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fleetsonourgecentral · 2 years

Note

I bring you a thought: Scourge has to be the one to tell Tails to get out of the workshop and go to bed at a reasonable time for once. Tails refuses. Chaos and violence follow. (I’m just finding myself with a new craving for Scourge acting like a big brother and thought of you.) Have a wonderful week!!

I am holding this thought in my hands thank u

~~~

There were upsides and downsides to Sonic being away from the rest of the Freedom Fighters. Surprisingly, the upsides did not outweigh the downsides. Sure, Scourge got to do whatever he wanted in the kitchen without Sonic around to yank him away from the kettle by his ear, and sure, it meant he usually wouldn't be expected to do any, blech, hero stuff, but it also left him without his favourite person. (To annoy. Favourite person to annoy, because that was definitely his priority, and the part about being apart from his boyfriend definitely did not bother him at all.)

And apparently, recently it also meant some of his responsibilities were dumped on Scourge instead.

Not the mildly interesting ones like leading the Freedom Fighters, either; according to Amy he was "too much of a loose canon" and "not concerned enough about civilians" or whatever and thus wasn't allowed near the leader position. No, his brand new responsibility was that he was expected to babysit one Miles Tails Prower. A fact Sonic conveniently forgot to inform him of until the second before walking out of the door, when he'd called out, "By the way, keep Pixel Brain in line while I'm gone!"

Because if there was one thing Scourge's entire demeanor screamed, it was good with kids.

To the kid's credit, he wasn't the worst Tails Scourge had ever met. He was no natural born genius like Prime Tails, but he wasn't always looking out for a way to stab Scourge in the back like Miles did, so he wasn't awful. He just... wasn't the kind of kid Scourge was used to. He was used to Tails being some super genius on par with Robotnik or Kintobor. He was used to a frighteningly clever fox who was (sometimes) his terrified minion or Prime's loyal sidekick.

But this Tails? He was a Freedom Fighter, sure, but he was nothing special. It was easier to see him as a kid than any other Tails he'd met, and it showed in the way Sonic treated him, much to the brat's dismay.

Scourge didn't really know what to do with that, so he had no clue how he was supposed to handle these brand new babysitting duties.

Still, he didn't... feel right just blowing the job off on someone else. Probably because of those pesky feelings he'd managed to catch. He knew Sonic trusted him - he never would've agreed to date Scourge if he didn't - but being asked to keep an eye on Tails was something else. A show of trust he'd never even considered possible to receive. Sonic made fun of Tails more than he made fun of anyone else, but he was also the first person to go for the throat of anyone who tried to seriously hurt him.

So to be entrusted with keeping an eye on him? It was a responsibility he was reluctant to put down despite how much it weighed in his arms.

Tails was important to Sonic, and Sonic was important to Scourge, so like it or not, Scourge was obligated to watch the kid.

So far, it hadn't turned out too bad. Tails wasn't a little kid, and he'd been left on his own in worse situations, so he could keep himself safe and didn't need Scourge to watch his every move. In the unlikely event of an emergency happening, it would probably be down to Scourge to pull the kid out of any trouble he got into, but for now, all Scourge could really come up with was making sure he ate and slept. Which was, to his knowledge, pretty much the only thing Sonic did anyway, so it was fine, right?

Tails had been in the lab all day anyway. Apparently he'd started showing an interest in expanding his mechanics knowledge, and Tekno had jumped on the opportunity to teach him everything she knew and get herself a little assistant. And Tekno (probably) knew more about kids than he did, so Scourge was content to leave Tails in her hands.

At least until she roped him into it, with "just make sure you chase him to bed on time like Sonic would, please Scourge, Amy and I have a date and we'll be back late, please okay thank you bye now!"

An exchange that, he should mention, he did not manage to get a word into.

A glance at the clock told Scourge it was finally time to drag Tails to bed. The kid was supposed to leave the lab fifteen minutes ago, but he hadn't come out yet, which meant it was down to Scourge. As annoying as Kintobor's nagging was, it was easy to ignore or even mute him, and there was only so much he could do, so Scourge couldn't rely on him to chase Tails out of the lab.

With a sigh, Scourge hauled himself out his chair and headed down to the lab. Responsibility time it was, then. Sonic was damn lucky Scourge loved him.

As expected, Tails was hunched over a bench, fiddling with something Scourge couldn't see due to it being hidden behind huge clumps of wires and scrap parts. His tongue was poking out in concentration, eyebrows furrowed and squinting at whatever he was working on as he muttered to himself.

Okay. Just chase him up to bed. Easy. He was just a kid, and not even a super genius like every other Tails in the multiverse. Really, how hard could it be?

"Hey shortshit," Scourge said, knocking on the wall of the lab. "Put that shit down, it's time for bed."

"Mmuh?" Tails blinked, squinting up at Scourge like he'd forgotten how to open his eyes properly. "Aww, c'mon, just five more minutes. I've almost got it."

"Yeah, nah, you've already had five more minutes three times, you're all out of five minutes. Get."

"But I'm not tired," Tails protested, demonstrating how not tired he was by yawning loudly and rubbing his eye with his fist.

Man, he really did look like a kid when he did stuff like that. If Scourge had even a scrap of a protective instinct in his body, he would probably understand why Sonic viewed Tails as a kid to look after a tiny bit better.

Scourge did not have that scrap of a protective instinct. He did, however, have several scraps of self preservation, all of which told him to chase the brat to bed just in case Sonic decided failing to do so meant he wasn't living up to his "keep an eye on Pixel Brain" task and threw him in the doghouse. Which was almost the same as a protective instinct, right?

"Sure, squirt. Go be not tired in bed, then, but not in here."

Tails stared at him, assessed him, then jutted his jaw out in defiance and said, "You're not the boss of me."

"Think you'll find Sonic says I am. But if you really wanna take that up with him when he gets back, be my guest. In the meantime, get your ass to bed."

"No."

Oh, Scourge was beginning to remember why he didn't like kids.

"Listen, either you walk yourself to bed, or I drag you out by your tails. What's it gonna be, shorty?"

Tails shrank back, glancing down at the table in uncertainty, fiddling with whatever he was making. Scourge smirked and folded his arms. Too easy.

And then Tails glanced back up.

... Too easy.

Tails was not a natural born child genius. He did not have an IQ on par with Robotnik or Kintobor, he wasn't Scourge's (sometimes) terrified minion or Prime's ever loyal sidekick. All his mechanics understanding was taught instead of innate talent, and as a Freedom Fighter, he was usually okay enough to look out for himself, but he was nothing special.

He did, however, look up to Sonic.

Scourge had never taken Miles in like most Sonics did to their Tails', he'd more just picked him up off the street to recruit into his gang, but he knew damn well Miles learned how to lie, manipulate, and betray from him. Prime Tails took after Prime Sonic more obviously, sickeningly brave and selfless and nice, always watching Prime's back when he needed it.

One way or another, for one reason or another, in every dimension there was always a little two tailed fox taking after a speedy older hedgehog.

So the lack of natural born genius or natural born fighting skills didn't matter when Tails raised his head. And when their gazes met and Tails' eyes sparked with challenge, Scourge only had a split second to remember this Tails looked up to the rudest, cockiest, most dickish and cunning Sonic in the multiverse.

"Gotta get me first," Tails said, and launched his invention right at Scourge's face.

It was an impressively hard throw, so the plastic ball pummeling Scourge straight in the face already had enough force to actually make him stagger back, but then multicolored dust puffed up the second the ball made contact with his face and immediately obscured his vision. Scourge cursed, but that just made it get in his mouth, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to stop any more of it from getting in his eyes and making them sting even worse.

Swiping at the air to clear it, Scourge coughed and spat on the floor to get the dust out of his mouth - Tekno was gonna kill him for that, like he gave a shit - blinking his stinging, watering eyes to clear them. Whatever the dust was, it probably wasn't dangerous or Tails wouldn't have thrown it at his face, but damn if it didn't sting like a bitch.

By the time Scourge regained his bearings, Tails had already vanished, probably not to bed, and Scourge's jacket - and presumably his face - was covered in the dust.

Oh, that little fuck was in for it when Scourge got his hands on him.

Scourge charged out of the lab after Tails, just managing to glimpse those tails disappear into the kitchen, and grinned a wild, unfriendly grin as he skidded in after him.

"Come on, kid," he laughed, "you can't expect to outrun the fastest hedgehog in the-"

He stopped.

Tails was hovering in the air, the kettle held above his head threateningly, and something about that set of alarm bells in Scourge's head.

"You don't honestly think you'll manage to hit me with that, do you?" Scourge said, even as his stomach started sinking. "You know I can dodge that and bring you down before you can even blink."

"I know," Tails said, holding the kettle even higher. "But I don't need to aim for you. I just need to aim for the floor."

"Yeah? And what's throwing a tantrum and breaking shit gonna do for ya?"

Tails' stare was almost unnerving. Almost. Hard to be unnerved by a dorky little fox who still had his baby fluff, but the kid was giving a good effort.

"If Sonic comes back to find a broken kettle," he said slowly, "he's gonna blame one of us two since Amy and Tekno are out all night. And who do you think he'll believe? The kid he thinks can barely hurt a badnik, or the reckless hedgehog who isn't allowed near the kettle and is petty enough to have a destructive vendetta against it because of that?" He gave Scourge a cheeky, not quite cunning but certainly getting there, smile. "Of course, if you stop chasing me and I can just have ten more minutes to finish what I was doing, that doesn't have to happen."

Oh shit, Tails had spent too much time with both of them.

"Oh please, you're shit at lying," Scourge scoffed, although he kept a careful eye on the kettle. "Sonic's way too smart to fall for something like that. One look at what you did to my face and he'll know."

"You really want to tell him I managed to hit you in the face by surprise?"

"... One look at what you did to my jacket and he'll know."

"No he won't. Sonic never pays attention to my inventions, he won't even know what it is. So he won't know it came from me."

"I can tell him, and Tekno can back me up. Face it, kid, you break that kettle, there's no way the blame won't fall on you."

"Yeah? Wanna test it?"

"Breaking the thing is gonna backfire more on you than it will me," Scourge hurried to argue before Tails could follow through with his test threat. "You're the one who goes without tea and hot chocolate if you break it, not me, since you're too fucking cowardly to just use the damn microwave."

"It doesn't taste right if you use a microwave," Tails protested, scowling and hovering a little closer to the floor. Still not quite in reach, but closer.

"It tastes exactly the damn same and you know it, you're just copying what Sonic says."

"No I'm not!"

"Yeah you are."

"Am not!" Tails puffed out his cheeks. "Besides, we can just boil the water on the hob until we get a new one."

"Stove," Scourge corrected absently, subtly shuffling closer as Tails hovered even lower. "It takes too long and you know it. You'd all hate it."

Just a bit more, a bit more, a little bit more...

"Yeah, well-"

Quick as a flash Scourge threw himself at Tails and snatched the kettle right out of his hand, placing it safely back on the counter with a smug grin.

He had no idea if Sonic would blame him or Tails for the breaking of the kettle, but he wasn't about to risk it. Just in case.

"Ha! Try hiding behind the kettle now you little-"

But Tails was already gone, fleeing towards the living room. Cursing his whole entire life and Sonic specifically, Scourge gave chase.

He barely stepped into the living room before Tails was throwing the couch cushions at him in an attempt to keep him away, but this time Scourge was ready for war. He snatched one of the cushions out of the air and used it to bat away the rest of the improvised weapons flying at his poor, abused face.

The assault lasted for maybe fifteen more seconds before Tails began to run out of cushions to throw, and in his panic to find more ammo, there was a falter in his pattern Scourge immediately took advantage of to tackle him to the ground.

Tails gasped and squirmed, but he wasn't strong enough to break Scourge's grip, so his futile struggle didn't last very long before he gave up and slumped into the ground in defeat.

"That's what I thought," Scourge said triumphantly, making sure to smear some of the dust on his jacket onto Tails' face in retaliation for earlier. "You can't beat me, kid."

"Not yet," Tails mumbled into the carpet.

Well, at least the kid had ambitions.

Scourge didn't give Tails any more choice in the matter. He hauled Tails over his shoulder and sped to his room so the brat wouldn't get any last second escape attempt ideas, then dumped him in his bed.

With a sigh of someone who knew he'd been beaten for at least another day, Tails reluctantly settled under the blankets and mumbled, "G'night, Scourge."

"Save that mushy shit for Sonic," Scourge snorted, flicking off the light and closing Tails' door behind him as he stepped out into the hallway.

Ugh, kids. Sonic couldn't come home fast enough.

Scourge shrugged off his jacket and dumped it in his laundry basket to deal with later, pulling a face the whole time, then stepped into the bathroom. He studied himself in the mirror, squinting at the amount of dust on him. His poor jacket caught most of the attack, so only his arms and face remained covered in dust. His torso had a little sprinkled on, but not enough for him to give a shit just yet.

It would probably be easier to just have a shower to wash all the dust off, but honestly, Scourge couldn't be assed. Rinse off in the sink it was, then. He'd shower properly in the morning.

Should he clean up the lab before he went to bed or in the morning?

Ah, fuck it, neither. Tekno could do that. It was her fault for leaving Tails unsupervised in the lab anyway.

Scourge got to work scrubbing the dust from his fur, first his arms, then his face. He managed to get half his face clean before the door downstairs opened and Sonic appeared behind him in a breeze.

Scourge blinked at Sonic's reflection. Sonic's reflection blinked back.

"Didn't expect you back today," Scourge said, turning to face Sonic properly.

"I'm the fastest thing alive, why didn't you expect me back early?" Sonic squinted at his face. "Why do you have the dust from Tails' latest invention on your face?"

"And here he thought you wouldn't even notice him building it," Scourge snorted, turning back to the sink to continue scrubbing his face.

"Of course I noticed. Nerd's been going on and on about making something to obscure badniks' vision so we can have an edge in battle for months now, I couldn't miss it if I tried."

Scourge hadn't bothered to fight his smiles around Sonic for months now, and he didn't try this time, either.

That, that right there, that was one of the reasons he loved him. One of the things that blindsided him early on. Sonic paid attention even when it didn't feel like it.

"Kid's been working on it all day," he said. "Dunno when it'll be ready now the brat's gone and tested it before he meant to, but considering this-" he gestured to his face- "it looks promising."

Sonic was quiet for a moment, then said, "He threw it at you, didn't he?"

"No! Fucker just blew up in the lab-"

"Bullshit. You called him a brat, he totally threw it at you."

Scourge scowled, scrubbing vigorously at his face. He didn't need to see Sonic to know he had that stupid, proud smirk on his face. "Shut up. You're a bad influence on that kid."

"And here I thought my bad influence on people was one of the things you love about me."

"Not when it inconveniences me."

"Don't be such a baby."

"Easy for you to say, you didn't have to deal with it."

"It wouldn't take me that much effort to 'deal with it.'" Sonic leaned against the sink, inspecting Scourge's stained face with a playful smirk. "I can't believe you couldn't dodge something thrown at you by Tails."

"Shut up," Scourge mumbled. "He's learned it from you."

"Fucking finally, he's picking something up." Sonic laughed softly. His laugh was naturally harsh, inherently mocking, perfect for rubbing people up the wrong way even when that wasn't why he was laughing in the first place. Scourge loved it. "Hurry up and finish washing your face, I'm not kissing you while you're all dusty."

"Aww, have you missed kissing me? That's embarrassing," Scourge teased, although he did scrub his face a little faster to get the dust off quicker.

"Don't act like you haven't missed it too, dickhead."

"Nah, I don't need you at all," Scourge said, inspecting his face in the mirror to make sure the last of the dust was gone. There was a small bruise forming on his muzzle, just under his mouth and to the left, from where the plastic ball had smacked him in the face.

"Sure, whatever you say." Right on cue Sonic planted a soft kiss on the bruise. "Cheers for keeping him out of trouble, glad to see I can leave him and come back to see him in one piece.

Translation: thank you for watching him for me, I'm glad I can trust you with him. I love you.

"Don't ever ask me to do it again," Scourge said, slipping his hand into Sonic's. "I didn't sign up for babysitting duties when I agreed to date you. If you make me do it again, I ain't promising it'll end as well as this did."

Translation: I'll do it, but only for you, because he matters to you. I love you, too.

"Fine. But then you don't get to whinge about me being the 'bad influence' on him."

"You want me to be a bad influence on him, too? I'm honored."

"You already are."

It was true. That trick about framing him for the broken kettle had Scourge the Hedgehog written all over it. It was hard to believe he'd become such a big part of the Freedom Fighters lives he was having influence on them.

Still. Scourge didn't hate it. It felt... kinda good, actually. To know he was important enough to influence people, influence Tails, and be trusted enough for Sonic to let it happen.

He still wasn't gonna be taking on any more babysitting responsibilities, though.

... At least, not without a fight, even if it was for show.

#sonic the hedgehog #scourge the hedgehog #fleetway sonic #stc sonic #fleet!sonourge #asks #fanfic #fleetway tails #HAHAHA MY BAD I DIDN'T MEAN FOR THIS TO TAKE AN ENTIRE MONTH....#so uh you remember that chapter i mentioned i was struggling to finish a couple asks ago?#yeah i finished it. it was 20k by the time i was done so i decided I'd earned a break from writing #that's why this took so long #whoops lmao my bad #this is why you can't ever encourage me to take my time writing bc i WILL take advantage of that to be lazy #anyways hope you enjoyed! sorry again for the wait #couldn't stop thinking about that ask mentioning tails acting more like sonic while i was writing #and i was like oh he'd be SUCH a brat to scourge about it and it'd be all sonic's fault #scourge is a liar he DOES care about tails he just likes to hide behind his love for sonic instead of admitting it #it's okay scourge we know the truth u just struggle to admit to loving people just like sonic #one step (aka one acceptance and admission of love for a person) at a time #this was so fun to write sjgjghg tails should be allowed to be a brat i think. he deserves it for putting up with sonic

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orcelito · 15 days

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I have water again, yay!!!! I have also reorganized my entryway a little bit to make it easier to move thru (since my couch got shifted in more and I was like "Huh. This could actually help."

That was still. About 4 hours of my life spent on that. It's 2 pm and I've been up since 7 am and I am very very very tired.

#speculation nation #i feel bad for the maintenance guys bc the one dude said hed like to have it done by 1 pm bc thats when they usually take lunch #but it took them an hour more than that 😭😭😭😭#he was apologizing for taking so long but i was just like. man it's literally just fine #if anything i felt guilty for keeping him from his lunch 🥺#but now the day has calmed. and i am going to. eat a little bit maybe.#and i have my new nail polish in so im probably gonna end up playing with one of those #(sorry to everyone who voted on that poll yesterday hfkshfk whoops)#but that. is something for me to do after ive eaten and taken a shower.#WOW i am so tired. it's been such a busy day and it is only 2 pm.

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captainfern · 4 months

Text

141Rugby!au [18+]

• Part Five - Perfect •

141 x fem!reader

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You've recently started a new job as a physiotherapist for an English Rugby Union team. It's your job to ensure that all the players are in top shape for upcoming games against other strong teams. This job is absolutely perfect for you: good pay, good hours, a fun and exciting atmosphere to be apart of. But there's just one thing you can't seem to understand– the same four players seem to need more attention than the rest.

chapter summary - rugby season is over, and the boys want to thank you for all your hard work lol.

rating - 18+

wordcount - 8.7k

chapter warnings - fem!reader, straight-up porn the slowburn has ignited baby, sharing <3 [4mx1f], unprotected piv, protected anal, oral [f!&m!receiving], m!masturbation, reader goes to paris lmao, voyeurism ig, praise, a lot of pet-names [baby, bonnie, love, sweetheart, etc], hella dirty talk, light overstimulation, multiple orgasms, spitting? cumplay? idk there's a lot of bodily fluids, price has a breeding kink and a sir kink, simon also has a breeding kink what a fucking surprise, gaz is a munch, johnny's just desperately horny, they work as a team but each get possessive in their own ways, um... that's it i think, oh strong language ofc

disclaimer - physiotherapist, or staff x player sexual relations are not allowed in the real world. but please keep in mind this is fanfiction. it's fake. if you have an issue with inappropriate relations with faculty, blurred morals [etc], then please do not read. additionally, reader be fucking in this series. all four. separately, and at once. it's not cheating, i promise. it's consensual sharing <3

see my rugby union introductory for definitions of rugby words

<- part four

hi !! i am very sorry this took so long for me to write for you guys, but thank you so much for your patience and your support. i appreciate it !! and fyi, this has not been edited or anything like that. i’m posting this shit raw lmao. enjoy and thank you for reading <3

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It was two weeks after Price had asked if you were free this weekend. You were free, and you met up with the boys for dinner. It was nice, polite, and you really got to know them all a lot better. But, undeniably, the sexual tension was through the roof.

If it had been any other day, you would've gone home with them. But you didn't. You had work bright and early the next day, and you knew for a fact you wouldn't have been able to walk.

But two weeks later, it was the night of the Premiership Rugby Awards. Perfect.

The event itself was almost simply a blur. Kyle and Johnny were both commended for their work on and off the rugby field, and you beamed from your spot at the support staff table, watching them congratulate each other, dressed impeccably in ridiculously attractive suits.

Price was nominated for captain of the year, and was runner-up. Still, his team whooped and cheered for him, and you did the same. You and the other supporting staff clapped and hollered as he received a small award, standing awkwardly on stage. At least he didn't have to speak. Walking back to his table, he caught your eye and smiled, winking as the small glass trophy glinted in the light. He held it aloft for you to see, a subtle gesture that made your tummy flip. You held up a thumbs-up for him.

Then, the award of the night, Player of the Year. Simon was nominated and, hardly any surprises there, he won. You resisted the urge to spring to your feet and join the audience in the rapturous applause as he made his way on stage.

He looked out of his depth as he approached the microphone. But, hey, at least he looked really fucking good in that suit. You sipped casually at your champagne through the entire night and listened to the rich baritone of his voice as he delivered his quick, simple speech. And, towards the end–

"A huge thank you, too, to my team's support staff, and especially our physiotherapist, who should be getting award considering she keeps the lot of us intact and puts up with us on a daily basis."

The crowd laughed at that, and you smiled bashfully. Even from across the room, you could feel Simon's eyes on you. And John's. And Johnny's and Kyle's. You took another swig of your beverage, pressing your thighs together beneath the table.

Oh yeah.

Tonight was the night.

•º•º

Hours later, you and Gaz stumbled through the door of Johnny and Simon's flat together. He had his hands on your waist, his chest glued to your back and his face buried deep into the crook of your neck. You giggled as he wrapped his arms further around you, your hands resting on his forearms as he slowly began sucking a kiss onto the curve of your neck.

Although no one was drunk, you and Gaz were definitely the tipsiest. The small amount of alcohol in your system was enough to flood you full of liquid courage as you squirmed in Gaz's hold, rubbing your arse back onto his very prominent erection in his suit trousers. He groaned into the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing against you, as the three others finally walked through the front door.

Johnny was the first to engage– his eyes lit up in excitement as he kicked his shoes off and hurried over to you and Gaz. You giggled again, smiling at his enthusiasm as he grasped your face in both of his hands and kissed you. You smiled into the kiss– messy with tongue and spit– and enjoyed the warmth of his hands against the side of your head. Gaz had backed himself against the wall, and he continued to suck a line of kisses over your neck as Johnny kissed you.

Simon and Price stood in the doorway, watching the way you were wedged between Johnny and Gaz. They exchanged a look, a knowing glint in their eyes, before they made their move.

Price lit up a cigar as Simon shrugged off his suit jacket, tossing it into the living room and hoping it landed across the couch. He was left in his white, form-fitting dress shirt. He began rolling up the sleeves as Price exhaled a puff of smoke into the air.

Johnny was still kissing you like his life depended on it, but one of his hands had travelled south, slowly beginning to peel away the straps of your dress. They fell down your shoulders, and Gaz helped push it down your arm, all the way until your breasts spilled out the front. Johnny broke the kiss and moaned loudly, his hands immediately shooting upwards to cup you, twisting your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. You whined, arching against Gaz, whose hands travelled down your stomach and pushed your dress down at the same time.

Your dress dropped, pooling around your ankles, leaving you in just your underwear. You heard all four boys react in different ways to the almost dramatic reveal of your body– a subtle hitch of the breath from Simon and Price, and two very desperate whimpers from Gaz and Johnny.

Wordlessly, Gaz's hands skimmed lower. They passed gently over the soft mound of your tummy, rubbing gently just above the hemline of your underwear. He was less than a second away from pushing his fingertips inside when Simon approached; a looming shadow over the three of you intwined against the wall.

Gaz looked up, his mouth still pressed hot against the bare curve of your neck and shoulder. His lips glistened with saliva, and so did your skin. Johnny looked at Simon too, his hands still cupping both of your tits.

"Not here," Simon said softly. "Come on lads, be gentleman. Let's take our girl to bed."

You whined when Johnny stepped away, the warmth on your tits vanishing with him, your nipples hardening against the cool air in the flat. Even the warmth of Gaz disappeared too– he peeled himself away from you with one last cheeky kiss to the spot just below your ear. For a brief moment, you were alone– until Simon's hands were suddenly gripping the back of your thighs and he was hoisting you into his arms.

You yelped, arms circling the broad expanse of his shoulders as he held you to his chest, your nipples catching against the buttons of his dress shirt as you squirmed against him. You squirmed for two reasons: one being because of the shock of him carrying you; and two, the fact he was happily groping the soft flesh of your thighs as he began to climb the stairs.

"S'alright, pretty girl, I've got you," Simon murmured in your ear before kissing your cheek. With impressive strength– the strength that won him Player Of The Year– he carried you effortlessly to the top of the stairs, and then carried you all the way to what was presumably his bedroom. When he entered, Gaz, Johnny and Price weren't far behind, and he settled you gently on the edge of his bed. With one hand, he gently cupped your face. "You okay, doc? S'this what you want? All of us?"

You were nodding before he even finished his sentence, looking between the men in front of you with glimmering eyes. Of course this is what you wanted. This is what you have wanted for the past several months.

"If at any point you want us to stop, jus' say rugby," Simon said, a sternness in his tone that had your cunt leaking in your underwear. "We'll stop, okay? Promise me, doc. Promise us."

"I promise," you squeaked out. "I promise."

"Good girl..." Price uttered, leaning down from next to Simon and kissing you on the forehead. He stepped away before you could pull him into a proper kiss.

Instead, you reached up and pinched your fingers around one of the buttons on Simon's shirt, beginning to unbutton it. He chuckled lowly, his hand leaving your face to grab hold of your wrist.

"Not yet, love," he said softly, his tone putting you at ease as butterflies began filling your stomach. "We've got this all planned out, okay? You'll have me soon, but Gaz n' Johnny are gonna make you feel good first. Is that okay?"

His words, searching for your consent, made you whimper. You nodded, of course, whining a yes please as Simon stepped away. Your eyes found Gaz, who was already walking towards you, and you couldn't help but giggle when he got close and slotted his mouth to yours.

Gaz kissed you deeply, his tongue breaching the seam of your lips and licking against yours as his hands came to rest on your hips. With a little force, he pushed you up the bed– still kissing you– and lay you down on your back. Your hands found his shoulders– now bare of his suit– and your fingers flexed down the smooth planes of muscle. He groaned into your mouth, pulling back and dragging his lips down the curve of your jaw, beginning to suck even more kisses to the sensitive expanse of your throat.

"Such a pretty girl, bonnie..." Johnny approached, the bed sinking to his weight as he crawled alongside you. Immediately, he slipped his hands between you and Gaz and began pawing at your tits, rolling your nipples with the pads of his thumbs. Like Gaz, he had somehow stripped to his briefs between Simon putting you down onto the bed, and now. The hard imprint of his cock against his black underwear had you moaning, arching against Gaz– your clothed cunt rocking against his erection, making you moan even harder.

Johnny kissed you again as Gaz worked on peppering your entire body with kisses. He was now slapping Johnny's hands away from your tits so that he could take one into his mouth, swirling his tongue around you. Johnny broke the kiss with a saliva-soaked "th'fuck?" and a light frown. Gaz looked up at him challengingly as he pressed his tongue hot to your nipple– pulling a little whimper from you– and Johnny accepted his challenging stare. The Scot slinked down your body, not wasting any time with extra kisses– instead, he attached his mouth directly to your other breast, his teeth nipping the soft flesh.

Across the room, Simon and Price watched. They were a bit older, a bit more experienced, and had a bit more patience then the two players pinning you to the mattress currently. Although, Simon could feel his patience wearing thin. Your moans and whimpers were heavenly, and you looked absolutely stunning. He felt his cock twitching in his trousers, and kept his palm pressing heavily against it.

Price eyed his teammate and then offered him a puff of his cigar while Gaz and Johnny sucked and kissed your chest, their hands beginning to explore your almost naked body.

Simon accepted the cigar and took a long drag. Price huffed, smiling coyly when Simon returned the cigar. "Patience, Simon." It was said in a whisper, and Simon's response was a grunt and a subtle roll of his eyes. Yeah, he can be patient. Sure.

"Gaz, Johnny, fuck–" You whimpered, one of your hands cupping both Gaz and Johnny's heads. Gaz blinked up at you and was the first to detach his mouth, lips still shining with his saliva.

He moved down your body as Johnny continued his sucking– he had moved back to your neck, nipping at your collarbone now. Gaz settled himself between your legs, rubbing your thighs softly before hooking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear. He searched your eyes for permission and when he found it, when you nodded and mouthed a desperate please, he carefully pulled your underwear down.

Instead of tossing them across the room like he usually would have done, he looked to his side and held them aloft, gesturing at the two men sitting on the couch in the corner of Simon's room.

Simon nodded, and snatched them up after Gaz threw them. His cock twitched in his trousers, painfully hard against the seams, as he felt the sheer dampness of your underwear and the expensive fabric against his hand. God, he wanted to wrap it around his cock and paint it white.

Gaz moaned loudly as he spread your legs, exposing your cunt to the shadowed lighting of Simon's room. Price and Simon's eyes were between your legs from across the room, and Price withheld a grunt in his throat, almost choking around an exhale of grey smoke. Like Simon, he left his cock twitching and straining in the confines of his trousers. There was a mutual competition that whoever gave in first and fucked their fist lost. There weren't any particular stakes. Not yet, anyway.

"Just as pretty as I remember," Gaz breathed, massaging your inner thighs. He watched slick dribble out of you and down the curve of your arse with a vulpine smile.

Above him, Johnny removed his mouth from your neck and you could feel how damp your skin was now. You wanted to turn your head to look at him, but you couldn't take your eyes off of Gaz.

The winger kneaded your thighs gently, massaging his fingers into the soft fat as he spread you out for him. His eyes, gleaming with excitement, were transfixed on the way your cunt fluttered, your swollen clit glistening between your folds. You watched him run the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip before he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss to your pussy.

You gasped, chest heaving, eyes still on Gaz when he placed another kiss against you, as though he was kissing your cheek. His eyelashes fluttered and a deep moan rumbled from his chest. Quickly, he deepened the kiss until he was licking the point of his tongue through your folds and his nose was pressed flush to your clit.

"Oh, fuck–" you whimpered. Memories of the way Gaz ate you out last time flooded you, making your body heat up. He was so fucking good.

He looked up at you from between your legs, soft brown eyes staring into yours. They were still gleaming, crinkled at the edges as though he was smiling– smiling into your soaked cunt as he dragged his tongue through your folds and licked up as much of your arousal as he could. Cheeky little–

A hand grabbed your jaw and forced your head to the side. You parted your lips to gasp, but the sound was sucked from your mouth as Johnny smashed his mouth to yours.

He held your face firmly, whining loudly into the kiss as he licked his tongue against yours. His other hand was dipping into his briefs and pulling his achingly hard cock out. He fisted it, whining loudly again, and you couldn't help but smile.

Clearly, Simon found it amusing too.

"Gettin' desperate, are we, Johnny?" He mocked from across the room.

Johnny broke the kiss, panting against your mouth as he jerked his cock, his hand still holding your head in place. He whined softly when his fingertips ghosted the underside of his cockhead, and he breathed deeply in an attempt to bite back at Simon's remark.

