#the place where your soul can return to.. did i get that right? long ass title. anyway i actually like it better in the second musical | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inupibaldspot · 3 months

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I don’t want to hide it!

Pairing : actor!Gojo x actor!Reader

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : Both you and Gojo are in the entertainment industry and one unspoken rule and maybe somewhere in the contract is that you can never reveal you are in a relationship | artcredit

You breathe out as you look out at the dark starry night, a haze comes into vision indicating how cold it actually was.

There was a buzz in your pocket making you reach into your jacket pocket and smile when the name popped up.

Satoru <3

I’m here,baby. 2:47am

Just then a dark car with also dark tinted glasses drives through and parks near you were standing. You quicken your footsteps as you wave at him. “Don’t come outside.”

“Sorry.” Of course he doesn’t listen. “What did you say?” Gojo steps out of his car as he quicken his steps to you; he was dressed in black from head to toe, with a hat trying to hide his hair and a mask to hide his face. Just like you.

You both were always public’s eyes afterall. Gojo was a singer turned actor who was probably in him prime. You were also an actress,about three years into debut yet you had a huge impactful movies under your name.

Gojo’s hands go over to the door handle of the car and opens it for you, his other hand wraps it to your back as he holds you in. His masked lips places a kiss on your forehead. “You look so divine, babe.”

You laugh. “Even though I’m covered like this.” You bring your hands up where you then place your chin on your hand.

“Of course.” Gojo nuzzles closer. “I can recognize that fat ass anywhere.”

“Gojo!” You shriek out, as you puff at Gojo’s words. The man laughs as he pull away when you are sat in place and closes the car door. He then walks over and sat on the drivers seat.

As soon as his butt hits the car seat, his first reaction is to pull down his mask as he leans into you and places a kiss on your lips, your mask pulled down by his left hand. Your heart takes a leap and you press your lips to his. Instantly, Gojo cradles your face, refusing to separate from you.

Gojo doesn't stop, sensuously kissing every available surface of your lips until he's tired of waiting to kiss your lips once more. You give in and let yourself fall until the point of no return - even if Gojo was the devil incarnate, you would gladly hand over your soul for an eternity of his love.

Building up every once of strength in you, you hold onto his jacket and pull away from the kiss. You blush when Gojo looks at you, face smeared with lipstick. “We shouldn’t stay here for long. We could get caught!”

Gojo growls as his feet place on the clutch and break before driving with the gears in place. “I don’t get why we have to hide it. Our contract has nothing restricting us.”

You sigh. “You know we don’t know how the public will react…”

Gojo said eyes at you and sees that your eyes were lowered and you were nervously playing with your own fingers. Shit…he made you feel bad.

He forces a smile and places one of his hands on your thigh making you look up at him. “So princess, are you gonna tell me what you’ve been doing today.” He asks.

You smile, the tense air finally dissipates. “I had to shoot an ad at 6am and then a 13 hour shoot in the woods for my new movie.”

“Shit babe.” He says concerned, both his hands on the steering wheel as he makes a turn and parks the car. They were in a secluded area by the river side. “You sure you don’t need to sleep?”

You shake your head as you place one of your hands on Gojo’s face, lips curled into a small. “I want to spend my time with you. Besides, I was taking cat naps in between sets.”

“So what were you doing,my prince?“ Gojo smiles at your words.

“I was watching the avatar the whole day.”

You laugh “yeah?”

“Oh—that’s right!” You clap your hands together as you look at him. “Tomorrow we are scheduled to emcee at that music show.”

“I think I did hear something like that from Ijichi.” Gojo taps his temple when his finger as he remembers his manager in tears begging him to listen. “But I didn’t know we were partners.”

“Satoru…you have to be careful on stage.” You peer in close to him face, eyes begging him to listen. “Don’t be obvious.”

Gojo leans in quick as he pecks your lips making you blush in surprise. “Fine. What ever you say, princess.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The next day,you nervously bite the inside of your cheeks as music blasts in the background; all eyes were focused on the idol group performing right now. Beside you,stands tall Gojo Satoru who has a glow near him as he mentally gushing on how adorable you looked, all dolled up and ready for the camera—so pretty.

Ijichi nervously bits his thumbs,all nervously. The company including him knew about Gojo’s relationship with you, at first the company tried to threaten him to break up with you but then Gojo threatened them back with termination of contract. The company can’t afford to lose their main money maker! So they decide to let the relationship stand but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t beg and pay every paparazzi to not release any pictures.

