shutting the door behind him.

At the click, you settle further into the bed, toeing your shoes off and sifting through your bag for house clothes and a towel. Your travels so far have been an adventure, to say the least. Just a few months ago, you’d been working a stressful entry-level job on Wall Street. Pressed skirts, sharp teeth, the days were full of routine, but not the kind that’s pleasant. Everything was uncertainty and fleeting gratification as you competed, day after day, for a seat at the table.

Add to that the constant nagging from your family to find a mate — the endless string of blind dates, the passive-aggressive mentions of other friends’ announcements; it’s a wonder you’d endured it all as long as you had.

The decision to quit had been a long time coming. The decision to leave was a whim - the first you’d had in a long time. It was freeing to even be able to make the choice and the lack of commitment only grew more intoxicating from there. You feel freer, less suffocated, and so does your wolf — it’s a change you’d desperately needed.

That feeling is what follows you into the shower as you wash away the day, and back to bed in your loose pjs. As you settle in, you have to stop yourself from sighing out loud. The mattress is as tender as a cloud, molding to your body at every point, and after weeks of motel beds (and the back of your Jeep), you fall headfirst into that comfort. Sleep comes fast and stays put.

----

When you wake in the morning, the world is quiet. It’s a long way from New York’s chaos and you bask in it, eagerly at that. The sun filtering in through the window above you leaves kaleidoscope patterns on the sheets. Your hand moves to trace them for a bit, thumb to fractured color, until you’re awake enough to focus your ear to the house.

Like outside, Steve’s cabin is tranquil, not even a hint of the alpha’s presence. Given his warning the night before, it isn’t surprising, but you’re still a little disappointed. You’d hoped to repay him for his kindness somehow — maybe with breakfast, or whatever change you could spare. But, you’ll settle for what you can get: you make a mental note to try and catch him at his office before you leave town.

Weeks on the road have made your morning routine as efficient as it gets. So once you’re completely up, you’re out the door not long after, a slice of buttered toast between your teeth to get your system going. You find your car where you left it at the end of Steve’s drive and you approach with a bounce in your step, all thanks to the night of comfortable sleep.

Maybe you ought to grab Steve a fruit basket before you stop by.

You’re racking your memory of Main Street for bakeries or something close when you settle into the driver’s seat. But, gratitude towards Steve quickly becomes the last thing on your mind when you try to start your Jeep and get nothing but a grinding sound. It isn’t promising, but you try it again, only to get even less response before the car dies altogether.

You groan out loud, head dropping to the steering wheel while your shoulders sink in defeat. It was inevitable, really - it’s been years since you inherited the car from your older sister and it was only through a slew of band-aid fixes that it made it this far.

Still, the timing can’t be any worse; you don’t have a schedule to meet, but it isn’t much of a road trip if you can’t make it on the road. You fish your cell out of your jacket pocket, hoping that your service has somehow improved between last night and this morning. But, you only have a couple bars - finicky connection at best - so, you head back into Steve’s home where you’re certain you’d noticed a landline.

When you find it, you also come across a phone book --- not the newest edition, but recent enough. The list of mechanics in the area isn’t long, so you thumb in the first number you see. The phone rings only twice before someone picks up.

“Barnes Garage?”

“Hi,” you start, perking up at the quick answer, “I just tried to start my car and it’s not working. It made this weird sound at first, then when I tried again, it just died.”

The man on the other end hums and you can hear paper rustling in the background like he’s taking notes. “Alright, we can send someone out right now to tow you in and take a look - what’s your address?”

“I don’t...actually know,” you admit, face hot from embarrassment when he goes silent. You must sound ridiculous. “I’m not from around here, so I’m just staying with someone. I’m not sure about the address.”

A chuckle rises from him that eases your shame just a bit. “Alrighty. Well, it’s a small town — tell me who you’re stayin’ with and I’m sure between the three of us here, we’ll know where to find ‘em.”

There’s a part of you that’s skeptical of that; but for a town so small and a pack so close-knit, maybe it’s possible. “Uh, sure. I stayed with Steve Rogers — the sheriff?”

The line goes silent again, this time so prolonged you think the call dropped. Then, the mechanic speaks up and you can almost swear he’s smiling. “No shit. I know exactly where that is, I can be there in fifteen? Maybe twenty? That work for you?”

“Well, I won’t be going anywhere, so that works perfectly.”

----

The mechanic manages the trip in ten, when you glance out the window at the sound of an engine to see a dark blue tow truck stalking up Steve’s driveway. You come out to greet it just as the man driving climbs out and nearly gasp. He’s as handsome as Steve had been: piercing blue eyes, an angled, stubble-lined face, and deep brown hair gathered at his nape. There’s something familiar about him you can’t seem to place, but it’s out of sight and out of mind when he closes the distance with a wide smile. “Well, hi there -- ‘m Bucky. Spoke to you on the phone.” You give him your name, to which he nods. “So, I’ll get your car down to the shop and we’ll take a look, see if we can’t fix you up today. You wanna come with me, or you staying at Stevi -- uh, Steve’s for the day?”

You shake your head . “Nah, I can come with - I was planning to head out of town today anyway, so I’m hoping I can just head out from your garage.”

“Hop on in then.”

The ride with Bucky is surprisingly warm. He’s not exactly talkative, but he’s engaging; asking questions where he needs to, humming out his interest when he doesn’t. You get so settled into the flow of quiet radio and chatter that you don’t realize you’ve made it to his shop until the truck comes to a full stop.

Barnes Garage sits at the corner of some of Amber’s End’s quieter streets. The large lot outside has a few cars parked with a path between them for new ones to be driven into the workshop. Bucky’s pulled your Jeep right into that path, though he’s stopped halfway between the curb and the garage building. “It’ll take me maybe a half hour to really dig in --- you can stick around or explore, it’s up to you, but I’ll let you out here.”

You climb out with a nod, thanking him before nodding towards the streets behind you. “I’ll probably head out - grab a few more things before I go. See you in thirty?”

For the second time in as many days, you’re exploring Main Street, this time with an eye out for the stores you didn’t visit the day before. There aren’t many, to be frank, so after the first few, you take to stopping in on some of the people you’ve met already. They seem surprised to see you again, but take advantage of your presence to tell you more about themselves, the town, their wares.

You realize quickly that none of the stories about Amber’s End really do it justice. It’s quainter than what you’re used to, sure, but there’s so much history there. It’s romantic almost - like the first turn of an old book or light filtering into a tea shop.

You think you’ll miss it when you leave, even if just for a little while.

When you get back to the shop, you’re a few souvenirs richer and have something nice to give Steve on your way out of town as well. Bucky is sitting at a computer - the model recognizably old but reliable like the rest of the town. He perks up at the sight of you, already waving before you make it all the way in the door and pull your scarf from around your face. “So,” he starts, walking to your car with a hand under his chin. “I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news.”

You grimace. “Ok --- good news first.”

“Well, I know what’s wrong with the car. The starter motor,” he taps a finger on the hood over the spot where the part lives, “is out. Completely done. But, we can get a part delivered here to get you back on the road.”

“Okay,” you eye him suspiciously. “Then, what’s the bad news?”

“Lookin’ at the places we get our parts from, they’re all outta stock for the model you’ve got. The soonest the part could be here is in a month, and even that might be generous with all the storms lately.” As if pre-empting your shock, he hands over an invoice to confirm it.

Seeing it written out, plain as day, makes you grimace. Staying anywhere for a whole month (or more) had never been in the cards; but, there’s no way you can afford a new car either - you were just barely making it through with the money you’ve budgeted as is. You take a long, hard look at the estimate Bucky’s handed you before taking a deep breath to gather your thoughts. “Okay,” you start slowly, “so how does this work? If I decide to wait for the part.”

He gestures to the door behind you that leads to the lot from earlier. “We have a reserve lot - it’s where we keep all the cars that are waiting on a part for service. I’d keep your car here - free of charge - until the part comes, then we fix ‘er up. You’d pay for the part now and the fix later, when we call you to make sure it all looks good.”

You nod, glancing up from the sheet briefly before looking back at the part expense. It isn’t bad in the grand scheme of things - certainly cheaper than a used car that’ll just give up on you in a few months anyway. But, it will be a good chunk of what you’d set aside for your trip and if you’re staying put for the month, there’s no way you can afford to do it without really settling in. Job and all. “Okay - let’s do it.”