"S'not fair..." He whined again, sounding more and more like a wounded puppy, or something else along those lines. "She's got such a pretty mouth an' s'not bein' used properly."

He kissed you deeply again, all spit and teeth and tongue. It was hard to keep up, the way Johnny was invading your space. Your brain was foggy, body on fire, only thinking about the men around you and, especially, the fact you were about to come.

You moaned into Johnny's mouth– both Price and Simon moaning in response as they palmed at their clothed hard-ons– as Gaz sucked your clit into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the puffy bud, his top teeth just skimming it, before he was quickly dragging his mouth just that little bit lower so that he could stuff your leaking hole. He pushed his tongue in with a light moan, grinding his hips into the mattress as he did so. Your taste, your smell, your noises, everything was making him harder.

You managed to turn your head away from Johnny's mouth. He huffed, leaning his forehead against your temple, mouthing at your cheek and jaw with light puffs eliciting from his saliva-slick lips. He was still jerking himself off, his cock leaking pre-cum onto Simon's sheets.

"Kyle..." You moaned the winger's government name. "M'gonna– oh my god, oh my god–"

Gaz kept the thrusting of his tongue steady, humming against you as your legs shook within his grasp.

Johnny, the desperate man he was, pulled your mouth back to his, licking a stripe over your lips before muttering, "That's a good girl, bonnie. Come for us. Come n' then I'll– I'll stuff this pret– fuck, pretty mouth with my– ah– my cock." After uttering that against your lips, he was shoving his tongue back into your mouth.

Then, you came for the first time of the night.

The coil in your lower belly snapped and you moaned loudly against Johnny, back arching off of Simon's mattress as Gaz held your hips and thighs, pinning them as he licked you through your orgasm. His eyes were on you the entire time, watching as you unravelled while he licked up your release which dripped out of you and down his chin.

When Gaz pulled away, Johnny was manhandling you onto your hands and knees. You yelped, still fuzzy from your orgasm, as the Scot pulled you into position where your head was resting on one of his hairy thighs, your arse in the air.

"Need you," he muttered, pawing at the back of your neck while he stroked his cock and guided it towards your mouth. "Need you so fuckin' bad–"

"Slow down, Johnny." Simon growled from across the room.

Gaz laughed as he got up, not bothering to wipe the rivulets of your arousal that tracked down his chin and, now, down the column of his neck. He rolled his shoulders, easing the tension from laying on his front, before shucking down his briefs and shuffling back onto the bed.

"He's been waiting a long time for this, Simon," Gaz joked in the number eight's direction. "He knows our girl's been worth the wait."

Simon grunted, Price's cigar now between his lips. "Still doesn't mean he can throw her around like that."

"Simon–" Johnny gasped from the head of the bed. He was dragging the leaking, reddened tip of his cock against your lips, smearing his pre-cum over his saliva which already wet you. He looked over at his teammate. "Shut the fuck up."

Simon scowled. "Watch it–"

But Johnny wasn't listening anymore. Not when he eased his cock past your lips and into the warm, wet heat of your mouth. He moaned, really fucking loudly, as you hollowed your cheeks for him and took him further back in your throat. You withheld a gag, tears blotting the base of your vision as Johnny's cock nudged the back of your throat.

"JesusfuckingChrist," The Scot hissed, the hand on the back of your neck tightening so he could pull you closer towards him. Your nose rested in the coarse hair at the base of your cock, and you moaned quietly, eyes upwards and locked onto his. You could already feel him twitching in your mouth as you gently bobbed your head, a trickle of saliva being forced out from the corner of your mouth.

Meanwhile, Gaz was gripping his cock tightly at the base, his other hand squishing and squeezing at the fat of your arse and thighs. He was muttering something to himself, something you couldn't hear, but whatever it was made Soap chuckle above you.

"F'you like her arse so much, use it," Johnny joked, and you whined, your core fluttering.

Behind you, Gaz stopped muttering beneath his breath and released a breathy laugh, his hand holding one of your arsecheeks and pulling it gently to the side. "I'll need to stretch her out first..."

"We've got all night," Soap remarked, thrusting his hips and making you gag around him. A tear rolled down your cheek and you hummed out a whine at the way both of them were talking about you as if you weren't even there.

You couldn't see it, but Gaz smiled. He then vanished from behind you for a moment, before returning, popping the cap on the small bottle of lube and pouring a generous amount over two of his fingers. He then spread you again, pouring even more of the cool liquid directly onto your hole. And, for good measure, he let a glob of spit fall from his mouth and slide down your crack.

You moaned loudly around Johnny's cock as one of Kyle's fingers pressed against your hole, rubbing circles carefully while his other hand reached between your legs to rub a finger over your puffy clit. You moaned again, and the vibrations had Johnny whimpering quietly above you, hips bucking, the grip he had on the back of your neck tightening.

"Such a pretty mouth, such a pretty mouth," he chanted through his whining, eyes screwed shut and head tossed back as he continued to push and pull your head down his length.

Across the room, the sounds of your muffled moans and Johnny's whines, paired with the sight of Gaz spreading you open before him was enough– enough for him to hastily pull his cock out of his trousers and wrap it in your soaked underwear. He jerked his fist once, twice, three times before stopping, glancing over at Price who simply shook his head, chuckling.

"Soap," Price said after he had finished giving Simon an amused look. "Let our girl breath, yeah? Give her a break."

Your eyes rolled and you moaned loudly– not at Price's words, but at the feeling of Gaz pushing a thick finger into your arse, gently probing and stretching you open. You wondered if the light buzz of alcohol in your veins was making the sensations a whole lot more enjoyable.

Johnny whined. "But–"

"Pull your fuckin' cock out, Johnny," Simon hissed, resuming his hand movements, your underwear still wrapped around his dick.

Johnny whined once more, but pulled out like his captain and teammate said. He continued to hold the back of your neck, petting you gently as he slid his cock out of your mouth, strings of saliva connecting your lips and his shaft. He moaned at the sight, tempted to shove it back into the warmth of your mouth– but the burning sensation of Simon's eyes on him made him pause.

"This better fuckin' mean I get to fill her cunt," he grumbled, much to your amusement. You smiled up at him, and he smiled back, moving his other hand to cradle the side of your head.

Price grunted, and you broke eye contact with the scrum-half to look over at him and Simon on the couch. He too was pulling his hard cock out of his trousers and fisting it in his hand. The sheer size of the both of them made your core heat up all over again, butterflies returning to your stomach.

After a short moment, Gaz had two fingers inside you, scissoring you open while Johnny pet your face, staring down at you as you mouthed gently at his cock. You ran the tip of your tongue along the prominent vein on the underside, causing his entire body to wrack with shudders.

"Ready?" Gaz asked Soap, and the Scot looked away from you in the first time in about five minutes.

He nodded eagerly, a grin splitting across his face as he slid his hands beneath your armpits and hoisted you up onto your knees. You yelped, the action unexpected, and the sudden loss of Gaz's fingers from inside you making you feel empty, almost hollow. But, as Gaz split open a condom and rolled it onto his length, Soap's hands were all over you, and not once did you feel empty again.

"You alright, bonnie?" He asked, hands gripping your knees and spreading your legs apart so he could slot himself between them, his cock rutting through the folds of your pussy.

You momentarily lost your train of thought, your mouth dropping open and a small "uh..." dripping from it.

Price exhaled a plume of smoke around his words as he spoke to you. "Use your words, darling. S'alright if you want to stop."

Forcing your muddled mind away from the feeling of Soap's warm cock, you looked over at Simon and Price and shook your head, uttering out a string of "no, no, no."

"M'fine," you added for good measure. "Please don't stop."

As long as they had the green light, the lads weren't going to stop. Gaz had a large hand across one of your arsecheeks, holding it to the side as he guided the head of his cock to your stretched hole. Johnny waited patiently, his cockhead rubbing cruel circles against your swollen clit, not quite enough to give you proper stimulation. But, it was a pleasant distraction– a distraction from the initial stretch of Gaz carefully pushing his cock into you. Slow, slow, slow.

You released a shuddered gasp, head dropping forward to rest on Johnny's shoulder. Breathing laboured, you panted against his dewy skin as Gaz stopped, pulled out a centimetre, then pushed back in– over and over until his hips were wedged up right against your backside and he was dipping his mouth into the crook of your neck, breathing in your perfume.

"Good girl, baby..." He whispered, pressing a kiss to the pulse below your ear. "This okay?"

You nodded. "Yeah... it's okay."

"Tell me when you want me to move."

"Now," you said almost immediately, mind fuzzing over with pleasure. The pleasure of feeling full and hot and sweaty and completely fucked out. "Please move, Kyle, fuck–"

He did. He pulled out and pushed back in, ebbing like the tide with gentle thrusts that knocked the air out of your lungs. You cried out his name, head no longer resting on Johnny's shoulder, but leaning back against Gaz's.

Johnny couldn't wait any longer. The tip of his cock soon aligned with your leaking cunt, and he was pushing in just as Gaz pushed in as well. Both me released a guttural groan, their cock's only separated by a thin wall inside you.

But the noise you made was nothing short of pornographic– a high-pitched, breathy whine that was punched from the depth of your stomach. Your entire body fizzled, tingling with pleasure as both men used you at the same time, thrusting in and out at the same time. The intensity of it all had tears running down your cheeks, your chest tightening between breaths.

Soap's voice broke around a whimper. "You're so damn tight."

Gaz was next to speak. "Can't believe... can't believe we went so long without having you, eh, doc?"

The way they were talking to you was driving you crazy. Hell, the way they were moving against you was driving you crazy. You couldn't believe you went so long without letting them have you, either.

"Doing such a good job for Johnny and Kyle, sweetheart," Simon said, which you only heard vaguely, like an echo in a dark room. "Looking so fuckin' pretty taking both of their cocks. Doesn't she, lads?"

"Fuck, yeah–" Johnny moaned, not really listening, his eyes attached to the way his cock pistoned in and out of you.

Gaz was the same. Distracted. Too busy sucking wet kisses along the side of your neck. Too busy trying not to come straight away, the tight walls of your hole milking his cock with each upwards thrust. He did leave his trance-like state for a short period of time, enough to praise you and say your name in a breathless moan.

"Our good girl, doc. Y'just our good girl," he breathed against you. "Fuck– knew you'd be good. We just knew you'd be perfect."

That sentence alone had your stomach tightening with your next orgasm, thighs trembling and sweat building between your bodies. For a split second, you wondered what your electrolyte levels would be after this (the thought was wiped from your head when the head of Johnny's cock slammed up against your g-spot, making you mewl).

You struggled to keep your eyes open as your climax neared. Your senses were going into hyperdrive– the smells, the sounds, the everything was making you drunker than the alcohol you had already consumed earlier that night.

The smells of Soap and Gaz, their sweat and cologne, was like an aphrodisiac as they pinned you between their bodies, moving in tandem. The sounds of Johnny's moans and whimpers, and Gaz's breathless whines and grunts were driving you insane– as were the quiet groans coming from the couch across the room.

"Gaz... Johnny..." You mewled, body hot, clit throbbing. "I..."

You couldn't finish your sentence. Luckily, you didn't have too.

"Gonna come?" It was Price who put the words out into the open. "You gonna come, pretty girl? Go on. Tell 'em."

You repeated the first two words Price had said, following them with desperate moans of both Johnny and Kyle's names. Johnny's hands tightened on yours, slamming up into you while Kyle's were smoothing up and down your abdomen, hips grinding into your backside. The sensations threw you over the edge.

You came hard– both men caught off guard by the way your body tightened around them. Your head dropped back against Gaz's shoulder, and he kissed your cheek.

"Holy fuck," Johnny cursed, breathless. His chest was heaving, forehead glistening in a thin layer of sweat, and a slight tinge of red to his cheeks. Your cunt fluttered around the girth of him, all wet and warm and tight, causing his thrusts to falter, stutter, before he was coming inside you with no warning. "Holy fuck."

You whimpered, energy being sapped from your body at the feeling of him coming inside you while you were still coming down from your high. You could feel his cock twitching as he emptied himself up against your cervix, but you were distracted from the simple movement when he leaned forward and slotted his mouth against yours.

Soap kissed you exactly how he'd kissed you at the beginning of the night. Still full of passion and longing as the warm mass of his tongue swept over yours, slicking over the tops of your teeth. One of his hands found the back of your neck once more, and he held you to him while you kissed– all the while Gaz continued to rut gently into you, his own orgasm nearing.

"Baby, m'gonna pull out..." Gaz whispered into your ear, one of his hands kneading the flesh of your arse. "M'gonna pull out, take this fuckin' condom off, and come where you want me to come, m'kay?"

You forced your way out of Soap's searing kiss, turning your head so you could nod your acknowledgment to the winger behind you (luckily for you, he began kissing down your chest instead). Gaz did as he said and pulled out. He did so slowly, his hands rubbing your arse and hips the entire time. When his cock left you, you released a little whine, cool air seeming to fill you and make you shiver.

"You're okay, you're okay..." Gaz reappeared behind you after pulling his condom off, tying it and tossing it somewhere in the room (Simon had shot him a dirty look for that). One of his hands was on your hip again, his body melting into yours, his chest to your back. You could feel him fisting his cock behind you, the leaking tip smearing pre across the small of your back.

"Where d'you want me?" He asked you softly, and for a moment, it just felt as though you and him were the only ones in the room. If it wasn't for Soap sucking on your tits like a fucking maniac, the private intimacy between you and Kyle would've been believable.

To answer, you wiggled your hips against him, mumbling something along the lines of on me while trying to grab a fistful of Soap's mohawk and pull him away so you could arch forward. The Scot was stubborn, though, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth with a sparkle in his eyes.

Simon helped you out.

"Johnny, don't fuckin' push it," he growled and that was the first time you had heard him speak in a while.

You looked over to him, finding that he was still languidly fisting his cock; the tip red and angry, leaking pearl after pearl of precum. He was edging himself. Your stomach flipped with arousal, pussy fluttering.

Johnny backed off like a kicked dog, pouting as he shuffled to the edge of the bed. Gaz smiled, winking at his Scottish teammate as he placed a hand to the small of your back and guided you onto your knees and elbows, creating a perfect arch in your back and a perfect view of your arse for him. Then, he quickened the pace of his wrist, stroking his cock for a few seconds before he was painting your arse white.

Like Soap, Gaz moaned loudly when he came. The sound dissolved into a low whine as he fucked his fist through it, not stopping until he ran dry and his cock only just softened beneath his grip.

A few moments passed before you flattened yourself across the bed, laying on your stomach with exhaustion rolling over your body in waves. Johnny was the first to up and leave, placing a kiss to the crown of your head before he was moving across the room. Gaz stayed with you, his hands rubbing soothingly up and down your back.

"Doing so well for us," he told you. "D'you need anything? Water?"

You nodded and mere seconds later, Johnny was offering you a glass of cold water. You sat up to drink it, Gaz's cum smearing against Simon's sheets. You were hyperaware of Soap's cum dripping out of you and onto the sheets too. It made goosebumps bloom up your arms and legs, a shiver crawling through you.

Once you had drunken, the lads switched places like they had been practising.

Johnny and Gaz slipped away with one more kiss each to your lips, before two larger, broader figures were blocking your vision. Both Price and Simon had stripped now, all big chests and soft stomachs and hard cocks. It made you salivate.

"Just a bit longer, sweetheart, then you can have a nice break," Price cooed, walking up to the edge of the bed and placing his hand beneath your chin, gripping your jaw and angling your eyes up to him. While he did that, Simon slipped onto the bed behind you, the mattress dipping under his weight, and slotted himself up against you. Price squeezed your jaw once. "You feeling okay?"

You nodded, but something inside you prompted you to respond with a sultry "Yes, sir" while you stared up at him. A coy smile split along his face and before long, he was leaning down to kiss you. He tasted of smoke and expensive liquor as he kissed you, his tongue immediately invading your mouth.

"You want her first?" Simon asked, and you jolted in fright, almost forgetting he was right behind you.

John broke the kiss and, still holding your jaw, looked over at Simon and shook his head.

"You can go first."

The arrangement was set.

Simon pulled you away from John, and you couldn't help but yelp at the way he manhandled you onto your stomach. Then, he grabbed your hips and pulled you back onto your knees, your breasts and arms resting against the bed. The captain had crawled onto the bed and, after tossing aside Simon's pillows, settled himself at the head of the bed, leaning against the headboard. He spread his legs, patting one of his thick thighs invitingly.

Simon acted for you– pushing you up the bed and pushing another startled yelp from you. Your head came to rest against the warm, solid mass of Price's thigh, and his hand was put to work atop your head, petting you as though you were a cat.

Behind you, the number eight was nudging your legs apart with his knee, his large body doubling over yours as he slotted his hips against your arse, his achingly hard cock brushing over your soaked folds. You keened, moaning lightly as the tip of his cock nudged your clit, the thick weight of him smearing your and Johnny's cum up and down your slit. It made you shiver again.

"You don't have to do anything, okay, sweetheart?" Price uttered above you, still petting your head. His other hand gripped the base of his cock tightly. You watched a dribble of precum leak down the underside of it. "You're just going to lay there and be a good girl for me and Simon, okay? Be a good girl and take everything we give you."

At the completion of the captain's sentence, Simon notched the head of his cock at your hole. Your breath hitched.

Price cooed down at you. "S'alright... that's a good girl, just take it."

Simon eased into you, his cock splitting you open more than Soap's had. He was a bit thicker, and the stretch of it all had a moan catching in your throat. It stayed there until Simon bottomed out– the sound filtering from your mouth sounding like something out of a low-budget porno (it made Price's cock twitch, though).

"Fuck," you heard Simon hiss behind you. "S'a tight fuckin' pussy."

"Told you."

"Shut the fuck up, Johnny." Simon almost growled as he pulled out and then slammed back into you.

You cried out, sobbing a "S-Simon!" as his pace increased, his thrusts hitting deeper and deeper each time. You could feel the ruddy tip of him hitting the plug of your cervix, his girth stretching you open in such a way that you wondered whether you'd be able to walk tomorrow.

Probably not.

You realised both Gaz and Soap were sitting on the couch, and without even turning your head, you knew they'd be watching with their cock in hand. The intensity of the entire situation was otherworldly, and most definitely contributing to the fast rate at which your orgasm was approaching.

The sound of Ghost's cock moving in and out of you was lewd and wet. Wet shlick, shlick, shlick's and the slapping sound of skin-on-skin echoed throughout Simon's room, as well as the occasional creak of the bedframe and the hushed sounds of pleasure coming from the couch.

Bent over you, Simon was huffing and grunting. Deep groans left his parted lips periodically as he fought off his orgasm. God, the second he shoved his cock into the tight clutch of your cunt he wanted to come. But not yet. Not fucking yet.

"S'that feelin' good, pretty girl?" He asked you, his voice swimming through your head.

"Yes–!" You cried, one hand holding Price's wrist (his hand was still on your head), the other fisting the bedsheets beside Price's other leg.

"Yeah? You like being fucked by all four of us, hm? Like being stuffed full, don't you?" He didn't let you answer. He continued, "O'course you do, baby. 'Course you do. Such a needy little pussy... She just loves gettin' filled up, I can feel it."

Words evaded you. So you nodded. You nodded against Price's thigh, tears smearing against his hairy skin. He petted you gently, shushing you as Simon continued to rut into you, his entire body shaking with restraint. He needed you to come first.

"Want you to come for me," Simon whispered to you. "Want you to come all over my cock."

Then, one of his hands found your clit, and you were a goner. He rubbed three rough shapes across the swollen bud, and you were coming with his name falling from your lips.

You squeezed him tight, gushing around him as pleasure overtook you. The entire time you spasmed, your cunt leaking out around his cock, John held you against the mass of his thigh, petting you and massaging down your neck. You heard the odd "good girl" being whispered from him.

Simon praised you in similar fashion. "Good girl. Good fucking girl. My good girl."

The last part was whispered so quietly that you were sure no one else heard it but you. He said it as he curled over you, his chin against your shoulder, his massive arms holding himself over you as he fucked you hard.

"My perfect girl," he whispered again. Only to you. Then, it was like something went off in his brain. He released a low growl, something like a groan but much deeper. "M'gonna come."

"S'about fuckin' time," John joked, but Simon didn't find it at all funny. He ignored his captain.

His attention was only on you.

"M'gonna come right up in here, love." Simon held himself up with one arm, his other arm winding beneath you to grab hold of your tummy. He gripped it, kneading it, before pushing against it until you let out a small moan, the pressure making you dizzy. "M'gonna fill this pretty tummy right up. Fuckin' breed you right in front of the boys."

You were definitely drooling against Price's thigh.

With one last grinding thrust– and just as overstimulation crept into your head– Simon came. He came with a grunt and a quiet moan of your name, his cock right up against your womb as he emptied himself, filling you hot.

The heat made you moan, as well as the image of his cum mixing with Soap's and filling your womb.

What the hell–

The number eight didn't pull out straight away. He stilled above you, hips flush to your arse and his half-hard cock still plugging his cum inside you. Against Price's thigh, you mewled tiredly, shuffling your backside against the solid form of Simon behind you, your hands now travelling along the captain's legs.

Finally, Simon extracted his body from yours, but remained inside you. He kneeled, his large hands travelling down your back before finding your arse. He chuckled to himself, dragging his fingers through Gaz's load that painted you. With his pointer finger, he drew a smeared SR against your left arsecheek.

"Simon, gross," You complained, listening to the way he chuckled darkly to himself. You couldn't see him from your angle, but you knew he was probably grinning too.

Just like in the small period of grace between Soap and Gaz, and Simon and Price, you were offered water, with each man waiting patiently until you had finished the glass. While you drank, the four pairs of eyes on you made your stomach tighten.

This was all so foreign. But, god, you fucking loved it.

When the glass of water was placed soundly on the bedside table, Price slid down from the top of the bed and kneeled towards the end. He held out a hand to you, and you accepted, enabling him to gently lay you down with your head in the pillows (Simon had ordered Soap to pick them off the floor from when Price tossed them).

"Comfortable?" Price asked you, running his warm hands up and down your sides before slowly, slowly parting your legs and exposing your cunt to him.

You nodded. "Yes, sir."

He huffed proudly at that, a small smile surfacing. His hands shifted, and he brushed his knuckles along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

Beside you, the bed dipped. Simon kneeled on the floor next to the bed, his upper body leaning against the mattress. It was the perfect angle to cradle your face in his hands and wipe the steadily drying streaks of tears and saliva from your skin with his fingers.

Fingers, you realised, had not been cleaned. Fingers that still trekked a milky stripe of Gaz over your face.

You grimaced, and by the way Ghost was biting his lip to hide a smile, he knew what the grimace was for.

"S'a matter, pretty girl? S'just a bit a'cum," he teased lowly, and you had half the mind to smack his hand away. But his next words had you forgiving the action– the cheeky bastard. "Look so pretty covered in us, don't you?"

Kneeling between your legs, Price grunted his agreement with his teammate. He was fisting his cock, watching Simon and Soap's loads dribble out of you.

Pushing his hips forward, he slowly ran the head of his cock up your slit, making a mess of you. You whined, hands holding one of Simon's, as Price repeated the action a couple of times, eyes transfixed.

When Price's eyes did finally find yours, they were glazed, his pupils blown.

"Beg for it, sweetheart," he uttered, voice hoarse. "Beg for my cock."

You did. You started with a few desperate please's and several different curse words when you struggled to find the right things to say. But eventually, with your heart hammering against your ribcage and your clit pulsing in tandem with it, you begged out a yearning, "Please, sir, please– need your cock so bad. Please, captain–"

The captain hummed, pleased, as he thrusted himself into you without another warning. You cried out, arching off the bed as your cunt stretched around him, the tip of him knocking up against the plug of your womb just like Simon's had. It all felt so good you wanted to cry.

"That's it..." Simon whispered to you, nuzzling the side of your head as Price set his pace.

He held your legs either side of him as he fucked you, shunting your body against the mattress again and again. You'd already fucked him before, in his car just a couple of week ago, but this was different. So much different.

It's like he had something to prove. Maybe it was because his teammates, his closest friends, were watching, but he fucked you like he owned you. His thrusts were deep and driving and hit the perfect spot inside you each time. His hands on your legs were firm but gentle, and the way his eyes raked hungrily up your body were claiming enough.

His fingers dipped down to your arse momentarily as he shifted your hips, changing the angle so he could fuck you deeper. He looked over at Simon for a split second and nodded towards one of the pillows. The number eight got the hint, reaching over your head to grab one of his pillows. While he did that, unbeknownst to both you and Simon, Price's fingers wiped the sticky SR from your skin.

Once he had the pillow, Price shoved the pillow beneath you to keep your hips at the perfect angle. This way, he could continue to fuck his cock deeper and deeper into you, and still continue to worship your body with your hands.

But, he was closer than he would've liked to admit. He could feel, with each thrust, and each tightening of your slick, warm walls, his orgasm looming closer and close. That familiar coiling heat in his lower belly.

"C'mon, sweet girl, need you to come," he said breathlessly, then proceeded to push your legs upwards, bending your knees towards your ears. "Need you to come 'round my cock."

"M'close..." You whined, and the change in angle was pulling you tighter, sweat sticking you to the sheets below. But your body was exhausted, shaking and trembling and filled with honey-like pleasure that had your joints feeling heavy. "John, I don't... fuck, I can't–"

"Yes you can, sweetheart, yes you can," Price whispered, leaning down to kiss you. It was a sweet kiss, his facial hair tickling the warm skin of your cheeks and chin. When he pulled away, he placed a few more kisses to your nose, your cheeks and your jaw. "Just one more time for me. C'mon. One more time for your captain."

Well, when he put it that way...

It was like he had trained you, Pavlov's dog style. Your body jerked and you arched up against him, the same time the band of pleasure in your lower abdomen snapped.

"John!" You almost screamed, your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave. Warmth seeped into your body, flooding your veins as you came around his cock, spasming and fluttering. You were dizzy, euphoria blinding you as he fucked you through it, Simon's hands on your head keeping you grounded.

Your release gushed around John, and he groaned at the way you drenched his pubic hair. The sounds of him moving in and out of you too were too much for him to handle.

(And too much for Soap and Gaz to handle, who spilled over their fists with loud moans from where they were sitting on the couch).

Price desperately wanted to praise you as his girl, a possessive my girl spoken into the universe. But, as captain, he knew better. As much as it did pain him to say, he croaked out a, "That's our girl."

You whined and whimpered, your body thoroughly fucked-out. As much as you enjoyed this, you felt as though you wouldn't be walking for the next few days, and would probably sleep for the next thirty-six hours.

"John, sir..."

"I know, sweetheart, I know, m'coming," he muttered, thrusts beginning to falter. "M'gonna come deep in this tight little pussy. Yeah... fill her up real good."

First Simon, now John? Damn. The personification of your pussy was not what you expected to get out of this tonight. But you weren't complaining.

The captain came, moaning your name loudly into the room. With a gentle hand splayed across your belly, he emptied himself inside you alongside two of his teammates'. The feeling of it never ceased to make his mouth drop open in pleasure.

Simon kissed your temple. "Alright, pretty girl?"

You nodded. "Yeah... more than alright."

•º•º•

You should have known that all four men would be absolute kings at aftercare. It was pure bliss.

Johnny popped into Simon's bathroom to run you a bath while Simon cradled you in his arms, not letting you feel an ounce of loneliness. He had dragged you over to the couch, hugging you to his broad chest and watching as Gaz stripped the bed and made quick work of changing the sheets. Price entered the room with a fresh glass of water and a small bowl of your favourite sweets (you didn't question why Johnny and Simon had them in their flat in the first place).

You sipped your water and snacked on the sugary food for a little while, Ghost's hands rubbing up and down your back. Before long, Johnny reappeared and helped his teammate in guiding you towards the bathroom.

There was a slight argument between who was going to get into the bath with you, but ultimately Gaz one, and Simon begrudgingly handed you over to him. The pair of you sunk into the warm water, and you immediately melted back into him.

"Did such a good job for us, doc..." Gaz whispered in your ear, massaging your thighs and hips from where you were nestled in front of him between his legs.

Simon, who was lurking over the bath like some sort of spectre, nodded. "Such a good girl."

The praise made your body heat up, the steam curling up from the water suddenly scolding.

In the doorway, Johnny watched on with his phone in his hand. He asked you, "D'you want me to order some food?"

You nodded. "Can we please get–?"

He was already walking away. "I know your order, bonnie!"

You made a face at Simon. He shrugged.

Price, like Simon, stood at the edge of the bathtub. He looked down at you with adoration in his eyes

"You're just perfect, aren't you, sweetheart?" He said, and Simon and Gaz were agreeing with him before the sentence even registered in your head. You smiled at him. He smiled back. "Our perfect girl, hm?"

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

#141rugby!au #call of duty smut #141 x reader #captain john price smut #price cod #simon ghost riley smut #ghost cod #johnny soap mactavish smut #soap cod #kyle gaz garrick smut #gaz cod #call of duty #141 x you #captainfern

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softspiderling · 3 months

Text

think you're a genius (you drive me up the wall) | r.c.

summary: it wouldn't be an outer banks party if there wasn't at least one fist fight. also, rafe is trying to turn over a new leaf.

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

word count: 3,8k

warning: mention of blood, violence (reader gets punched in the face, but there are no graphic details), shitty topper (sorry top)

author's note: long awaited (at least by me) rafe fic, whoop whoop!!! no usage of Y/N, happy reading, don't forget to reblog!!! also tagging @sunderlust bc i borrowed some of our conversation in this fic😘love you sol

☆⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄

“Since when do you drink beer?”

Barely pausing at the words, you continued to stack cold beer cans in your arms, the condensation dripping onto your skin. You didn’t have to turn around to know who the voice belonged to, having heard it so many times. And this was his house after all.

“Wasn’t aware you kept track of my drink of choice,” you retorted, turning around to face him, while simultaneously trying to balance the cans.

Rafe raised an eyebrow at you before his gaze lowered to the beer in your arms. “… You trying to tell me that all that beer’s for you?”

“You calling me a lightweight?”

The corner of Rafe’s mouth ticked up and he took a sip from his drink, the ice clinking in the glass.

“I think we both know I’m not.”

If someone had told you that one day you’d be standing in the parlor of Tannyhill, having a mostly civil conversation with Rafe you’d have them institutionalized. But things have changed. When Sarah returned with the news that Ward has died protecting Sarah, Rafe imploded at first. Blaming her for his death, the downfall of their family and generally being ungrateful for Ward’s love for her.

Everyone avoided the Cameron estate for a while, hearing stuff crash and yells from a mile away. No one dared to step close. A few days after, the disturbances stopped, being replaced with complete silence.

It was so silent, you actually grew concerned until Rafe turned up at Heyward’s setting up a weekly grocery delivery. Pope had dumped the stuff he was holding as soon as Rafe had stepped into the store, storming outside, with Cleo hot on his heels, leaving you to set up the standing order.

“Can you tell Sarah I’m sorry?”

“What?”

You looked up from the register and Rafe clenched his jaw, giving you a look.

“You really gon’ make me say it again?”

“How about you call her yourself instead of making me deliver your message like a post boy?”

Rafe exhaled deeply, knitting his eyebrows together like he was really trying not to explode and honestly, you had to respect him for that. You know how impatient he could be.

“I tried, okay? Don’t you think I’ve tried? I’ve tried to call her, she’s not picking up. Fuck, I don’t even know if she still has the same phone number,” he said, like the words physically pained him. “I don’t even know where she’s staying. Is it at John B’s new place?”

Somewhere between his words, Rafe had started pacing up and down the stairs, making you antsy.

“Hey,” you said, coming around to slowly, carefully - like you were trying to pet a stray cat - curl your hand around his wrist. Rafe immediately stopped, eyeing his wrist where you were touching him.

“Sorry, I’ll take my hand off,” you quickly said, but before you could, Rafe stopped you.

“’s fine,” he muttered, meeting your eyes for a second before looking away again. “Physical touch grounds me… Y’know… When my thoughts get too… Much.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding at him and staying in place, for god knew how long, until Rafe had seemed to calm down.

“Thanks.”