With every look and smile Gojo gave to you Ijichi’s job was on the line.

Suddenly a different type of music was playing making all idols make way toward you and Gojo; an interview session were to take place.

“Welcome back—!” You smile at the camera then at the ground where the members smiled and bowed back. So pretty.

“Oh my!” You smile cheerfully at the idols who await your expression. So pretty.

“That was such a show! The performance struck right through our hearts!” You smile and look at him, his blue eyes into your. Gojo almost can’t breathe. So pretty.

“Right Gojo-san?” So pretty.

Your beautiful face contours slightly as he takes on a worried expression. “Right Gojo-san!” Oh—right… He was Gojo.

You gulp hard as you quickly look to the idols, “it seems as if Gojo-san is still in awe from your performance.” making the audience laugh. From then on Gojo tried to act normal—he really did! But every time you speak, he is giddy with emotions.

Somewhere in between nervous laughs and in this case, chewing on his nails; a man rushes to him. Breathing heavy as he places a hand on Ijichi’s shoulder. “We’re fucked…”

Ijichi gulps.

The man who came up to him, one of Gojo’s managers lift up his phone where what is written on the screen.

[⭐️EXCLUSIVE] Actor Gojo Satoru and y/n on a date!

There were pictures of you, who was slightly unrecognizable from all the cover up of clothes but there was a mole on your body with could be traced back to you.

There was another picture where Gojo comes out of the car, this one surely couldn’t pass. There was a peak of his white hair slipping through hat, and his blue eyes ever so recognizable. The freaking paparazzi even routed how Gojo’s car went from his residence to yours at such odd hours!

And finally the nail in the coffin where he takes you home hands by your waist, with you nuzzled into his jacket waddling forward with a peak of lipstick smeared on his face. A lipstick shade you’ve been always seen wearing during casual days!!

Ijichi grabs his hair before his phones buzzes…an endless buzz which will probably cost him his job.

Now the audience seemed to buzz, showing each other this exclusive new of the people who are literally right infront of them. How entertaining! The mass now seemed to take various pictures in real life by the audience and others screenshoting the music show you guys were emceeing, all obviously trying your best.

Then another posts starts posting on all the gossip post with Twitter having a field day with it in particular.

[⭐️Hot!] Gojo Satoru can’t really seem to get enough of y/n! Hahahaha

The post contains pictures of Gojo staring lovingly at you when you were emceeing, when you laugh he laughs, when you smile he blushes.

The comments under the post was entertaining though.

User128

What ever he is being accused of, he is guilty.

Bbystru

Ahhh—he is definitely a shojo male lead

User827

The company doesn’t even need to say anything! The proof is infront of our eyes.

Luvie28

Wow! Gojo is so funny! y/n is working so hark to make up for it.

The company of Gojo fell into despair because at how the stocks where falling for the company, they were mildly surprised and extremely pleased when the stocks went flying up and up— because after the pictures went viral; it seemed even overseas, there were a whole new audience now interested in their love sick actor!

Mean while Gojo was simply happy he didn’t have to hide their relationship, no more stuffy dates all covered up, no more keeping 100m distance from you in public places and no more hiding your lipstick stain over his lips and peppered all over his neck, to his chest and maybe even lower.

Who knows maybe he even show up on the red carpet like that one day.

Reblogs, like and comment are appreciated! Love this work? Check out other here

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo imagine #gojo imagines #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagine #gojo saturo #gojo x y/n #jjk gojo #gojo x you #gojo fluff

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agroteraa · 1 month

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I Wanna Be Your Dog

Oliver Quick x f!Reader

My fic masterlist

Summary: Oliver's memories of one of the evenings at Oxford, where you began getting closer. And a night in Saltburn, where you try to be dominant with him.

Actaeon series spin-off, taking place between Artemis and The Wrath of the Stag.

Warnings: smut, dom!Reader, sub!Oliver, switching, oral, penetration sex.

Word Count: 2,8K

It was another spring party at Oxford. All the young people were chatting cheerfully with bottles and glasses in their hands in the slightly dim light of the dormitory's common room. Felix and Oliver were almost lying relaxed on the couch and had been silent for some time.