“Sounds good.” Bucky’s eyes are full of sympathy as he watches you; from what little you’d told him in the ride over, being stuck in one place is the last thing you wanted right now. “You want me to get you to Steve? He’ll have some good ideas for what you can do next.”

The nervous knots that’ve been building since the conversation started uncoil some at the mention of the other Alpha, though you try your best to ignore it with another nod to Bucky. “That would be great.”

----

The sheriff’s station is small but busy when you walk in. Bucky trails ahead of you, walking with purpose that surprises you. At first, you chalk it up to the town being so small — maybe there’s an open door policy for the residents. But, then you notice the way deputies and junior deputies let him by without even batting an eye. The ones who do simply nod, offering a smile while Bucky walks right past them and reception into Steve’s open office door.

“Buck?” You can hear ahead of him. “What are you doing here..?” It dawns on you then that they must know each other; intimately, judging by the nickname and the pure ease that Bucky has as he maneuvers the station.

You hesitate to interrupt their moment, but Bucky’s response to Steve’s question is to angle himself so you can be seen from behind him. That’s when Steve notices you and you wave with a sheepish smile. “He brought me, actually - my car’s broken down and I don’t think I’ll be able to leave for a bit. I wanted to make sure you knew before you came home and found me still there…”

Your presence brings Steve to his feet and you notice that he’s in his sheriff’s uniform for the first time. Somehow, he seems more comfortable in it than the casual wear you’ve seen him in so far, but there’s no denying that he looks just as good. “Hey -- you don’t have to worry about that, I wouldn’t just kick you out. I’m sorry to hear about the car, though - anything I can do to help?”

“Unless there’s a way the local sheriff’s office can put a little muscle on an auto-parts dealer,” you tease, drawing a snort from Bucky beside you, “I think I’m okay. I’m hoping we can talk more about where I should stay when you get back, though?”

“Sounds good to me.”

With your big news out in the open, you turn on your heel to leave, but pause as another thought strikes you. “Actually, one thing I could use some help with: know of anyone hiring?”

Steve’s face turns pensively and you can see his mind working for an answer. “Not that I can think of, no…,” he offers, a little remorse in his tone, “but you know what? Most places are willin’ if you know who to talk to. How about Bucky take you around? See what you find?”

After giving his instructions to a suspiciously enthusiastic Bucky, Steve turns his attention back to you. You expect to see pity, but there’s nothing there but genuine concern. You feel a little warmth from it, like you’re protected just by standing in front of him, and wonder if this is how everyone in his pack must feel. “I’ll be back late today, so you can feel free to eat without me. Bucky will take care of you until then and help you talk to some folks about a job. You call me if you need me.” He brandishes a business card from a holder on his desk and pencils his cell number on the back before handing it over. “If you’re still awake when I get in, we can talk about your living situation. Otherwise, settle in for one more night and we’ll talk in the morning.”

----

Over the rest of the day, Bucky takes you to a few shops with vacancies: pharmacy, market, the doctor’s office. Nothing seems to strike a chord for you, though, and you start to grow dejected, anticipating yet another job you have to work out of necessity.

Then, Bucky pulls into the gravel lot of a tavern.

Widow’s Den is the name carved in large wooden blocks over the front door, and despite the afternoon hour, there are a few cars parked in front of it. When you duck inside, a group of older men and women sit, talking over beers.

A tall, broad man is working the bar, his laughter booming over a pop song you haven’t heard in years. Beside you, Bucky beams, scent thickening at the sight, and you realize quickly that this must be the person behind the ring on his left hand and the soft pink mark on the right side of his neck. His mate. It’s adorable to see — this charismatic alpha unraveled at one glimpse of the man he loves.

“Babe,” Bucky chimes for the bartender’s attention as you approach the bartop. Not that he needs to, though; it’s obvious in the way his scent spikes that he’s long since noticed Bucky’s presence and you nearly coo at that too. “Nat in the back?”

“Yeah,” he responds, not looking your way yet as he finishes pouring a drink. “Doing inventory, I think.” Once the drink’s delivered, he offers his full attention and that’s when he notices you. “Who’s this?”

Bucky grins, smile taking on a boyish quality as he slings an arm around your shoulders. “New girl, looking for a job. Her car’s in the shop with me now, so she’s staying with our lovely sheriff until it gets fixed up.”

The bartender’s intrigue is immediate, eyes widening before he grins slyly — as if privy to a secret you’re not — and folds arms over his chest. The pose accentuates the corded muscle along his arms and chest and you have to stop yourself from sighing. Is there anyone in this town that isn’t woefully in shape? “You’re kiddin'. With Steve?” You have more questions than you know what to do with, but there’s no time to think about asking one when his hand is thrust your way. “Well, then, nice to meet you, girlie. I’m Sam.”

The smile he offers you is welcoming, and you forget about the odd focus on your staying with Steve (it isn’t even official yet!) to accept his hand. When you share your name in return, the smile widens and he tips his head towards the stretch of hallway by the other end of the bar. “Head on back to talk to Nat -- Bucky can show you the way.”

The brunet rests a hand to your back, pausing only to give Sam a quick kiss over the bar before he takes you towards the back hallway. The vibe in this half of the building is noticeably different. Homey, like the staircase at Steve’s cabin. You recognize many of the same faces in these pictures as the ones back at Steve’s. Bucky’s against Sam’s shoulder, Steve head and shoulders over the rest. There are a few where he’s even bare faced, looking eons younger than he does now, but not a smidgen less intense, and you work out easily that they’ve all been friends for some time, maybe even since puphood.

It’s admirable to you, maybe even enviable too. You have friends from that age as well, but the unforgiving pace of city life had made it hard to stay close. The smiles in the bar’s pictures, in comparison, speak to nothing but growing bonds, year after year.

You can’t help but smile too.

“This way.” Bucky’s voice brings you out of your thoughts and into a half-cracked doorway. The room is cluttered, stacked with boxes and bottles. And in the center of the chaos is a woman with striking red hair, pulled up and out of her face. Her aura holds a candle to Steve’s; far-reaching, imposing, and immediate. There’s no mistaking her as anything but an Alpha, and when her eyes leave the clipboard she’s holding to focus on you instead, you struggle against the instinctive need to bow into yourself. But, years of Wall Street’s brutal pace (that cares very little for rank) steel you. You see something akin to amusement flash in her eyes when you meet her gaze head-on.

“What did I tell you about bringing in strays, James?” Her tone is level, but the words have no real bite. You look up at Bucky warily still, who reassures you with a little smile.

“This one’s not a stray --- not really, anyway.” He loops an arm around your shoulder again and you can tell the familiarity intrigues Nat. “She’s new in town - staying for a month or two until I can get her car squared up, so we’re hopin’ to find her a place to work.”

“Just a couple? That’s not a long time --- I mean, by the time you get settled in, you’re gonna be out of here.” A valid concern; one that the other shop owners had shared when Bucky told them your predicament. There isn’t much you can say to ease the worry, but it turns out you don’t have to. Nat turns the rest of the way to set her scrutinizing gaze on you properly and the look compels you to stay put; almost as if you’re presenting yourself to her. A stretch of silence sets in and the longer it goes, the more convinced you are that she’s about to reject you outright. Then, she clicks her tongue. “Hm. We don’t need much right now, but I could throw you a couple bucks if you want to help us bus tables or something. This is the only spot to really drink in town, so we could always use the help on busy nights.”

You’re so relieved you could kiss her, but you don’t need superhuman instinct to know that would not go well. You settle instead for a wide smile, the sort that’s contagious to the Alphas in the room who start beaming with you. “That would work for me!”

“Good,” she grins, setting her clipboard aside to cross her arms, “now to celebrate our new arrival.”

----

You spend the rest of the day at Widow’s Den, getting to know Sam, Bucky, and Natasha over glasses of their best liquor. They confirm your suspicion that they’ve known each other for some time: Steve and Bucky are lifelong friends, brought together by a schoolyard fight started by a Steve who wasn’t even half the other boys’ heights. Meanwhile, Sam and Natasha came into the fray during high school years, transfers from their deep South and Russian hometowns respectively. But, they folded into the fabric of the boyhood duo easily and had been a foursome ever since.

You still don’t know where Sam and Bucky’s relationship turned romantic, but there’s an ease there that makes you guess it has been a while. Natasha, like you, is unmarked, but it’s rare for Alphas to do that anyway. You’re curious to learn more about her in particular.