“Sure.”

You drew your hand back, crossing your arms over your chest and leaned against the counter to put some distance between you and him, wildly overwhelmed with this situation. Rafe didn’t seem like he knew what to do either, turning his ring on his finger, his eyes cast on the floor.

“If you really want to apologize to Sarah,” you started, making him look up. “Maybe I can talk to her. Ask her if she’s willing to meet up with you.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow at you, clearly surprised. “You’d do that for me?”

“Don’t let it get to your head. I’m mostly doing it for Sarah,” you scoffed and Rafe only smirked, shaking his head.

“Sure, tough girl. Gonna ring me up now or what?”

Rolling your eyes at him, you returned to the cash register, finishing up his order. You still felt his eyes on you as you worked away.

“Thanks,” he finally said, and you lifted your head, briefly meeting his eyes.

“Don’t mention it.”

And he never did.

Miraculously, you had managed to get Sarah to agree to talk to Rafe and while you had accompanied her to the beach, where she had met up with Rafe, you stayed behind to give them privacy. You weren’t sure what they had talked about, but you didn’t press her about it either when she came stomping back to you with tearstained cheeks. Whatever they have talked about must have helped though, because even though Sarah still stayed with John B of the the times, she went home every odd night, returning with sandwiches and drinks the next day like a soccer mom. It went unsaid that Rafe had provided her with everything and Sarah avoided talking about him, mostly because Pope still got that distant look in his eyes whenever she mentioned her brother. Which is why you were surprised that he was the first one to agree to go to a party Rafe had invited Sarah to, forwarding the invite to her friends.

“What?” Pope had said everyone gave him an odd look. “He stole a family heirloom of mine. The least he can do is invite us to a party of his.”

“Okay then,” JJ jeered, beating on Pope’s back with his opens palms. “Let’s go to a Kook party.”

You had to admit that it was nice to see that the two tribes of the island coming together. The fact that Pogues were invited to a party on Figure 8 was huge. Granted, it was just you and your friends, but still. It was a start.

Loud cheering from outside brought you out of your thoughts, you and Rafe both looking towards the dimly lit backyard, where the main attraction of the party took place.

“JJ and John B are destroying a group of Kooks at Rage Cage right now,” you then explained, lifting the beer in your arms. “Hence... You know.”

“Right right, I was starting the wonder what all that yelling was about,” Rafe mused.

“So how come you’re not out there?”

Rafe shrugged. “Needed some quiet.”

“What, you having your private party in here?” you teased and Rafe smirked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Why? You jealous?”

You rolled your eyes, shifting the beer cans in your arms, the weight slowly getting to you.

“In your dreams, Rafe,” you scoffed. “I got to go, get these beers to the boys before they’ll get warm. You should come down, when you’re done brooding and shit.”

Throwing your last words over your shoulder, you returned to your friends, being welcomed with loud cheers as the empty cups get filled rather quickly. You dropped down into your empty chair, taking your drink from Kiara who had been holding onto it during your absence.

“Pope was about to send a search party because you were taking so long,” she said and you gave Pope a look over the brim of your cup.

“You’re such a mother hen. I was talking to Rafe.”

“Why the hell were you talking to Rafe?”

“You talked to Rafe?”

“Jesus, guys relax,” you groaned, leaning your head back. “He’s fine. He didn’t even do anything. We just talked.”

“It’s never just anything with Rafe,” Pope muttered.

“I get that,” Sarah started, rolling her empty cup in her hand. “But he’s different.Like… He regrets a lot of the thing’s he’s done and trying really hard to make up for his mistakes,” she paused, pressing her lips together tightly. “I’d be the last person to defend him, but I feel like he’s trying to turn over a new leaf.”

Before Pope was able to list all of the bad things that Rafe has done in the past, your conversation was interrupted, angry yells ringing over the music.

“So now you’re just all buddy buddy hanging out here, huh?”

The new voice wasn’t really new and everyone looked at Sarah, who paled, slowly pushing herself up from her chair, looking towards the disturbance, the rest of the group following her.

“Shit. What the hell is Topper doing here?”

The sudden intrusion of a rather inebriated Topper had immediately tanked the relaxed and laid back atmosphere; suddenly, everyone was tense, not daring to make a move in fear of making the wrong one.

“What? Aren’t we here to party?” Topper cajoled, waving a half empty bottle of whiskey around. “Let’s get rid of these Pogues and party!”

The rest of the Kooks looked between themselves, not really wanting to follow Topper’s request but also not wanting to defend your friends. Even if they just had fun together, the Kooks wouldn't go as far as openly defend Pogues, you knew that.

“You should leave, Topper,” John B said, his hands curling at his sides, which was fair, honestly. Even though you had rebuilt the Chateau, bigger, better and most importantly more fire resistant, Topper burnt down John B’s home. His safe space. Topper only widened his eyes at John B comically, snorting.

“Who are you to tell me to leave?”

Sarah pushed herself to the front, pressing herself to John B’s side, which was probably not the smartest thing she could have done, as it only aggravated Topper even more to see her next to John B. You and the others stood right behind her, ready to step in as soon as it escalated.

“Leave, Topper,” Sarah snapped at him. “Nobody invited you.”

“Yeah, as far as I know, you don’t even live here anymore, Sarah,” Topper said, spitting out her name like it was venom in his mouth.

“I didn’t invite you.”

You hadn’t even noticed Rafe having joined you, not really standing on your side, but not on Topper's side either. Suddenly, the tension had grown even thicker and by now, you realized this could go wrong in about a 100 ways.

Topper stared at his friend, mouth agape, before he collected himself, pulling a face.

“Seriously, Rafe? Weren’t you the one who told me that I’m better off without your bitch of a sister and now you’re taking her side?”

“Watch it, Top,” Rafe only said, not even moving an inch.

Not that he had to. Everyone knew what Rafe was capable of, if he was angry enough. Topper only narrowed his eyes at his friend, weighing his options.

“Topper, just go,” Sarah yelled, walking towards him for good measure, trying to offer some sort of olive branch, but Topper only pushed Sarah roughly, causing her to stumble to the ground.

“Jesus, fuck, Topper,” you snapped, rushing to get Sarah back on her feet again, making the fatal mistake of getting between him and John B, as you received a sickening punch to the side of your face.

“Fuck!”

“Holy shit, Topper are you insane?”

You had toppled over your feet to the grass, not having expected the punch at all. Disoriented, you touched your throbbing cheek, your fingers stained red when you looked at them.

“Fuck,” you moaned, feeling like you were about to pass out. Your friends quickly crowded around you, helping you up.

“Shit, girl, you alright?” Cleo asked, carefully pushing your hair to the side to assess the damage.

“Is Sarah okay?” you only asked, pausing to spit out some blood, leaning on Cleo, your legs still shaking.

“Dude, I’m fine!” Sarah said, wrapping an arm around you, still shaking herself.

Your vision was still dizzy, and the voices were not helping, but it seemed like most of the party goers had dissipated as the argument had started. As your eyes adjusted, you could just see Rafe holding Topper by the collar of his shirt and saying something you couldn’t quite understand, before he tossed his friend on the ground. Topper didn’t take long to get back to his feet, fleeing from the scene.

Rafe turned around, his eyes scanning over you before turning to Sarah.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a bruise,” Sarah said, her eyes fixated on you. “But you should definitely get checked out. I can't believe Topper punched you."

“Come on, I got a first aid kit upstairs and some ice for the swelling.”

Rafe reached out to grab you under the arms, but Cleo was reluctant to let you go.

“Maybe I should help.”

“Seriously?” Rafe asked, incredulously and you only watched with narrowed eyes, your reaction time still limited.

“We should just take her home,” Pope chimed in, grabbing you by the shoulder gently, jostling you around.

“Guys, I’m gonna be sick if you keep handing me around like a joint,” you groaned, shutting your eyes, in the hopes of making the dizziness better.

“Pope, it’s fine. Rafe’s not going to hurt her. And he knows a thing or two about patching up wounds,” Sarah said, Pope’s grip on you loosening.

“Fine. But you even look at our girl funny, and you got another thing coming, you hear me, Rafe?”

“Yeah yeah, I got it,” Rafe grunted.

You peeked an eye open, when your friends let go of you, Rafe looping his arm around your shoulder, pausing to look at John B. “You got Sarah, right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about her.”

Rafe nodded his head in thanks, before leading you towards the house.

"Hey, just call if you need anything!" Kiara called after you, which you only replied with a weak "Okay!", your focus on putting one foot after the other. Rafe had his arm around your waist, taking most of your weight.

“Can you walk alright or do you need me to carry you?”

“If you pick me up right now, I will vomit on you,” you moaned and Rafe snorted.

“Right, and neither of us want that.”

It took you guys an embarrassing amount of time until you reached the house, since you kept making Rafe stop because you thought you were going to throw up. When you finally walked inside, Rafe lead you upstairs, instead of steering you towards the living room.

“Where are you taking me?”

“First aid kit is in my bathroom,” Rafe replied, mostly supporting your weight as you climbed the stairs.

“Ugh, your bathroom? Am I gonna get infected with herpes or something?”

“Is it the smartest idea to insult me in your position right now?” he asked dryly, and you almost sighed in relief when you reached the second floor.

“Just take me to your bedroom Rafe.”

“Alright, Princess,” Rafe sighed, a hint of exasperation in his voice as he guided you to his bedroom, carefully depositing you on the bed. While he went to the bathroom to fetch the first aid kit, you took a second to catch your breath, hoping the world would stop spinning.

Rafe returned with the first aid kit, moving slowly so as not to startle you. He set it down on the bed and then looked at you, concern flickering in his eyes. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you mumbled, pressing a hand to your throbbing cheek. "Just a little dizzy."

"Right." Rafe opened the kit and began to rifle through it, pulling out a bottle of disinfectant and some cotton pads. “This is probably gonna sting,” he warned you.

“Do your worst.”

You managed to flinch only slightly as the cool, yet burning liquid hit your skin, with Rafe’s surprising gentle touch as he cleaned your wound. He put a small bandage on the cut, before sitting back to inspect his handiwork.

“I’ll go grab you some ice for the swelling,” Rafe then said, standing up. “No dozing off, though, a’ight?”

Without waiting for an answer, Rafe left the room, leaving you by yourself yet again. Even though he explicitly told you not to doze off, you laid down on the bed, figuring that it might make the pain a little less bad. As soon as your head hit the pillow, Rafe’s scent engulfed you, and you weren’t sure if you lying down in his bed was too... Intimate? Then again, he was the one who had left you in his bedroom by himself. Before you could sit up again, Rafe reappeared in the room, holding a bag of in his hand, an unreadable expression on his face as he took you in on his bed.

“Sure, go ahead and make yourself at home,” he huffed, but you could see the frown on his face. Rafe sat down on the bed next to you, carefully wrapping the ice bag in a small towel and pressing it against your bruise, his other hand cradling your face. Despite the ice on your skin, you felt your cheeks heating up.

It was odd. You’d never have expected that Rafe could be able to be so gentle, so caring, and you suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to kiss him.

“What’d you say to Topper?” you blurted out instead, breaking the silence. You reached up to hold the ice bag, and Rafe pulled his hands back, raising an eyebrow at you.

“What?”

“After he hit me. What did you tell him to make you leave?”

Rafe sighed, leaning back a bit, staring at the wall as his eyes hardened. “I reminded him of what he did to me when I… Hurt Sarah. Asked him if he was willing to beat me to a pulp for my sister, what he thought I’d do to him for hurting her.”

His eyes flickered back to you.

And you.

You let out a breath at the pregnant pause, scared he’d say something he couldn’t take back. Something real. Maye you had been flirting with him, but so what? There was no harm, they were just words. Right? But admitting something real? That was a whole other story.

“Who would’ve thought Rafe Cameron could be so nice?” You said instead, a teasing lilt in your voice.

Rafe snorted, shaking his head with a laugh, the moment dissipating. “Yeah yeah, don’t get used to it. It was a one time thing.”

“Right, right, we wouldn’t want people to think that Rafe the Kook prince actually has a heart.”

“Does that make you the Pogue Princess then?”

“What?” you asked, flushing. “Where’d you get that idea? That’s obviously Kie.”

“Come on,” Rafe huffed, rolling his eyes. “Kie’s half Kook. And don't even start with my sister. Sarah’s… Half and half, at least.”

You eyed him in amusement. It was clear that he’d spent a good amount of time on that analogy.

“What about Cleo?” you asked, humoring him.

“Ehh. She would’ve made a good Pogue princess, too bad you’ve already taken the spot,” Rafe said with a shrug. “Pogue Princess. Flirts with everyone, heart of gold, never hesitates to get right between a brawl to help out a friend and to call people out on their bullshit…. Should I continue?”

“Please don’t,” you laughed, pressing the ice bag to your cheek. “You’re talking shit out of your ass right now.”

“I’m talking shit out of my ass? You’re the one saying everything that comes to your mind to stop yourself from kissing me right now.”

What?

“What?”

You never thought he’d actually say it out loud. Mention the elephant in the room. The tension you had been trying to ignore all this time. The silence that followed was deafening as you tried to find the right words, your heart beating in your chest.

“In your dreams,” you muttered hotly, repeating your words from earlier in the evening, looking everywhere but at him. It didn’t take long for Rafe to grab you by the chin gently, forcing you to look at him, his eyes piercing yours.

“In my dreams, yes,” he said quietly, inching so close that his warm breath was fanning across your face. “What about yours, princess?”

Gaping at him, speechless, you knew you didn’t have long until Rafe would take your silence as rejection. Your mind was racing, but ultimately, you leaned in, closing the gap and finally kissed him. Rafe let out a soft grunt, dropping his hand from your chin and cupping the back of your head instead to press even closer to you. The kiss deepened, becoming more passionate, as you finally admitted the attraction you felt to another, but you pulled away, when you felt a tad too dizzy.

“Right, shit,” Rafe cursed, knitting his brows together, examining your cheek. “Got too carried away.”

You flushed, handing him the small ice bag, that was more or less a bag of water now. Rafe dumped it in the trash next to the nightstand, before turning back to you with a smirk.

“Took you long enough.”

“Shut up,” you huffed and Rafe only grinned, pushing your hair out of your face, where it stuck to your wet cheek. You leaned in for another kiss, only for Rafe to stop you, holding you back.

“Nuh-uh. You get better first. Next time, I want you to get dizzy because of my mouth and not because you just got punched in the face.”

“You sound real confident there will be a next time,” you pointed out.

Rafe sighed, faux-exasperation. “Princess, don’t act dumb, it doesn’t suit you. You really think I’ll let you go after you’ve professed your love for me?”

“After I did what?” you shrieked in laughter, and Rafe only laughed. It was nice seeing him laugh for real for once, not the smarmy, smirk he used to do. After your laughter subsided, your pursed your lips, serious.

“You know my friends won’t take this well, right? Especially Pope.”

Rafe ran his hand over his buzzed hair, exhaling softly. “I know. But I won you over, didn’t I? Rest will be a piece of cake.”

“I’m serious, Rafe.”

You gave him a look and he leaned down, clasping his hands in his. “So am I. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have been trying to make things up to him, to Sarah. To everyone. It might take a while… And I don’t blame him.”

“As long as you’re aware…. Now, can we get back to kissing?”

“Didn’t you just hear what I said?”

Pushing your lower lip forward, you pouted at him. “One kiss.”

Rafe stared at you for a hot second, frowning. “Fine. One.”

But when he leaned down to give you a chaste kiss true to his words, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down on top of you.

"Jesus, are you trying to kill yourself?" Rafe hissed, but you only cackled, almost taking your bandage off in the process.

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠂⠄☆

author's note: pls leave a comment/reblog/like if you liked it🥹

#rafe x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #drew starkey #obx #outer banks

547 notes · View notes

roosterr · 4 months

Text

i've known war

john 'soap' mactavish x gn!reader wc: 9.3k (whoops) summary: you're alive. he can get you back, he can hold you in his arms again. warnings: established relationship, angst and sadness and depression, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, graphic description of injury, mentions of torture, eventual happy ending, military and medical inaccuracies, pls ignore any plot holes i beg

requested here! follow up to love you from afar, but can be read as a standalone. im so sorry this took me so long to write lmao.

it always feels like the first time when you kiss him. even now, years down the line, the sparks, the warmth, the daze that you leave him in; he truly believes it will never get old.

the way you look, standing in the open doorway of the helicopter, silhouetted against the bright blue sky, it makes his head feel so fuzzy he almost forgets why you're all here in the first place.

it's the sweet sound of his name passing your lips that pulls him back to the present, your voice sending his stomach fluttering.

"earth to johnny," you chuckle, turning to face him and resting your weight against one side of the open door, "what're you thinking so hard about?"

he can't help the smile that breaks out at the sound of your laughter. "just you." johnny replies, closing the small distance between you and snaking an arm around your waist. you smile as he leans in closer, murmuring low in your ear, "and, how i cannae wait to get ye home."

you laugh again, placing a hand on his chest but not quite pushing him back. "we've got a job to do first."

he takes your hand in his, running his thumb over your knuckles. "then we'd better get a move on, eh?"

"i'll race you," you grin at him, haloed by the light of the sun so beautifully he has to snap himself out of his reverence to respond.

"oh, you're on."

perhaps it was slightly irresponsible the way he was rushing the others along for his own gain, but within a matter of minutes they're breaching the facility and well on their way to being done with this.

it's only when he's stalking along a dimly lit corridor that he slows down. something was bothering him, an off feeling in the back of his mind that he just can't ignore.

before he can think about it any further, a boom shakes the walls, filling the air with dust and obscuring his vision even more. it was close enough to start a faint ringing in his ears, coming from back the way he came; where he'd split up with ghost and, more importantly, you.

he should stay on target, continue with what they're here to do, his job – but what if you were in trouble? if there's a chance you need his help, he couldn't risk it. it takes less than a second for him to turn back, making the decision to check on what caused the explosion before continuing.

quietly stalking back down the corridor, it takes him slightly longer to register the fact that he hasn't heard anything over the radio; no updates, no clever remarks from ghost, nothing. they worked not fifteen minutes ago, just after you'd split up and checked them. surely nothing could've happened in such a short space of time?

he does his best to push through the sinking feeling that tries to drag him down, but it's stubborn, creeping in from the corners of his mind.

he reaches where he left you in half the time it took him to walk away, the intersection of two corridors just as empty as the rest of the halls. he points his flashlight in the direction you went, and the feeling in his gut gets worse.

something glinting in the light catches his attention. the end of the corridor is collapsed, when it definitely hadn't been before, but it's what lies in front of the rubble that he zeroes in on. partially obscured by the layer of filth and blood coating it, there's no mistaking it when he kneels down, dropping his rifle to the ground beside him, and carefully takes the metal in his trembling hand.

it's a pair of id tags.

he numbly calls your name. it bounces off the walls and echoes back to him. the blood runs through the creases of his hand, staining the flesh. the letters of your name are clear through the dirt.

no. you can't be gone.

he looks up to the rubble, shrouded in darkness, back down to your tags, back up to the rubble, and there's a hand just visible under the concrete that looks sickeningly like yours and–

he tears his gaze away, back down to your tags. the chain is snapped, like it had been ripped off in a hurry, as if you'd known you were going to die and wanted to make sure he would find them–

no, no no. you're not dead. you can't be. he just saw you fifteen minutes ago, he bumped his helmet against yours in lieu of a kiss like he always did before you parted ways. you were fine and you were smiling at him. it was only fifteen minutes, you were right here, he can still hear your voice taunting him about the race between you, it was only fifteen minutes–

a heavy hand comes down on johnny's shoulder, startling him out of his panicked daze and instinctively he jumps up and swings his arm at whoever stuck up on him.

ghost catches his forearm easily, his eyes moving between your tags clutched in johnny's fist to the wreckage behind him. when he meets johnny's watery eyes again, the coldness in his gaze seems to soften as he arrives at the same conclusion.

the ringing in johnny's ears hasn't left. in fact, it's gotten worse.

"we– we gotta find 'em," johnny's breath comes out shallow and ragged, the panic slowly rising in his chest through the initial numbness. "fucks sake, they cannae– we– we–"

"johnny." ghost interrupts his sputtering short, bracing both hands on his biceps and giving him a gentle, grounding shake. "...come on."

"no! simon we–" his breath catches in his throat, heart constricting painfully beneath his sternum as he grips the front of ghost's vest in desperation. why was ghost giving up so easily? didn't he care? didn't he want to find you?

ghost lowers his gaze, tearing away from the distraught expression on the sergeant's face. "they're gone, soap."

"shut the fuck up!" johnny growls, despair seeping into his voice with every second that passes without you. he tries to shake ghost's hands off, but he doesn't budge. "ye dinnae ken that! they're still here somewhere, we cannae leave without 'em!"

he's gripping your tags like a lifeline, the metal searing against his palm and heavier than anything else he'd ever carried. he shouldn't have them, they shouldn't be in his hand, they should be around your neck, you should be here, with him, and not…

it's too much. his knees give out from under him and, despite ghost's firm grip on his shoulders, he sinks to the floor with his head in his hands.

"simon, fuck– please…" it's a whisper, under his breath, but he knows ghost heard from how he crouches down beside him, laying an arm over his heaving shoulders as he steadily begins to sob.

it's not real. it can't be real. he wants this to be a nightmare so fucking badly, but the pain in his chest is far too real, his tears burning tracks down his face, the weight of your absence pressing down on him and crushing him under the pressure.

he barely notices when price and gaz appear in the hall ahead of them, just about registering the sound of the debris crunching under their boots as they approach. the pair don't say anything as they take in the scene, looking down with furrowed brows at where johnny and ghost are crouched on the floor.

the captain opens his mouth to ask, but ghost cuts him of with a solemn shake of his head.

words are exchanged, but johnny doesn't hear them. his head feels impossibly light, an expanding pressure beneath his temples that makes it hard to think. the ringing keeps getting worse.

the sound of gunfire makes it through the fog. gaz and ghost each take one of his arms, hauling him to his feet and essentially dragging him after the captain as they make their way back out of the building. he can't bring himself to fight them. he blinks, and finds himself strapped into his seat, the one next to him hauntingly empty.

price is talking into the radio, to laswell he assumes, but johnny doesn't register anything he says – anything except the last two words:

"...one k.i.a."

the air is thick with a kind of tension he's never felt before, a shroud of numbness that he can't seem to shake. when they land it follows them, seeping into the air on base and pushing down on whoever crosses their path. none of them have to ask to understand what happened.

johnny keeps your tags, clutches them close to his heart, and practically bites the head off of anyone who tries to take them from his white-knuckled grip, even as he gets checked out in the medical wing. his quietness puts the medics on edge, he can tell. something about the way he doesn't even flinch when they cleanse his wounds, the polar opposite to his his usual talkative nature, it tells them there's no use trying to console him. they try to convince him to let the tags go, but he doesn't acknowledge their words.

the broken chain stays firmly wrapped around his palm until he's staring down his own hollow face in the bathroom mirror. he'd turned the sink on fifteen minutes ago to wash the blood away, the water so hot it fogs up his reflection, but he can't bring himself to put his hands under the stream.

because it's your blood, not just the usual grime from missions. if he washes it off, he's washing you off, and he doesn't want to do that, no matter how disgusting it is.

there's a knock at the door, and only then does he realise how long he's been staring at the red that decorates his hands. he still makes no effort to move.

despite his lack of response, gaz opens the door and meets his eyes in the mirror. there's a pause as he waits for johnny to say something, but when he only lets the silence go on, he takes it upon himself to approach.

"soap…" he utters, brows tilting in concern watching his friend continue to stare absently into the mirror. with a deep sigh, kyle takes his empty fist and pries his fingers from his palm. johnny's eyes gravitate to the fresh blood that wells up in the crescent indents. watching the red droplets fall, disappearing into the running water, the pain finally registering in his mind when kyle presses a cloth to his hand.

the sting of the hot water is there, a distant feeling as johnny allows him to wash the blood away, never saying a word as he watches kyle's efforts, like an observer of his own form, right there but looking in from the outside.

kyle reaches for your tags, but his fingers barely brush the metal before johnny is shoving him back with a rush of anger that happens so fast he doesn't even have time to process his own reaction.

with a thud, kyle's back hits the wall and for a moment neither of them dare move. they watch each other in silence, wide-eyed shock mirrored in both their expressions.

"i…" i'm sorry. the words catch in his chest, falling into the void there and never escaping for gaz to hear. he can't let him touch your tags. it's the only part of you he has left. "...don't touch 'em."

kyle squeezes his eyes shut, breathing a deep sigh through his nose. "alright, i'm sorry, i won't touch them." his tone is low and careful as he steps closer again, hands open so johnny can see them. he feels like a feral animal, being coaxed to let kyle approach. "but you need to rest, mate."

the weeks blend together after that day. some days johnny feels like the shock will never wear off, like he's living on autopilot. others, it all comes crashing down on him and even dragging himself out of bed becomes a challenge.

his dreams are plagued with images of you, lifeless and cold. it stops him from sleeping most nights, but others are filled with memories of your life together playing on loop, a constant reminder of what he can never have again.

the room you used to share is always filled with flowers; gardenias, gladioli, forget-me-nots, and anything else he sees that he thinks you'd like. when they wilt, and eventually die, he presses the petals in the pages of his sketchbook, keeping them in a box next to the very first flowers he ever got you, the memories preserved forever under your – his bed.

that same sketchbook that's filled with page after page of your image, some from the multitude of pictures he keeps of you, and when he inevitably runs out of references, he draws you from memory. it gets to the point where he can't pick up a pencil without your face haunting him; you always did love his art, even if he didn't think it was any good.

he knows he's not the only one taking it hard. the others are different too; gaz is quieter, something more serious in his eyes now. the captain doesn't appear moved on the surface, and neither does ghost, but when they look at the empty seat where you used to sit, the memory of you is evident in the way their shoulders deflate ever so slightly.

once word spreads about what exactly happened, the never-ending condolences and pitying looks from the people around base gets old very quickly. they tell him how they're so sorry for his loss and what happened to you was so tragic, and it shouldn't annoy him as much as it does, but he can't help the anger that bubbles up in his chest when they talk about you.

he doesn't want to hear it, and every time he has to listen to their pitying comments it only makes him resent them more. they didn't know you, they didn’t care, they probably didn't even know who you were before you died. they could never hope to understand what you meant to him, to the taskforce, the gap in their team that you left behind.

it's when someone suggests moving on from you that it all finally bubbles over.

six months later, a long time since that day but somehow no time at all. he'd gone out for drinks for the first time in a while, after some gentle coercion from simon, along with another group of soldiers staying on base.

he didn't even want to go, not really, but something in him knew he couldn't carry on like he had been. he needed some form of normalcy, one night where he can pretend everything is fine and you're just waiting for him back home, to just forget.

it didn't take him long to realise going out with them was a mistake. almost immediately he was dragged into a conversation with a few guys from another unit, and despite his many attempts they just wouldn't leave him be.

somehow, after about an hour of mindless chatter, they land on the topic of their love lives and recent conquests, and johnny immediately felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. he wanted to slip away, avoid what he knew was coming at any cost, but he couldn't get away fast enough.

one of them brings up your name, they all look to him with a sort of curiosity that makes his skin crawl. they ask him if he's planning on staying hung up on you forever. johnny says it's only been six months. one of them laughs and tells him it's just sad, and from the looks of it you weren't anything special.

johnny smashes a glass over his head. price benches him for a few weeks after that.

it's hell, being left behind, alone, while the others went on like usual, and truthfully he starts to resent them all, bit by bit from the first time he's left on the tarmac. it felt like they didn't care, that johnny's heart, his life, his soul has changed but they carried on without looking back once. he isolates and shuts them out in a fit of misplaced anger, building the walls around his heart higher and higher and letting that resentment fester.

the day of your funeral brings it all crashing down. after all those months of waiting, johnny didn't even make it more than five lines into the speech he'd prepared before he's breaking down and stumbling out the side door in a hyperventilating mess. simon follows behind like his shadow, sitting down with him when he slides down the wall with a hand clutching his chest. he cries into simon's shoulder for rest of the service, releasing all the pent up anguish he'd been trying to keep inside in a catharsis he didn't realise he needed.

when they get back to base the next morning, johnny’s practically begging to be allowed back in the field. he found himself missing the chaos, the unpredictability of the battlefield was where he was in his element. this job was how you met, how you got together, how you lived. he never felt closer to you than when he was out in the field with adrenaline pumping through his veins.

it takes some convincing, but price gives in and everything feels like it's back to normal. missions are quieter than they'd ever been, but johnny finds it doesn't bother him anymore. he feels your presence by his side like the sun on his back, always with him, like his guardian angel.

it's six more months before anything changes.

in the back of the helicopter, a few minutes out from the landing site, an oddly comforting sense of déjà vu washes over him. the bright blue expanse of the sky, the warmth of the sun on his skin, he almost feels that if he turned to his left, he'd see you sitting there with that same smile lighting up your face.

his fingers tighten around your tags.

"you watchin', bonnie?" he presses his lips to the cool metal, feeling your name under his skin as he mumbles to himself. his gaze finds the roof of the helicopter, and even without looking he knows the others are watching him, that familiar solemn look on their faces.

they were doing this for you. everything johnny did was for you. he puts your tags safely away in the pocket if his vest closest to his heart.

the helicopter jolts as it lands, and with no more than a second's hesitation he's shooting up from his seat, a renewed energy flooding his body to the tips of his fingers. they step out into the biting air, a chill than not even the afternoon sun could stave off, and quickly begin their march into the small facility.

"you two, take that side. gaz, with me." price commands, and with a sharp nod from the three of them, they split up and begin their canvassing. they were here for intel, but there was no guarantee they were alone, despite the emptiness of the halls they move through.

their footsteps echo off the walls, only the distant howling of the wind outside to accompany them. the hairs on the back of johnny's neck were on end, an unease setting off alarm bells in the back of his mind following behind ghost.

the déjà vu from earlier isn't comforting anymore. he doesn't feel you watching over him, and the feeling only gets stronger as they approach a doorway ahead, bathed in a red light.

ghost pauses in the entrance, looking back at johnny and waiting for his affirming nod before pushing forward. the room is empty, the same as the rest of the building, save for the table sitting against the far wall.

there's something else there, he notices as he creeps closer to get a better look. a frown darkens his expression. it's a laptop, untouched and central on the table, a strange contrast to the almost methodical emptiness around it.

"oi, check this." johnny calls, turning around as ghost stalks over with a similar confusion on his face.

"that what we're here for?" he asks, examining the laptop with a deep frown casting shadow over his eyes.

"looks like it." johnny replies, slowly and carefully picking it up as his frown deepens. he was half expecting it to somehow blow up, but when he lifts the screen it lights up to the desktop with no issue. "that's convenient."

"very convenient..." ghost grunts, jerking his head in the direction of the door and speaking into the radio as he walks ahead of johnny. "price, we've got it. headin' to exfil now."

back on base a few hours later, the four of them with the addition of laswell sit around the table in a meeting room with the doors firmly shut, eyes locked onto the laptop with rapt tension as gaz opens the only file they could recover from the device.

the video starts abruptly with 'the mask' – the pretentious alias of man that heads the organisation they've been steadily eliminating all this time – in front of the camera, the dingy room behind him barely lit, the walls splattered with what johnny could only assume was blood.

"i trust that my message has found you well, task force one-four-one." his voice comes through the speakers, crackly and distorted by the low quality recording. "you have been relentless in your pursuit of us, and i applaud you for your efforts, but it's time to put an end to this."

johnny looks back at price, watching as his expression hardens and his fingers dig into his arms where they're crossed over his chest. it's obvious they've been set up, but it's too late to be concerned with that now. the problem now is how they're going to continue knowing the enemy has information on them that they shouldn't have.

the sound of something being dragged brings his attention back to the video, facing the screen again to see another masked man dumping a person with a bag over their head onto a chair in the centre of the room.

"i have something i believe you will be interested in." the chuckle is audible in his voice even beneath the mask and through the screen.

their wrists and ankles are tied together, and if it weren't for the laboured rise and fall of their chest, johnny wouldn't be sure if they were even alive.