“Now, can you eenie, meenie India or Annabel, and take one fucking home? Because they look miserable,” Oliver suggested softly.

“Eenie, meenie, miny, moe. Catch a tiger by his toe. If he squeals, let him go. Er..." Felix seemingly forgot the text of the counting-out rhyme, but decided to finish it as soon as possible and make a choice anyway, "You're out, boy scout!"

The choice fell on Annabelle. He happily pecked Oliver on the cheek in gratitude, which made him grin widely. Oliver liked being praised. Especially by those who were important to him. Felix quickly jumped up from the sofa and, lightly slapping the contented girl on the ass, and went off with her upstairs.

“Well, what the fuck, mate? I’ve been chirpsing her for about an hour. I wanted at least a hand job...” the guy Annabelle left said in disappointment.

An hour. What did he know about waiting. How about almost a whole year, mate? Oliver smiled indulgently to himself. And anyway, how shallow that guy thoughts and desires were.

“I know. We all want a fucking handjob, mate. Get yourself a title and a massive fuck off castle.”

That where it was hard to argue. A title and a massive fuck off castle had never harmed anyone in life yet.

"Hey, here I am! And where is Felix?.." you were surprised when you returned from your dorm room and sat back down on the sofa, only this time next to Oliver alone.

"I don't know really," he shrugged, smiling, "I think he’s decided to go have some fun on his own."

"Hmm," you pursed your lips, not really surprised, but still, deep down, a little upset that Felix was acting like that again. You guessed where and why he might have gone, but decided not to focus on that thought right now. Besides, you'd already poured another bottle of your drink into yourself. There was some silence in the air. Before that, you had fun talking to the guys, mostly Felix, and you had never been alone with Oliver for long, especially at parties. You clenched your bottle tightly like a social lifebuoy.

Oliver was even beginning to interest you a little, just a little, but you still had no idea what and how to talk to him in private. He still seemed more like Felix's shadow. But at the same time, being face-to-face for at least a short time, you felt like you had to tell Oliver something meaningful, something deep... as if you should be giving away to him some of your secrets. You were vaguely disturbed by this feeling, as now you were just in the mood for small talk only.

"Um... so… how’s your study going?" you asked, not knowing where else to start a new separate conversation with him besides studying.

"Pretty well," he replied a little awkwardly, embarrassed by your close presence himself. Before that, Felix separated you on the couch, but now he wasn’t a bother anymore. Oliver definitely liked this intimacy, even though he was obviously not used to it yet. But one gets used to the fine things quickly. And Oliver was greedy for all the new truly fine things in his life.

"And yours?"

"Yeah, too," you took a small sip from the bottle, trying not to look him in the eye. At the same time, because you felt awkward and because these blue eyes have been looking at you so piercingly lately, as if they were drilling right into your soul. You couldn't tell if it was embarrassing for you, or if it was some other kind of excitement. Maybe both.

"And what about yours..." Oliver was interrupted by one of Felix's many friends, Chad, who plopped down on the arm of the sofa next to you.

"Hey, Y/N! I finally got to the party on your campus! How are you?"

"Oh, Chad! It's been a long time, it’s like you've disappeared somewhere. Have you really been studying so hard lately?" you both laughed loudly at this very bold assumption of yours. You continued to communicate, actively exchanging the latest news. Over time, you felt guilty a little. You turned to Oliver and smiled at him. He smiled back understandingly. His face visibly saddened when you turned back to the blond guy. He began to examine the empty bottom of his plastic cup, twirling it slightly in his hands. How should he get Y/N's attention? He didn't know. He had to come up with a plan. What would he do, what should he say, so that you…

"Hey, Oliver! Did you have any classes with Mr. Wharton?" you asked with interest, involving him in your conversation. He exhaled a little as he realized that you weren't leaving him in the middle of this party, where he felt like a stranger without Felix and you. You looked at him with a warm smile, and something inside him finally clicked and fell into place.

"Er, yeah... that oddball. He constantly comes up with fruit analogies for everything and even sometimes speaks on their behalf while holding them in hands."

"Ah, have you seen that too?! Y/N, I told you, he's an old weirdo! Only you are attending the wrong classes!" exclaimed Chad, and you all laughed merrily. The conversation was going well, and Oliver was incredibly happy about it. He didn't feel lonely anymore because of you.