As time moves on, the bar fills more and more and you get a glimpse of what your life will be like for the next few weeks. The crowd is certainly diverse - people of all ages filing in with friends or on their own. In an odd way, there’s two bars existing in one - young and old, energetic chatter and introspective talk.

By the time you leave, you’re a little tipsy and Bucky guides you out with a hand on your back. So far, you haven’t come across any other omega in their circle, and you wonder if his constant touch is a result of that instinct to protect you. The conversation on the ride back to Steve’s flows more freely now that you’ve spent so much time together and when he drops you off, he surprises you with an offer for a hug. When he glimpses that surprise, he laughs. “None of that now - you’ll be seeing a lot of me from now on, so we’re friends, sweetheart.”

You laugh and step into his arms - you suppose he’s right.

----

It’s near one in the morning when Steve finally comes home. His midnight patrol had been as uneventful as usual ---- a blessing, he thinks, considering how distracted he’d been during the run. His wolf is restless, agitated by the thought of this new omega being around longer than expected. He found his thoughts trailing to her during his time in the woods, particularly as he passed the quarry he’d found her in, and there was an eagerness to find out how the rest of the day with Bucky had gone.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little nervous. His friend, dear as he is, can be a handful, even for him.

When he comes in, he’s shocked to find you still awake in the living room, a mug of what smells like herbal tea in your hand as you flip through a book from his shelf. You look up at him from the book, a dopey smile to your face, and that’s when the other, underlying smell on you hits. Alcohol --- something woody that’s familiar. He guesses Bucky must’ve taken you to Widow’s Den, which would explain why you’re still up at this time.

“Hey,” he speaks up, nodding at you, “couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head, book forgotten as you cradle your tea with your other hand. “It’s been a busy night - still a bit wired!”

Fair, he thinks. “Tell me about it - did it go well with Buck?”

You start to ramble about the day - the places you tried, the time at Widow’s Den, the offer from Nat you ultimately accepted. He tries not to tense too visibly, but he can’t hide the way his scent sharpens the way it often does when an Alpha is on edge. He can see the impact it has on you instantly; the way your excitement slows and your eyes dart to try and pick out what caused it.

He reassures you - or does his best to - with a smile, urging you on. He won’t explain this yet, but the crowd at Widow’s Den can be rowdy when they want to be, especially when they’re from out of town. Nat and Sam will show you the ropes --- and step in where they have to --- so you’ll be in good hands; but he wouldn’t be Steve if he didn’t worry. You’re the newest wolf in town now --- a part of his pack, even if just for a short while.

When you’re done recapping the day, his smile grows, the gesture deliberately wide to make up for his worry catching you off-guard. “Well, I’m glad to hear it went well - Nat and Sam are good people, they’ll take care of you.”

“I believe it.” You pause, running a finger along the rim of your mug. “Which reminds me, I… I don’t have to stay here. Once I start working, I think I’ll be able to check in at the Hummingbird, see if that room’s opened up.”

Steve gives you the same stern look from the diner and you almost giggle at the sight. It’s hard to see the same intimidating alpha now that you’ve heard a little about him from his friends. “Come on - what kind of pack leader would I be if I kicked you out now?” He stands from the couch, eyes -- and stomach -- starting to turn towards the kitchen. “I won’t stop you if you prefer the motel, of course, but the offer to stay here will be open until your car’s ready to go.”

“Are you sure...?”

His stern face softens, giving way to another smile. “Positive - don’t worry about it, okay?”

After the last twenty four hours, it’s hard to doubt his capacity for kindness, but reassurance is always appreciated. You thank him one last time as he stalks into the kitchen, wishing you a good night, and when your tea is finished, you pad up to the guest bedroom with your chest feeling as warm as your tummy.

As you finally doze, it’s with a head full of excitement; like a kid the night before a field trip. You didn’t expect it, sure, but you’re ready, anticipant, for the start of your life for the next two months.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #alpha!steve rogers x reader #mcu x reader #werewolf!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers fanfic #werewolf!steve rogers #alpha!steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction

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sugawara-sweetheart · 4 years

Note

mmm kenji would be so into degradation like nobody's business. prob a spanking kink too. those hands smack down so many balls your ass has no chance

god i love futakuchi so much hes so pretty this was so fun to write

futakuchi x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, kinda hate sex,

word count: 2.6k

futakuchi isn’t an easy man to get along with. in fact, he never has been as you clearly remembered him being the rude, jarring underclassmen to your best friend moniwa back when you were all in high school. sure, he eventually accepted his faults and apologised yet almost six years later when you’re the manager of the municipal team VC Date, you find that he’s still the same.

irritating. rude. sardonic with that smile that always makes you curl your hands into fists whenever you‘re on the receiving end of those teasing remarks. but the worst part is that no matter how much you try to loathe the obnoxious man, it’s hard to. it’s hard to look past his handsome face gritted as he slams the volleyball down, sweat glistening off his temples. it’s hard not to admire his rippling muscles, the green veis that twist along his arm but also the subtle kindness he shows to his teammates, encouraging the new setter that he’d be able to adapt to their spikes quickly and making sure one of the middle blockers is resting and eating properly when he’s ill. no matter how much you try to pretend you hate the man who gets under your skin so easily, it’s still clouded maybe with pure attraction, maybe with something more.

you suppose that’s how you end up here one night in the living room of his apartment. you can feel his eyes on you as you sit awkwardly on the couch before he finally walks over to you from his adjoined kitchen, two glasses of whisky in his hands. he hands it to you with a gruff exhale before he sits beside you, his eyes fixated on you as you avoids his gaze. you take a deep gulp of the alcohol with a burning hiss.

“so why are you here?” futakuchi sighs, raising a brow at you like he’s bored.

“i had a bad day.” you growl, rolling your eyes as he scoffs. of course, he causes that irritation to build in you again but somehow- maybe it’s the dim lighting, his casual clothes of a fitted t-shirt and shorts that reveal his muscular body, the fact there’s barely any distance with his knee almost touching yours- you can’t help the desire that burns deep in your core.

“so you came to me?” he chuckles mirthlessly, cocking his head with amused surprise. “wow, y/n, one of our rare days off practise and you just can’t keep away, huh?” it’s your turn to scoff scathingly as you turn to futakuchi, scowling at his words as he continues to look so entertained.

“oh please, don’t flatter yourself.”

“i’m not.” he smirks, leaning back against the couch with his legs spreading apart and hand coming to rest on the back of it. you can’t deny the way his pose shows off his body more, his shorts riding up to reveal his bulky thighs and his biceps and chest muscles bulging from the restrains of his t-shirt. “i’ve seen how you watch me at practise. how tight you press your thighs together. i see how you’re looking at me now.” he takes a sip of his whisky and your breath hitches in your throat as you notice the way the wet remnants of it cling to his lips. he chuckles as he leans close but much to your surprise you don’t turn away, even when his fingers grip your chin, tilting you towards him.

he’s so close you can see every speck of gold in his brown eyes, feel his hot breath lingering on your lips. “you can’t resist me, can you?” he’s right, you can’t. you fail his challenge the moment you lean forward, connecting your lips together and kissing him with your fingers coming to thread in his brown silky locks, tasting the bitterness on his lips. he kisses you back with fervour, sighing into your mouth as he pushes you back on the couch, not caring that your empty glasses clatter to the floor when he’s sliding his tongue along your bottom lip. futakuchi groans when you part them and his tongue slides in to lick against yours, his hands gliding up your body to squeeze at your tits.

“i bet if i touch you right now, you’ll be soaking.” he taunts, smirking as he pulls away from your lips to press open mouthed kisses that has you exhaling heavily.

“try it, you’ll see how you’re just flattering yourself.” you remark with a scathing laugh but futakuchi doesn’t look at all worried when his hand sneaks through the waistband of your pants. you can’t help the sheepish moan that escapes you when two of his fingers press against your panties, a smirk stretching across his face.

“you’re drenched.” your face burns with indignation, glowering at him as he continues to apply pressure, circling his fingers over your clothed clit, eliciting little sighs from you as warm pleasure begins to build.

“shut up, kenji.” you groan, eyes fluttering shut as you rest your head back but he swiftly removes his fingers. you can’t help but whine at the pleasure washing away. “what are you doing?”