"fuck– a hostage?" price spits, and even without looking he knows laswell is already working on finding a location, if the sound of her rapidly typing is any indication.

"something very… precious to you."

the figure moves to stand behind the person in the chair and yanks the bag from their head. he grabs their jaw and forces them to look up, a sickening laugh meeting johnny's ears as they make eye contact with the camera.

it's…

it's you.

you're beaten and bruised and covered head to toe in blood, but it's undoubtedly you when the faceless man yanks your head up.

johnny's sure his heart stops.

you're alive. you've been alive all this time. in the hands of a terrorist, and within an inch of your life, but…

you're alive.

"drop your investigation of us, and i will let them live." the masked man stalks back around to your side, still holding your jaw in a vice grip. the way you cower, as much as you can with that man's filthy hands on you, it breaks something in johnny. how long have you been in their hands, how long have you been abused by them?

how long have you been waiting for him?

he feels sick to his stomach, but he can't tear his eyes away. the lacerations on your face, the endless bruises littering your skin – when he spots the ones around your neck, he has to swallow down the bile – and how you just seem so tired, barely even fighting to keep your eyes open.

the masked man looks down to you again, pausing as he directs you to look at him through what seems like a black eye. the five of them watch, frozen by shock or anger or both, as the man rears his hand back and slaps you across the face so hard your head whips in the other direction. a pained, defeated sound escapes you, and johnny’s sure a knife to the chest would hurt less.

"do not disappoint me, captain price, or your sergeant will regret it."

the video cuts to black.

the sight of your face is burned into johnny's retinas, every time he blinks your features are there, dripping in your own blood, the only thing he can see.

"kate, tell me you can find this." price growls behind him, his words sounding distant to johnny's ears.

she hums distractedly. "working on it."

their conversation doesn't register, floating in one ear and straight out the other. you're alive. he can get you back, he can hold you in his arms again. it's like his prayers have been answered for once in his life, and it may be some cruel trick from god to find you like this but johnny finds himself praying his thanks anyway.

"johnny…?" simon lays a hand on his shoulder, turning him in his chair to make worried eye contact with his shell-shocked expression. it jolts him out of his thoughts, the energy of the room a controlled kind of frantic as he comes back down to earth.

"that's– it's them, they're–" johnny sputters, gripping ghost's forearm with an absent desperation in his glassy eyes, "simon, they're alive."

he can't stop thinking about how empty your expression looked, the way you didn't have any fight left, and the gravity of what's been happening to you since the moment he lost you slowly creeps up on him.

have you given up hope of them finding you?

"we'll get 'em back, soap, listen to me," price drops a heavy, grounding hand on his other shoulder, halting his spiralling train of thought, "they're comin' home." his voice is resolute, no room for argument where he speaks it almost like a command.

johnny can only nod.

his head is still light as more rushed conversation happens around him. simon's hand is still on his shoulder, and that might be the only reason he hasn't completely fallen apart yet, but the thread is pulling taught enough to snap. his nails carve dents into his palms but he doesn't have the mind to unfurl them.

"sir, we've got a hit." gaz speaks up from where he's leaned over kate's shoulder, a determined glint in his eye when he meets the captain's gaze. johnny’s head snaps in his direction, his pulse quickening with every word that sparks new hope in his chest. "two hundred klicks northeast of where we found the laptop."

"good work, you two," price is pacing back and forth, scratching his beard with a calculating look on his face. they watch him for a moment, waiting for his command on what their next move will be, but johnny finds his patience wearing incredibly thin.

"the fuck we waitin' for? let's get out there'n go after the wee bastards!" he growls, his narrowed gaze darting between price and the others as he steadily grows more and more restless.

simon shakes his head from beside him, "hold your horses."

"this is delicate, we have to do this one right." price pauses, his eyes losing their hardness as he meets johnny's desperate face. "i know how much this means to you, but you're too close to this, soap."

the pause that follows that is so thick with tension it makes it hard to breath. a boiling type of rage bubbles up in his chest, extending to every trembling limb and turning his vision red. there was no way in hell he wasn't going to be there for you every step of the way when – not if – they rescued you.

"ye can get yersel' right tae fuck!" he spits, his face contorted with anger as he shoots up from his chair and points an accusatory finger at the captain. "that's too far, price, ye cannae keep me outta this!"

"johnny, sit down." simon warns, using the hand still on his shoulder to put some space between him and price, but johnny doesn't budge; this was far too important.

"yer aff yer heid, both of ye's! if ye won't let me come, i'll go mysel', ye fuckin' hear?" he growls, shaking free of simon's hand. his glare travels between him and price, hands wound into fists at his sides.

the air turns heavy as they stare each other down. if price thinks he'll back down on this, johnny would love nothing more than to prove him wrong.

he's moments away from meeting his fist to price's face when gaz stands up and gets between them. "that's his other half, sir. respectfully, he deserves to be part of this." he reasons, giving price a firm look and a small nod to johnny. "you'd be the same in his position."

the tension is palpable. he watches over gaz's shoulder as the captain deliberates, clearly having an internal battle over the decision, but eventually he sighs and fixes johnny with a stern look.

price closes the distance between them, patting gaz on the arm as he passes. "screw your head on, mactavish. we only get one shot at this, i need to know i can trust you not to fuck it up."

a spark of hope makes johnny's heart race, and he gives price a single resolute nod of confirmation. "i won't, sir."

laswell stands and walks around the table to stand beside price, a similarly firm expression. "we have to play this carefully. they wanted us to find that laptop, i have no doubt they wanted us to find where they are too."

"so what's our angle?" gaz asks.

laswell and price share a look.

"this has to be off the books, there's no way we'll get clearance for this." laswell answers, her expression turning noticeably darker, looking over to price as she continues, "if we want them back alive, we'll have to act fast. that means we're on our own."

the captain nods with no hesitation. "we are getting my sergeant back. i don't care how we have to do it."

they're loading into the back of a helo not even an hour later. the five of them, along with two field medics and the pilot, with the strict instructions in johnny's head to bring you home or to not come back at all.

there's only one coherent thought racing through his mind for the entire; you. getting you back, taking you home, finding the man that took you away from him – and hurt you – and making him pay.

he fishes your tags out of his pocket and presses them to his lips in a lingering kiss, just like he always does. soon, he thinks, it would be you he'd be kissing, not just a remnant of you.

the flight passes by so quickly it's almost as if he'd blinked and they were landing again.

the air is glacial as they ready themselves, preparing for the mask to put up a fight that they fully intend to win. the plan was decided on during the journey; kate and ghost would provide support from a distance while price, gaz, and johnny would confront the bastard head on. his focus is razor sharp, marching through the trees and underbrush, blood rushing in his ears and jaw clenched painfully tight.

the sky is just as strikingly blue as the day he lost you.

bring you home, or don't come back.

they reach a break in the trees, surrounding the small facility they tracked the video to that looked more like a derelict warehouse than a base. either way, the dark figure of their target is visible against the brick wall, surrounded by a number of his own soldiers – johnny counts six as he, price, and gaz make themselves known coming through the treeline. they share a quick look; they know how this will end.

"well met, captain," the mask calls, slowing to a stop and leaving a few metres of space between himself and the three of them, "will you make the right choice, or will your sergeant suffer for your pride, i wond–"

his monologue is cut short by a shot from the darkness of the treeline and lodging mercilessly into the base of his throat. his deadweight hits the ground with a thud that echoes, and in less than a second bullets are flying.

soap tightens his grip on his gun, raising it to glare down the sights and firing at the soldier nearest to him and dropping him with one well placed bullet to the leg and another to the face once he was on the floor.

another shot from the treeline drops one more; four left.

gaz and price take out another two between them in a similar fashion to soap, leaving two still standing – one of whom was advancing fast with the barrel of his gun pointed at soap while the other backed away.

one more shot rings out from the trees and one more body falls, but the last hostile was far too close for comfort now, johnny had no choice but to tackle him to the ground, narrowly avoiding being shot himself on the way down.

a few seconds pass as they wrestle on the ground, both trying desperately to gain the upper hand but falling just short because of the other. from his peripheral soap can see price running to his aid, but his momentary distraction allowed his assailant to take the upper hand and roll on top of him.

hands constrict around his neck, cutting off his airflow, but a well timed shot from price sends him falling over sideways, sputtering blood from the wound in his side.

soap heaves and cough, pulling air back into his lungs and glaring at the body of the man who almost got the better of him. this only meant they were one step closer to getting you back; he was one step closer to having you in his arms again. it didn't matter if he got hurt in the process.

price's outstretched hand suddenly appears in his vision, "get up soap, we've got a job to do."

his daze melts away and he takes the captain's hand, allowing himself to be pulled upright with an affirming nod shared between them.

"good aim, ma'am." gaz calls over the radio, looking down his nose at the steadily declining state of the mask; his infamous facade now cracked and broken, revealing the agonised face beneath.

"bring 'em home, boys." kate replies, and though he can't see her face johnny can imagine the commanding look she's undoubtedly wearing.

gaz backs away as johnny crosses the mess of crimson and dirt to where the mask lays, sprawled out and immobilised by his injuries but still very much alive, giving the fellow sergeant a respectful nod as he goes. "he's all yours, mate."

johnny stands over his fading form, watching with a detached look in his eye as the blood spills from the gaping wound in his neck with every struggled breath, his disjointed intake of air and the pathetic sputters as he inhales his own viscera. there's not a shred of mercy in him as he gazes down at the man, every bit of agony was completely deserved for what he did to you. the death that claws at him would be a blessing.

he gurgles to johnny, raising a weak arm to brush the hem of his trousers as he attempts to expel the words, "pl–ea– plea-se–"

johnny scoffs, dry and venomous. he has half a mind to leave him to suffer until the life finally bleeds from him, but the pure rage he feels listening to this bastard plead for help after putting you through hell for a year is far too strong for him to restrain.

it's unconscious, the way johnny's arm raises to point the barrel of his pistol squarely at the centre of his forehead. he pauses for a moment, if only to see the fear creep into the bastard's expression before his fingers squeeze the trigger and the light is gone from his eyes.

his chest stops heaving and his hand drops back to the mud, leaving nothing but a few bloody fingerprints in his wake.

johnny pulls the trigger again.

and again, and again, and again, until his face is nothing more than a cavity of gore and lead and the ringing in his ears blocks out everything else around him.

a firm hand comes down on his shoulder and it’s only then does he notice the tension in his muscles and the fierce sneer pulling at his features. his eyes snap to the dark figure in the corner of his vision, meeting the bone white of simon's mask and the frown underneath.

"that'll do, johnny." simon murmurs, his own darkened eyes glaring down at the mangled corpse laying at their feet. he nods, somewhat absently, and turns away from the offending body.

there were more important things he needed to keep his head on straight for.

neither him or simon spare the remains of the mask another glance as they leave him behind. price and gaz are waiting by the entrance for them, and as soon as they're close enough they head together into the dark corridors of the building.

as the creep through the abandoned building, now deep in the cold basement, weapons poised and on high alert, there's a new sense of dread that forms in the back of his mind; what if you're not here after all? what if the mask was bluffing and you're already dead?

johnny grits his teeth and shakes his head to rid himself of that damning train of thought. he couldn't afford to think like that, he wouldn't, but another corridor of empty rooms has his heart sinking like an anchor to his stomach. he's trying to stay hopeful, but every dead end only makes him feel worse.

price grips his shoulder, firm and comforting, with a look in his eye to match as he catches johnny's gaze. "we'll find 'em, soap."

"i know." he replies, but there's a waver in his voice despite the certainty of his words. price doesn't release his gaze or his shoulder until he moves to follow the others.

he doesn't say much else as the search continues. the ringing in his ears is back, amplified by the eerie silence of the halls. he can feel the air getting colder after each empty room the clear.

the time passes arbitrarily, until there's one last room to check. johnny watches gaz and ghost pry it open, the sound of the lock breaking only just reaching him through the fog over his senses.

gaz pauses once the door swings open, his eyes locked onto something in the room as they widen dramatically. he still doesn't tear his gaze away as his jaw falls open, something frantic in the way he yells, "soap!"

a spark of hope strikes his heart and travels to the very ends of his limbs, a new burst of energy filling him as he shoves past his teammates to stand in the doorway and look into the room himself.

it's you.

curled into yourself in the corner of the damp cell, shivering with your face buried in your knees with your hands clamped over your ears. it's almost uncanny, how small you look. the tremble in your limbs, the fear in your quickened breaths, it was the exact opposite of how you should be, but despite it all…

it's really you.

johnny feels his heart swell painfully with relief, and without another second of hesitation he's skidding to his knees beside you and gripping the cold skin of your wrists. you let out a muffled sob at the contact, and johnny feels his blood turn cold when it meets his ears.

"don't!" you cry, weak and desperate. johnny's caught off guard with how you try to rip yourself away from him, the shakes that wrack your body only increasing when he keeps his hold on you. "get off! please– please don't!"

his heart cracks anew at the distress in your hoarse voice. he feels his eyes well up with hot tears that he has to fight to keep from falling.

"hey, it's me! it's johnny, it's your johnny! look at me, sweetheart, i'm here!" he tries to calm you with his words, keeping his voice low between you both, but you keep your eyes screwed tightly shut.

johnny lets go of your wrists to cup your face in his hands instead, gently turning your head towards him and using his thumbs to stroke soft shapes into your cheeks. the gesture makes your breath hitch audibly, and your eyes slowly open to meet his. "that's it, I'm here, i got ye, yer alright."

"don't– i don't– i can't…" whatever you're trying to say is broken up by the effort it takes you to keep breathing through your sobs. you still try to lean away from his touch, but johnny doesn't let you move far. he has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back his own breakdown.

"no-one's gonna hurt you again, darlin', i promise ye." he murmurs, searching your glassy eyes while he continues to smooth his thumbs over the skin of your face, wet with your tears. "c'mere, i've got ye…"

with little more resistance from you, johnny gathers you into his arms and presses you close to his chest, they way he'd been dreaming off all the time you'd been apart. he pays no mind to the way the hard ground digs into his knees, and instead focuses on feeling the rise and fall of your ribcage against his own, your heartbeat under his fingertips, and the very real sound of your voice.

"you– j-johnny…" you stutter, your hiccuping sobs gradually fading away as you grip the bulk of his vest like a lifeline. "are you… real?"

"i'm real, darlin'," his voice cracks despite his efforts to stay strong for you. he presses his lips to the tip of your head in a lingering kiss, partly so you won't see the glossy tears in his eyes as he tries to stamp them down. "i'm here. i swear, i'm never lettin' you out of my sight again."

the simple feeling of your weight leaning against him is so overwhelming he's worried he might faint. he lets you calm down, rubbing soothing patterns up and down your arms and back and wherever he can reach, even when the position becomes uncomfortable and the dampness from the floor has seeped into his bones.

eventually though, he does pull back, softly shush you when you protest in the thought that he's leaving you, and cups your head in his warm hands.

"let's get you home, eh?" he smiles. your uncertain eyes dart between his for a moment, searching, before you nod. it's weak and hesitant, but the gesture makes his grin stretch a little wider all the same. "c'mon then, think ye can walk?"

johnny sighs when you shake your head, looking down and seeming almost embarrassed by your frail condition as if any of this was your fault. if he could kill that bastard again, he wouldn't even hesitate.

it's no bother to him to haul you up with him, holding you carefully against his chest with an arm under your knees and the other around your back. you still gingerly grip the top of his vest, your free arm looping itself around his neck and pulling yourself as close to him as you can muster. he gives a concise nod to the others, crowded in the doorway, and they begin the trek back to the helo.

the sunlight causes you to bury your face in the crook of johnny's neck, shielding your eyes from the blindingly bright rays. he allows himself a moment of distraction as they cross the clearing to revel in the feeling. he'd feel the sun on his face again, but he'd never again take for granted a single moment he spends with you.

they're almost to the edge of the clearing, almost departed from that haunted place with a graveyard of mangled bodies in their wake, but he doesn't quite make it to the treeline.

a single gunshot echoes through the clearing and before any of them can react, the shell has found its mark in johnny's leg. the force and shock of it sends him tumbling to the floor, scrambling through the blossoming pain to brace his fall on his arms so he won't land on top of you.

there's yelling, returning fire, but johnny can only focus on covering your body with his own, shielding you from any harm that might find you. even through the agony travelling up his thigh, even when the air is still again, and even when his own eyes are threatening to follow yours in falling shut and succumbing to the weakness that drags him down.

when did you shut your eyes? johnny slips his hand under your hand, grunting in his chest as his weight shifts, and to his horror his fingers come back red.

no, no no. he only just got you back, he cannot lose you again.

he doesn't even register that he's shouting – for help, a medic, something – until his weight is being heaved over ghost's shoulder and you're being taken by price, the cracks in his stony expression only fuel the sick dread making its way up johnny's throat.

back in the helo, in no time but he doesn't remember the journey, he tries to push the medic away who starts working on his leg, slurring for them to help you first. they ignore him, obviously, and if he had any energy left he would've berated them for not listening. ghost holds him down as they secure the tourniquet, and as his vision finally begins to fade, he turns his head to the side so you can be the last thing he sees as he slips into unconsciousness.

for once, he doesn't dream of you.

there are no images of your body, laying motionless under the rubble. he sleeps in blissful oblivion, his head completely silent, and wakes a day and a half later feeling more rested than he ever has despite the wound in his leg.

simon is by his bedside when he finally opens his eyes. it's late, the room dark apart from the fluorescent light bleeding in from the gap under the door and simon's phone highlighting his balaclava. he notices the moment johnny turns his head to watch him, because of course he does, and reaches over to turn on the lamp on the side table without a word.

"mornin', lt…" johnny mumbles, voice hoarse and eyes heavy as he pushes through the tiredness clinging to his senses to sit up in his bed. the light is abrasive to his eyes, but he blinks through the sting and manages a lazy smile towards simon.

"evenin', more like." he replies, a trace of humour in the way his eyes lift at the corners. "been asleep nearly thirty-eight hours."

johnny baulks at that, suddenly feeling a lot more awake from the cold shock that passes through him. "thirty–? jesus wept, i need'ta–" he sputters, wide-eyed as he throws the blankets from his legs and starts to get up, "i need'ta see 'em, how–"

before he can get his feet on the ground however, he's pushed back by simon's hand on his chest, forcing him to sit back and acknowledge the pain radiating from his thigh.

"they're fine, johnny." simon tells him, punctuated with a roll of his eyes before he continues, "been in and out of consciousness, but they're stable."

johnny sighs deeply, relief flooding through his body as he slumps back against his pillows. you're okay, you're alive, you're here, and you're home and safe. his thoughts have already begun racing and despite how much his wounds are aching, he's already set his mind to how he's going to see you as soon as possible.

as if sensing his plotting, simon leans forward to catch his gaze and even through the mask johnny can see the look he's sending him.

"i'm goin' back to bed, so don't do anythin' stupid." simon begins, pushing himself to stand using the arms of his chair and narrowing his eyes as he leans even closer. "if you rip these stitches, i'll put 'em back in myself, clear?"

"crystal, lt." johnny nods, and simon holds his stare as one last warning before he turns to leave – but not without giving him a firm pat just below his bandages that makes him wince, feeling the silent threat behind the gesture as he watches simon exit silently out into the hall.

johnny swings his legs over the side of the bed the second the door swings shut again, a sharp intake of breath following the movement as his weight shifts. surely he could get to where you are without making his wound any worse, he hard could it be?

he makes it two doors down before he realises that this might've been a bad idea. the muscles of his thigh burn and his breath comes out in heavy, stuttered huffs, but despite the strain on his injured body he refuses to give up before he's seen that you're okay with his own two eyes.

the fourth door he peeks through is where he finds you, the sight of your sleeping form instantly overpowering the pain in his leg. he shoulders open the door and beelines in a limp to your bedside, his gaze never once leaving your face until he's close enough to grasp your hand in a slow, featherlight touch like you'd disappear if he made a wrong move. you don't react as he strokes your knuckles, but johnny is more than content to just sit with you, perched on the edge of your bed and taking in the way your breath fills your lungs, the gentle thrum of your pulse under his fingertips on your wrist.

time passes easily like this, until the minutes have gone by and he can find the strength to lift himself into the bed beside you, snaking his arm around your neck and shoulder to hold you close as he settles in, careful not to agitate any of your own injuries.

"i missed you, my love," johnny whispers, dragging his fingers up and down your arm, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, "i missed you so much…"

your fingers twitch in his hold, the steady rhythm of your breathing hitching as a shaky sigh leaves you. johnny freezes, his hand stilling on your bicep and his eyes growing wide.

"john–" the sound of his name passing your lips pulls him out of his shock, and he pulls back to watch your eyes twitch and flutter open. your voice is raspy and still weak, but not even an angel choir could sound sweeter to him. "johnny…?"

"i'm here–" his voice breaks, but he continues anyway, "i'm here, i got ye." he murmurs, careful to keep his voice low despite how much he wants to cry from joy. "how ye feelin'? you comfy, sweetheart? any pain?" he asks, shifting the both of you to sit against the pillows and keep you nestled against his side.

"i'm okay–" your hoarse response is interrupted by a cough that devolves into wet hiccups, your hands curling tightly into his shirt as you look up at him, "it– am i– it's–"

"shushsh, i'm here darlin', i've got ye." he coos, his eyes welling up to match yours, resuming his soothing touch over your arm. you stay like that, for minutes that could've been hours, gazing into each other's eyes while you softly cry and johnny comforts you.

it aches him to see you cry, but he can't help but awe at how beautiful you still manage to be, with cuts and bruises and tears littering your face. his heart swells in his chest with the love he holds for you.

your hand finds its place on johnny's cheek, your staggered breaths calming down at last. he covers it with his own to feel more of your skin on his. a wince crosses your expression as you try to lean up towards him, but he stops you before you hurt yourself any further and leans his forehead against yours.

you pull his face even closer, digging your fingertips into his cheek in an almost uncomfortable sensation, before brushing your lips against his in something like disbelief. "am i dreaming?"

"no, my love," he utters against your skin, taking your bottom lip between his teeth, nudging your cheek with his nose, "this is real."

your breath hitches again when he closes the little space left between you and presses his lips to yours, encapsulating you in a kiss that holds every ounce of desperation he's been holding on to. it's passionate, all-encompassing, and it reminds him of the first time he kissed you all those years ago. your free hand travels up to his hair, tangling the longer strands around your fingers and drawing a groan from deep in his chest.

he's reluctant to let you when you pull away for air, tasting the salt from your last stray tears as he chases your lips.

"say it again…?" you ask in a murmur, your eyes fluttering open again. the look you give him, one of pure hope that you won't suddenly wake up alone, it makes johnny's heart miss a beat.

he squeezes your hand, turning slightly to leave a kiss on your palm. "it's real, bonnie. i'll die before i ever let you go again."

your mouth opens to say something, but you stop yourself just before you can choke the words out, fresh tears building in your eyes again. johnny gives you an encouraging nod, holding your gaze while you muster the courage to voice what you're thinking.

"i–" you begin, your words catching on a lump in your throat, "i watched you leave without me, i had to watch the helicopter disappear and, and you…" your voice fades, eyes darting between his while they gloss with unshed tears once again.

"sweetheart…" he frowns, his heart breaking anew from the anguish that he never wants to hear in your voice.

you swallow thickly, your hold on his hair tightening ever so slightly. "i thought– i didn't think you'd ever find me…"

"i'd always find you." johnny replies, his resolute tone leaving no room for argument. he touches his forehead to yours again and lowers his voice to continue, "even if i had to go tae the ends of the earth, i'd never stop lookin' fer you."

his words release the fresh tears you've been holding back, and with a quiet sob you drop your face to the crook of his neck, gripping his hair and face tighter still. johnny softly shushes you, rocking the two of you back and forth as much as he can with you held close in his arms.

"you're staying with me tonight…" your voice is muffled, spoken into his neck and sending goosebumps rippling across his skin. a comforting nostalgia follows your words, one he can't help but chuckle at.

"would'nae have it any other way, darlin'."

#soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #mw2 x reader #mw3 x reader #cod x reader #141 x reader #call of duty x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #roosterr writes

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bellaveux · 1 year

Text

SWEETHEART | wanda maximoff x fem!reader

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: constant stress had filled the gaps in wanda’s life after her ex-husband left the family and balancing work and her kids had started to take a toll on her. in search of relief, wanda hires you as a babysitter, not knowing she’d be falling for you.

content warnings: minors dni. smut!!, bit of angst?, kinda fluffy towards the end, milf!wanda, mommy!dom!wanda, babysitter!reader, bottom!reader, unspecified age gap, jealousy, mommy kink, fingering (r! receiving), multiple orgasms, mutual pining.

word count: 7.81k (did not plan for it to be this long but i kinda got carried away whoops)

— note. two people requested wanda x babysitter!reader so i decided to combine both requests and make one fic! i’m very sorry for the long wait, but i hope u like it!!

You were so sweet and so delicate—something Wanda never knew she needed in her life until now. From the moment you met her, Wanda sensed something special about you—a sense of purity and kindness that shone through in everything you did. She found herself captivated by your gentle spirit, your quiet demeanor, and the way you always seemed to radiate a sense of calm and comfort. There was just something about your innocence and sweetness that tugged at Wanda's heartstrings, and she found herself wanting to protect you, to cherish you, to keep you all to herself... and ruin you.

It had been years since her divorce with her ex-husband, whom she was glad to finally be rid of, leaving her alone with her work and her love for her children. And while Wanda was a strong and resilient woman, she recently had been finding herself in a perpetual state of stress as she tried to balance the demands of her work and the needs of her twin children, Billy and Tommy. Her days were a never-ending blur of conference calls, emails, and deadlines, all while managing the endless stream of requests and tantrums from her two little ones.

Despite her unwavering determination and tireless efforts, the weight of her responsibilities often felt overwhelming, leaving her exhausted and stretched thin day by day. And although she bore this load alone with grace and composure, the weight of it only threatened to stress her even more. Her mind raced with a never-ending list of tasks and responsibilities, and the pressure of meeting everyone's expectations left her feeling suffocated. She yearned for someone to ease her burden, to offer a comforting hand and take some of the weight off her weary shoulders.

Soon, she was in search of a trustworthy and reliable babysitter to care for her precious children. As a loving and attentive mother, she understood the importance of finding someone who would not only ensure her children's safety but also provide them with nurturing care and attention. Wanda longed for someone who possessed the patience, creativity, and enthusiasm needed to engage her children in activities that would both entertain and educate them. She envisioned a babysitter who could effortlessly create a warm and welcoming environment where her boys would feel comfortable and secure.

When her colleague and close friend, Natasha, recommended her younger sister’s friend, who had said to have been looking for a short and simple job outside of college, she gladly took the offer. Her second option, which she mentioned if you weren’t able to take the job, was recommending Kate, a bubbly girl about your age who is still in college and is close to both you and Yelena, if only she didn’t have constant archery competitions going on. But Natasha was happy to explain how responsible and intelligent you were, how well you got along with children, unlike her sister, and that you were always a joy to have around. It was a brief description, but Wanda thought it best to trust her friend’s word rather than look for a complete stranger with no connections to take care of her children.

What she didn’t expect, however, when you came up on her doorstep, was how incredibly stunning you were, standing in front of her with a bag hanging off your shoulder and a charming smile as you looked up at her. Your bright smile and youthful energy seemed to radiate from your very being, drawing Wanda's attention like a moth to a flame. You were beautiful.

And of course, you thought the same of her. When you arrived at Wanda's doorstep for the first time, you were struck by the sight of the elegant woman before you. Wanda was wearing a sharp, tailored suit that accentuated her curves and highlighted her poise and confidence. You couldn't help but feel a sense of awe as you looked at Wanda, who seemed to exude a sense of maturity and wisdom far beyond her years. You admired the way she carried herself with such grace and elegance, her movements smooth and fluid even when she was just opening her door. You were captivated by the way Wanda's green eyes sparkled with intelligence and warmth, and the way her smile seemed to light up the entire room. To you, Wanda was a vision of beauty and sophistication, a woman whose presence commanded attention and respect.

“Hi, Ms. Maximoff, I'm (y/n),” you greeted her with a pretty smile, trying to hide the fact that you were undoubtedly intimidated by her presence. “I’m Yelena’s friend.”

“Oh, please, you can just call me Wanda,” she returned your smile and shook your hand softly. “It’s nice to meet you. You can go right ahead and settle in. I’ll call the boys down in a second.”

As Wanda welcomed you into her home, she couldn't help but notice the way your fitted clothing hugged your curves, accentuating your feminine form as you walked in with a gentle sway of your hips. It was only a skirt and a loose sweater, but she still couldn't deny the thought that you were young and sexy, with her eyes falling slowly down to your ass as you walked, which sent a rush of heat to her cheeks. Wanda tried to push aside these thoughts, focusing instead on the importance of finding a reliable caregiver for her children.

She quickly introduced you to Billy and Tommy; the boys immediately took a liking to their new sitter, especially when you mentioned playing video games with them. As Wanda watched from a distance, slowly collecting the things she needed for work, she marveled at how effortlessly you seemed to connect with her children, engaging them in playful activities and genuinely caring for their needs. She was confident that you’d do a good job taking care of the boys, just from the first half hour or so of meeting you.

Wanda felt disappointed as she walked out of her house, wanting to go back in there and talk with you and learn about you, but she chose to ignore her thoughts and head to work without any delay. She then met Natasha later that day and immediately thanked her for finding someone like you to take care of the kids. She also might’ve left out the fact that you were incredibly attractive, and to be fair, she had been thinking about you for the rest of the day.

And the many days after that.

The first night she came home to you, you had been on the couch of her living room, studying with your nose in a textbook you had brought along with you. It was late at night—a little past eleven—and thankfully you had already put the boys to sleep long before she arrived.

“Oh, Ms. Maximoff! Welcome home,” you greeted her as she walked through the door. “I got the boys to go to bed early tonight, so they’re already ready upstairs.”

“Thank you, (y/n),” she smiled and set her bag down on the couch next to you before leaning in to look you in the eye. “And it’s Wanda, remember?”

She couldn’t help but smirk when your eyebrows rose for a moment, your cheeks turning pink as you looked up at her and said, “Right! W-Wanda… How was work?”

“It was alright.” Wanda sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Mostly tiring. I really appreciate you being here... for the boys, I mean.”

“It’s really no problem. I should be the one thanking you for the opportunity.”

Wanda stared at you. The soft curve of your cheekbones, the delicate arch of your eyebrows, and the way your full lips curled into a gentle smile all made Wanda's heart flutter. She couldn't help but appreciate the way your features seemed to blend together perfectly, creating a face that was both striking and alluring. And her name just rolled off of your tongue in a way that made Wanda’s insides tingle, and your voice gave her a sense of calmness. It sounded so pretty coming out of your mouth, and it only made Wanda want to hear it over and over. maybe in the comfort of her bed.

“I—um, I should probably get going,” you said, suddenly growing nervous under a stare before standing from your seat and cleaning up your things as you went. “I’ll be here around the same time tomorrow, but if you need me to come earlier, I can! I only have two classes tomorrow morning, so...”

Wanda smiled at you again and said, “Same time is good, honey.”

“Okay,” you nodded, lips curving upwards as you backed up towards the front door, clutching your books closely to your chest. “Same time.”

"Drive safe," was the last thing you heard her say that night.

You spent the next month taking care of Wanda’s kids each day after your classes. And Wanda was thankful. She’d often pick the boys up from school when she’s not working in the afternoon, take them home where you arrive shortly after they do, and stay with you in the comfort of her home until she has to leave in the evening. You’d stay until she came back late at night, coming home to a cooked dinner made by you, which did wonders for her beating heart.

Sometimes, when the nights grow late and the boys have drifted off to sleep, she’ll ask you to keep her company as she winds down for the night before you leave, and you never have the intention of turning her down. Each night, she gets out of her blazer, throws it over the couch, then unbuttons a few extra buttons of her top. She does it all in such a sensual way, you notice, and you can’t help but stare. At times, she’d get close, placing her hands on your hips when she wanted to move you if you were in the way or something, and it tingled, feeling her touch each and every time. Of course, Wanda does it for the sole purpose of that, wanting to rile you up with her actions to see how they would affect you, and it always amuses her.