But in return, some feelings that he had only vaguely suspected until this moment began to awaken inside him. You didn't stop drinking, and at some point, Chad put his arm around you and started lightly stroking your back. You giggled without giving it much thought, especially under the influence of alcohol. But Oliver saw perfectly well how Chad looked more and more into your eyes, lowering his gaze to your lips and lightly licking his own. It was very subtle, but Quick noticed it all. The way his hand keeps stroking your back, gripping you tighter and tighter. Oliver saw it all perfectly well, because he wanted to be in that place himself.

No, rather, he didn't really want to. He had long imagined your first kiss when you were fully conscious, willing and not under the influence of some alcohol, when you were too much mellow-minded. And he wouldn't let your kiss with Chad happen now, in this state, nor ever.

Sometimes it seemed you and him were very different. He could see through everything, and sometimes it was like you notice none of what you really should. How could you not understand that this Chad wanted to take you upstairs just like Felix did with Annabel?

You were kind and open, maybe even too friendly, oh, Y/N. Oliver was drawn to you like a moth to a fire. You were quite a complete and content person in your own right, and this was very attractive to the many-faced Oliver, who was still struggling to find a place in this life, especially here, in his first year at Oxford.

And it seems that he began to realize that he had found his place next to you. And he wanted to take this place like a guard dog, protecting it and you from all the adversity and guys like Chad.

You didn't forget about Oliver and wanted him to feel fine and less lonely, even hardly knowing him, even having so many friends and acquaintances here, even in the midst of fun of the party. You showed towards him attention and care.

Yeah, he would like to be your dog, he thought now.

Fortunately, you soon got up, freeing yourself from Chad's embrace and going to the bathroom. Great. Oliver had been carefully observing the situation in the common room all this time, so he immediately got up from the sofa and sauntered into the common kitchen, where India was smoking, still slightly displeased that Felix had not chosen her.

"How’s the party? " Oliver asked politely, grabbing a can of beer from the fridge.

India rolled her eyes, twirling a cigarette in her fingers, "What do you need?"

"Me? Nothing. But that guy has been looking at you half the evening without stopping," he nodded towards Chad and winked, "Just saying."

"Isn't he hanging out with Y/N?"

"No, he doesn't sleep with his buddy Felix's old friends. So, the way is clear."

"Oh, are they friends with Felix?" India narrowed her eyes. That was good, she needed some male attention right now, especially from those whom Catton Jr. might become jealous of. Thus, the girl went off towards her chance.

When you had returned to the common room, you saw Chad and India flirting with each other on the couch, and the girl did not let go of her hands off him. Okay. That was unexpected, but okay, it was a student party, after all. You shrugged your shoulders and started thinking about where you could sit now.

"Everyone seems to be having fun with each other tonight," Oliver, who happened to be next to you, shrugged sympathetically. Indeed, everyone around was busy with their own lively conversations, and someone was already far from just "talking".

"To singles?" he offered a playful toast, and you agreed with a grin, "Apparently so!"

"Cheers!" you clinked your drinks, continuing to talk a little more relaxed with each other. So, that how you started getting closer from that evening, and you began getting to know the real Oliver. At least that was what you thought at the time. He looked at you with a shy smile of a complete adoration as you were telling your stories full of joy and tipsy giggling. His eyes were shining like two starry sapphires right now.

If a guard dog wants to protect the peace of its owner and scare away other dogs, then it must inspire fear itself. Maybe sometimes not very intentionally, but instill just a little fear and sense of power even to its own master. Oliver wanted to be a good guard dog.

He would take this place next to you.

* * *

And he took it.

Now he was hovering over you, pinning you between his arms, leaning on your bed in your bedroom in Saltburn. It was the middle of the night, and finally not a single one inhabitant of this house could bother you right now.

Oliver thought all day about how he would continue his way with you at night, along the way remembering the evening of that party in Oxford, where you finally began to get closer. He looked down at you rapturously, biting his lip and breathing heavily, still not believing that all this was really happening. Not just right now, but in general, everything.

His blue eyes were gleaming with utter delight in the dim.

"What else does my sweet Y/N want?" Oliver asked you, recovering his breathing.

He bent lower, and a chain dangled from his neck, swaying slightly. The metal heated by the warmth of your bodies tickled your lips slightly. You lifted your head and gently but firmly catching the chain with your lips.