“oh my bad, y/n.” he smirks, sitting back against the couch casually. “if you want me to help you out, work for it.”

you sit up with a scowl but it’s then that you notice the tent in his shorts, a small gasp escaping you. he’s so brazen about it, following your gaze to his bulge with a small nod.”of course if you don’t want to, you don’t have to. but come on, i’d love to see that clever little mouth stuffed full with my cock.” your mouth drops open with his lewd words but you can’t help the surge of arousal rushing into you, making your soaked panties even wetter as you shuffle towards futakuchi. he smiles at your obedience, his eyes softening as you kneel beside him, your hand stretching out to palm his clothed erection.

he groans at the pressure, his eyes becoming heavy-lidded before you tug down his shorts, revealing the clearer outline of his hard cock straining against the tight fabric.

“wow, it looks like you can’t resist me either.” you remark, a smirk tugging at your lips but futakuchi isn’t impressed. he grips your jaw tight, turning your face in his direction and poking his thumb through your lips.

“don’t get cheeky with me, princess.” he says darkly. you can’t help the whimper that rises when his coarse thumb presses down on your tongue, saliva pooling. “be a good little slut and suck my dick if you want to cum tonight.”

he takes his thumb from your mouth with a pop and you slide down his boxers, reaching for the warm weight of his cock in your hand. he’s long, veins stretching over his length and beads of precum leaking from the tip as he watches you heavily, eyes dark. you can feel him scrutinising every bit of you as you lower your mouth, tongue darting out to lick at the sensitive head that has him gasping.

“go on, wrap those pretty lips of yours around my dick.” he encourages. his gaze is heavy and lustful as you lock eyes with him, taking note to bat your lashes as you slide the head into your mouth, sucking gently as futakuchi groans. he’s struggling to keep his eyes open, heavy, breathy moans escaping him as you take more of his length, bobbing your head as you twist and slide your tongue around and under his cock, tracing the veins that has him gripping the edge of the couch tightly. “you look so pretty taking my cock like a dirty, little slut.” you can’t help but moan, slightly muffled by his dick in your mouth but your thighs pressed together at his lewd words. it’s almost uncomfortable with how wet you are but futakuci notices, smirking at the way you suck him harder. “are you enjoying this? enjoying being such a good little whore for me- fuck!” you gag as his hips buck up, the sensitive head of his cock hitting the back of your throat, making you both moan loudly. “you’re so filthy.”

heavy pants escape futakuchi as you continue to bob your head along his length, cheeks hollowing as you slide your tongue around him before suddenly he’s gripping you by your hair, tugging you off his cock as he pulls you into a heated kiss. it’s messy with his tongue sliding into your mouth, drool trickling down your chin as you swallow his moans and you can’t help but chuckle as you realise the reasons for his hasty movements.

“did you almost really cum that quick?” you sneer, smirking as he hisses. he suddenly grips your cheeks hard, pushing them together with stinging pain as he forces your mouth open, growling as he leans close.

“don’t fucking piss me off.” he snarls and your eyes widen as he puckers his lips, directly spitting on your drooling tongue. he looks like he’s just registered his own actions, eyes widening, but when you release that small whine as the cold globule hits your tongue his eyes harden again. “swallow.” you do as he says, feeling yourself get so much wetter as the heat rises to your cheeks with humiliation. “what do you say?”

futakuchi hisses when you don’t say anything, his teeth clenching together as he grabs you by the roots of your hair, tugging you towards him. “i said, what do you say?” the thrill of seeing the anger in him makes your core throb as you smirk and you know it’s enough to send him over the edge as he flips you around, the hand still gripping your hair pushing your head down.

“kenji!” you groan as your face is forced into the couch but futakuchi ignores your muffled moans as he kneels behind you, his other hand yanking down your shorts and panties together.

you gasp at the feeling of the cold air hitting your slick folds, your body twitching with the sensitivity as he strokes your wetness. you’re arching yourself into him when a loud crack echoes in the room and you’re gasing, writhing as pure pain sears into your asscheek.

“you’re nothing more than a dirty, slutty, little whore.” he grunts, each word punctuated with a smaller slap yet it was just as harsh, making you moan loudly. futakuchi chuckles, spreading your legs apart as you moan out his name, aware of the way your ass was red raw and burning with the pain. “you’re so wet, y/n. you must be enjoying this, but after all, you’re such a slut, i’m sure you’d enjoy anything.”

“kenji-” you break off with a sharp gasp as futakuchi gives you another hard spank.

“much better,” he smiles as he rubs the sore, red skin. “you look so much better when you’re ruined like the little cockslut you are.”

he smiles as he turns you over, taking notice of the tears glistening in your ears as he strokes your face, a surprisingly tender action compared to the harsh spanks he gave you.

“kenji, please.” you whine desperately, bucking your hips into nothing. the burning arousal in you is too much, all dignity you have washing away as you cry out for futakuchi. he watches you with amusement, lazily stroking his dick which only has you whining more.

“god, you’re being such a desperate little slut.” he sighs, spreading apart your legs to reveal your wet cunt. you yelp as he gives you a little slap on your inner thigh, the shock of pain making you jerk. “you want me to fuck you so bad, huh? you’re so desperate for my dick, i bet you’d let me take any hole, huh?”

he looks gleeful, smirking as you’re almost sobbing with the way he glides his dick along your folds, soaking his length in your wetness. “that’s why you’re dripping all over me, stupid girl.”

“kenji, please fuck me-” you break off with a scream as he sheaths his cock in you, his length stretching out your walls as you both moan together.

“fuck, your slutty cunt is so tight.” he grunts, chuckling at the way your eyes roll back at the sensation of his length dragging against your walls. he waits till he’s bottomed out with you, heavy moans escaping him before he starts to fuck you, his hip snapping against yours roughly as you cry out. “fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight, princess. but of course, this is what you’re good for.” you moan at his lewd words as he fucks you, his cock rubbing against your walls so well. the pleasure is so warm inside you, making your mind hazy with his fast thrusts, his fingers moving to rub at your clit, making you arch your chest into him. “you should be thanking me for fucking your sloppy pussy, shouldn’t you, whore?” mind clouded with lust and pleasure, you nod desperately.

“thank you, kenji- kenji, kenji!” you can only chant his name over and over again till your voice is hoarse with every thrust futakuchi gives you. it’s only when you’re too fucked out to cry anymore, instead you tongue lolling out as you drool all over yourself that the room fills with the sinful sounds of skin slapping against skin.

“such a dirty slut.” futakuchi removes one hand from gripping your thigh to slide his fingers along the saliva coating your chin, pushing his wet fingers into your mouth. immediately you moaned around them, sucking on them with your eyes heavy-lidded, the rush of pleasure too much for you to even think. “am i fucking my little cockslut too hard she can’t even think? am i making you into my dumb, little whore?” you only moan in reply, bucking your hips up into his and from the way you’re clenching tighter around him. “is my dumb, slutty girl going to cum?” you’re nodding and futakuchi slides his wet fingers from your mouth, smearing your own drool messily on your cheeks before he wraps his hand around your throat. you squeeze tighter around him, making him moan loudly before you’re convulsing, crying as he fucks you through your orgasm, his fingers cirling your clit relentlessly, ignoring the cramping in his hand. “fuck!” you’re panting when futakuchi suddenly pulls out, his twitching cock drenched in your cum, slick sounds filling the room as he pumps himself, admiring the way your wetness coats your thighs and puffy pussy, the drool over your chin and the tears leaking from your eyes before he cums, releasing all over your stomach and painting your skin with his cum.

futakuchi collapses beside you on the couch, his body pressed against yours from the limited space as you both pant together. as your high begins to fade, the shame rises in you but it’s quelled the moment futakuchi brushes your hair out of your face.

“stay here, let me go clean you up.” you don’t know what to think, just lying on the sofa with an ache beginning to build in you as you wait for him to return. when he does, he has a glass of water which he hands to you before pressing the wet cloth against your stomach, cleaning you up gently. there’s a still silence before you clear your throat.

“i’m sorry.” futakuchi frowns at you with confusion.

“for what? do you regret this?” you hesitate a little under his rounded eyes before shaking your head, the heat rising to your cheeks as you quickly look away, suddenly feeling exposed.

“no, i had a good time. but it doesn’t feel right. i’m the manager of the team and-”

“and if you were my girlfriend?” you splutter at his words, mouth dropping open but he isn’t abashed at all, his eyebrows rising questioningly. “if i take you out on a date, would you be okay with this?”