“Care to join me?” She says with a small smirk playing on her lips, already making her way to the kitchen where you left a wrapped dinner for her.

You nodded eagerly and followed her into the kitchen, watching her reach for one of her bottles of wine on her counter.

“Mind getting two glasses for me, sweetheart?”

Blushing deeply at the endearment, you turned away to do exactly as she said. Obedient girl. When you reached the cabinet and opened it to retrieve two wine glasses, Wanda found herself holding her breath, her eyes fixed on your body. She couldn't help but think how sexy you looked, with your delicate features and your gentle smile, and your eyes shining with an innocent twinkle that made Wanda's heart race with anticipation. Her eyes followed your every move, drinking in the sight of you with a sense of longing and desire that she struggled to contain. She battled her inner thoughts, hiding the fact that she just wanted to grab you, taste you, shove her tongue down your throat, and make you moan against her.

When you turned back around with only one glass in your hand, she frowned slightly and said, “You don’t want to have a drink?”

“I still have to drive back to campus,” you say reluctantly, not particularly liking the fact that you had disappointed her a bit.

But she only smiled and said, "Right, of course."

Wanda couldn't help but feel a sense of desire as she watched your figure move towards a seat at the table with such fluid grace, her eyes tracing the curve of your hips and the gentle sway of your hair.

You spent most of your nights like this, talking to Wanda late at night after she came home from work. And it’s lovely. She never forgets to compliment you, whether it was how you looked or how amazing you were at taking care of her boys, and loves it especially when you talk about your day, your voice filling her ears along with a sense of calmness to ease her tired head.

But oftentimes, Wanda found herself unable to focus on any conversation with you. Every time you laughed, your body shook with a gentle ripple, and she couldn't help but feel drawn to your every movement, her eyes tracing the curve of your hips and the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Your voice was soft and soothing, your words flowing like honey and filling Wanda's heart with warmth. As you talked, Wanda found herself getting increasingly distracted, her mind wandering as she imagined what it would be like to hold you close, to run her fingers through your hair, and to taste your sweet lips.

“Wanda?”

"Hm?" Wanda hummed in response, trying to mask the fact that she had struggled to listen to you while you sat there in front of her, looking so delectable under the dim lights of her kitchen.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” you continued slowly, dragging your sentence out. “But, what happened to your husband?”

Wanda only smiled at your question. She figured you’d be curious, and you wouldn’t be able to keep that question unanswered in your head forever. But she was comfortable with you. comfortable enough to tell you enough of what happened. He didn’t die or anything. And it wasn’t a great story—not that long, either. It was truly simple, and she guessed that was why it hurt even more when it happened.

“He didn’t love me anymore,” she said, watching your face closely. “There’s not that much to it. He found someone else, fell in love with her, then left me and our boys to go and start their own family. I wish he had been strong enough and loved me and the boys enough to keep this family whole… He wasn’t.”

Wanda spoke with a practiced detachment, trying her best to hide the raw emotions that still lingered beneath the surface. As she spoke, she noticed your eyes growing misty with tears, and she knew that her own pain was mirrored in your heart. But despite the deep sadness that threatened to overwhelm you both, Wanda couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort in your gentle presence.

“I’m sorry.”

“Everything’s okay now, sweetheart,” she smiled lovingly at you, reaching out to wipe away your tears. She felt a sense of warmth and tenderness wash over her, and she knew that she was falling in love with you even more.

“The boys are strong,” you tell her, melting at the touch of her thumb against your cheek. “They’re strong like you. I couldn’t even tell that they’ve gone through that much heartbreak already... They don’t show it.”

“They come to me from time to time to let it all out,” Wanda replied, pulling her hand back to take a sip from her glass of wine. “They are strong… and I’m proud of them for it. But, I like it better when they come to me, as painful as it is to see them cry. Although, I haven’t been home enough lately to be there for them.”

You frowned slightly at her last sentence, “You’re an amazing mother, Wanda. Your ex-husband made the biggest mistake of his life when he left you. And your boys are smart; I know they understand. With what they’ve been talking to me about, they’re only worried that you might overwork yourself. Oh, and they said you need a vacation.”

A light chuckle erupts in Wanda’s throat. “Oh, I could definitely use one.”

Wanda smiled as she stared at you, your presence pleasantly washing over her, and in that moment, Wanda realized that you were more than just a pretty face or a sweet voice. You were a source of comfort and strength, a gentle soul who could soothe even the deepest wounds with your kindness and compassion.

The days after were none other than similar, with you following the same routine with Wanda: taking care of Billy and Tommy, cooking dinner, studying for a bit, playing with the kids for a bit, then Wanda comes home, and you keep her company for the night. It all feels amazing. Wanda loved coming home to you, and you loved it when she did, always anticipating the moment she walked through her front door.

With each passing day, Wanda found it increasingly difficult to hide her emotions and desire for you. Every time she saw you, her heart skipped a beat, and she just couldn't help but feel a sense of longing that she couldn't ignore. When you arrived at her doorstep each day to take care of her children, Wanda found herself staring at you a little too long, taking in the way your hair fell around your face, the way your eyes sparkled in the sunlight, the curve of your waist, and your legs when you walked. She always tried to keep her composure and act like a professional, but her desire for you was becoming harder and harder to hide. She’d find the tiniest excuses to touch you, to be able to put her hands on you—like tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, looking over your shoulder when you’re working on something, or keeping her hand on the small of your back when she walks with you.

She especially almost lost her mind when she arrived home early in the evening one day and you said something that made her knees almost give out as she stood in the living room.

“Boys, why don’t you show mommy what you made at school?” you called out from the living room.

And in that moment, Wanda’s eyes narrowed and she almost wanted to pounce; she wanted to grab you by the neck softly and demand that you repeat the very name that made her stomach flutter. Whenever you said it, Wanda felt a warmth spread through her body, and her heart swelled with pride. She loved the way you said it. She didn’t know where it came from or why you started referring to her as that when you talked to her boys, but it sounded so perfect coming from your mouth, so natural. It was like you knew how much it affected her, so you made sure to say it more often, finding new ways to incorporate it into your conversations.

Even though Wanda knew that it was just a term of endearment, and you probably said it to all the children you’ve babysat before, Wanda couldn't help but feel special and cherished every time she heard it. It was a small thing, but it meant the world to her, and she looked forward to every opportunity to hear you say it again.

Wanda’s recent joy didn’t last, unfortunately. It was a Wednesday afternoon, and Wanda was just about to leave for work, slipping into her heels near the front door, when you delivered some news that she didn’t know she didn’t want to hear.

“I don’t think I can make it this Friday,” you tell Wanda, nervously playing with the hem of your sweater.

“That’s okay, honey,” she smiled in return, hoping that it would help ease your anxiety. “What’s going on on Friday? Exam?”

For a moment, you almost wanted to lie, but unsure as to why you should even keep the reason from her, you decided to tell her anyway. You’d figured she’d find out from Natasha at some point and wouldn’t want to be guilty of dishonesty when the time came when she would realize why.

“I... have a date.”

“Oh.” And just like that, her smile faded in a blink of an eye.

Wanda felt her heart sink as she took in your words, letting her know that you had to cancel your babysitting appointment for the evening because you had a blind date. She tried to push down the disappointment she felt, reminding herself that you had a life outside of the arrangement and that she couldn't expect you to be available all the time.

But deep down, Wanda couldn't shake the feeling of distress. She had sensed something between you two—a spark and desire—that she couldn't ignore. And now, as she imagined you going out with someone else, she felt a pang of jealousy and longing that she couldn't quite explain. She tried to tell herself that it was silly, that she was just projecting her own feelings onto you, but she couldn't help feeling disappointed that you and her wouldn't be spending the evening together.

“I see,” Wanda nodded, grabbing her car keys swiftly from the foyer without turning to look at you. “I hope it goes well.”

That was a lie. Even you knew it was. She then left without saying another word, leaving you and her boys alone in her house.

To be fair, you didn’t even want to go on this date to begin with, but Yelena was nothing short of convincing. It didn’t help that Kate had been on Yelena’s side when she mentioned scoring a blind date for you, all without your permission or any warning at all, recommending you to this other person they thought you’d like. You guessed it was a nice thought, that your friends were just trying to help, but honestly, you just didn’t want it. You’d said you weren’t interested at the start, but they did nothing but insist. Especially when it had been centuries, according to them, since you worked on your love life.

And so here you were, on a Friday night, sitting across another woman at a table in some local Italian restaurant near the main campus of your university. You had walked with her into the city, as it wasn’t that far off to begin with, out in the cold of the night, already wanting nothing more than to go home.

As you sat across from the other woman, you couldn't help but feel bored and disinterested in everything she had to say. Your mind wandered over to Wanda, the woman you had been babysitting for, the woman who had occupied your thoughts almost every second of the day, and the thought of spending time with her instead filled you with excitement. You couldn't help but think about how much more enjoyable your time would be if you were sitting in Wanda's living room, sipping wine, and talking the night away. You felt guilty for feeling this way, but you couldn't deny the pull that Wanda had on you. The thought of being near her made your heart race with excitement. Sitting across from your date, you couldn't help but wish you were somewhere else, somewhere you truly wanted to be—with Wanda.

And you honestly tried.

You tried to make polite conversation by feigning interest, but your mind always wandered back over to Wanda. You couldn't help but think of the way she looked at you, how she touched you in ways that made your skin tingle, or even how she looked when she wore her suits every day going into work—so confident and beautiful. You tried to focus on your date, but the images of Wanda kept intruding into your thoughts, and you found yourself wishing you were back at Wanda's house, with her hands all over you, her lips kissing you, and everything naughty. You fidgeted with your napkin, trying to shake the thoughts of Wanda from your mind, but they persisted, and you found yourself longing to be with the woman you desired rather than sitting across from this stranger.

When you returned to Wanda’s house, you immediately noticed how distant she had been getting over the next few days. She no longer drank wine and talked with you at night after she would arrive home; instead, she’d greet you briefly, then retreat to her bedroom and go to bed. Sometimes she’d completely ignore you, like brushing right past you in the kitchen without uttering a word, then leaving for work after saying goodbye to her boys and telling them to behave.

And your heart ached because of it.

Soon, you got tired of it. The way she ignored you. The way she looked through you. It made you feel both livid and dejected. You wanted to yell at her. So, after a few days of the same treatment from Wanda, you decided to work up the courage and talk to her.

“W-Wanda,” you called her, nervous eyes boring into her back as she halted her descent up the stairs.

It was dark out—about thirty minutes past twelve, you would say—and Wanda had just arrived home with that same tired look in her eyes. She greeted you with that same short greeting she had been giving you the last couple days, and each time you heard it, you wanted to cry.

Wanda turned around, meeting you with restless eyes, “What is it, y/n?”

You paused. Suddenly, everything you had practiced saying in your head had drifted away, leaving your mouth open with no words for it to fall from. You stood in her living room awkwardly as she waited for you to say something. Soon, she noticed your eyes had gotten glossy, with tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

That made Wanda’s eyebrows rise in concern. She stepped down from the stairs to walk closer toward you, asking, “Is everything okay?”

“No,” you confessed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Y-you... you,” you tried to get out, struggling to find words for a moment under Wanda’s intimidating stare. “You ignore me. You barely look at me anymore. You don’t talk to me anymore. You don’t touch me. And you don’t even notice me when you come home.”

“What are you talking about? I notice you—“

“No, it’s different now. You’re different. You treat me like I’m invisible.” You ran a hand through your hair as you spoke, letting your frustrations out. “Why do you do that? I didn’t… I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Wanda listened intently as you poured your heart out in front of her. You were careful not to raise your voice, not wanting to wake the kids up, but truthfully, it was difficult to do so when you wanted to yell at Wanda for making you feel this way. Finally, a tear rolled down your cheeks, and, without a second thought, Wanda immediately brought her hand up to wipe it away with her thumb, the same way she did that night when she told you how her ex-husband left. You were full of emotion and love, and Wanda wanted it all to herself.

Wanda stared at you for quite a while, and you stared back, confused, unlike her, who seemed to have numerous thoughts running through her head. Then, for a moment, her eyes fluttered down to your lips.

“Wanda, what are you—“

And with a soft, gentle touch, she leans in and presses her lips against yours, pouring all of her feelings into the kiss. She sighed against your lips, moaning at the taste of you. It's as if the world stops spinning, and in that moment, there are only the two of you. The taste of your lips against hers ignites a flame within Wanda, who steps closer towards you until her face is pressed up against yours, leaving now space in between. Wanda groans when you let her hands roam your waist and when you wrap your arms around her neck, and she leads you up the stairs, still kissing you, eventually leading you up to her bedroom.

Wanda's bedroom was a unique mix of chaos and order. The room was cluttered with her unmade blanket spread out on the bed and piles of books stacked on the floor, but it was still neat and organized. The queen-sized bed was made up with crisp, white sheets and a fluffy comforter, and the nightstand was clutter-free except for a lampshade that cast a soft, dim glow in the room. The darkness outside made the light seem even more comforting and inviting. It felt intimate and warm, as if it were enveloping you in a soothing embrace.

Her room was at the other end of the hall, far from the kids, thank God. But Wanda made sure to shut the door, pushing you until your back was against it, muffling your moans with her mouth, and drinking in each sound of your voice as she touched you all over.

“You’re so damn intoxicating, (y/n),” she said, moaning as she littered kisses down your neck. “I can’t control myself when I’m around you.”

Wanda’s heart melted at how you clung to her with your arms wrapped around her neck and your hands gripping tightly on the jacket of her suit. There was nothing but the sound of your breath filling the air as she continued to kiss you. She dragged her lips to your earlobe and smiled smugly when you shivered, noticing you were sensitive there. She darted her tongue out and licked behind your ear, trailing it down to your jaw.

You opened your mouth wide when she sucked on your neck, but she immediately pulled her head back to kiss you again, muffling the sound of your delicious moan.

“Mmph—Wanda,” you mumbled.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Wanda said against your lips. “I’m going to need you to be quiet for me, baby. Can you do that?”

As much as Wanda wanted to hear you scream and moan while she made you feel good, she didn’t want to wake the boys up with all the racket.

You nodded eagerly at her question and gave a tiny sound of affirmation, causing Wanda to smirk down at you. Obedient girl. The hands that gripped your hips moved towards the hem of your shirt, pulling it off and over your head before throwing it onto the floor. You wore a white, lace bra that cupped your tits perfectly, and Wanda couldn’t help but bring her hands up to palm them, groping them as you closed your eyes and leaned your head back against her bedroom door.

“My perfect, little angel,” she whispered, hands groping you over your lace bra.

Wanda then leaned forward, prompting you to jump and wrap your legs around her waist before carrying you over to her bed and laying you down against her mattress. And fuck, you looked amazing. She didn’t know how she managed to control herself in the beginning when you looked so fucking sexy like this. There was only so much her brain could fantasize about, and seeing you in person like this, with your eyes begging for her to take you, god, she was going to lose it.

Her hands placed themselves under your thighs, spreading them slightly so that she could fight right between them. Her fingers traveled slowly up your skirt, feeling the plush flesh of your smooth thighs. As she played with your skirt, she dragged her lips down from your neck to your collarbones and down to the valley of your breasts, teeth nipping softly at your skin, making sure to leave marks and pretty, purple bruises as she went. Feeling you squirm underneath her was one of the best feelings she had ever felt. She moved her hands from your thighs and then brought one up to your white bra, unclasping them from the back and letting your gorgeous tits out with a slight jiggle. Wanda hummed deeply as she took your nipple into her mouth and sucked.

“Wanda,” you breathed softly, hands burying themselves into her hair.

“No, baby,” she smirked and brought her other hand up, wrapping it around your neck. “You’ve got a better name for me, don’t you, darling?”

“W-What?” You breathed against her, gripping tight on her shoulders.

“My other name, sweetheart,” she says, smiling into your chest before looking up toward your face. “You know what it is. Say it. I wanna hear it from that pretty mouth of yours.”

You blushed deeply, making her lean up to place butterfly kisses all over your reddened cheeks.

“Don’t you want to be a good girl?”

You nodded eagerly, “Yes, I want to be good.”

“For who?”

You stared at her when you opened your mouth to say, “Mommy...”

“Mm, that’s right, sweetheart,” Wanda said, seemingly unable to fight the wicked grin from appearing on her face, staring down at you with hunger in her eyes.

She took your breath away once more as she leaned down to kiss you, moving her mouth against yours with breathy moans falling from both of your tongues. It was a softer kiss this time—so gentle that you almost thought you were dreaming, wondering still if this was even all real. It became very real when you felt Wanda’s hands hike up your skirt, feeling the fabric of your pants between her fingertips.

And you were embarrassed. Soon she’d see and feel how wet you were, aching too much between your legs from the friction you had been wanting to ease since you had laid eyes on her. You groaned and moved your hands to the collar of Wanda’s suit jacket, trying desperately to pull it off her shoulders, but she wouldn’t have it. Instead, she grabbed your wrists and moved them above your head.

“Keep them there,” she said, her voice firm and demanding, leaving no room for any protests. “Unfortunately for you, sweetheart, you’ve been a bad girl.”

You furrowed your brows and huffed out in frustration, “How?”

“You know, I really don’t like sharing.” Wanda said before placing a quick kiss against your lips and staring down at you with an expression that shook you to your core, “But, you decided to go out and share what belongs to me... on that little date you went on.”

Your eyes widened, immediately wanting to explain everything, “Wanda, that was just—“

“I don’t want to hear it, (y/n). Right now, just focus on me. Only me.”

Her fingers brush over your clothed sex, running along the wetness of the fabric, causing you to twitch slightly against her. You looked so delectable like this. She just wanted to eat you right up. Soon, Wanda’s fingers pressed harshly against your clitoral area, rubbing it in tight circles, only to make you whine into her shoulder. You looked so pretty like this. Honestly, she could almost come from just the sight of you like this. A sly smile adorned her face as she played with you. Pictures of you and a stranger filled her thoughts, recalling what that date looked like in her head—you dressed up all pretty, that beautiful smile you showcased as you laughed, that innocent twinkle in your eye, the sound of your voice, and your fleeting touches—all for someone else.

The dim light of the lampshade on her nightstand cast a warm glow across the room, illuminating your face and casting shadows over the curves of your body. Her hands carefully dragged the fabric of your skirt down your legs, and you were left in nothing but your panties. And Wanda could drool at the sight of you. You suddenly felt shy under her stare, being the only one naked in the room with her still fully clothed in one of her sexy suits, and you just wanted nothing more than to reach out and help her out of it.

“Tell me,” she whispered, leaning down to the crook of your neck to inhale your sweet fragrance. “Did she see you like this? Did she fuck you?”

“What? No, Wanda, I—“

She stopped you with a kiss, groaning into your mouth as her hands moved to cup your breasts. “Try again.”

“She didn’t, mommy.”

“Good. Now, open,” Wanda smirked lightly as you opened your mouth wide enough for her to slide two of her fingers into your mouth. “Get these wet for me, baby.”

You did exactly as she asked. Twirling and running your tongue all over her fingers, making them slick with saliva, You could hear Wanda sigh in satisfaction as you did your work, and she watched every second of it. She wondered what else you would take in your mouth for her—her strap. But that was for another night, she supposed.

Soon, she pulled her fingers out, replacing them in her mouth once again. Her tongue entered your mouth with ease, and you couldn’t help but moan at the taste of her, knowing her lipstick smudged against your skin. Her wet fingers traveled down the trail of your skin, all the way down to where her fingertips met the lacy fabric of your pants and slipped into them. Wanda pulled her head back to watch your face contort into an expression of euphoria as her slipper fingers massaged your clitter. It was heavenly. And you were perfect.

Unable to wait any longer, Wanda pushed two of her fingers into you, moaning against your neck as she felt how wet and tight you were around her fingers. When your arms dropped from above your head to hold onto her shoulders, Wanda allowed it to happen, falling in love with the way you held on to her as she fucked you. She wanted to start slowly, in truth, but as soon as she felt your hands in her hair and on her shoulders, as she heard your breathy moans, she just couldn’t help it. She pumped and pumped her fingers into you, turning you into the prettiest, shivering mess she had ever laid her eyes on. It turned her on so much.

“I—Mommy, I’m going to—“ you tried to say as quietly as you could.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” she said, smiling adoringly. “Keep your pretty eyes on me.”

The pad of her fingertips continued to press against your sensitive walls, pumping air in and out of you with a delicious squelch. Wanda dragged her lips against your chest until she popped one of your nipples into her mouth and sucked hard. Everything she did made you squirm underneath her. And god, you were so sexy. Wanda felt like she was looking at an art piece—the way your body moved, the colors of your skin under the dim light, the lines of your curves fitting perfectly against her. So perfect. Her sweet girl.

Finally, the first orgasm crashed in waves throughout your entire body, legs quivering against Wanda as she slowed her movements in order to let you ride out your high. You had muffled your moan by pressing your face into her shoulder. Fuck, you were so hot. Wanda swears she came at just the sight of you coming.

“My pretty baby,” she said. “So perfect.”

And you try to take a moment to breathe, to catch your breath before anything else could happen, but it is too late to stop her. Wanda pushed a third finger into you, your jaw dropping as you felt your walls stretch around her digits. The pad of her thumb rolls over your clitter in tight circles, pressing onto your sensitive bundle of nerves with no mercy.

It almost felt like she was testing you—testing your limits, how far you could go, and how well you could hide your moans. It was by no means easy, especially when she started pumping all over again, making the grip on her shoulders tighten. You pulled desperately at the fabric of her jacket, and Wanda didn’t even care if you were to eventually rip it accidentally. Hell, she’d be proud of it.

You jolted under her touch, arching your back and pressing your front against hers as she fucked you. She watched as your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you lost yourself in pleasure. You almost wanted to pull away because you knew if you went on any longer, you’d be screaming. But Wanda had an easy solution for that problem. The moment you started moaning helplessly loud, she threw her other arm up and clasped the palm of her hand over your mouth, muffling your moans.

“Quiet, baby, remember?”

And so she pulled another orgasm out of you, and then another, and another… and another.

You looked so beautiful by the end of it; sweat rolled down your temples, your body was limp as you gasped for air, arms reaching out to Wanda as she pulled away from you for some reason you couldn’t tell given how fucked out and tired you were. She only got up to get rid of the clothes she was wearing and grab a wet towel from the bathroom to clean up the mess you made between your legs. As she did so, she fought the urge to spread your thighs, diving face first into your wet cavern, all for her to devour — but you would be screaming if she did that. Another time, Wanda thought.

After she cleaned you up, Wanda pulled you into her arms, laying beside you with your head in the crook of her neck as she smoothed her hands over your hips, your waist, and your thighs. You were still trembling slightly against her; she could feel it, and she couldn’t help but smile.

You fell asleep quickly, and as Wanda watched you drift off, she couldn't help but be captivated by you. The way her lamp shade illuminated your features, casting a soft glow on your skin, made you look ethereal. Wanda traced the contours of your face with her fingertips, memorizing every curve and angle while feeling your skin. She watched as your chest rose and fell with each breath. She watched when your lips parted slightly as you breathed, and Wanda found herself leaning in, almost unconsciously, to press a soft kiss against them. You stirred momentarily but didn't wake up, and Wanda settled back onto the pillows with a contented sigh.

As she gazed at your sleeping form, she felt a sense of peace wash over her. She was right where she wanted to be.

“Sleep well, sweetheart.”

In the glow of the moonlight filtering in through the window, you and Wanda lie intertwined on her bed. Your bodies were nestled closely together, with Wanda's arm draped protectively around your waist. The room is quiet except for the gentle hum of your breaths as you both sleep soundly, at peace in each other's embrace. The air is warm and fragrant, the scent of lavender from the diffuser on Wanda's nightstand filling their senses. As you slept, your faces appeared serene and content, with faint smiles playing at the corners of both of your lips. And in this moment, all the worries and stresses of the outside world fade away, replaced by a deep sense of comfort and security.

Morning came soon after as the soft light of the rising sun seeped through the window, casting a gentle glow over the room, and you slowly opened your eyes, only to find Wanda sleeping peacefully next to you. A smile creeps onto your face as you gaze upon Wanda's serene and beautiful face. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of happiness and warmth inside of you, yet you also felt a bit shy and hesitant, not wanting to disturb Wanda's peaceful slumber. The room was quiet except for the gentle sound of your breathing, and you took a moment to savor this peaceful moment with Wanda, your heart full of love and affection.

But then you tore your eyes off of her and stared at the clock on her nightstand.

“Wanda,” you said, shaking her lightly. “Wanda. Wanda, it’s eleven o’clock. The boys are late for school!”

The only response you got was a groan as Wanda stirred in her sleep, refusing to open her eyes and, instead, rolling over and pulling you close, shoving her face into the crook of your neck. You wanted to smile at the action, but you were also worried about the fact that you both slept in and that her boys were late for school.

“Wanda.”

“I already took them to school, (y/n),” she said, mumbling against your skin, voice deep and groggy.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of her voice, “You did?”

“Yes, honey,” she said.

Your stomach began to flutter, and your heart filled with warmth at the endearment, even though she had already been calling you that since you had gotten here. But after hearing it last night, you felt a surge of joy. The way Wanda says it, with such tenderness and love, is enough to make you feel like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

You also smiled at the thought of Wanda waking up early in the morning to take her children to school, then coming home and immediately jumping back into bed just to sleep with you. The very thought of it made you swoon.

Wanda held you tightly in her arms, her breath warm on your neck. You felt a warmth spread throughout your body as you snuggled deeper into Wanda's embrace. The bed was so comfortable and the atmosphere so peaceful that you wished you could stay there forever. You loved the feeling of being held by Wanda and feeling safe and loved. It was a sense of domesticity that she never thought she would experience.

“(Y/n)?”

You hummed in response, your fingers raking through Wanda’s locks.

“The date you went on... How did it go?”

You paused, wondering why that was one of the first things she thought of. After seconds of thinking, you put the pieces together. You already figured she was jealous, but it was still a bit surprising to think about.

“It was terrible,” you smiled. “I was thinking of you the whole time.”

“The date was terrible? Or you thinking about me the whole time was terrible?”

“You’re smart, mommy. I think you can figure that one out by yourself.”

Wanda let out a deep laugh against your neck, “Mmm, I like it when you call me that.”

“I know,” you smiled.

“Go on a date with me.”

Wanda pulled her head back from your neck to look at you. A smile played on her lips as she stared at you. God, you looked so beautiful. Your lips were puffy, your cheeks squished up against her pillow, and your hair was all over the place—it was adorable.

“What?” You smiled at her incredulously.

“I’m being serious,” she said, smiling back at you. “Go on a date with me.”

And for a moment there, you really did contemplate on whether she was serious or not. You almost wanted to pinch yourself to see if you were still dreaming somehow. But Wanda’s face said it all.

You tried to fight the joyous smile that was making its way onto your face. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you repeated.

With a soft smile on her face, Wanda leaned in and placed a tender kiss on your forehead, followed by a series of playful, affectionate pecks all over your face. The warmth of your bodies entwined was comforting, and Wanda couldn't help but admire the way your soft features looked in the morning light. She placed another gentle kiss on your lips, savoring the taste of sweetness against her mouth.

Wanda’s heart swelled with affection, feeling lucky to have you in her arms. And she’ll take you on that date, making sure she's the only thing on your mind, just like you were in hers.

— navigation! | masterlist!

note. i used this proofreader thing which fixes most of my grammatical errors but it could’ve just yk not have worked, so if there’s still any errors i apologize and i also apologize a second time bc i will not be fixing them anytime soon bc i am lazy :) peace

#bellaveux writes!#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #marvel x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda x reader #avengers x reader #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #marvel #the scarlet witch #scarlet witch

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elizais · 2 months

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arguments and make ups

when he realises he fucked up,, -dazai x gn reader warnings: nothing too specifically mentioned that you are arguing over

proper fallouts with dazai were uncommon. little bickers were bound to happen yet this had spiraled a little from something you just wanted to ask about. you were asking a genuine question over god knows what, it had been a long day for the both of you and sarcastic answer after sarcastic answer had put you both on your last straws.

stood in the kitchen, he was still joking around and it was frustrating. he's a man too smart for his own good, yet he hadn't realised that you were tired and didn't want to drag anything on. sighing, you pinched the bridge of your nose for a moment and looked at him.

"no, osamu, it's not-" you spoke, yet he only heard those 4 painful words. you don't call him that. you don't call him osamu. you call him 'samu or something sweet only he can hear. he became instantly lost in his own thoughts, staring off into space and you saw he wasn't listening to your point.

groaning, you walked into the bedroom. neither of you even remembered why or when this started. he stood there, knowing his sweet nothings wouldn't get him out of this situation. he should have just given you the answer straight up and not wind you up like he would for amusement any other day.

nobody ever called him osamu, at work he was dazai, chuuya called him an array of insults and at home he was 'samu. for someone so clever, and who always has a plan, he would have never planned to upset you. his mind began a competition of what voice inside his head could say 'no' the loudest to every possible solution he came up with.

if he was thinking rationally, he would have known you just wanted two peaceful minutes after a stressful day. he waited until he could hear you turn the shower on before quietly leaving the house after taking some leftovers out of the fridge for you to see when you come out to eat.

he wandered up and down yokohama's streets a little, feeling regretful. he knew you wouldn't hold a grudge but he wasn't going to forgive himself. you always treated him so well, never making him feel like a 'demon prodigy' or half of the 'double black' duo, and you unknowingly proved odasaku wrong. he always thought of how oda's words that claimed "there is no place in this world that can fill your loneliness" died the moment he met you.

osamu checked the time, thinking he should head back. he knew it would take more than a silly keychain of toro inoue to save his case yet he still bought one as he passed a corner shop.

arriving back home, you walked out of the bathroom door as he took off his shoes. he quickly shrugged off his coat and rushed towards you, pressing a chaste kiss to your hairline with a whisper of "give me 5 minutes, love." and hurrying to the bedroom and bathroom to get changed and have a shower - knowing it will boost his chances of getting you to cuddle with him as he apologises.

scrolling on your phone on the couch, you heard soft footsteps plodding over. a man who resembled an ashamed dog with his tail between his legs carefully sat down next to you. not looking up from your phone, you could feel his sorrow radiating off of him.

"darling, you know i-" you cut him off, "'samu, it's just been a long day." you responded calmly, looking up at him before a faint smile tugged at his lips. he could tell you were feeling better and wrapped his arms around you. falling down so that his back was laying on the couch and holding you on top of him.

"i'm sorry" he sprinkled in hundreds of times through peppered kisses on your head. giggles filled the room as he wriggled you around, smiling and forgetting about a silly frustration.

whoops!! accidentally forgot this is a blog with silly little fanfictions - consider this an apology pretty pleaseeee also: sorry for not chatting with my mutuals recently! life got in the way and shit hit the fan for a second!!

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu #osamu dazai #bungo stray dogs x reader #dazai x reader #dazai #dazai bsd #dazai osamu x reader

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sytoran · 11 months

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𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋'𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄 | 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐧𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐭.𝟒

The inevitable occurs and Natasha ends things with you. Now, separated by galaxies and worlds, there’s no chance of ever being connected again, not by a long shot. Until now.

pairing: goddess!natasha x dom!human!reader

note: reader has a penis. this is the fourth chapter of the goddess!nat universe!! i am sorry this took so long, but i was taking my time to not stress myself out too much. i hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

word count: 2.7k

series m.list | main m.list | join the taglist | AO3

Previously…

The inevitable occurs and Natasha ends things with you. Now, separated by galaxies and worlds, there’s no chance of ever being connected again, not by a long shot. Until now.

Now, one month later…

Music thrums in your bloodstream, your head spinning. The flashing fluorescent lights blind your vision at sporadic intervals and you feel like you’re floating above the ground.

“Another,” you rasp to the dark-haired bartender, slamming down an empty shot glass. “Keep ‘em comin’.” Your eyes dart around the close-bodied pack in the middle of the bar, drunken whoops and cheers sounding as girls press against each other.

The whiskey burns in your throat as the DJ picks up the beat. Inside the hazy mess of purple-shrouded figures in the crowd, only one catches your eye. She’s into the music, trailing her hands over her body and swinging her hips in time to the music. The people around her can’t touch her bubble.