"Mm-hmm," Quick mumbled with curiosity. You smiled, gritting the chain with your teeth and began to shake it slightly from side to side. He opened his lips excitedly, inhaling sharply.

"Am I your doggie today? Oh, I'm more than willing to be, sweetheart," he said in his deep sexy accent.

He wanted to add "now and always," but didn't. Oliver was afraid that if he showed how willing he was to obey you, he would lose your interest. He was used to changing masks, adapting to different situations and someone's needs. He was an awkward and shy nerd when you first met, and that was largely true, because of his deep core nature and the new posh environment at Oxford. Fortunately, he had successfully joined Felix's company and was able to relax a little. And here in Saltburn, he almost felt like the master of the situation.

If you wished, he would always be that sweet, shy and awkward guy for you, if only you were truly happy about it. But he had learned that he interested and intrigued you mostly when he showed a more powerful, dominant and somewhat even dark part of himself. And that made him really pleased, because you viewed him the way he hoped to be in his own deep wildest dreams.

And yet, he still wanted to be your dog, an obedient dog who would do anything for you. In a sense, he was. And today he decided to demonstrate you that in more obvious way.

"What do you want me to do? I'm all yours," he leaned back next to you, belly up. Oliver smiled playfully. Right now, he was a tiger who had been caught by the toe with his own permission.

Biting your lip, you straddled him, sitting on his thighs. After enjoying this view, you ran your hand from his navel, sliding your fingers up the groove between his prominent muscles. Oliver exhaled sharply. You stopped at his neck, grabbed his chain, and pulled him to you. Now the guy was in a sitting position, he looked at you adoringly while his hands slid over your waist.

Without letting go of one hand from the chain, you slowly rose and began to descend on his cock. Oliver hissed with satisfaction, "Yes, my dear, just like that..."

"I didn't let you talk," you pulled the chain slightly, smiling slightly.

"Oh," he said in surprise, but gladly began to obey you, nodding in agreement.

You began to move slowly on his things, while Oliver's strong hands supported you with ease, guiding you, leaving hot prints on your skin.

His hands were all over you as his lips feverishly kissed everything they could reach. Finally, he reached for your lips, covering them with a hot kiss full of saliva, admiration and arousal.

When you broke the kiss, you said, a little hesitantly, but still firmly enough, "Take your hands off, next time you touch me when I tell you."

Oliver smiled enthusiastically – you learned quickly from his example, apparently. He liked the hint of his own power and dominance reflected on himself now through you.

He obeyed your request, although it was getting harder to fulfill it by every passing minute. He wanted to touch you again, guide your body and push it harder on his hard needy cock. It became unbearable after a while, and he whined a little. He looked at you a little pleadingly, but you nodded no.

He kissed your breasts again, but in response he got "Do not touch at all."

"Only I can now," with these words, you ruffled his hair and pressed harder against his shoulders. He groaned at the inability to touch you at all, it was a new sensation, or rather, its absence.

You grabbed his hair, and he put his head closer, burying it in your hand. It was the only chance to touch you in any way. Oliver closed his eyes and inhaled noisily through his nose. He didn't even mind if you squeezed his hair even harder, hell, maybe even poked his face into the sheet, where he would inhale the scent of your arousal. If you had forced him to lick it off, he would have willingly obeyed, as long as you continued to press his face to the bed, clutching his dark curls. He even imagined doing the same with the bathtub you were lying in lately. In his bathroom. This thought turned Oliver on even more.

Degrading him, talking him down, pulling his hair or chain harshly - he would not always like to be in this role, but he would like to give you that opportunity from time to time. If only you'd asked. And even if you hadn't asked. Because it was you. And because he was like that.

Reaching the peak almost at the same time, you dug your nails into his back deeply, which made Oliver's eyes darken slightly and starry at the same time. With a pleased moan, you released your grip and sank down onto the pillows. But that wasn't all of it, and you decided to play the role given to you to the very end.

Clutching his soft dark hair, you moved his head to your thighs. He looked back at you with hazy from own rapture eyes.

"Please," you said softly, still not being able to be dominant enough. But this sweetness and dissimilarity from his own, even in a situation where you could and should do it, but asking instead, drove Oliver crazy to his limit. He attacked you with a growl, delivering all the pleasure he could possibly give to you that night.