“you want to take me out on a date?” he smiles, chuckling as he leans close.

“of course.” he murmurs, pressing his lips against yours. you’d never had a kiss so soft before.

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#have some holy water <3 #haikyuu #hq #haikyuu imagines #hq imagines #haikyuu fic #hq fic #haikyuu smut #hq smut #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #futakuchi #futakuchi imagines #futakuchi fic #futakuchi x reader #futakuchi x y/n #futakuchi smut

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sashi-ya · 3 years

Text

{+18} - Law x Fem Best Friend ♥ CH.3

♥ Daily living with the Heart pirates crew AU ♥Spoilers after Dressrosa Arc. Law´s backstory. ♥Female reader. Little physical description. Everybody is 18+, canon ages. ♥TW: Heavy NSFW. Unprotected sex – this is just fiction, don’t forget to take care of you and your partners while having sex! . A bit of toxic behavior from Law. Drama (a bit much). No further warnings. If you think I should include some feel free to tell me ♥Thank you for the likes and follows, I appreciate it them so so much! If you wanna know when I’ll be updating the next chapters, you can follow me on Twitter @LawIsMyWaifu, come interact I love to have mutuals that love Law and One Piece as much as I do

Word count: 3.1K

» List of parts: {CH1} {CH2} {CH3} {CH4} {CH5} «

Chapter 3

Little moans escaped my mouth, as he pinched and twisted, softly, the most sensitive parts of my breasts. “Can I show you something?” he asked, now looking at me with lasciviousness. “Uhum”, I moaned, desperate to know what he was going to do. He then slipped a little sexy laugh and said “ROOM” and quickly the circle of power was surrounding us. I’ve always told him that inside of it my senses enhanced, this time wasn’t the exception. He then expressed “counter shock”. I lost my breath, because I knew how deadly that attack was, but instead, a soft electricity ran through his fingers through my nipple, making me squirm.

Every little shock my skin experienced, was slowly sending me to heaven. Pangs travelling directly to my core every time I heard his seductive laugh. He was enjoying this; he certainly knew what he was doing.

Law then crawled over me, placing his tattooed, well defined, tanned arms at each side of my face, kissed me and ordered me “stand up”, with a lustful smile.

And without questioning, I did as he told. I stood up in front of him, who also stood up and told me to wait right there. He reached his katana, looking at me with almost a wicked look. “I hope you don’t get cold”, he said and unsheathed the Kikoku. Widening my eyes, I heard him express “Scan” followed by a movement of his hand that took all my clothes, even my underwear, right away.

I was left completely naked in front of him. My cheeks turned to red, and I wasn’t able to move. He approached me while slowly taking his shirt off, exposing the perfect anatomy of his torso. I traveled with my eyes every single black line of his tattoos, the way they garnished his skin, his abs, the little scars that remained from fighting at Dressrosa. Oh, so tempting, so enticing. I was so needy for him. I wanted to get railed by this man, real hard.

Law licked his lips subtly, while looking me up and down, when suddenly violently grabbed my neck with his right hand. He was not choking me, nor caressing my skin. He applied just the perfect pressure to the sides of my neck and with his knee roughly separated my legs.

The skilled fingers of his free hand reached my sex. “You are already so wet, Y/n-ya”, he said, discovering how aroused I was. “I want to get you even more wet”, he whispered next to my ear. I could only say his name in between gasping breaths. I couldn’t focus on more than primal desire.

He began to move his fingers in circular motions over my clit, and slowly introduced his thumb on me. In and out.. In and out... and with every moan I let out, he increased the pressure on my neck.

The surgeon let go of me, knelt and started kissing my stomach softly, downwards, arriving at my thighs, kissing and biting the inside of them. I stretched my head back and instinctively grabbed his hair. Law loudly growled and placed his mouth over my sex, licking up and down, tracing also circles, enjoying my flavor, as he said, “you taste delicious”. My legs started to get weaker. I was groaning, heavily breathing, until I let myself go, when he made me reach the peak of my pleasure.

“Now, let me show you how skilled I am with my mouth, too”, I said, slowly putting my hands onto his hips and pulling him to me so we could be facing each other more closely, Slowly kissing first the commissure of his lips, and then placing a kiss onto his lips. I noticed he was breathing more heavily and when my stomach met his I could feel his erection against my lady parts. I pushed him into a big wooden couch. I hopped onto his lap. Being over his lap made me feel his sex pressed, rubbing against mine while I started moving with an exquisite motion. We kept kissing, touching, feeling our flesh spellbound from his scent, that now has turned into the mix of his sweet perfume with hints of sweat.

Kissing first his neck and then leaving a trace downwards, his collar bones, lower… lower. I stood up and kneel at his feet.

I took a long time to enjoy his well-defined abs going lower till getting to his navel. My ears were blessed with his low moanings, the little spasms that his muscles did every time I came closer to his skin with my mouth and how he got his head thrown back. I followed the happy trail of little hairs that took me to his pelvis, perfectly determined by the V shape his lower abs formed.

I stopped as he bended down, placed a kiss on my forehead and then onto my mouth, I gave him another in return and put my head down. It was time for me to show him my oral skills were serious shit. I was delighted with how he groaned and came arching his hole lower back from the pleasure my mouth has given to him.

Outside the blizzard was still intense, as I could see through the window, after Law not letting me rest a bit was behind me pushing me against the wooden wall. My cheek was pressed on the cold glass of the window, that slowly fogged with the steaming heat of my skin.

Law grabbed my chin, passing his arm from behind brushing his thumb softly over my lips. I opened my mouth softly, receiving his finger into my mouth, slowly sucking it.

I could feel his hard rock bulge against my ass, so I reached for it, passing my hand back. “Fuck me, Law”, I said begging to be filled with his member. “That’s what I’ve been waiting to do for so long, Y/N-ya”, he moaned.

He rubbed his manhood, first over my buttocks, then in between and finally over my vagina, softly lubricating it with the fluids of my arousal.

My "best friend" inserted his dick inside of me, softly, slowly, but not completely… it felt like a sweet torture and I, begging said, "just fuck me already, please, I want you". I sounded - and I was - desperate to feel the sensation of his hard sex fully invading my insides. He laughed, with a side smile, that I could not see, but that I felt on the skin of my back, because he was pressing his face against it. And with a big thrust stretched completely my walls.

He moved his hips in a certain way, not so violently but firmly, in and out. ” Mh.”... I didn't want to be loud, because hearing his accelerated breath, his groans, was heavenly. “Faster, faster please”, I asked him to increase the rhythm of the pounding. He did. Beads of sweat covered both of our bodies while we got there. I finished followed by Law, who filled me up with all of his love juice. The sensation of being full of his fluids inside of me was delectable, I even remained still just to feel it flow and drip from my insides into my thighs.

Both were sweaty, exhausted but drunks from each other, so we moved to bed. And after some more hours of letting ourselves indulge in the pleasure of lust, our bodies fall into exhaustion… The storm was not near to be over, outside the blizzard was still violent, and the strong winds have destroyed some of the pines of the forest. Law put his left arm around me, bringing me close to his chest and I placed my head on it, as well as my hand over his abs. He kissed my forehead and we both went to sleep…

A patch of sunlight hit my eyes. Lying next to me, Law was still asleep. I stood up slowly, trying not to wake him up because I know how exhausted he gets when uses his ope ope no mi. And he certainly did waste a lot of energy all night long with the little shocks of his “counter shock” and maintaining the “room” active, just for me, to feel even more intense every little sensation.

The logs of the fireplace were no longer burning, so I got a little cold. I saw Law’s shirt on the floor, picked it up and put it on. It was long enough to cover half of my thighs. I was spellbound from his ambrosial scent.

My stomach was growling as the hunger took over, when suddenly I heard someone knocking on the door of the cabin. Outside was sister Alley, a few children and Gerald with a big basket. Quickly I grabbed my jeans and opened the door slightly. “Doctor Y/N!!” shouted one of the girls trying to force the door to be completely open and peeking through it. “Where is the tattooed doctor?!! I wanna see him!! the other kid asked, almost shouting. Gerald told them to be quiet and handed me the basket with a look of complicity. I thanked them and they came back to the main building.

Inside the basket there was a bunch of food for us to have breakfast. I started laughing when I saw a big baguette, because I remembered how much Law hates bread… God knows why.