Before your clouded brain registers a fraction of your stupid actions, you down the next shot and walk up to her.

You’re not completely stupid, though. You’ve made an effort to dress nice, a cream-coloured collared shirt. Natasha said you looked amazing in those. You’ve put on your new rings. The ones that you bought with Natasha’s money. You’ve been hitting the gym, lifting weights and working your muscles. To take your mind off Natasha fucking Romanoff.

It doesn’t work, though. It never works.

“Hey,” you say to the dancing woman. Her eyes are closed, eyelashes fluttering, like Natasha when she slept in your embrace. “What’s up?”

She doesn’t seem to hear you, despite your relatively close proximity, perhaps because the music is too obnoxiously loud. Or at least, that’s what you think before the woman is beckoning you closer with a finger. Bossy. Just like Natasha.

You take another step towards her, then another step. She guides your hands to her waist, then with the drop of a beat, she spins around and presses herself flush against you, ass grinding up and down against your crotch area.

The arousal hits you, and a low growl catches in your throat. Seductive, just like Natasha, because she was the Goddess of–

You haul yourself out of that spiral before it can take you on an unwanted trip down memory lane. You needed to forget. And the gorgeous woman putting herself up for grabs in front of you seemed like a very good distraction.

You splay your right hand over her thinly-clothed stomach, hearing her little gasp at your warmth and requited boldness, while your left-hand works its way through her hair and tugs on it. Her reaction is exactly as desired, a low hum of desire like music to your ears, and the way she’s eagerly grinding on your growing bulge is certainly not something you’d complain about.

“Wanna step outside for a little bit?” You ask lowly, dipping your head down to drag your teeth lightly along her ear.

—

“Oh, fuck! Please!”

Her moans bounce off the walls of the dingy alleyway, as you thrust into her. You let her arms wrap around the back of your neck, her grasp tightening with each of your ministrations. Sandwiched between your body and the brick wall was her writhing figure, squirming as your hands supported her up.

The two of you hadn’t even made it two blocks away from the bar, to her apartment which was not too far away – the result of unbridled, alcohol-induced lust was a dimly-shrouded alleyway with two bodies desperately seeking warmth for one night.

Even as you had your cock inside her, feeling how wet she was for you, it didn’t feel right.

The noises she made were too high-pitched, too grating on the ears. Natasha’s ones had sounded heaps better; with the smoky husk that grew more breathless as she called out your name.

Even as she had her hands wrapped around your back, it felt wrong.

Her nails were too short and she was gripping at the fabric on the back of your shirt, tugging at all the angles that made it uncomfortable. Natasha had been so much more different, digging crescent-shaped imprints into the back of your neck that hurt so good.

Nevertheless, you tried your best to make the experience enjoyable. You swear you fucking tried.

“Let me,” you whispered into her ear, taking her hands off your back and placing them above her head. “Y-yeah, please,” she whined in response, but you barely heard her.

You stepped closer to the wall, pushing yourself farther inside her. Distracting yourself by using your free hand to grope at her breasts through the fabric, then running your palms over her hardened nipples.

Fuck, even her breasts couldn’t compare to Natasha’s.

Tears prickled at the back of your eyes, burned like gasoline, because what the fuck had you done to deserve this? Lose the ‘love of your life’ one night, get shit-faced the next day, and end up with your cock inside some woman whose name you didn’t even know.

Even as you sloppily thrust into her, try to forget, try to forget, it can’t work. It won’t fuckin’ work. It would never work, because no one could ever be Natasha.

God, she had taken you on the biggest thrill of your goddamned life, then stopped the rollercoaster while you were suspended midair.

And there you were, hanging above the world with no safety net, and you were oh so lonely.

“Oh please, more,” the woman cries, moving her hips to chase her high, her hands on your clothes again. What the fuck? “Daddy!” she shrieks, once, at a certain deeper thrust, and you pull out faster than you ever have before.

The vision of you and Natasha on that beach in Malibu flashes before your eyes like a movie screen, and the light reflects of your empty eyes.

“Has the Goddess of Lust never called anyone daddy?” you had asked, trying to make sense of her seemingly unorthodox shame at using that title on you.

“It’s complicated,” Natasha had replied, squirming under your inspective gaze. She had trailed her hand down to your cock again, but you had denied her of that pleasure. “We’re not done here, sweetheart.”

“Fine,” Natasha had grumbled, adorably pouty. “That’s the first time I've ever called it out, like, in the heat of the moment. I'm always the one doing the seduction and the flirting, so I call my partner that if I think they'd be into it. It's never been… spontaneous, I guess."

“Oh,” you replied then, softly, trailing her rib with a gentle finger. “I think I quite like it.”

Fuck, you didn’t ‘quite like it’ anymore. You hated it, fucking hated it, hated you ever got attached to anything like that. Malibu seems like a distant fantasy, the grains of sand on the beach falling through your fingers like those in an hourglass.

What could’ve happened if you and Natasha had more time? If she hadn’t broken it off? Would you have married her? Could you two have been truly happy?

“No, please, I was so close,” the woman from the bar whines, clinging onto you, suffocating you. You took a step back, eyes wide, feeling like you were in a state of psychedelia.

The woman’s hair wasn’t the right shade of brown. Her green eyes looked like fool’s gold compared to Natasha’s kaleidoscopic ones. She was wrong, so wrong.

“I can’t,” you breathe, feeling your heart thudding against the cages of your chest, screaming to be let out. Your chest heaves with desperation, eyes wide and flitting. You pull up your pants, button your shirt shakily. “I can’t do this, I’m sorry.”

Everything was wrong. You weren’t okay. You just needed Natasha, you just needed her.

“What?” the woman responds, stepping away from you, looking at you like you were some lost animal. Maybe you were, trembling in the cold night air, pathetic and pitiable. At the knowledge that you weren’t joking, she lets out a half-assed scoff.

“Fuckin’ loser,” she calls out in contempt, her sharp voice echoing in the alleyway as she stalks away, and you slide down the wall with a wracking sob.

Natasha wasn't just different from any other woman you could be with — she was other-wordly, metaphorically and physically, and no one would ever be able to come close.

You sit there, crying into your hands, wondering how much of a fool you probably looked like.

Natasha had chewed you up and then spat you out, leaving you on the graffitied path of a dingy alleyway: A disfigured shape of the person you once were, just waiting to be crushed once more.

—

The Goddess of Lust sits upon her throne, a falsified smile on her breathtaking face. Her eyelids flutter in practiced motion, so innocently charming. She twirls a strand of hair between her fingers, just like she was taught.

“So, you’ll agree to this deal?” she asks, especially softly, making her voice a little more husky than it naturally was.

The men before her all nodded desperately, prey to her thrall like lambs to the slaughter. Fuck, men across the universe had one thing in common and that was their unbridled horniness. “Of course, Goddess, as long as you, uh, give us a little bonus.” A bold one added, not even trying to hide the sexual innuendo.

Natasha wanted to rip someone apart, but all she did was sweetly plaster a smile across her delicate features and nod in faux bashfulness.

She tunes out the mindless drivel of business in the works and plans to be carried out for the betterment of her kingdom. It was worse than watching paint dry.

Suddenly, a jolt of nausea hit her and she jerked in her throne.

“Is something the matter, Goddess Natasha?”

The Goddess of Lust swallows harshly, her stomach lurching with each passing second. “I- uh, I think I need some rest, that’s all,” she says, forcing a smile through gritted teeth.

“But we’re not done discussing the-”

Natasha scoffs, ignoring the searing pain to spit out her next words with venom. “I suggest you make your way out of my palace before I ensure you never step foot into my kingdom again.”

At that, the man who had been speaking to her turned flushed with irritation but bit back his words. He shook his head at the rest, leaving resolutely with his ego bruised.

The moment the men were out of her sight, Natasha teleported to the bathroom in her master bedroom and positively threw up in the toilet bowl, tears in her eyes. Was this the consequence of her actions? To suck up to shitty men and feel like a pile of shit?

Come to think of it, Natasha hadn’t felt this sick only until the two of you had been split apart a month ago. On some days, she would not stop throwing up, or her toes would grow numb, or she would get that sour, metallic taste in her mouth that made her want to throw up all over again.

It was downright ridiculous. The only types of people with these urges were women from Earth who were preg-

Oh no.

Natasha sinks down onto the cold marble of her bathroom floor, hand gripping at the side of the gold bathtub. She feels sick, all over.

Oh, hell fuckin’ no.

There was no way. There was just simply no way that this was happening right now. Because she had lost you. The mere thought of being tied to you in that sort of way was out of the question.

With another snap of her fingers, Natasha materializes in front of Stephen Strange’s castle. She probably looked ridiculous, tears staining her face while in a fancy dress, showing up on the doorstep of a friend she hadn’t seen in ages.

Strange was the God of Time, but it was more than well-known he had been a miracle surgeon, a lifetime ago. When the door opened, Natasha’s tears were welling up, and immediately the dark-haired man stepped aside to let her in.

“What’s the matter, Nat?” he asked softly. The Goddess sniffs, ragged breaths shaking her whole body. “I have a little medical issue.” she replies despondently.

“Why didn’t you go to Helen? You know she’s the Goddess of Health,” Strange says, stepping back slowly, then turning around and gesturing for Natasha to follow. As he begins walking up the steps, he continues. “Or Shuri, for that matter. Goddess of Geniuses. There’s no better bet than her, am I right?”

As they enter a room with medical equipment, Natasha sighs. “This is a special case. Something that I don’t want to make public, even if it is confirmed to be true.”

“Oh,” the God says thoughtfully. “I’ll do my best, in that case.” He moves to grab a device from the table, but

“I’m sorry, Stephen. It’s just…… I don’t want all that. Can you just…… you know,” she asks, trying to force a lopsided smile onto her face, to ease the growing tension.

The God looks taken aback for a moment, before putting down the device and nodding in agreement. He closes his eyes, and gradually a golden light encases the room, warm and inviting.

Sparks fly, swirling from the walls before they encircle Natasha. Glowing brightly, swimming with power.

There are two heartbeats, one is hers and one is Strange’s, both strong and steady. But there is also a third one, with weaker and slower thuds.

Strange waves his hand and opens his eyes. The lights fade into nothingness. There is a moment after that, when Natasha locks eyes with him, that the galaxy hangs on its axis and everything becomes nothing.

“Natasha… you’re pregnant.”

—

Stumbling into your apartment with your head spinning, you unbutton your shirt and shrug it off, tossing it somewhere into the darkness of your home.

You had far too many drinks than what was considered acceptable, and it was 3.47 am. At least, that’s what the numbers on your phone told you. Maybe it was 7.43 am. Ah, you wouldn’t fuckin’ know. You couldn’t read the numbers with your dizzied vision.

Rubbing at your nose and then sniffing loudly, you almost trip over the leg of a strewn chair as you reach for the light switch. Right, the chair you had thrown across the living room when you had a breakdown that morning. Well, yesterday morning.

You cough out, hands gripping the wall for support, and your throat is too fucking raw and your eyes well up for the umpteenth time. “I’m pathetic,” you whisper to no one in particular. Your shaking hands finally find the light switch and you flick it on.

“At least you’re self-aware. Because you look like shit.”

You leap backwards at the sound before you, cursing as you knock into the chair again and fall over.

The lights flickering on reveal a man dressed in a dark green robe, a horn-shaped gold ornament on his head. He looks at you with a sadistic smirk playing on his lips, eating a slice of — was that your fucking leftover pizza?

“Who- who are you,” you breathe out, absolutely convinced you were just hallucinating. This felt oddly reminiscent of the time Carol had scared you in your office, except this man made your stomach churn in the worst ways possible.

He dusted off his clothes of the pizza crumbs, stepping up to you slowly, and you hate how your heart pounds in absolute fear. The man leans down to meet you at eye level, his black curls falling as his lips curve upwards.

“I am Loki, and I am burdened with glorious purpose. Some call me the fallen angel, or the devil’s incarnate, but I have and always will be a god,” he says, and the way he carried himself with such calculated ease and unnerving confidence had you frozen in place.

“Y/N L/N, today I grace you with my presence to strike a deal.” He continues, straightening up again to start pacing the room.

“And what makes you think you can do anything for me?” you ask, in disbelief, almost laughing at the absurdity of the whole situation. Your grin fades away at the seriousness behind Loki’s deceiving eyes.

He stops and turns around, locking eyes with you. Your heart rises. No.

“I can make you a God.”

taglist: @natashamaximoff69 @ohsugar-honey-iced-tea @fayhar @bibliophilicbi @screechcat @rowanyaboats @nahnahnahwhat @the-night-owl-blr @nemowevoli @wannabe-fic-reader @natsxwife @wandsmxmff @enanna-h @jemilyswhor3 @manyfandomsfanvergent @jlsammy23 @spongebobs-tie1 @kiyozoe6778 @lovebelt05 @girllcver @godsfavouritelesbiann @natashaswife4125 @ezay @forthelesbians @wlwfanfictionss @forthelesbians @cowxpoke @supaheroine @saqua14 @olsensnpm @33_mrvl @gay4ols3n @knellyc30 @eatkobi @stitch26gp @cqllarbqne @lovelyy-moonlight @diannaswhore @wandaromanoff69 @shuriri4life @inluvwithfictionalwomen @Cooldogs02

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did anyone notice loki was first mentioned in chapter 2?? i was foreshadowing or at least i tried to LMAO

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#natasha romanoff x reader smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #goddess natasha #natasha x y/n #bottom natasha romanoff #sub natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff #x reader #top reader #dom reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff angst #gxg smut #wlw smut #marvel smut #natasha romanoff x reader angst

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alessiasfreckles · 2 months

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amnesia - part 12 (ona batlle x alexia putellas x reader)

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11

a/n: sorry for the long wait, not much left now!

--------

The next morning, when you looked on your doorstep, you half expected to find Alexia or Ona stood there waiting. Instead, you found the usual pastry and drink, and couldn’t help but feel the smallest tinge of disappointment.

You’d been messaging both girls late into the night, about everything and anything, except for what had happened between the three of you. You knew you’d need to talk about it at some point, but for now, you just wanted things to be good. And so did they, by the looks of things. Accompanying the pastry and drink was a handwritten note from Ona, reading ‘Good morning chiqui! We hope you have a wonderful day today. Dinner is on us tonight x’. Interesting.

As you headed to your physio session, you tried to ignore the rising anticipation in your belly, the soft feeling of hope working its way through your body, eager to see the two women, but nervous as well. You didn’t even know if you would see them - there was a good chance they’d be outside for training, or in the gym, and so far all of your sessions had been in the smaller physiotherapy rooms.

When you arrived, the physiotherapist greeted you with an amused smile.

“You have some admirers,” she noted, nodding towards a beautiful bouquet of flowers that was resting in a vase. You couldn’t help but blush, rolling your eyes fondly at the gesture, already knowing who was behind it. “Today we’re in the gym, but you can leave your things here and we can get them when we’re done.”

“The gym?” you asked, surprised.

The physiotherapist nodded. “Yes. You’re making very good progress - you really only have minimal injuries considering what you went through, and we can move you to the real gym now. You should be able to go back to training with the others soon, maybe in a month or so. The biggest problem is the muscle atrophy from being in the coma, but once we get your body back to where it was before, you’ll be good to go.”

Your mouth hung open in shock, and your face suddenly felt very warm as you realised that tears were gathering in the corners of your eyes. You hadn’t expected to be back so soon, and you couldn’t wait to be able to train with the others again, to get out there and play football, the thing you loved more than anything else in the world.

As you walked to the gym, you wondered whether the rest of the team would also be in the gym or if they’d be outside. As you got closer, your question was answered - you could hear various sounds coming from the gym, shoes against treadmills, the thud of weights hitting the ground, but also the soft murmur of your teammates chatting, the occasional peal of laughter. That meant Ona and Alexia were probably there, too.

You took a deep breath before pushing open the door, trying to steel your nerves. At first, when you walked through, no one batted an eyelid, all preoccupied with their own routines. But then Mapi looked up, and yelled out your name.

“You’re back!” she grinned, running over to you. You felt a twinge of guilt, remembering that the two of you had been good friends before the accident, and that you’d been so caught up in everything going on with Ona and Alexia that you’d forgotten about your friendships with the other players. Soon enough you were surrounded by your teammates, including the two you were most nervous about seeing.

“I’m not back properly yet, but I’ve been promoted to physio in the gym, and I should be able to start training with you guys again in a month or so,” you told your teammates, blushing slightly at the attention you were getting. For some reason you couldn’t meet the two women’s eyes, too anxious about what you’d find there. The team let out cheers and whoops at your statement, people leaning over to ruffle your hair or give you hugs.

After a few minutes, the physiotherapist clapped her hands together. “Okay, okay, in order for her to be able to train with you again, she needs to get fit enough first, which she can only do if you all let her get on with her physio session in peace, okay?”

Your teammates chuckled and backed away. Only then did you look up at Ona and Alexia, who were watching you intently. Ona was biting her lip, a nervous frown etched into her forehead, whilst Alexia looked more stoic, trying hard not to let anyone see how desperate she had been to see you and how worried she was about you. When you met their eyes, you instantly felt calmer, the bundle of nerves in your stomach washed away and replaced by a soft pang of familiarity.

When you smiled at them, they both relaxed instantly, the line between Ona’s eyebrows melting away, Alexia’s eyes softening as she met yours. They smiled back, and you couldn’t help but think about how beautiful they both were, each in their own way.

As the physiotherapist went through your exercises your mind kept wandering, and you kept catching yourself looking over to where they were going through their workout, Alexia jogging on one of the treadmills, Ona over by the weights. Every so often they would look over at you and your eyes would meet, and you’d smile, blushing, and look away again quickly. It felt like having a crush for the first time.

You lingered when your session was over, reluctant to go so soon.

“Don’t forget, your things are in my office,” the physiotherapist reminded you with a knowing smile. “And don’t worry, we’ll be back tomorrow.”

At home, you put the bouquet in a vase, admiring the flowers. One looked slightly different to the others, but you couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Regardless, the bouquet was beautiful, and your stomach fluttered at the thought of the women buying you flowers.

By the time evening rolled around, you were starting to get hungry, and you wondered what Ona had meant by her note this morning. Just as you thought about messaging her to ask, the doorbell rang, and you opened it to find a delivery person holding a paper bag emblazoned with the logo of a nearby restaurant.

As you headed back inside your apartment, you took a quick picture of the bag and sent Ona a text.

[Y/N]: so this is what you meant with your note this morning :)

[Ona]: Yes!!

Along with her message was a picture. You recognised the background as her kitchen, and on the counter was a paper bag just like yours, the restaurant logo on the side.

[Ona]: Ale got food too, so we’re all eating together but apart :)

Warmth spread throughout your body, and you sent Alexia a quick message, sending her the same picture you’d sent Ona. As you opened the bag, your kitchen filled with the smell of food, and your stomach growled. You kept messaging both women as you ate, unable to deny the way your heart skipped a beat every time you received a new message from them, a smile glued to your face. By the time you fell into bed a few hours later, you’d exchanged hundreds of messages, and your cheeks hurt from smiling.

When you checked the front door the next morning, you were surprised to find a sweater next to the usual drink and pastry. Picking it up, you instantly recognised it as Ona’s, the one you would always borrow when you were at her place, the fabric soft between your fingers. You brought it up to your face and inhaled deeply, your lungs filling with the familiar scent of her perfume, and your mind filled with memories of the two of you.

You wore the sweater to your physio session, reluctant to take it off. When you arrived, the physio nodded over to the table again with a grin. “Another present for you.”

On the table was a protein shaker adorned with stickers of your teammates, and you couldn’t help but let out a laugh. Everyone had their own drinks tailored to their needs, and when you picked the shaker up you smiled as you realised they’d already filled it for you, a sticky note on the back telling you what was in it. You took the shaker into the gym with you, and when your teammates sidled in slowly, your eyes were on the door, waiting for Ona and Alexia to come through and see you using their gift.

When they did, their eyes scanned the gym, looking for you, and they immediately smiled when their eyes landed on you. You felt a rush at the sight of them and internally rolled your eyes at your behaviour - you were acting like a teenager with a crush rather than a grown woman. Still, you gave them a quick grin before going back to focusing on your therapy, and tried to ignore the way your heart had skipped a beat when they’d smiled at you.

#hannah writes fics #ona batlle x reader #woso x reader #woso #ona batlle #woso fanfics #woso imagine #ona batlle fanfic #ona batlle imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas fanfic #ona batlle x alexia putellas #alexia putellas x ona batlle #alexia putellas

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tripleyeeet · 9 months

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I'M STARVING, DARLING (8)

SUMMARY: For the first time in a long time, you and Astarion find yourself experiencing a sense of normalcy through the chaos.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,346

WARNINGS: Sexual tension (there always is with these two, whoops), a bit of bloodsucking, mentions of past abuse, angst if you squint.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry this took so long! I'm back from vacay at work and died for four days straight but now we're back! Sort of!

Updates from now on might not be as frequent but I'm going to try and post weekly; maybe on Saturdays?

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

“Don’t you dare.”

At this point, you’ve been lying there for what feels like hours, locked inside his arms —unable to bring yourself to move thanks to the comfort you feel surrounding your frame. A comfort you haven’t felt in a long time as you listen to the raspy way his voice tickles your neck, prompting you to sigh and give in, knowing that resistance is futile.

“They’re going to kill us, you know.”

Shifting awkwardly to face him, you try not to smile when he peaks one eye open, quickly closing it when he catches your own. “I’d like to see them try considering I’m already dead.”

“Yes, well I’m not.”

He huffs, clutching you further into his chest. “And that’s my problem?”

Rolling your eyes, you playfully smack his face before wriggling from his grasp, moving to sit upright with a groan. As you do, you quickly remember the events of last night and slowly roll your bare shoulders, feeling them click in and out of place before you raise your arms to the sky with a yawn.

Despite your better judgement, you stayed up far too late, enjoying the ever-growing intimacy the night had to offer. All of the lingering touches and longing gazes mixed between small bouts of passion and a rather lengthy dip in the tub were nothing short of worth it. In fact, if you were honest, it was better than anything you could’ve imagined. A proper break from the chaos you’d been unwillingly thrust into as of late.

You knew because of that it’d be hard to wake up. To let your mind move from fantasy to reality as the sun hit your face and the reminder of the oncoming doom filtered through your tired mind.

What you weren’t prepared for however was Astarion’s lack of restraint as his curious fingers begin to slip across your back. Carefully drawing up and down your spine, his fingers move in delicate motions, sending an onslaught of shivers down your spine that have him chuckling under his breath, shuffling closer toward your frame.

“If you told me last night I’d be enjoying such a delicious view…”

When you turn to give him a narrow-eyed look he trails off, looking at you with feigned innocence as he kisses your shoulder blade, allowing his lips to linger as you stare him down.

“You’re lucky you're cute.”

“And you’re lucky my blade’s still attached to my clothes. Otherwise it’d be at your throat threatening you back to bed.”

“Kinky.”

Immediately he snorts, pressing his forehead against your back. “For fuck sakes— come back to bed, please. I won’t ask you again.”

Biting your lip, you look around the room for a moment, picking apart the disaster of discarded clothes and muddied floors mixed between half-opened packs of supplies. Somehow despite the disarray of it all you still manage to smile as you crane your neck back, knowing that you should get up but ultimately give in to temptation, shuffling around Astarion’s frame to rest your head back on your pillow.

“Fine. You win.”

“Win?” He slips effortlessly into your side, leaning over to place a chaste kiss to your cheek before tracing the edge of your jaw with his finger. “And what pray tell is my prize?”

“My company.”

He scrunches up his face in false disgust, softly taking hold of your chin. “I was hoping for something a bit more exciting.”

It’s apparent then that he’s looking for a repeat of the hours prior. More moments of shared ecstasy before the inevitable shift in focus occurs and you’re most likely left wanting for another few weeks.

It’s tempting for sure. Especially when he slips a leg between your own, gently pushing his thigh against that spot that has you swallowing hard as you close your eyes.

“You and I both know—“

He cuts you off with a long kiss. One that’s devoid of anything other than the hunger of a starved man, reaching for that initial bite. It’s all tooth and tongue —a mess of movements that have him shifting upright to straddle your leg, breathing hard against your open mouth as he slots his teeth against your lower lip, making you groan.

“Sorry darling, what were you saying?” His grin is wicked when he pulls away, using the moment of dazed confusion to stroke your cheek as you open your mouth to speak. When nothing comes out he merely chuckles and places a much softer kiss in the same spot, resting against you for a second or two before pulling away.

“You’re awful.”

“And you’re easy,” he muses, moving his thigh against you. “Desperate even.”

Immediately, there’s a part of you that wants to argue that the feeling of your legs suddenly tightening around his own as your breath begins to falter isn’t the result of your desperation, but his. That you’re merely just a victim to his charms like always. However, the bigger part of you knows he’ll probably make you feel otherwise. More than likely, he’ll retort with something far too clever and make you second-guess your words.

So instead, you merely give in to his claims, humming quietly as he explores your frame, quickly laying waste to your neck with an open-mouthed kiss that makes you crave that feeling again. The cold nothingness brought on by his teeth latching against you.

Despite its somewhat violent cause, you still long to remember the feeling. The incomparable bliss of that icy jolt before total numbness occurs, leaving you lightheaded and empty. Suddenly, it takes over your mind, flashing amongst the current movements of his mouth trailing down your torso.

All of it’s enough to say his name. Quietly through the haze of desire, you feel him pause and look up, raising a brow at your heavy chest as you cup his cheek. “Are you hungry?”

He looks at you confused. “If this is some sneaky way of trying to get out of bed, I can assure you—“

“No.” You shake your head, moving it slightly to the side to showcase your throat. “Are you hungry?”

For a moment there’s an undeniable tension that grows. Festering amongst naked skin and scratchy sheets, it builds by the second, making your chest ache with the kind of nervous anticipation that has you wondering if maybe you shouldn’t have spoke.

He may be a vampire but thus far he’s managed to keep himself from feeding on you since that first time. Something you were both surprised and disappointed by, considering you had expected him to ask for more. Especially after the reaction of his previous feed. It was obvious that it was enjoyable. A moment of pure decadence that left him wanting more despite the consequences.

“Wait a minute, am I dreaming?”

His face is suddenly inches from yours, his breath wafting against your face through a grin that makes you chuckle. “No.”

“Are you sure? Because I’m sure I’ve dreamt of this exact scenario once or twice.”

“Have you now?”

He hums with a nod, leaning forward to kiss your cheek. “Yes. However, the only difference is that I was in a castle and Cazador’s head was on a stick in the corner.”

You snort and wrap your arms around his head, pulling him closer. “Sorry to disappoint. Hopefully you can consider my offer the next best thing?”

“I suppose. But only because you were my first.”

First?

Immediately, you wonder if it’s a slip of the tongue —another one of his flirtatious lies sent to woo despite already having you. Given the nature of his past, it wouldn’t be all that surprising. Considering his role under Cazador’s thumb was to charm and lure, you know that lies like this are still second nature. A mechanism of lust ingrained into his psyche.

Plus, it’s not like it’s possible for you to actually be his first. Having spent most of his time in spaces like this, a bit of bloodletting was bound to happen at some point. It was inevitable really when you think of Astarion’s voice and face and overall ability to manipulate.

Surely it’d be hard to resist. But then it dawns on you —the severity of his abuse. The tightened leash so carefully tied around his neck for hundreds of years. There’s no way Cazador would’ve allowed him such pleasantries. Despite his efforts —despite the countless opportunities to take his fill, it quickly becomes apparent that he wouldn’t.

Because he couldn’t.

Because despite the allowance to explore the city, he was still considering nothing.

It makes your heart simultaneously skip and break, watching the sudden nervousness that clouds his features. The way his cheeky grin sort of falls out of place, showcasing an underlying fear that has him licking his lips and searching your face.

“Is that true?”

All he does is nod his head, looking at you with such sincerity that the only way you’re able to respond is to inhale slowly. To stop and stare and subtly nod back, hoping that he understands.

When he does you’re met with nothing but anticipation. A breathless series of moments leading up to Astarion’s mouth against your throat, warming up the skin with languid licks that have you closing both your eyes, waiting for the pain.

“I don’t understand what I did to deserve you.”

The edges of his teeth scrape gently over your skin, making you swallow and sigh, unable to answer because you’re too busy preparing. Too busy expecting the pain before it eventually subsides into that numbness you so desperately crave.

“Thank you, for this. Truly.”

His voice feels like velvet on your skin. The way it coasts the expanse of it in the softest of praise before it’s surpassed by that first initial jolt, ripping through your flesh in one quick push. Groaning lowly, you feel the presence of his teeth slide inside before you can even process, his lips haphazardly slotting over top to suck.

Without much warning you find yourself lost. Laying slack against the bed, unable to even bring yourself to grab his hair like the first time, you merely ride the wave of pain and pleasure that repeatedly breaks against you. Allowing it all to sink in with a quiet hum that has him smiling against your throat, lapping up bloodshed after bloodshed until he hears the door crash open.

“It's way past sunrise what the hell are you —oh fucking— Astarion, seriously?”

Both of you look over in horror to see Karlach looking down at the floor —her one hand covering her face as she disapprovingly shakes her head, realizing what she’s just witnessed.

Upon noticing, you know she isn’t all that surprised —just disappointed. A feeling that makes you sick to your stomach as you work to sit up, swearing under your breath and reaching for the nearest sheet despite your head starting to spin.

“I know we’ve been without proper shelter for months but for god's sake Karlach doors exist for a reason!”

Mortified, you look between them as Astarion scolds, noticing the subtle smirk that rises over Karlach’s lips. “Well, maybe if the two of you got up when you were supposed to instead of lying around sucking each other off I wouldn’t have to fucking come up here in the first place!”

“To be fair, we never got to the part where I suck him off.”

Immediately, Karlach groans while Astarion snorts, prompting you to press your lips together to suppress a laugh as the energy in the room shifts toward your favour.

“You two are just —just… come downstairs, please. Gale was supposed to cook breakfast but his hand’s still sore from the fight yesterday.”

“What the hell does that have to do with us?” Astarion asks but unfortunately, you already know the answer.

“You know how protective he gets over the cooking duties.” Annoyed, Karlach rolls her eyes, dropping her hand from her face to motion to you. “He won’t let anyone else but Blood-Bag over here do it.”

Both of you groan but relent, telling Karlach you’ll be down soon before she grumbles a low you better be before shutting the door.

When she’s gone you let out a sigh of relief, moving to sit up and shuffle towards the edge of the bed, trying your best to ignore the aching in your neck and the piercing gaze of Astarion’s frustration honing in on his handiwork.

“Don’t even think about it,” you tell him then, narrowing your eyes at the hunger that lingers beneath the surface, threatening to rise all over again at the sight of your bloodied skin.

Despite this, you know he’s most definitely thinking about it. Intensely and angrily, it’s probably the only thing he’s thinking about as he watches you push off the bed and move to your pack to grab a washcloth.

“Can’t I just finish you off?”

As you wipe down your neck, watching the way he frowns at the waste of blood you groan. “Astarion—“

“Please?”

He’s at your side in an instant, wrapping his greedy hands around your waist, pulling you in all over again. Convincing you that despite the importance of your compatriot’s breakfast, his fill still reigns supreme.

“Fine but—“

“I promise to return the favour.” He cuts you off with a smirk. One that’s laced with lust and quickly finds its way back to its home, stopping at the entrance with bated breath.

You can’t help but roll your eyes through your suppressed grin in response, feeling his fangs hit your neck only to stop when the door rings out in a series of knocks causing you both to close your eyes and groan, knowing it’ll have to wait till later.

A fact that stirs an anger in both of you as you begrudgingly clean and throw on your clothes, attempting to ignore all the tension as you head downstairs to the communal kitchen space.

Inside there’s about half a dozen bodies, slaving over pots and pans and chatting with their peers as they await their meals. In the corner, Gale and Shadowheart stand chatting amongst themselves, unaware of your presence until you’re standing before them, hands crossed grumpily over your chest.