* * *

Oliver was lying with his arms around your lower back, his head resting on your stomach. Quick looked faithfully into your eyes. His face reflected the moonlight of the deep quiet night that was now in Saltburn.

You stroked and scratched him behind the ear, he rubbed his nose contentedly against your smooth belly skin.

"Is my mistress happy?"

"Yes," you laughed, starting to play softly with his hair.

"Then I am happy too," he said, closing his eyes and rubbing his cheek against your soft belly, "Now and always."

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chixkencxrry · 1 year

Text

oh, baby

WARNINGS: SEXUAL THEMES, MENTION OF ASSAULT (NOT BY MIGUEL), ORAL (F/M), CURSE WORDS, EXPLICIT SEX, CUM SWALLOWING, DIRTY TALK. Your consumption of media is on you. Not Proofed.

DO NOT REPOST OR TRANSLATE MY SHIT.

Summary: Miguel O'Hara x Fem! Reader; Miguel was a mystery you'd hardly began to solve. Too bad you were already in love with him.

Two weeks.

It had been two weeks since you last saw or heard from Miguel. Now, you tried not to feel abandoned — per se, but the emotion nagged to the corners of your soul. Miguel was secretive and cagey. You’d just sort of embraced that part of him. It wasn’t like the two of you were in a relationship or anything like that: a fact you have to remind yourself of constantly. You just slept together; sometimes.

He was a mutant like most people in the city; like that Spider-Man kid. But he never got caught on YouTube or anywhere. In fact, if it wasn’t for the marks he left on your skin — you were quite sure you would have thought he wasn’t real.

“I’m tired of you moping around in your apartment.” Your best friend, Tia, had said when she called. “You’re going on the date whether you want to or not.”

Tia’s solution to everything seemed to be getting dicked down. To you, this date wouldn’t even begin to scratch the itch Miguel left behind. Yet, here you were, putting on lipstick and wearing your good lingerie set beneath a new cocktail dress.

“And where are you going?” Snarled a familiar voice, causing you to snap your lipstick in half.

Miguel stood by your window. Black and red suit on but maskless. His face looked worse for wear. Your heart clenched at the thought that he might be hurt.

You wiped your hands and grabbed your first aid kit, exiting the bathroom and jogging to him. “What the hell happened to you?”

He passed his tongue over his teeth; watching you scrambling over him in a little black dress. “Fight. Where are you going?”

“A date.” You didn’t have to answer to him.

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

You padded rubbing alcohol to a nasty scar on his chest. He didn’t even flinch as you cleaned it. “With who?”

“Not sure. Tia arranged it.”

“Plan on fucking him?”

“What the fuck, Miguel?”

“I’m just asking. That dress barely covers your fucking ass, your tits are all the way up to your neck —”

Angry, you poked the bruise until he flinched. “Don’t you fucking start! You disappear for what, two weeks? And just barge in? I don’t even know your last name, Miguel. So yes, I can go out and fuck whoever I want.” You threw the supplies at him and grabbed your bag. “You can clean up yourself you fucking asshole.”

II.

The date went horribly.

You couldn’t blame the guy — he was nice, Peter Something was his name, but he was a little young to you and you weren’t in the mood for a bad decision tonight.

So, you came home alone and cold. Miguel had long since gone. Your supplies had been returned and surprisingly, there was a note at your bedside with some sort of tricked-out cellphone.

My name is Miguel O’Hara. You can contact me on this.

It took you two days to send a message. A bright, sunny June morning. And it wasn’t anything poetic or well-thought-out. A simple hey.

You’d shoved the phone aside and gone on your laptop to teach a few classes. At lunch, when you opened it — you were surprised to see he had responded.

I’m sorry. It wasn’t my place.

Huh.

Damn right.

The reply came instantly; Did you have fun?

Should you lie? No. That was petty. Biting your lip, you twirled your fork in your ramen. What the hell.

Yes, I did.

This reply came slower. Okay.

Another text came in before you could respond. I don’t want you going on dates with other guys.

Your reply was automatic. Did he think you were some well-trained maltose?

Then do something about it.

I plan to, cariño .

It seemed you’d underestimated what those texts had started. Miguel had honestly started to court you. He called you often, even video-calling and you spoke at great lengths about each. Then, the gifts came.

The first was a bouquet of flowers. Carnations, roses and tulips. You had set them on your nightstand. Looking at them every night until they turned brown.