While preparing some tea, I watched the man that sent me to heaven a few hours ago, peacefully sleep. I could have stayed there forever, just the two of us. No worries, no responsibilities, no danger.

“Puru puru puru”. Rang my Den Den Mushi. “Gatcha. Y/n, where the hell are you both? it’s morning already! I’ve called you several times but somehow this thing won't connect”, reproached Penguin. “Shh stop yelling, Law is asleep. We were supposed to return yesterday, but the storm got worse than we thought. We will be there in a few hours. Enjoy the island a bit more until we get there”, I told my crew member. “You both slept in the same room again, Y/N? When are you going to announce the wedding? hahaha!”, Penguin mocked me. “It’s not what you think, don’t be stupid, she’s like my sister, we are done with the chatty. We’ll be there in a few hours, prepare to sail”, Law suddenly appeared from behind taking the speaker of the transponder off from my hand, reprehended his subordinate and hung up.

“She is like my sister” ... those words hit me harder than expected. I’m not your sister… I’ve never… Oh lord… I shook off the thought and gave him a smile, followed by a “Good morning, I made you some tea”. “Thanks”, he expressed almost apathetic while brushing his hair with his fingers. “Can you give me my t-shirt back?”. My smile slowly disappeared. Why is he being so rude?, I thought, and a feeling of upset was installed in me. “Yeah, here, take it” I said, taking off the shirt and almost throwing it at him. I was naked, both of my breasts were exposed, I wasn’t ashamed anymore, I was mad. “Cover yourself, Y/n-ya.” He voiced and directed his gaze to the window. A few tears began to blur my vision, I felt used, I felt like I was nothing but a toy for him.

I grabbed my clothes, put them on, and left the cabin slamming the door. Outside the sun was shining, the forest showed the aftermath of the blizzard, the level of the snow was considerably higher than yesterday and a cold, almost icy breeze played around with some sections of my hair. I started walking, I needed to be alone.

“Y/n-ya where are you going?” I heard Law calling me from behind, but instead of turning back at him I kept on walking. “Y/n-ya!”. I decided to ignore him. I was so mad, so hurt I didn’t even know what to say to him.

“Room… Shambles!” I heard and suddenly the log in front of me got changed for Law. “Where the hell are you going? the orphanage is the other way!” he said out of breath. “I’m not going there, I am not allowed to take a walk… “brother”?”, I articulated while a sting of sorrow hit my heart.

“Stop it right there, Y/n-ya. What happened yesterday was nothing, ok? let’s forget about it.” he said, strongly.

“Forget about it? Are you kidding me? You basically used me… I’m your best friend!... why did you....”, I suddenly stopped, I realized that despite him acting like this, I wanted that. I was guilty, too. He was my best friend… and what we did, probably will change our relationship, forever.

Tears started flowing from my eyes. I wanted him to hug me, to comfort me, to wipe my eyes as he has always done. But this time, he didn’t. Instead he started walking away, turning his back to me.

I stayed right there a few minutes, after falling into my knees on the cold snowy ground, while I saw him zooming off from my vision, expressing an inaudible, full of sorrow, “Law”. Holding the necklace with one of my hands, so hard it almost hurt my skin.

Why does it hurt so much?, is it because he had wounded my pride? Or because I felt guilty?.... It's none of that.. All of a sudden it strikes me that I was in love with him. I’ve always been. And I repressed the feelings so many years convincing myself it was just fraternal love, for the sake of the relation and the crew. The shock produced by this whole situation made me realize I can’t restrain my feelings anymore…

I started walking back to the cabin, the cold breeze was almost crystallizing the tears over my cheeks. The icy wind, the immensity, the loneliness of the mountain scenery was the perfect metaphor for what I was feeling right now. I’ve always felt safe, protected knowing Law was at my side, but now… it’s probably over, I felt alone, for the very first time in ages.

I could only hear the sound of the snow under my feet with every step I took mixed with me sobbing, thinking If I should leave the crew… Will I be able to handle loving him, yet treat him as a brother?, or even maybe just a crewmate?

When I got to the cabin, Law was waiting outside, crestfallen and probably upset. I decided to ignore him and entered the place where a few hours away our bodies merged as one. Grabbed my bags with the sweaters I had bought yesterday and headed out.

We walked to the orphanage, no talking, not even looking at each other.

A few kids hugged me, and that type of pure love somehow warmed my heart a little bit. While Law was giving the nurses some more indications to follow for the treatment, Sister Alley noticed my red eyes and nose and asked, “You seemed so happy this morning, are you ok? Have you been crying?”. I couldn’t help but tell her -half of- the story. I trusted her, somehow she reminded me of the noon Law always remembers from Flevance. “Calm down, darling, give time to time. I’ve seen how he looks at you. Even if he says no, his eyes show different. I’m sure he feels the same way as you. Be calm and you will see”. Calm… ha, my favorite power from my devil fruit, I thought.

I thanked her for the advice, hugged her and asked Gerald to take us to the city center

During the whole ride I remained silent, choking back tears, and repeating the noon words over and over. “I’ve seen how he looks at you”, how does he look at me?...

Law was calm as usual and exchanged a few words with our driver until we got to our destination.

“Thank you so much doctors for all of your help, I hope to see you again someday. We will be happy to have you here in better conditions”. “Thanks for your hospitality, and send my regards to your wife, I hope she gets better!” I said, waving at him goodbye.

We started walking downtown heading to where the Polar Tang and the rest of the crew was waiting for us. “Oi, Y/n-ya…”, my “best friend” said grabbing my wrist.

I violently moved my arm for him to release me. I expressed coldly “Don’t worry, I’m not saying anything, forget about it”.

Bepo was on the port waving at us, yelling our names. I don’t know why but I ran directly to him, hugged the big polar bear and sunk my head on his soft belly. “Aya aya, Y/N! you missed me I see. Well, have some garchu!. I missed you and captain too!”.

We boarded the yellow submarine and I headed directly to my room. I jumped into bed and cried my eyes out.

The day passed, and I didn’t get out of the room during the whole day. I excused myself, stating I was tired of the hard work we did with the sick children of the island.

The night came and my stomach was growling from hunger. Yet, I didn’t want to face anyone, especially Law. But suddenly, someone knocked on my door. "Y/n-ya, you have to eat, open please I bought you some food". Said Law, from the other side of the door. “I don't want it, I’m not hungry”, I lied. “Don’t be such a whimsical baby, open the door.”, he ordered me. “I’m not opening, GO AWAY”, I expressed this time shouting, to which he replied, “I’m still your captain, open the door right now”. Bastard… I opened the door with the worst of the attitudes. He entered my room with a plate in his hands and sat on my bed.

“Stop acting like this, Y/n-ya. You don’t see the problem? We’ve been like brothers and sisters for more than half of our lives. What happened yesterday shouldn't have happened. It's just… It’s not ok. You, you are my little sister…” He yelled at me with a cracking voice. “We are not siblings, Law. Sure, you are my family, but we are not brother and sister. Why don’t you see? We have no blood ties. We have kissed before, you even told me yesterday how much time you’ve been wanting to fuck me…” I made a pause, and even If I wouldn’t want to say it, my mouth didn’t hold back... “I love you, that’s it. I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle this, I LOVE YOU”.

Law gasped, widening his eyes. We looked at each other. His eyes said, “me too”, but his mouth expressed words that stuck into my heart as arrows… “I don’t love you, I wanted sex, ok? that's it. I was horny”.

A single teardrop fell from my eyes and while it ran through my cheek I said, “Law, I’m leaving the crew” ...

Chapter 4

#trafalgardwaterlaw #one piece law #law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #one piece x reader #one piece #onepiece #torao #lawnsfw

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justauthoring · 4 years

Text

A Song About Love

Request: Hi! Can I request a geralt x reader where the reader is an elemental and a slave to the king and had been Geralt first love who he thought was dead. So, when Jaskier and geralt are in the castle jaskier sneaks down the wrong door and finds her, telling geralt which prosides to geralt finding her and a really heartwarming/romantic encounter. The king finds out they are escaping and she reveals her powers and saves both of them which leads to a romantic smut of the reader and geralt. Requested by: @dark-night-sky-99 Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader Word Count: 1, 634

Please don’t plagiarize my work!

Truthfully, he’d just been wondering to occupy his time.

Thinking back now, he should’ve just stayed by Geralt’s side. But, he’d never been one for listening and sometimes (he couldn’t help it) his curiosity got the better of him. Plus, the King was an ass from what he could tell and Jaskier had no real want to be around his insufferable self for a moment longer.