“Ah! About time you two showed up! We were beginning to think you’d abandoned the crew —or worse.”

“What could possibly be worse than leaving all of you behind?” Astarion asks dully, prompting you to shoot him a glare that has Shadowheart cocking her head.

“Where’s Karlach? Did she find you?” she asks.

Both of you nod, trying your best not to reveal the events of her findings before quickly changing the subject, signalling Gale to go into some long-winded rant about the importance of breakfast.

After that Astarion zones out completely. Standing alongside you, you can tell his mind is elsewhere as you and the wizard discuss the various ingredients you have on hand, working together to ultimately decide on a simple breakfast hash you could’ve easily whipped up without the lecture.

“Do you want me to supervise or?”

You shake your head. “Seriously Gale. I’m fine. I’ve been cooking since I was five. Go rest with the others.”

It takes some further reassurance; mostly from Shadowheart who insists that you’re right because of how starving she is. But eventually, he manages to set aside his pride with a sigh, muttering something about spices before being dragged away, leaving just the two of you.

“I swear I’ve never seen a more uptight wizard.” Astarion shakes his head while you wander over to the nearest prep table, producing a cutting board and a blade from Gale’s leftover pack. “I mean, I know they’re all pretty tightly wound but him—“

“Can you start peeling potatoes for me?”

He looks at you like you’ve just insulted his character. With widened eyes and open lips, he takes a minute to look around the room to see if you’re speaking to someone else before he realizes he’s the only one there. “Me?”

“Yes, you. C’mere.”

He does, but only to further stand there and stare, letting out a laugh. “Oh darling, I don’t cook. Hunt, yes, but obviously considering the fangs and all that you and I both know I no longer have a need for culinary skills.”

Ignoring his words you hand him the knife and motion to the spot next to you, watching as he reluctantly obeys. “Peel these then cut them into chunks about this big.” You show him the sizing with your fingers, hoping he’s smart enough to understand before tossing a couple of potatoes in front of him. “Then cut these peppers about half that size.”

As you hand over the peppers, Astarion continues to look at you in disbelief. “You can’t be serious, darling.”

“Dead, actually.” You grin mischievously, procuring some eggs that Gale managed to trade off of one of the other cooks before you arrived along with a bowl. “Besides, I recall a moment earlier when you said you’d return the favour?”

“Sexually,” he states. Then, he grabs the nearest potato and begins to peel, shakily slicing off a piece of potato skin. “Also, if I recall we didn’t even finish your end of the bargain.”

“Yet.”

Realizing that you’re right, he merely huffs and continues to peel, wreaking havoc along the knuckles of his fingers in the process.

It makes you frown, watching him struggle as you crack your eggs and mix, remembering that he probably hasn’t done this in years. For the last two centuries, he was too busy hunting whatever he could find underground, desperately consuming whatever crossed his path —meaning he probably hasn’t used a knife for anything other than violence since before he was turned. A depressing fact that has you reaching for his hand and examining his wounds with tired eyes.

“Can I show you how to hold it?”

There’s a moment where he goes to protest but ultimately accepts, looking at you half-annoyed as you explain the angle at which the knife should sit in his hand and the amount of pressure you should use.

“I don’t know why you insist on having me help. I don’t eat any of it.”

As he speaks he still takes your advice, letting the knife carefully slide across the potato, avoiding his knuckles entirely, making you grin. “It’s not about eating. It’s about making something you’re proud of.”

“How can you be proud of something that will no longer exist in an hour?”

You shrug your shoulders, unsure how to explain as the two of you then work in silence. As he peels and cuts, you prep your eggs before moving on to the sausage, dumping the meat into a pan with some simple spices that most definitely weren’t on Gale’s list.

You discover then how easy this all feels. From the moment you woke up, it’s as if you’ve been transported to a new life. One where the threat of danger is lost just like the stagnant tadpole behind your eye. In your mind, there’s not a care in the world other than Astarion’s knife skills and the hungry bellies that impatiently sit and it’s nice. Simple. The kind of life you quickly find yourself longing to have as the two of you continue to cook, occasionally joking about your peers between flirtatious touches and suggestive comments that have your chest feeling warm.

“You know with some practice you might actually be a handy prep cook.”

Bumping your hip against Astarion’s you notice a flicker in his gaze. One that’s filled with something foreign and happy as the two of you begin walking out your freshly cooked meal. “I’d say you’re wrong but considering my toxic pride, I’ll merely agree.”

Before you can respond the whole table catches your attention. Their eyes are wide with want as you set the bowl of hash at the centre of the table, barely blinking before they’re shovelling it onto their respective plates and expressing their thanks; filling Astarion with a new kind of pride that makes him fully understand just what you meant earlier.

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#i'm starving darling #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

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gallusrostromegalus · 2 months

Note

I must ask how my Most Favorite Boys, Jushiro Ukitake and Shinji Hirako, are doing in AEIWAM?

When Shinji returns to his post as Captain of the 5th after his exile, he is DETERMINED to not repeat his past mistakes and actually get to know the shinigami serving under him. He needs... Some kind of event, something people will voluntarily attend, where they'll tell him about themselves, and with a bit of structure because he is an awkward sod, and social interactions need RULES, DAMMIT-

"Now hang on-" says Shinji after staring at the blank office wall in silence for the last thirty minutes. "-that's not a bad idea!"

"...Is he okay?" Lieutenant Momo asks quietly.

"Oh yeah, he's always a little freak. Talks to himself and gets a lot out of the conversation." Also Lieutenant Hiyori nods. "You don't need to worry until he breaks out the craft supplies."

"He just pulled out a bunch of markers and construction paper." Momo pointed to their captain as he scribbled furiously on the paperwork he was ignoring.

"Aw. Fuck." Groaned Hiyori. "Well this is gonna be cringe as hell."

***

A few nights later, most of the fifth division assembled in the auditorium, slightly confused, but they had been promised there would be no additional work from this meeting, and there was an open bar, so they were in figurative and literal high spirits.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Fifth Division, welcome to TONIGHT'S GAME!" A cheerful and showman-like voice called out over the speakers, and the stage curtain rose to reveal a brightly colored game show stage where there had not been one before.

"Tonight's lovely contestants are- all the way from payroll, it's Fifth Division Tenth Seat Tenya Danshin!" The voice called out as the familiar face of their payroll and scheduling manager trotted out onstage and took his place behind the first of three podiums. There was some scattered and genuine, if confused applause from the audience.

"He's Big, he's Bad, he's just a little Bizarre, he's Josuke Araki!" The voice continued as a notably tall and muscular member took his place behind the middle podium with a wave and broad grin. There was more clapping and a few cheers this time.

"Currently being dragged onstage by my lovely assistant, it's my second favorite Lieutenant, Hiyori Sarugaki!" The voice continued as Hiyori was wrestled onstage and behind the third podium by Momo. The audience whooped and snickered at the spectacle.

"FUCK YOU, YOU FREAK!" Hiyori roared, flipping off the audience and the figure behind the final podium on the other side of the stage.

"I'm your host, ME! I've been here the whole time!" Grinned Shinji, dressed in a rather snappy three piece suit and holding a microphone. "WELCOME, all my lovely division members and Hiyori, to Tonight's Game! Now, you all know how to play, right?"

"Um. No. Sorry sir." Muttered Tenya as Josuke shook his head.

"You didn't tell us shit!" Hiyori growled.

"That's RIGHT!" Shinji's Cheshire Cat smile shined under the spotlights.

"You see, I wanted to get to know everyone in the 5th a little better, and there is nothing quite like a game show to get people to reveal some truly startling sides of themselves, but playing the same game over and over would be boring! So, every night we play Tonight's Game, the game is a different game than last time, and the contestants will all start with blank slates!" He explained, entirely too pleased with himself. "So- the only way to win is by learning, the only way to learn is by playing, and the only way to begin is by beginning, so without further ado- Momo, will you please bring out THE LIE DETECTOR."

The small curtains at the back of the stage opened, and Momo rolled out a cart with a strange device covered in dials and switches with a long antenna and a large lightbulb on top.

"Thank you Momo! Now, the clever bastards in the 12th whipped this up for me so I have absolutely no idea how it actually works, but I am assured this is the latest cutting-edge in Veracity Technology. Let's turn it on and try it out! Tenya-!"

"Yes, sir!" Tenya snapped to attention. "No need to be formal, I'm only your host, not your captain right now." Shinji waved. "Tell me Tenya- Do you have any children?"

"I- Um, my wife and I have three children, two little boys and our infant daughter?" He stammered, confused.

DING! The Device charmed, light bulb lighting up bright green.

"That is CORRECT!" Shinji grinned. "You get a point!"

There was another chime as the screen on the front of Tenya's Podium lit up and displayed a "1".

"Oh, I see!" Laughed Tenya.

"Josuke!" called Shinji.

"Capt- Host?" Josuke stopped mid-salute.

"Very good! Tell me Josuke, do you live in the barracks?" Shinji asked with genuine interest.

"Uh, no. I live with my Mom." Josuke shook his head.

DING! Said the device.

"That is Correct!" Shinji nodded approvingly. "You get a point as well!"

"Oh, so, every time we tell the truth, we get a point?" Asked Josuke.

"Very quick on the uptake my friend!" Shinji winked. "Of course, as the game goes on, the questions are going to get much harder to answer Truthfully..."

Oooooooh! Gasped the audience, invested now.

"What happens if we lie?" Wondered Tenya.

"Even if we did- how would he fucking know?" Hiyori rolled her eyes.

"You can try it and find out!" Shinji grinned with more than a hint of Menace. "Hiyori! It's your turn!"

"Ugh. What?" She groaned.

"Tell me, When is my birthday?" Asked Shinji.

"I don't know and I don't care." She smirked, sticking her tongue out at him.

BZZRK! The Device buzzed angrily, and the light flashed red. OHH! laughed the audience.

"What the FUCK?" Yelped Hiyori.

"Ooh!" Shinji winced, thoroughly enjoying himself. "I'm afraid that is INCORRECT! According to the screen back here, you spent the better part of THREE MONTHS tracking down a specific part to repair my sound system and traveled halfway across the planet to deliver it personally to me on my birthday. So not only do you know, you DO care, and for that I'm afraid I'm going to have to dock you two points."

Hiyori's screen lit up and displayed a "-2"

"WHAT THE HELL?" Hiyori wailed. "You didn't even see me when I gave you that Banana Plug or whatever-!"

"I did not!" Shinji grinned. "-but The Device knows, and is infallible!" "That's terrifying!" Tenya laughed nervously. "Alright contestants, the questions are going to get harder now, so consider your answers to them carefully." Shinji warned, a finger up to his lips. "Contestants- does any of your underwear have holes in it?"

"...Can we refuse to answer on the grounds it might get us in trouble?" asked Josuke.

"Yes! But you won't get any points for that round, and you may not win our Lovely Prize this week. Speaking of- Momo! Will you please show our contestants what they're playing for this week?"

Momo emerged from backstage with a large, blank sign, which she turned over and held over her head for all to see.

AN EXTRA WEEK OF PAID VACATION

OHHH! exclaimed the audience, with a few audible mutters of Damn, a whole week? and How do you get on this show?.

"ALL MY UNDERWEAR HAS GOT HOLES IN IT!" Shouted Josuke, now with heavily-motivated enthusiasm. Laughter exploded out of the audience, thoroughly entertained.

DING! chimed the device, and the score on Josuke's podium went up.

"Josuke taking an early and shameless lead!" Beamed Shinji, delighted that his plan was working. "Tenya?"

"I-ah, I don't think so?" Tenya blushed. "I bathe the kids and get them ready for bed while my wife does the laundry." He tried to explain.

BZZRK! The Device contested, red light flashing and the audience howled with laughter.

"Uh-oh, that's Not Correct!" Grinned Shinji. "According to the device, a significant amount of your clothes have holes in them, and you don't notice because you get dressed in the dark. You didn't outright lie though, so you will only not get a point instead of a deduction."

"WHAT?" Yelped Hiyori, outraged.

"Yeah, that's fair." Tenya winced. "Seriously though- where does this thing get it's information from?"

"...Hiyori?" Shinji leered playfully at his lieutenant.

"Yeah, it's all got holes. They come that way- Two for my legs and one for my torso." Hiyori snarled.

DING! agreed The Device.

"That is *technically* correct, which is the BEST kind of correct! You get a point!" Shinji cheered, and so did the audience.

"FINALLY!" She shouted, but her eyes narrowed with competitive enthusiasm.

---

The game continued for an hour, with a mix of group and solo questions, but equal chances to score points awarded to all contestants. Josuke was shameless but ill-informed, causing him to fail several rounds, Tenya was honest even as his face flushed red and he crumpled behind his Podium. Hiyori did her best to be only as honest as she had to be, and as the game continued, they came to a three-way tie.

"Before we begin the final round-" Shinji said, intoning a gentle sincerity. "Contestants, you've been so honest with me. Like. Alarmingly Honest with me. So I need to be honest with you- I do know how The Lie Detector works."

There was a scandalized gasp from all three contestants and the audience.

"Okay- I *sort of* know how The Device works." Shinji admitted. "I don't know what 'Wiffy' is-"

"YOU MEAN THE FUCKING WI-FI?" Howled Hiyori.

"Oh, like you know how it works!" Shinji glared.

"It's using a radio frequency to transmit Data instead of an electrical pulses like internet usually does." She scoffed. "-AND I KNOW HOW TO PRONOUNCE IT!"

Shinji glared. "...I should deduct a point from you for insubordination."

"You can't do that, you're the Host, not the Captain!" Said Josuke cheerfully.

"Yeah, unless Host is a Military rank, it's arguing, not insubordination."

DING! Agreed The Device.

"DON'T GANG UP ON ME!" Shinji wailed. "Fine, fine. Anyway, I might not know how Why-Figh works, but I *DO* know how the device knows if you're lying or not. Would my Lovely Assistants please come to the stage?"

Momo emerged from backstage, wearing a labcoat and holding another device with an antenna that matched the Lie Detector, followed by a middle aged woman holding a Baby, an older woman, and Mashiro Kuna.

"Akkiko?" Tenya yelped, and his wife laughed manically.

"MOM??" Wailed Josuke.

"MASHIRO??" Hiyori bellowed, jumping up onto her Podium. "YOU SOLD ME OUT?!"

"FOR A BAG OF CORN CHIPS!" Mashiro cackled.

"YOU DIDN'T EVEN PAY HER?!" Hiyori howled at Shinji.

"She was gonna do it for free! I talked her UP to a bag of corn chips!" Shinji protested. "But YES! You've all been deceived! Hoodwinked!Bamboozled, even! Which brings us to our Final Question!"

The crowd roared with excitement.

"I started this game because I wanted to get to know everyone better- but I have to ask, how well do YOU know each other, and so I must ask you all if you know these people as well as they know you?"

There was a loud OOOH! of intrigue from the audience.

"Just to make it extra-exciting, all of these questions will be worth up to three points!" Shinji grinned, then slowly turned to the first Podium. "Tenya."

"Oh god." Tenya laughed nervously.

"Your lovely wife. You've been married for ten year now, so you theoretically know what she looks like, right?" Shinji teased. "So, for a potential three points and week of paid vacation- Do you know what color Akkiko's eyes are?"

Akkiko giggled, turning around as Tenya leaned as far forward on his Podium and squinted at her. With a deep sigh, he slumped over the podium in defeat.

"...I do not." He groaned and Akkiko cackled.

"That is CORRECT!" Shinji cheered.

"I'm not good with colors." Tenya tried to explain. "-this morning I actually asked her what color MY eyes are."

"YES! That's what I was waiting to hear!" Shinji shouted, pumping his fist in the air. "All three points!"

The audience cheered loudly.

Shinji turned to the next contestant. "Josuke."

"Oh no." Josuke giggled.

"What is your mother's favorite food?" Shinji asked.

Josuke stared blankly.

"SURELY you are not living in your mother's house and NOT COOKING FOR HER, are you?" Shinji asked with no small amount of menace.

"You're never going to get married if you can't cook!" Tenya nodded in agreement.

"I COOK!" Josuke protested. "...sometimes." he added, cringing.

"-So. What do you make for your beloved mother, who works so hard taking care of her adult son?" Shinji teased.

"LOTSA STUFF THAT'S WHY I DON'T KNOW!" Josuke wailed. "I COOK KATSUDON, I COOK RAMEN, I COOK CURRY, I COOK OMURICE- I EVEN LEARNED HOW TO COOK WESTERN FOODS LIKE LASAGNA AND CHILLI CHEESE DOG-! DING! Went the device, Josuke's mother holding the radio.

"Was your favorite in there Mrs. Akari?"

"Yes! I like Chili Cheese Dog." She smiled. "I always eat seconds!"

"YOU ALWAYS EAT SECONDS OF EVERYTHING I COOK I DON'T KNOW WHICH ONE YOU LIKE THE MOST!" Josuke wailed.

"That is also true! He is a very good cook! And single!" She nodded up at Shinji.

"-And he's single!" Shinji grinned at the audience, some of whom whistled back. "Three points, for your culinary skills! Which means we have a Tie!"

The audience tittered with speculation and excitement.

"...Hiyori." Shinji grinned.

"You're a dead man as soon as you sign off on my vacation time." She glared.

"I mean, I can end the game right now." Shinji wagged his finger at her. "-But I can't resist the opportunity to humliate you. Now, You and Mashiro have been living under the same roof for longer than Josuke and Tenya have been alive, so to be fair to them, I'll ask you about someone you've met more recently but should still know pretty well-"

Hiyori squinted at him.

"-What is Momo's Favorite Animal?"

"What?" Hiyori laughed. "-Everyone knows it's Penguins!"

"Really?" asked Josuke. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah, I didn't know that either and I've served under her for decades now!" Said Tenya.

"What? How do you guys NOT know that?" Demanded Hiyori. "Her phone background is a Rockhopper Penguin, she's got a Fairy penguin squeeze toy in her desk for really long phone calls and she's always talking about wanting to go to the Tokyo aquarium in the living world to see them in person! She's even got a HUGE collection of penguin plushies in her r-" DINGDINGDINGDINGSING!! rang the Machine as Momo furiously pressed the button, face red as a beet.

"Wow!" Shinji smiled. "I'm surprised! You seem to know Miss Hinamori really well!"

"Uh, duh? We're colleagues." Hiyori rolled her eyes.

Momo sighed with relief.

"Interesting! Follow-up question- What's Mashiro's surname?" Shinji asked.

Hiyori blinked. "...uhhhhhhhh..."

"You heard Kensei yell it at least six times a day for the last century you jackass!" Laughed Mashiro.

"UHHHHH..." Hiyori paled, and the audience roared with laughter.

"Hmm... I seem to remember you pretending you didn't care about my birthday, and yet, you do- For you to remember her favorite animal and in such detail, Momo must be VERY IMPORTANT to you!"

The audience giggled Momo turned scarlet again and slowly crumpled into a ball. Mashiro vibrated with excitement beside her.

"Yeah?" Hiyori glared at Shinji. "She's the smartest person in the whole damn division and does half your job for you? If I win, I'm giving the week off to her just to watch you flail around without her! No wait- I'll set up the webcam and we can split the week off, go to the aquarium AND watch Shinji squirm like a worm an a-! Uh? Momo? You okay there?" She asked, finally noticing Momo laying on the floor, borderline catatonic with embarrassment.

"This is FASCINATNG!" Shinji grinned. "You are apparently so immune to embarrassment that you have somehow made it bounce off you and target Momo!"

"What's to be embarrassed about? I like her okay?" Hiyori blinked. "She's great! I wanna work with her forever!"

Shinji leaned forward on his elbows, chin in his hands and stared at Hiyori, positively vibrating with excitement.

"What?" She glared.

"You are. SO CLOSE. To comprehending something." He said, wide-eyed and delighted. "It's fascinating to see someone on the precipice like this."

Hiyori stared blankly at him. clueless.

"So you like Momo. We've established that." Shinji said, attempting to throw her a bone. "H- how do you think Momo feels about you?" Hiyori slowly lowered her gaze to Momo. The entire audience watched in hushed fascination as Hiyori frowned at the situation, thinking hard-

"...Momo?" Hiyori's voice was suddenly nervous. "Do you- have I just been annoying you? Becuase I can stop-"

Momo Hinamori was abruptly on her feet, crouched atop the Podium, fists balled in the front of Hiyori's shushako, pulling the blonde's face up so it was mere inches from hers. "HIYORI SARUGAKI YOU ARE THE MOST INFURIATING WOMAN IN THE UNIVERSE!"

"Fuck!" Hiyori yelped. "I'm really sorry, I'll- I'll leave you alo-"

"I'LL TELL YOU WHAT YOU'RE GOING TO DO, MISSY!" Momo continued, grabbing Hiyori's face. "YOU'RE WINNING THIS GAME, YOU'RE SPLITTING THE WEEK OFF WITH ME, YOU ARE GETTING A HOTEL IN THE LIVING WORLD AND THEN *I* AM GOING TO-'

In the videotape of the game that mysteriously appeared in the ninth division later that week, the next forty-seven seconds of sound had been obscured by a single, loud, continuous "BLEEEEEEEEEEEEP!" sound, but Mashiro was visibly looking up some of the terms being shouted on her phone, Josuke's mother sprinted up to cover her son's ears to no avail, Akkiko was pointing between herself and Tenya with excitement, and Shinji's jaw fell so far open it looked like it had become unhinged from his skull.

"-AND IF EITHER OF US CAN WALK IN THE MORNING, THEN WE'RE GONNA GO SEE SOME PENGUINS!" Momo finished, staring Hiyori down with a terrifying blend of romantic fury and bloodthirsty lust.

Hiyori stared up, wide-eyed and expressionless, face clearly offline as she underwent several psychological and spiritual awakenings before her she slowly broke into a slow, stupefied grin "Oh you like-like me!"

"...Yes." Momo sighed, deeply pained and affectionate at once as the audience howled. "You're okay with... all that?"

Hiyori saluted Momo with an enthusiastic "-Yes, SIR!"

"NOW THAT'S WHAT I'M FUCKING TALKIN' ABOUT!" Shinji whooped with joy, jumping up and down, the audience on their feet with applause. "POINTS AND VACATIONS ALL AROUND, AND FOR BEING THE *MOST* HONEST, THE WINNER OF TONIGHT'S GAME IS MOMO HINAMORI!"

The audience cheered wildly as Momo scooped Hiyori up like a princess and carried her backstage.

"THAT'S IT FOR TONIGHT'S GAME!" called Shinji over the din. "GOODNIGHT EVERYONE, AND GOOD FUCKING LUCK!"

---

As for Jushiro Ukitake, he appears on a special guest episode of Tonight's Game with fellow Captains Soi Fon, Byakuya Kuchiki and Retsu Unohana to play "Never Have I Ever" and *that* episode is widely considered to be one of the most scandalous and unhinged of all the games on Tonight's Game.

#AEIWAM #An Elephant Is Warm And Mushy #Bleach #Bleach Fanfic #Shinji hirako #momo hinamori #hiyori sarugaki #jushiro ukitake #(well he get mentioned at the end)#Long post #I've been watching a lot of Game Changer and I occured to me that Shinji and Sam Reich have a lot in common #for those of who don't watch Game Changer: This is a parody of the second episode

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futurecorps3 · 1 year

Note

Hello my love! I have heard your call for Kaz requests and I have an idea rattling around in my head!

Could you maybe do a Kaz x fem!Reader where they're in their early 20s and have been together for years and overcome Kaz's touch aversion (bc our poor boy deserves some healing 😭)? But that's not the idea, the idea is that the reader hasn't been sleeping for a few nights and ends up getting hurt because of it? Could be from fainting and hitting her head, slow reflexes on a job, etc. I trust your brilliant mind!

I can't wait to watch you grow as a writer!!!! ❤️

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐧𝐮𝐦

Masterlist<3

Summary: The lack of sleep Kaz has been warning his girl about finally has consequences. Pairing: Kaz Brekker x fem!reader Warnings: Mentions of overwoking, lack of sleep, blood, a very angsty moody angry sad Kazzle, mentions of blood and lost of conscience. The usual crow violence! Lmk if I missed any. Word Count: 3.5K whoops Requested: Yes

A/N: IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG! :( I love the prompt, however and am very excited to work on this. Hope u like it nonnie and that last thing means the absolute world! <3

˚ · • . ° .

Now he knew he was in no position to demand her to rest. Kaz Brekker was known in his close circle for two things; killing whoever disrespected his love and always scheming. The electricity his brain consumed when plotting the next heist didn't even allow him to sleep when being tucked in with Y/N laying over his chest. But she never had the same issue before!

That's how it worked. She got mad because he wasn't sleeping and would reproach his ears off until he folded and left his papers to join her in bed. So, it was safe to say Kaz was startled when he noticed the absence of steps approaching his office. The clock read the time to be a quarter past midnight. He learned by endlessly scolding from you the hard way it was no use staying up late for a job when he had pretty much everything prepared, so he dropped everything and left to his room.

"Darling, are you-" his question was answered as he opened the door and saw her drawing on the little desk he got for her. "Hmm, hi love. It's quite early. What are you doing here?" Kaz wanted to laugh at that. Had she really lost notion of time that badly? "It's past midnight now, Y/N. What are you working on?" His shirt was discarded in some chair, along with his coat.

He was now in his dress pants and a black sleep blouse, leaning over the back of her chair to see the canvas. It was a picture of the sea, surely an image she hadn't been able to get out of her head after the quick trip you took to the docks with Wylan to ensure a better hiding spot, in case things went south on Saturday.

"I don't know if I'm getting the blues right... you know how it somehow turns gray when the day's rainy?" she wondered out loud. "Don't throw it away altogether, I know you're already thinking about it" "I'm not!" Y/N giggled, knowing fully her boyfriend could read her mind. "Fix it in the morning. Let's go to bed now, yes?" Kaz tried, tilting his head to her right side and nudging his nose a little on her cheek as she hummed in response.

It had taken a long time, many years, to reach these moments. Years of hoping she could one day have his arms draped around her waist in security, head on his chest without a care in the world, because all that really mattered was they'd be keeping each other warm with their bodies. Y/N was patient, not minding the baby-steps and Kaz's constant need to push her away because he thought she deserved better. Truth is, there was no one better for her.

Kaz had a hard time wrapping his head around this fact. Did you love him for him? A limping criminal who was too weak to even bear the thought of embracing you when tears streamed down your cheeks on a specially tough day? Why? It took convincing, long talks, difficult moments and even worse fights... but you made it.

She felt his steady heartbeat as they lay together in their silk black sheets, indulging in the beauty of it. Their breathings became one, and she swore there was no better place the saints could come up with as heaven. "Everything's ready?" "Yes, I figured I should come here with you instead of overthinking it all. I'll tell everyone the plan tomorrow and revise it again the day before" he took a deep breath, turning to face her and leaving a soft kiss on her lips.

"It's late, you don't seem tired" Kaz noted, Y/N's eyes nowhere near closing as they usually would by now. Her boyfriend, on the contrary, was starting to hide that beautiful icy green his irises held, then came a yawn to confirm his fatigue. "Rest, my love. I'm sure I'm not too far behind," she assured him, pecking his head as he lay on her chest now.

"Goodnight, Kaz".

˚ · • . ° .

It may as well have been minutes, or hours, days, for all she cared to reason. All she knew was that she couldn't sleep for the life of her. Kaz moved a lot in his sleep and after he lost hold of her, the night became a non-stop tossing and turning in their shared bed. She could hear the faint sound of carriages passing down their street, surely carrying some rich merchant who just had the night of his life betting or in one of the pleasure houses.

It had been a while since she felt this way. Pretty much every night prior Kaz offered her a permanent position on the crows after she worked with them was like this. The clock in their room, hanging on a wall distant from her, kept ticking and if it got quiet enough, she could've been able to hear the gears turning. Three in the bloody morning and Y/N had luckily gotten by far twenty minutes of sleep. The girl sighed and lay down again, looking up at the ceiling briefly before closing her eyes in hopes of resting a little more.

She didn't, not even in the days ahead. Kaz pointed out how he could feel her moving way more than usual as his a light sleeper, not blaming her whatsoever but more concerned as to what was keeping her up. Y/N didn't know either, so she figured solving it with Jesper's coffee and quick (very ineffective) naps on the couches and tables at the slat so she could at least be aware of the task at hand; the job.

The day came, and she felt very optimistic about it all. Truth is, Y/N loved dressing up with pretty dresses and daggers hidden around her thighs. She found some kind of satisfaction in keeping this knowledge to herself, the men and women throwing looks at her, completely unaware of how dangerous she happened to be. People on the streets knew her as the wild child... ruthlessly gorgeous, is what Kaz called her.

The girl had a habit of getting carried away in a fight. Too much anger and resentment for the past had to find an exit. It did when she killed, leaving a scared Jesper to deal with an even more scared Wylan who wouldn't dare look her in the eye for weeks after she kept on punching a man's face she saw was trying to kidnap a little girl right after a job years ago. Kaz helped and understood.

His revenge was calculating and took years in which she was by her side, but Y/N just couldn't help herself when it came down to the people who did unspeakable things to her. With the years, she got a hold of herself even though her nickname on the barrel stuck, adding "the crow queen" when word got around she was Brekker's girl. Now, she was still ruthless but way more cold-headed and grounded, Kaz's doing.

She wore a pink dress with embroidered roses around the floaty sleeves. Inej had a blue set of dress pants and shirt, long-sleeved as well as Nina sported a hot red strapless dress with a lot of cleavage. "We're a smoke show! Those fuckers will barely be able to keep their eyes off of us." The last one squealed, adjusting her hair "That's the point" Inej giggled, agreeing clearly as she looked at herself in the mirror.

Y/N laughed at the thought and her head pained a little; Girls on those big houses did the very same thing they were doing now, with very different intentions. Those ladies wanted to find a rich husband, and they'd be set. Her friends were dressed to kill, and so was she. A little fucked up version of a cliché she, too, wished to live when she was little. "I hope these sleeves aren't an issue" she wondered, picturing them getting stuck on their knife or maybe being too tight to throw a punch.

"It's a simple job, love. There's nothing to be worried about! Also, I can bet on my life Kaz is going to be drooling over you when he sees." Nina smiled, playfully smacking her shoulder. "Even more so if you fight in that, he's going to go insane" spoke the Suli girl with a giggle "Kinky" the heartrender added, making the girlfriends break in a fit of laughter. Nina was right, Y/N knew, but decided against confirming her friend's assumptions.

Her eyes felt droopy from the obvious lack of sleep but nothing a cup of coffee couldn't fix, right? She walked down the stairs and into the makeshift kitchen they owned, heating up some. The smell filled her body with pleasant chills, and suddenly some more energy invaded her. "Wacha got there?" asked Wylan, who was quietly sitting behind her. How long had he been there? How did she not notice?

"Coffee, want some?" "Right before a job?" "Yes, I haven't been sleeping too well the last couple of days". Certain zemeni voice erupted from outside the room, exclaiming a brief "Neither have us!" that had the merchling blushing like he got some contagious disease. Y/N delivered a pat on his back, and coffee in hand she exited the room.

Kaz gathered everyone in the living room, to revise the plan once more. "...so make sure you cover that corn-" He stopped mid-sentence when Y/N came into view. Her hair looked polished, but she could be bald for all he cared. The dress complimented her figure beautifully, adjusting in the right places, which to Kaz was any place, really. Inej and Nina giggled and high fived. "Go on, love." She smiled, ready to listen attentively at his plan even though he made sure to walk her through it personally a few hours ago.

As Y/N brushed next to him, he grabbed her hand to make her stop right before she got seated. "You're stunning. Is it comfortable?" he whispered, looking at her with a certain glow in his eyes he once thought lost. "Yes, dear. Thank you" she pecked her boy's cheek and took a seat behind him. He went on with the plan, and everyone seemed pretty much ready to leave.

So they did.

˚ · • . ° .