Then, the Nat King Cole record. It was mint and sounded crisp when you played it. A perfect sound and echo.

Miguel was determined.

At least now you knew he was serious. Excitement coursed through you. You liked getting to know him. You liked the vulnerability he shared with you. You liked that you knew his favourite meal, his hatred for his father, his love for his mother – you knew he lost someone he cared deeply about, you knew his aches as well as you knew the curves of his back. The scars healed and were left behind. You cared for this man. You loved this man. That was scary.

The two of you stayed over at each other’s homes on and off. Miguel’s home was clinical and lacked warmth. He had offhandedly said he lived at work and not really here, in this little apartment he showed you.

“Someday, I’ll take you to where I actually sleep.” he’d promised one night, rubbing your feet as you queued up an old movie.

You’d said nothing, not wanting to show him how eager you were for any scrap of information he had to give. You wondered if it was sane; to want someone the way you wanted Miguel. This craving hunger seemed to get the better of you. Was it foolish? To let him in when there was so much pain, so much secretiveness about him.

Could you want something so much it killed you?

III.

You’d taken a summer job when classes had closed down. Waitressing in the city, like you had when you were a grad student. The problem, however, came with getting back home during the night shift. The buses ran till midnight and sometimes, you had to walk home. It was lonely, sure, and you kind of regretted taking the shift. You preferred it being you – older, fewer ties than the other girls with families and who were now getting their degrees. Plus, the late-nighters seemed to tip better.

A cold glock pressed itself to your side – pausing you from moving. Your fingers trembled. “Give me the purse or die.”

Twitchy fingers dug into your fanny purse for your cash, eager to get the fuck away from the psychopath. Then, a flash of colour popped before your eye and the feeling of the glock disappeared. The gun hit the floor and you turned slowly to see the attacker on the ground clutching his throat. Over him stood a familiar black and red, hulking form. Talons dripped crimson and in the shadow of the street light – Miguel appeared fearsome.

Your lips quivered. Words couldn’t wrench themself from your throat. But Miguel turned to you, leaving the man bleeding on the ground.

“I’m taking you home, now.” His voice was a growl. Modulated and unlike the voice you had come to care for. His arms wrapped around you and soon, you were swinging through the city until you met your apartment.

Miguel stripped you and bathed you, tied your hair in a satin scarf and laid you on your bed. You watched him, he seemed laser-focused on you as he tried to make sure you were safe and comfortable. He made that orange tea you liked so much, lit a pine candle and wrapped you in your favorite blanket.

It was when he was half-way out your window that you found your voice. “Stay. Please, Miguel.”

Miguel turned. Removing his mask and suit until he was just in his footlong briefs. “Of course, mi cariño.”

In the morning, Miguel took you to HQ. And boy was that a mindfuck.

IV.

“Empanadas?”

“Beef or chicken?”

Miguel opened the box, took a seat next to you on the park bench, and took a sniff. “Beef.”

“Oh. Yum.” you made grabby hands.

Your boyfriend relinquished them to you, smiling as you dug into one. “So good. I think we should keep coming to this universe just for the food.”

He hummed. “Highly unlikely.”

You licked your fingers and rolled your eyes. Your eyes caught an alley in dark corner and red flushed across your neck. It had been a while since you and Miguel fucked. He wanted to take things at your pace. Sure, he ate you out from time to time and you certainly couldn’t go long without deep-throating his cock but you hadn’t had him deep inside you for a while.

Wiping your hands on your jacket, you placed a hand on his thigh and rubbed a circle. “Mig?”

“Yeah, baby?”

You dropped your voice low and pressed your breasts against his large arm. “Wanna do a quickie in a dark alley?”

Miguel stopped what he was doing and flickered his eyes over you and then back to the alley. “Baby, don’t do this to me.”

“C’mon,” your hand went higher to his groin. “Fuck me like a whore up against a dirty alley wall.”

“Fuck.” Miguel rolled up his sleeve to show his gizmo and in a few taps, you were home.

Your hands were pinned on top of your head by webbing. You showed your teeth and snarled. Though, everything about this was consensual. You liked making things difficult for Miguel. He was about to turn your pussy inside out and you were going to weep on his cock, anyway.

So, yes – you liked making things a little difficult for him. It was your thing. You fought and acted like a bitch and he made you pay deliciously for it.