So, instead, he elected upon the idea of sneaking down into the dungeons of the King’s castle and exploring an area he certainly was not allowed to. An area Jaskier is positive that if he was found in, the King would -- quite possibly -- have his head.

The thrill of danger had never stopped him before, however. He followed a damned Witcher on the daily, after all.

And your door is just too tempting not to peek in at. Oddly enough, it’s the first room he’s seen in this dungeon beside the cages. It’s clearly designed differently, but if the bar on the outside gives Jaskier any clues, he imagines it to be no different that the cages that surround it. Maybe a little more... what was the word?

Fancy.

Fancy for a cage that was.

It was also considerably more barred than anything else in that dungeon. There was not just one bar, but a multitude of them. As if whatever was on the inside was powerful enough to break through one metal bar... Whatever was on the other side of that door was clearly dangerous. It filled Jaskier with an immeasurable amount of excitement.

There’s a little window to peek in at. Jaskier takes it upon himself to slide the slate open, leaning up a little on his toes to peer inside. He’s not really sure what he expects to see. But a frail looking woman is certainly not on his list.

Jaskier’s brows twitch in curiosity, watching you for a moment. You don’t really notice him, your back turned to the door, head dipped down. There’s a soft hum leaving your lips, and something glows before you. But Jaskier can’t properly see what it is. It’s a red and orange hue of sorts, but your frame is covering him from seeing anything more.

Biting his lower lip, Jaskier leans back with the intent to open the door. But as he does so, a voice booms;

“Bard!”

It causes him to jump, instantly assuming he’d been caught until he turns his head and finds the familiar yellow eyes of Geralt. He instantly calms at the sight, shoulders sagging with relief as the Witcher bounds up to him; quickly and urgently. “Geralt, I--”

“We shouldn’t be down here.” He says sharply, cutting Jaskier off. “We should go. Before your idiocy gets us caught.”

“But--!”

“No, buts. Lets--”

“Geralt?”

It’s a new voice. A softer, weak and somewhat raspy sounding voice. Instantly, Jaskier’s head snaps back towards the door, staring at the now shut slate as Geralt turns to it in confusion. For a brief moment, his narrowed eyes flicker back towards Jaskier who races his head in surrender before he leans forward, pulling the slate open.

Your eyes peek through.

“Is that really you?”

Jaskier takes note of the way Geralt’s shoulders instantly tense. But not in the same way they did when there’s was danger nearing, it was... different, somehow. His entire stature changes as your eyes remain on Geralt’s only, having to push yourself up just to see through the slate.

“Y/N...” Geralt’s voice is low. A hum, almost. Jaskier is sure he’s never heard the man sound quite like that before.

“It is you,” even if he can’t see you, Jaskier can sense the small smile that grows on your lips by the tone of your voice. “I... I thought i’d never see you again.”

Geralt doesn’t say anything. Jaskier takes it upon himself to. “You know each other?”

Instantly, your eyes fall on Jaskier, fear flooding your gaze. It settles uncomfortably in Jaskier’s stomach and he frowns, loosing the chestire grin and softening his gaze in hopes of showing you he means no harm. Geralt just simply glares at him, stepping back and beginning the tedious work of unlocking all five bars that keep you trapped on the other side of that door.

When the door is open, you’re in nothing more than a tattered dress with a cuff connected to a chain against the wall around your ankle.

Instantly, you fall into Geralt’s arms. He holds you carefully, keeping you steady and returning the embrace for a moment before pulling back, eyes flickering across yourself in search of injuries. Jaskier think it’s to be pointless; anyone could tell you’re worse for wear by one look into your gaze. You looked... afraid, frightened even.

Scuff marks cover your entire self. Dirt is stuck to your cheeks, your hair a tattered mess. As you wobble on your feet, Jaskier’s eyes is brought down to your ankle, where burn marks reside from the cuff. You look tired, skinny (unbearably so -- like you haven’t been fed in days) and most of all, you just look... sad. That’s the only word Jaskier can find to describe the expression in your eyes.

“We’re getting you out of here,” Geralt says firmly, pulling back to lean down, grabbing the chain gently in his heads.

“You can’t. He’ll -- the King -- will have your head. I... I already tried to escaping, I don’t want to--”

Geralt stops you with one look. “I will free you from here. If I had known you’d been here, I would’ve came a lot sooner.”

Jaskier’s brows furrow; “I mean no offence, my lady, but... why would the King want you?”

You frown up at the boy, hesitant. A nod from Geralt assures you it’s okay and with a shaky breath, you race your hand, your fingers stretching outwards as the same red and orange hue glows. It’s fire. You’re conjuring fire from your very own fingers.

“Oh,” Jaskier frowns, “you’re an elemental.”

You nod.

With one tug of his brute strength, Geralt manages to free you from the chain. The cuff was still locked around your ankle, but none of you have very much time to dwell on it. “The King, he’ll... he’ll come down soon,” you explain, voice shaky. “He will... if he finds us, i’ll never get away. He already put fire-resistant metal bars on the door, I... I don’t want to be stuck here forever, Geralt.”

Geralt glances at Jaskier, who nods, not eager to be on the reciprocating end of this King’s wrath. With that Geralt turns to you, taking you into his arms and rushing forward, his steps quick. Jaskier follows closely behind, his head consistently turning behind him in fear of being caught.

And for a while, nothing happens. The three of you actually manage to make it outside, just by the gates. But, the King and his guards are already there, waiting for you.

“Witcher,” the King boasts, “I do believe you have something of mine.”

No one says anything. But the look in Geralt’s eyes is deadly.

“I’m afraid i’ll need her back before you can leave.”

With a glance around, Jaskier realizes just what kind of trouble you’re all in. You’re completely surrounded, a guard at every corner, and even the Witcher himself wasn’t that good to defeat every single one of them. A sinking feeling erupts within Jaskier and for the first time, he wonders if he’ll actually make it out of this one alive.

Geralt tasks him with the job of keeping you safe while he valiantly fights off any guard that comes his way. But, he is overpowered eventually. Jaskier watches with fear in his gaze Geralt is knocked down to his knees, a grunt of pain leaving his lips as he slashed across the chest.

In the next second, you’re ripping yourself from his gaze.

“No!” Your voice booms, interrupting everything and creating a domino-effect of silence. Jaskier is nearly knocked off his own feet at the power behind your voice, stumbling backwards. He watches with wide eyes as you position yourself directly before Geralt, protecting him with your body, hands held out before yourself.

“You know it’s futile, witch.” The King laughs, “I will never let you go.”

“I am not your toy,” you growl, voice leethal. It’s so different then the feeble tone Jaskier had heard you speak in moments ago. You are so different then from then. Something within you has changed and even having only known you for no more than twenty minutes, Jaskier feels as if this was who you were. Before you were... broken.

“I never was.”

A wave of fire leaves your hands, directed towards the King. Just the King. A wave of heat hits Jaskier in the face, making his skin grow hot. But he barely pays mind to it, amazed at the sight before him.

The King falls to his back. His guards rush forward with the intent to protect, enact revenge, anything, but a swipe of your hand as them screaming in pain as their skin burns and they’re knocked back.

Eventually, any guards remaining realize; maybe it’s just not worth their life. They flee within seconds.

You stand there for a moment, chest rising and falling rapidly, before your legs wobble beneath you. You sway for a moment longer and then, you’re falling.

Geralt catches you swiftly in his arms.

There’s a moment of confusion, exhaustion, you blinking slowly up at Geralt before your lips curve up into a soft smile. Your hand rises slowly, falling on his cheek. “You found me...”

And Geralt just smirks; “I told you I would.”

And Jaskier can’t help but think, this will make a song that’ll go down in history.

Let me know what you thought?

#The Witcher #The Witcher imagine #The Witcher x reader #Geralt of Rivia #Geralt of Rivia imagine #Geralt imagine #Geralt x reader #Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill imagine #imagine #imagines #my fics

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wookie92 · 3 years

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WHAT IT’S LIKE TO HAVE A MICROPENIS

My micropenis is approximately ½ to 1 inch long when flaccid and 3.3 inches long when fully erect. When fully erect it has an upward angle and a slight banana curve. It is also very thin (2.8), though proportional to the length. According to calculations my penis has a volume of 36.19 ml / 1.22 fl oz (us). Various studies suggest that the average American penis is 2.8–3.9 inches flaccid and around 4.7–6.3 inches when erect. According to online information at SIZEMEUP, in a room of 1000 guys only 1 would be shorter than me.