"Darling, watch out!" Jesper exclaimed, shooting at a man behind Y/N. Things went south, they did. In the hiding spot Wylan and the girl had settled; some dreg must've ratted, they guessed. An ambush from some new-forming band trying to get known by stealing from The Crows themselves, pathetic. Inej had gotten there to help, but Y/N and Jesper insisted she went back and warned the others so to spare them from possible damage.

The wild child and Jesper were a great team, who knew a durast and an avid fighter could take down men three times their size and weight? They proved on many occasions to be useful for situations as these, so there was no problem. They'd be out of there in the blink of an eye. Around ten people had arrived at the scene, and four remained, Y/N realized as she took a kick in the gut and fell on her back, jumping back on her feet with a flip.

Jes' revolvers did the job for two others as she managed with the guy in front of her. "Come on, big guy, that can't be the best you got, aye?" she smiled wickedly, taunting the man with a daring hand despite the very much broken rib she could feel. The dress was ruined with blood she was sure wasn't hers, shreds ripped it off so largely one of her legs was now exposed.

He lunged forward, coming with a dirty blade to her throat, and she skipped it. Came again, now, aiming for her arm and she skipped it again, landing a kick on the throat that left him coughing on the ground. Y/N crouched to his level and grabbed him by the hair, sliding a knife in the same spot, careful not to cut. She noticed a tattoo on his neck, a beaver. Couldn't help but laugh. "You tell your boss not to mess around with us, or next time he won't get too lucky as to get less than half of his men in one piece. And change the tattoo, a bloody beaver? Seriously?"

The man nodded furiously, tripping on his way out of the warehouse. "A beaver? Their thing is beavers?" Jesper laughed, putting his babies back in place and making sure the painting they had stolen was still with him. "I know, couldn't pick a funnier thing" she answered, giggling. Looking around, something was odd. Yes, Y/N was not very well educated and lacked the month of college her best friend had, but she thought she counted four men remaining in this spot of the building.

The other six lay limp near the door, and there were two next to them, plus the one who ran with the message. One was missing. "Hey Jes I think we're missing one" "What do you mean? There's no one here". She stopped listening and her world went quiet when he met his yes. A lanky, tall figure could be seen next to a stack of boxes on her right, a flicking light revealing him for brief intervals of time. Ugly motherfucker carrying a gun that pointed straight at her.

The blood started gushing out of her leg before she could even react. "Too slow" she faintly heard. He wasn't stopping either; shooting at various places until one loud boom next to her made it cease. Was concrete always this cold? Oh, she was now feeling Jesper's soft suit. Warmer. "Is that wool?" Y/N asked and realized her voice sounded a little quieter than she meant. "Yes, it is doll. Open your eyes for me, okay? You can't die on me now"

She really tried. She really wanted to look at her best friends face and maybe hear him crack a joke or two. But her eyes felt droopy and her head felt heavy so she finally fell asleep.

˚ · • . ° .

Kaz arrived minutes later, Wylan, Nina and Inej by his side as they all rushed to a crying Jesper, desperately trying to wake Y/N up. "S-she got shot, didn't flinch.. like she didn't even see the bastard," he hiccuped, letting his boss take his place next to a limp body as his boyfriend helped him up and hugged him tightly.

Brekker's head spun. A thousand possibilities. There was blood all over the dress, and leaking over his clothes but he couldn't give a fuck. Not her. He couldn't bare it. Y/N was a piece of heaven in that saint forsaken island, the only saint he ever believed in and the angel that saved him from himself. If he lost her, there was no coming back for him. The water rose to his nose again for a brief moment.

It hadn't happened in a while. And he chose the techniques his lover taught him. He acted. "Nina" he mumbled, taking Y/N on his arms as the grisha girl assured him she had a pulse. His legs carried him to the slat, never too far from Nina, as she was making sure her pulse didn't slow down too much. He didn't even notice the pain in his bad leg. He felt a sting on his heart, so sharp it seemed as if pieces of broken glass would poke through it at any moment.

The boy sent Inej looking for whatever idiot decided it was a good idea to try and steal from them. Only information. He'd take care of them later. The Wraith left and was out all night, returning with a lot to say the next morning. Kaz looked over at Y/N's face and the utter peace that brushed over her features scared him even more. Not now. Not like this.

"Is she going to be okay? T-there was definitely something wrong with her back there" Jesper started once the girl was on the bed and getting healed with a few healers in the dregs and Nina. Kaz was sitting, head propped up in his hands as he stared at the wall opposite from him. "She didn't move! At all! He shot her three times and looked amused while doing it". The zemeni man had to stop if he wasn't trying to reunite with the other deceased blessed people on his bloodline. Kaz's stare hardened and his jaw clenched tightly.

"Wylan, I can't lose her. She was too slow a-" "ENOUGH" Kaz stood up, looking at him with murder in his eyes. "If you were more aware of the surroundings, she would be fine. Don't you dare call her slow. This is not her fault. You should've been there" menacing gloved finger pointing to his friend. "Oh, so this is my problem now?" Jesper countered in complete disbelief. "If you don't consider your best friend's life being at critical risk a problem you're much more of a superficial, incompetent and heartless bastard than I thought." Kaz spat.

He knew this wasn't Jesper's fault, maybe it was the lack of sleep or you just weren't on your element. But he had to let it out with someone. Anyone. Pain turns into anger and screaming at your brother when it's too strong. He knew that better than anyone and couldn't care to stop himself this time. "Kaz, stop" Wylan said, and then he noticed Jesper's puffy eyes with a sigh. Then he felt his own neck starting to tickle. He was crying. Kaz Brekker didn't cry.

"Out" "But Ka-" "I SAID OUT"

And out they were. Everyone who didn't need to be there to save his girl's life. He could hear Nina struggling between wrecked sobs, fast pacing around the room and a distant sound of water running non-stop. Hours passed, and he remained in the same position, in the same chair, with the same thoughts running wild inside him.

Not you. Please. I should've been there. I'm going to kill them. Please be okay. I can't do it without her. Please.

Kaz Brekker was repeating pleas, thinking out loud to whoever was listening. Let her live. Please let her live. This is not her fault. Not to a god, neither to those saints who proved to exist so many years ago. He didn't know who he was asking for help to. But he was screaming, please don't let her go. He was leaving with her if she did.

All sound stopped, and Nina emerged from the dimly lit room, drying her cheeks. The boy stood up, looking at her with the most terrified look he ever gave someone. Fuck the facade. He was utterly afraid. "She's okay, not waking up, but she will". He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and couldn't help but throw himself into Nina's arms in search for some comfort to his wrecked sobs.

His friend received him with open arms, careful not to squeeze him too hard, as she knew that could trigger him. "I can't lose her, Nina" he whimpered before pulling away. "You're not. Not now and not soon. She's okay, Kaz. Stay with her, will you? She could be a little startled if she wakes up in an empty room"

He almost scoffed at that. What else would he do? A quiet nod was delivered, and he stepped inside to accompany her in an uncharacteristically unsettling silence. There were dirty gauzes everywhere, her dirty dress discarded in a corner and a blanket covering her figure. Kaz stopped, looking at your chest. It rose and fell in a moderate rhythm. Good.

Taking a seat once again, he held her hand and brushed a thumb over it, grateful to whoever listened. And Nina.

Sun bled through the curtains, filling it all with a pleasant orange hue Kaz knew Y/N would appreciate. Jesper came by every few hours and amends were made. He understood how badly everything hit Kaz the day before and didn't need an apology. They were all under intense pressure the day before, couldn't blame him for a such a reaction. Wylan had brought flowers and Inej made sure everything was ready for when she regained consciousness.

His crows got it handled.

A whole day and a half had gone by and he was reading beside her when she woke up. Her hand moved and he could feel the twitch in his palm, looking up frantically to find those pretty y/e/c eyes looking back at him. "Finally, got some sleep," she joked and laughed at her own joke. Kaz laughed back. "Hello" he offered, kissing her hand and never really wanting to let go "Hi". "Are you feeling okay?" the boy asked, happy to see his lover once again awake.

"It hurts a bit but I'll live" "I'm counting on that, my love". ♡

#kaz brekker fluff #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker angst #kaz brekker fic #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker #six of crows #six of crows x reader #grishaverse x reader #shadwo and bone netflix #crooked kingdom #freddy carter #shadow and bone season two #sab s2

1K notes · View notes

madddays · 1 year

Text

camera shy

pairing: yoongi x reader (f) summary: after his last Oakland show, you carve out a little alone time with your husband, away from the stage lights and the cameras and the million people who always seem to be around rating/genre: explicit // fluff + smut + slice of life-ish (it’s a tour fic!) + an attempt at humour warnings: smut -- oral + fingering (f receiving), missionary, unprotected sex (they’re married it’s fine), terribly thought-out plot note: hello!!! i haven’t written anything in this format in a long time (poetry is my medium of choice) so pls be gentle!! also this is set in what is the “current timeline” but is of course fictional and i took every creative liberty i could :) also there was supposed to be a little bit at the end that i cut out bc reader was getting a little too cuckoo but that’s where the title came from and i couldn’t think of another. okay. anyway.

Being on tour is exhausting.

You’re not sure you have the right to complain – you’re not the one performing high-energy shows in sold out arenas every night. But you are lifting your share of your husband’s emotional weight as he does his solo tour. His first solo tour, as is stressed to you.

And you’re dodging cameras left and right. While it was impossible for you to stay out of the picture completely — the team at HYBE had convinced you that there was no need to hide your presence — being an idol’s wife didn’t really make you the most… sympathetic character.

So you try to keep the complaining to a minimum.

“If I have to duck out of one more cameraman’s way today…” you grumble under your breath. Sejin laughs.

“There’s only so long they can spend in your room,” he placates. “And tomorrow you’ll have use of the business centre again.”

You harrumph. Fucking businesspeople using the business centre for their business shit. Hunkering down over your laptop again, you attempt once more to read over the article you needed to finish editing tonight. You’re finally making a little headway, getting into the groove, and then —

“That’s it!” you snap in English, frantically trying to catch the open water bottle that almost spilled all over your computer. The culprit, a man looking through the lens of his giant stupid camera on his giant stupid tripod, glances at you with a bored expression.

“Whoops,” he says lightly, wheeling the contraption slightly to the left of where he’d bumped the desk. “Should probably keep that closed.”

You see red. Just as you’re about to toss this man and his equipment out the 50th story window, your husband appears.

“Jagiya,” Yoongi murmurs to you, placing a grounding hand at the side of your face. You instantly relax about fifty percent. “I’m sorry, just the rest of the afternoon.”

You look up at him, at his soft pleading face. He’s turned away from the filming crew, hiding both his expression and yours. You relax the rest of the way, resting in his palm, a little guilt creeping in.

It’s not his fault. Obviously, everything was going to be filmed — a BTS member’s first solo tour. There was going to be a documentary, and like it or not, you were going to be in it. As marginally as possible, everyone had insisted, but you couldn’t afford to look bad. Unfortunate that the filming crew was full of a bunch of dicks who didn’t give a shit about anyone who wasn’t the star. “No,” you shake your head, “I’m sorry. I know you hate this as much as I do, probably more. I’ll try to be good.”

At this, Yoongi smiles, shoulders jerking with a laugh. “I’m not asking for a miracle,” he teases. “Just a little patience.” You roll your eyes. You can behave.

Just then, the same nimrod shoots a look at you, almost goading, as Sejin picks up your laptop and its accessories so the Christopher Nolan wannabe can put some more douchebag equipment where it just was. You look Yoongi straight in the eyes, dead serious. “If that man crosses me one more time, I’m going to kill him. And I’m going to film it with his stupid fucking camera.”

--------------- xxx ---------------

Most people expect you to be ecstatic about the proximity to free tickets that being married to Yoongi brings. And you love watching him perform. Up on the stage, in his element. He’s never more radiant than when he’s singing and rapping, leaning in close to the edge of the stage so he can look into the fans’ eyes — gloss, a fitting name for the shining star you see giving his all.

And the confidence is incredibly sexy. So you have a competency kink, sue you.

But god is it tiring being there. Even in the nosebleeds, or in the VIP box. You can’t exactly abandon Yoongi afterwards, so you have to make your way discreetly backstage with the security team, and then you wait through the undressing and the debriefing and the security checks and the filming. Sometimes the media circus. Only then can you sneak into a car with him and head back to the hotel.

So you stay behind tonight. It’s the last day of the American leg, and you’ve already seen a few spectacular shows. You have your own life, your own responsibilities. Which includes deadlines.

You were able to come with Yoongi for this leg of the tour because you’d promised your boss an exclusive — first dibs on Agust D’s experience touring in the U.S. While you wouldn’t be allowed to take part in the spread (a very clear conflict of interest, no bueno) you’re excited for it. The potential of the photoshoot alone is making your head spin.

But part of the deal was also to keep working. The list of articles your Senior Editor ass has to go over is slowly dwindling, this feature on Korea’s impact on global fashion getting to the finish line.

“Yes!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in the now blessedly empty hotel room. Email with the finished article sent, you roll your chair to look straight into the little camera that’s trained on the desk Yoongi’s claimed and flip it the bird.

Job done and borderline invasive filming (it’s only on when Yoongi decides to get some working shots for them, but still) disrespected, there’s not much left to do but wait.

When the third time cycling through all your social media apps doesn’t provide any groundbreaking entertainment, you decide to call down to reception for some reading material. It’s not technically work if you’re just reading a dozen trashy ‘Who Wore It Best?’ segments. “Anne Hathaway, hwaiting!” you mutter to yourself.

--------------- xxx ---------------

A couple hours later, you’re still thoroughly immersed in your magazines and your music, completely missing the cacophony in the hallway. The knock on your door startles you so thoroughly you hit your head against the headboard.

“Unnie, are you okay?” asks Ari, one of the stylists. “I was coming to call you to eat!”

“Oh, you’re all back! One sec!” You scramble off the bed, excited to see the aftermath of the show. You barely remember to put on a pair of pants before rushing out the door, Ari’s surprised face greeting you. “Thanks, Ari-yah,” you grin, locking arms with her. “How was the show?”

“It was great! Oppa is always good, but tonight he was especially energetic.” Her face screws up a little. “He ripped another one of the jackets, though.”

An inconvenience to her, but you don’t share the irritation. Yoongi’s broad shoulders busting his clothes, yum. “Oh,” you say anyway, your sympathy unconvincing, “that’s annoying.” Ari snorts.

“Sure. At least it’s new costumes for the next leg. We’ll refit them.”

You practically vibrate with excitement at that. “I haven’t seen them yet! I’m sure you all did an awesome job!”

She blushes. “I think it’ll be good! They’re not totally finalized yet, but I’ll send you a ton of pictures.” Her eye drops in a wink, making you giggle delightedly.

Dinner is a buffet in one of the conference rooms of your beloved business centre. One of the security team members escorts you down with a group of the staff, but most people had gone down earlier, apparently very hungry. Yoongi among them. As you approach the doors, you hear someone complaining to him that they should’ve done this at a restaurant and where is his sense of celebration.

“Come on,” you hear him grumble. “It’s not like the entire tour is over. We can all go out tomorrow.”

You snort. “And then tomorrow you’ll say ‘tomorrow never comes’.” If it were happening to someone else, you’d never let them live down how quickly their husband’s head snapped towards them, but you make an exception because yours is so cute.

Despite his enthusiastic surprise, he doesn’t miss a beat. “Great, now I have to come up with a new excuse. Thanks for that,” he rolls his eyes, but immediately swaps the empty plate you grab with the one he was filling up for himself, no room to argue. Your giddy mood sours a little when you catch sight of the filming crew again.

Yoongi holds your hand over his bouncing knee and the two of you sneak food off and onto each other’s plates. The mood is bright and light, despite everyone’s obvious exhaustion (at least three people by your count are in danger of falling asleep into their food). You expect to see an extended shot of the staff and crew laughing and eating, a flushed Yoongi being plied with praise and encouragement, under some sort of pensive voiceover.

And you’re right, because right after he’s done eating they whisk Yoongi away to do what is sure to be a thorough recount of his adventure in the States. You’re a little jealous that they get to hear all about it before you do. Fuckers.

As the room starts to clear out, you bid everyone a good night and trudge back up to your room, planning to crawl into bed and wait for your husband.

But when you open the door, he’s already there. Your immediate thought is that the air conditioning is up too high for him to leave his hair damp like that. Your second thought is how pretty he looks — sharp eyes focused on his legal pad, sinful hand flying across the page trying to get down whatever lyrics are thundering through his brain, cheeks flushed and pouty mouth puckered. He must’ve gone straight from the shower to his desk.

After a few moments he must sense your eyes on him, because his writing falters and he turns to you, a soft smile breaking out across his face. Your heart flutters.

“Hey!” he says happily, pulling out his earbuds. “I was waiting for you.”

“Clearly,” you laugh, moving to perch on the table in front of him. He pulls your feet into his lap, putting his papers aside. You resist the urge to sneak a peek, instead asking “did I interrupt something?”

“No,” he assures you. “I got everything important down. You were right on time.” His fingers are drumming on your thigh like there’s still something on his mind, but you’re feeling greedy tonight, so you let it slide.

“Apparently, I was late.” His hair is cold when you ruffle it. “Let me dry your hair. You still have schedules to make it to, can’t get sick.”

Under the gentle whirr of the expensive hair dryer and your hands in his soft locks, you coax out some of the details of the night from him. Stuff those production company jerks would never get to hear, wouldn’t think to ask about. How he was so glad to never have to wear one of his costumes ever again. The way he didn’t even feel the heat of the stage lights, the thing that drenched him in sweat (aside from the jumping and running around) was nerves. You laugh when he tells you about the girl in the pit who danced so hard the veil of her wedding dress outfit ended up on one of the lights. Your heart swells, swells, swells.

There’s still a restlessness about him when you’re done. You suggest he goes back to his desk but he shakes his head. “Let’s go to bed.” The first time in ages you can do so without the weight of anticipation and stress over him – hopefully it will settle whatever is making him twitchy.

There’s a spark of arousal in your belly when you feel his eyes on your backside as you change into your pyjamas. A breath stutters out of your mouth when you meet his sleepy gaze, getting a soft smirk in response. “Come here,” he says softly. “I missed you.”

In your eagerness to get to him, you collide with the bed a little too fast. “Oof,” you huff, making him laugh. He sits up to haul you into his side, another surprised noise leaving your mouth.

“Dummy,” he teases. “Not even safe in a cushy hotel room.” You kick at his shin.

“Quit giving me bedroom eyes then.” You see his eyes sparkle and mouth start to open and smack a hand over it. “Yes, we are in a bedroom, ha ha, you are very funny.”

He moves your hand away, unimpressed. “It is a funny joke,” he grumbles. Truly funny thing is, if he’d said it, you would’ve laughed. You’re down horrendously and he knows it, although you do your best to keep his ego in check at least some of the time.

Giggling anyway, you let him press you closer to his chest. You especially love him like this, warm and soft and silly and all to yourself.

Yoongi turns over onto his good shoulder to face you, tipping your chin up. His gaze flits across your face, tender and deep, like he can see everything you’re thinking. You hope he can. You think he does. “I love you,” he murmurs, and he kisses you.

Your eyes flutter closed, relishing in this closeness. The way his mouth moves over yours, slow and deliberate.

This isn’t a kiss just because, or goodnight or I’ll be right back, this is a kiss because I want to be touching you. I want to breathe you in. I want to forget everything but you.

You let out a sigh. Yoongi hums against you, a rumble you feel in his chest, and slides his tongue to meet yours. He shifts some more so he’s over you, braced on his forearm. It’s urgent now, but the way he licks into your mouth is languid, a creeping heat.

He knows just how you like it, just how to drive you wild. Where you push and pull and grasp at him, he slows you, pins you down, makes you feel every second like it’s an hour.

When he pulls away, panting slightly, you realize – it’s been a long time. The last time the two of you had had a chance to get horizontal (or otherwise) had been the week you left Korea. More than a month ago. No wonder you’re so desperate for him, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him back in, feeling his smug little grin against your mouth.

He grabs at your hip with his other hand, and just that contact, his hand deliberate against the bare skin between your shirt and pyjama shorts, is enough to have you gasping.

He pulls away again with a low chuckle. “I’ve been neglecting you, my love,” he noses against your jaw. The warmth of his breath makes you shiver.

“You’ve been such a good wife,” he continues, sitting back on his heels, raking his gaze over you. His tone is soft but his eyes are so, so hungry. You reach for him, desperate to be back under his body, but he just smiles, closed mouth and innocent. “Shh, let your husband take care of you.”

He climbs back over you, settles his weight on you like he knows you like and hovers an inch from your face. His hair, longer again, hangs in his eyes, but you can see the mischievous shine in them. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Yoongi,” you whine. His smile grows even bigger, but before you can crush your lips to his he leans down and kisses you, slow and searing again.

“I’ll make you feel good,” he promises, mouthing down your neck. You know he’s going to leave marks, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It’s been so long since you’ve felt properly like his. “Smell so sweet,” he sighs, opening the top button of your sleep shirt and burying his face between your tits. “Sweet, sweet girl.”

You moan, sensitive from his touch. “You’re –” he nips at you, drawing more breathy noises from your mouth. “You’re unusually talkative tonight.”

He smiles up at you. “You like it,” he says simply. And you do. You want him to keep telling you how you look and feel to him, what he’s going to do to you.

You start to fall apart under his mouth, his hands, his words. Soon your shirt is gone, tits shiny with his saliva. “Your fucking tongue,” you grab his hair, hold him in place, and his groan against your skin makes your sensitive nipples shoot fireworks into your brain. He presses your tits together tighter, sucking them noisily in turn as you grind up against his hardening cock.

“Taste fucking perfect,” his voice is so deep. Your pussy is already clenching, desperate for him.

Yoongi helps you out of your pyjama shorts, wanting you completely bare to him. “Need to see you, jagi.” He settles between your legs, settled over his shoulders. His warm mouth over your cunt has you spreading them wider, eager.

“That’s my girl,” he rumbles approvingly, expecting the ensuing flood from your pussy. He uses two of his long, callused fingers to spread it all over, sliding almost coincidentally over your clit. Your hips cant towards his hand, wanting more than anything to have them inside you – fuck. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Yoongi, please,” you choke. It’s getting nearly unbearable, this desperation. You’re so wet, so sensitive, your entrance clenching around nothing.

“Pretty, pretty,” he says in a soft rasp, talking to himself. He gets comfortable between your legs and you can see his sharp, dark eyes zero in on your cunt, tongue wetting his lips like someone’s set a meal in front of him. You suppose you have.

“Ahhh-hhhh,” you moan, the first broad sweep of his tongue over your folds like electricity. Like he’d just set a firecracker off inside of you – buzzing and sparking from the tips of your toes to your scalp. Eyes squeezed shut, a broken noise comes out of your mouth.

He keeps going, lapping at your pussy in an even rhythm and making low sounds of appreciation. It’s so, so wet you’re sure he must be drooling, and the thought is enough to have you clenching your legs together. “Careful, baby,” he says against your skin, but the vibrations of his voice are just fuel to the fire. “Watch me.”

You lean up shakily on your elbows, and the sight of him is nearly enough to knock you back down again. The mop of dark hair between your legs, working away as though you’re barely there, like he’s just using this to get himself off – except his eyes, watching you under the harsh slant of his eyebrows – shit shit it’s almost too much already.

“Fuck, baby, please,” you plead breathily, not even sure what you’re asking for. He’s already giving you everything you want. The close of his pouted lips around your clit has you jerking, the fiery crackle in your nerves making everything hazy except the places he’s touching you – big hands clamped around your thighs, face buried in your cunt, fingers pressed into the meat of your ass. He’d taken off the rest of his rings, but you can feel his wedding band pinching your skin slightly. Your matching one catches the light as you twist your hand into the sheets. “I need – I nee –” you break off, keening when he rubs a finger over your hole.

“Don’t worry, love,” he slides a digit in, feeling the way you clench around it desperately. “I know what my girl needs.” On the next stroke, he slides in a second finger, groaning when you clamp down on him. You collapse back onto the pillows, hips kicking up despite the way he’s pressing you into the mattress

You’d teased him mercilessly, way back when the two of you had started dating. “Tongue technology, huh? Do you have any songs where you’re not bragging about how good you eat pussy?” He’d only smiled, smug and amused, like he knew something you didn’t.

Boy, did you find out. Again, and again, and again. The way he flicks his tongue over your clit, a fast, even tempo that has you curling your toes. Combined with how fast he’s pumping those long fingers in you, the squelching sounds absolutely obscene.

“Another?” he asks, voice almost disinterested, betrayed only by how hoarse and low it’s become. You nod frantically, knowing you’re close.

When he adds his ring finger, you know you’re done for. There’s a searing heat all down your body — your belly’s tight, your feet digging into Yoongi’s back with how tightly you have them tensed. Your face is flushed and sweaty and you can barely hear your own breathy whining through the rushing in your ears. It’s building, the wet slick of his tongue joining his fingers as your legs start to tremble around him, threatening to squeeze his neck, your hands finding their way into his hair to bring him with you when your back arches off the bed, and when he sucks your clit back between his lips —

“That’s it, fuck, baby,” he growls against you. He pumps you through your orgasm, almost struggling to get deep because of the way you’re gripped tight around them. Lets the gush of come slick his tongue further, shaking his head side to side as you ride out your aftershocks. You grind against his face, stuttering as the oversensitivity kicks in, whining when it becomes too much.

“N’more,” you slur, gasping when Yoongi eases out of you. He sits back on his heels again, his mouth, nose, and chin shiny from the way you’ve drenched him.

He seems content to let it sit as he meets your eyes, popping his used fingers into his mouth, eyes rolling back and groaning at the taste. “Pussy monster,” you sigh deliriously.

He laughs, having sucked his fingers clean. Pushing yourself up to lean back against the headboard, you try to get your bearings. Your legs are shaking a little and between them is still sensitive, but away from Yoongi the cold air of the hotel room makes your nipples tighten and you want more.

Your husband focuses his attention back on you. Your legs, open just enough so he can see the mess he’s made of you, and the way your skin is flushed, from your face all the way down to your chest. You shiver.

“Cold, sweetheart?” he asks in a low growl. He pulls his shirt off and wipes his face with it, giving you an uninterrupted moment to ogle him. His broad shoulders, defined chest and arms, and toned stomach. The tattoo on his pec. The dusting of hair leading from his belly button down, down, down…

“Warm me up,” you say coquettishly, spreading your legs further.

“Fuck,” he whispers, reverent. Even after all these years, you have the exact same effect on him as the first time. It’s evident in the bulge in his pyjama pants that you eye hungrily. He wraps a hand around each of your ankles, pushing them up to bend your knees, crawling up so he can settle against you and lock your legs around his waist.

You let out a pathetic little sound at the feeling of him against your cunt. You’re still leaking, juices sticking to the insides of your thighs and probably leaving a patch on his pants. “Baby,” you whine. He leans down to kiss you and the grind of his cock against you has you gasping. “Need it,” you whisper into his mouth. “How do you want me?”

Yoongi kisses you one more time, chaste, and shakes his head. “How does my sweet girl want it?”

You flush even warmer. “Like this,” you say shyly. Yoongi smiles at you, fucked out and endeared.

Your hands find their way to his sweaty skin like magnets. Shaky fingertips tracing from his hips up over the flat of his stomach, hard muscles twitching as he sighs under your touch. When you reach his chest, you look up at him from under your lashes – he’s already looking back at you, pretty mouth agape. “The abs are new. I like them.” Then you scratch your blunt nails down them, feeling the muscles jump under your hands.

“Fuck,” he groans, leaning into you. You gasp at the twitch of his cock, the head rubbing your clit. “You’re in for it now.”

“Then fucking give it to me.”

He kisses you again, and he’s just so predictable. Despite his big talk and the way he’s pinning your hips down hard, he takes his time, opening you up to him. Your husband kisses like he drinks – slow and savoury, loves the taste of you, the way you make him feel dazed and light. Letting out little satisfied noises in response to the way you kiss him back, the way you let him have his way with you. If it were up to him, he’d work you up like this for hours. Drinking you in.

Unfortunately for him, you’re worked up enough. He’s grinding into you in tiny movements but the sensitivity from your prior orgasm, the insistent press of his cock between your lips, and the knowledge that you haven’t had him inside you in probably the longest stretch of time since you’d met is driving you insane.

“Take off your fucking pants, Yoongi,” you snap against his mouth, pulling at his waistband. He just laughs. “If you don’t fuck me right now –”

He keeps laughing, breathless and fond, but tips away from you enough to get his pyjama bottoms off and kicked away and hell yeah.

He runs his fingers through your folds and you gasp. Your hips cant up towards his hand but it’s gone immediately, and the sight of him jacking his cock with your wetness makes you whimper.

“So wet,” he murmurs, guiding the head to your pussy. The previous teasing mirth has vanished and there’s only the dark, focused look as he presses forward and – “Fuck.”

“Yoongi!” you cry out. His fingers hadn’t done nearly a good enough job of stretching you. The burn of him as he pushes into you makes your eyes roll back as you feel him pepper kisses over your cheek, down your neck to your collarbone. “Oh –”

“I must be out of my fucking mind,” he grunts, bottoming out. You choke on a sob. His big hand kneads your tit and it feels so fucking good you think you’re going to lose your mind. “How did I go without this for so long?”

He pulls out almost all the way then thrusts back in hard. “Y-Yoon – “ you whine breathily, barely able to make a sound at this point.

“My gorgeous wife, in this bed every night, so needy. This perfect pussy — shit.” He sucks the other nipple into his mouth, buried in you so deep you can’t think of anything but the way he’s filling you so good. The way you hadn’t realized you’d needed.

You’re blubbering at this point, beyond words, as Yoongi chases his orgasm inside you. Kissing every part of you he can reach as the sound of his skin against yours fills the room, playing with your tits the way that drives you wild. You come again with a shout, tears streaming down your face.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, kissing the tears away. He’s still going, deeper now instead of fast. “Can you give me one more, love?”

You’re dizzy with pleasure and overstimulation, but he loves to come with your pussy squeezing him. “Yeah,” you pant. A kiss, slow and deep, as he pushes back in.

Your legs are wrapped so tightly around his waist he can barely pull all the way back out. All you can do is hold on as he takes what he wants from you.

“Shit, shit,” Yoongi groans, hips stuttering. He’s close. “Love you, pretty girl, so fucking good to me,” his voice low and raspy and warm right next to your ear. “Do I make you feel good?”

“Y-yes,” you manage to get out and you can feel his cock throb inside you, rubbing your g-spot and it’s enough. Your vision goes white and you see stars as your entire body tenses up and you tremble all over when it suddenly releases. “Yoongi!”

“Fuuuck,” he grunts. “Squeeze me just like that,” and he’s coming too.

You lay there, panting under Yoongi as he softens inside you. The sweat makes you stick together where you’re touching, and anywhere outside your bed it would make you push him away. But you’re content to lie under him, soft, laboured breaths puffing next to your ear.

“Should’ve used a condom,” you say hoarsely. There’s going to be a mess when he pulls out, you can already feel it.

“Fucking raw used to be so hot,” he sighs, kissing your cheek. “Now it’s a chore.”

Your snort turns into a gasp as he pulls out. Reaching for his discarded shirt, he cleans up as much of his come as he can. You watch him, eyes zeroed in on the mess, licking his lips.

“Reel it in.” You boop his nose and he scrunches it. “I really cannot go another round. You’re gonna have to drag me to the bathroom.”

--------------- xxx ---------------

And he kind of does. On a good day, he could definitely carry you. But after three weeks of touring and a semi-vigorous round of sex, he hitches you onto his back in some semblance of a piggyback. You actually could probably walk, but you know the mood Yoongi’s in.

He lets you pee, then comes to clean you up the rest of the way. Both of you wrapped in fluffy robes, he washes the sweat and tears off your face gently, brushes through your hair with his fingers. Puts up with your halfhearted whining about expensive skincare as he pats it carefully back onto your face.

By the time you’ve dragged yourselves back to bed, the California King large enough that you don’t worry about the mess you’ve made on the other side, all the tension has drained from his body. The frantic energy of performing in a foreign country alone for the first time, melted away.

He’s soft and sleepy when he hitches your leg over his hip, pulls your head onto his chest. “Thank you,” he mumbles. You don’t have to ask him what he means.

You laugh softly. “Silly,” you say, drifting off.

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