In an adult, the average stretched penile length is about 13.24 cm (5.21 in.). An adult micropenis is a stretched penile length of 9.32 cm (3.67 in.) or less. Growing up I remember reading that a micropenis was defined as any penis shorter than 2.8 inches in length. But have been subsequently given new information that slid me well under the 3.67 inch upper limit.

Where Do I Stand On The Penis Size Chart?

All this to say: the majority of average flaccid penises are longer than mine when I am erect.

I cannot say that I am deeply ashamed of my micropenis, but certainly I have experienced shame with regard to my size. I can say that I am extremely self aware of my penis size. This is largely because of the of things I hear women and women say about micropenis, and people’s reaction to my own micropenis.

I can only speak from personal experience, but the number of times I have heard women making fun of men for the size of their manhood is staggering. At one time, I actually overheard three or four of my colleagues at work all agreeing that "men with small dicks should be required to wear a warning sign."

In school, especially high school and as an undergraduate, I was subject to a lot of hazing and bullying that was directly connected to my having a micropenis. As a sophomore in high school I was depantsed at the pool by three bullies when I got an unwanted erection. They lifted me up and held my arms behind me to prevent me from covering my erection so the entire PE class present saw what happened. The coach had left the pool area when it happened. While the three boys were penalized, the damage was done any my “secret” became known through out the school before the end of the day. The teasing commenced immediately and was unrelenting. Even my mother got calls from some friends who had heard about the incident (and my condition). My mother reacted in anger at me that somehow I was responsible for the situation (and her subsequent embarrassment). No empathy there. I was depantsed three more times before I graduated from high school and it was clear to me why I was being targeted.

I was on the swim team and during a competition with a neighboring town, discovered that two of the players from that town recognized me as the guy with the “baby dick” which got shouted as I started my event. So, word had spread. I felt like a pariah.

Numerous scientific studies have suggested time and again that for the majority of women in the western world, tiny penises are simply undesirable. I am 28 and have had just only three sexual experiences (through personal choice) with women, two of which were very humiliating, to say the least.

In high school, my first consensual sexual encounter was with a boy named Billy. I was 13 and he was 15. He was interested in anal sex, and wanted to top me. I was willing to bottom despite the fact that he was very well endowed. He did tease me about my micropenis, but seemed to accept it. I was not prepared for how painful the experience of bottoming would be, but he continued to be interested in me, and treated me well (we even kissed) so I was willing to continue to have sex with him as a bottom. I fell in love. Then he disclosed to his homophobic older brother that we had been having sex and that put an end to our relationship. His brother let me know (rather violently) that I was to stay away from Billy or he would castrate and kill me. Billy, who had a black eye, never spoke to me again.

My first sexual encounter with a woman happened during my Junior year in high school. She was a sophomore and I was a Junior. When I undressed I could tell she was “shocked” even though she was a virgin and had never seen a man naked. She has seen photographs of naked men, and she had a brother in college. She was well pleased with my digital and oral skills, and actually squirted into my mouth (something I didn’t even know was a “thing” that might happen). Unfortunately when I attempted to penetrate her, my condom slipped off, and my orgasm was triggered prematurely as I was trying to thrust into her. She tried to push me off of her as I locked up and started squirting, and was furious that I had ejaculated into her vagina. She said she could feel me ejaculating. She got up and douched. I was too embarrassed to speak more than an apology. I helped pay for her “morning after” pill and discovered that she had disclosed the whole evening, including my premature ejaculation, and condom mishap, to her friends.

As a freshman in college I encountered a very attractive university student who seemed to be attracted to me. When I stripped, she stared at my micropenis, giggled, and put her hand to her mouth, muttering simply "OK" in a tone that suggested she was taken aback. When it came to actually performing, first I found that the condom wouldn’t stay on, but more frustratingly, my micropenis kept falling out every time I tried to penetrate her. She actually asked the traditional joke question, "Is it in?" mistaking my penis for my finger. I wanted to die. It was clear that she was getting nothing out of the experience. I genuinely tried my best to make her happy via oral sex, but she didn't orgasm or enjoy that either. I suspect her encounter with my penis through a wet blanket over the whole experience. When at last I finally thought I was making her content, she suddenly huffed in an annoyed way and got up, saying she needed to use the restroom. And that was the end of it.

I can only imagine the level of disappointment and frustration she must have felt. It must have been a horrendous experience for her.

I decided after that to become a master of cunnilingus so that any future women I encountered would be satisfied, if not by my penis, then my oral skills would more than make up for it. And I did master the art.

While in graduate school at the University of Texas in Austin, I met and married a girl. We had engaged in some sexual activity before our marriage, so she was aware of my micropenis. However our marriage was short lived when I discovered she had been having sex with my then best friend. When I confronted her with her lack of fidelity, she blamed my shortcomings as a lover and told me that my micropenis disgusted her.

Since that time I have mainly had sexual experiences with gay men, though I had a threesome with a woman that went very well.

Aside from personal experiences, the media doesn’t help my self-esteem either. Men with small penis are an ongoing source of amusement in TV shows and movies. I noticed that penis shaming was mostly reserved for villains and comic sidekicks who were never taken seriously. There are more TV shows with “little dick jokes” than shows that don’t have them. No shows make fun of women’s breast size, but targeting men with small penises as a source of humor seems to be socially acceptable. All that tells me that the writers don’t really care if men with small penises are offended or hurt.

The way the media treats the body-shaming of men compared to the body-shaming of women is wildly different. When Donald Trump makes questionable comments about the looks of women, he rightly causes outrage. Lists and videos decrying his sexist remarks have gone viral. Yet when a naked model of Trump with a micropenis was displayed in public in New York City, it was treated like a punch line rather than an attack. Some publications even called it a wonderful piece of art. Hundreds of Americans now have selfies of them laughing at Trump and his micropenis. We defend Heidi Cruz and Megyn Kelly, but where are the people defending small penises? I am no Trump supporter, but targeting him because of his small penis seems wrong.

GUYS WITH MICROPENISES KNOW THEY ARE NOT WELL-ENDOWED, THEY DON’T NEED REMINDING OF IT.

From my experience (having read hundreds of articles, forum posts, videos, and having spoken to hundreds of men and women online), it feels safe to say that the overwhelming majority of sexual partners aren't thrilled about the prospect of sex with micropenises. And if we don’t accept that these views are likely the majority, then we are never going to challenge this blatant discrimination.

I would like to ask people to think about this: If you are attracted to somebody enough to ask them to bed, and if the guy is kind to you, is it fair to write him off based on size alone?

So what do I plan to do about my love life?

Luckily I am bisexual and enjoy the company of men as well as women. I fear that straight men with the micropenis condition suffer worse shame than men in the gay community. Let me be clear, a great many gay men are “size queens” and I have been rejected by more than a few gay men, but now that so many men can meet on line I have been able to meet men who actually “prefer” men with small dicks and so they are not surprised by what I have to offer when we meet. Many of them enjoy SPH (Small Penis Humiliation), but in my life I have adapted to being the subject of humor and, in some cases, can even find that sexually arousing.

So the answer to that question is “nothing”. I try to focus my life on my work, my writing, working out, outdoors activities, sports, and other subjects that interest me. If I started to look for love, it would just make me feel down, and I already struggle with depression and anxiety secretly. I don’t need the humiliation and hurt that looking for love would bring me. Sure, everybody gets rejected, but usually for less hurtful reasons. As a bottom, many men don’t care how well I am hung. Instead they care about how I make them feel when they fuck me, and I have learned to be a power bottom.

Guys with micropenises know we are not well-endowed, we don’t need to be reminded of it. If I’m attracted to a sexual partner, then what they have in their pants doesn’t matter to me; I care more about what that partner has in his/her heart. My extreme self-consciousness about my body makes me feel like everyone else's opinion must be right, that there is something wrong with my size. I just wish people could look past it, so I could too. Because intellectually I know my size is just a variation.

I try to look at it this way. Not everyone is attracted to red hair, or freckles, or blue eyes, or black skin, or hairy chests. People are attracted to differing qualities. As long as I can find some people who are interested in the qualities I possess, and are also interested n me personally, than I am gratified.

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