A hand slapped across your heavy breasts, eliciting a whimper and drawing you from your thoughts. Red eyes flashed down at you, fangs hanging between pouty lips. “I must be doing something wrong if you’re so distracted?”

“Yes.” You answered without hesitation. “You aren’t fucking me.”

Miguel didn’t respond. His hand pinched a hard nipple, sharp talons tracing your skin and making your pussy grow wetter at his teasing. Cupping your pussy, he parted your folds and caressed it — sticky love coating his finger as his thumb rubbed your swollen clit. You buckled beneath his touch.

“Look how that mouth disappears when I’m touching my pussy, cariño .” Miguel kissed your neck; determined to make you come just by playing with your clit. Which wasn’t hard to do. Not when he was pressed against you like this. Kissing your throat and nipping at the swell of your breasts; sucking your nipples as if to draw nectar from them.

You became a wiggling — snivelling thing under him. Fuck. Fuck. Your pussy quivered with the impending fall of your climax.

Arching you back, your mouth hung open as your peak approached. Just as the crescendo reached its high Miguel pulled away from you. Tears burned your eyes as they snapped open to look at him.

“What the fuck?” Your voice came out needy, weak and pleading.

Miguel simply grinned at you, sucking on his fingers. “Are you complaining? Stop being such a whiny little puta.”

Raising your hips, you demanded attention to your pussy. “If you’re going to tease me I might as well take out my vibrator and get the job done.”

“Neta?” The humour in his voice was dry and you felt as though your horny mind had just made a fatal mistake. “You’re going to pay for that.”

Miguel bowed his head and started eating your pussy slowly. Tongue lapping like a cat to cream, he licked from your clit to the end of your slit. Sucking and tonguing your weeping pussy at his own slow pace. Building you up all over again.

He pressed his pretty lips to it, kissing your pussy like it was a precious thing. Then he pressed it to your aching clit. Sucking it slowly, making loud sloppy wet sounds as your hips worked desperately against his face. Miguel made pussy eating a gourmet art.

His index and middle finger pressed into you, sinking into the depth of your carven. You shivered, moaning loudly at the combination.

“Miguel! Oh, please, baby. Miguel! Miguel!”

Moments from it. You felt your release coming before he pulled away again. This time tears fully flowed. “Please, please, please.”

Licking his lips, Miguel showed his fangs, brown eyes dropping to your dripping pussy. He set his hands on your thighs, then rubbed his thumb over your clit before slapping your pussy softly. “Oh. I wouldn’t want to put your vibrator out of business, cariño .”

You groaned. God, if only you’d kept your fucking mouth shut.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, baby. Just let me have it. Make me come, please baby. I’m sorry. Baby, please.” You were outright begging now. Your voice a pathetic, weak mewl. How the mighty had fallen already.

But that pleased Miguel. He liked you pleading. Liked it when you wanted him so badly it made you insane. Writhing on his bed, tied up and weak for him and only him.

Stretching his body over you, he let his hard cock rub against your wet core as he grabbed the aforementioned vibrator from your bedside. Flicking it on, the purple device vibrated. Then he clicked it up to the highest speed.

You hit your lip; excited to see where this would go.

Miguel went back to his meal. Kissing and sucking your pussy before focusing on your clit again.

The vibrator slowly inserted into your pussy as he sucked your clit. You arched your back, whimpering and moaning as the vibrator went in and out of you. Miguel’s expert kissing and use of the toy had you collapsing in moments, spraying his face with your orgasm.

You felt raw and overstimulated but Miguel kept the toy there even as he raised his head to kiss your breasts. Covering them in bite marks.

You are already mute at his work. He worked the vibrator deep into you so that it would stay there in you as he sat on your face — working the tip of his cock into your open mouth.

“Relax your throat, slut.” He growled, working his cock in and out of your mouth. It was an awkward angle sucking his cock as you lay down. The salty taste of his velvet member was a favorite of yours still. You often told him it was your favourite thing to eat.

The vibrator stayed in you even as you wiggled your hips to try and get it to slip out. The sensitivity of your pussy with its motions and the delicious feel of Miguel fucking your mouth had you trembling.

Looking up at Miguel felt like a religious experience. A god, looking down at you as his balls slapped your chin.

“Look how pretty you look — silent and full of my cock. Fuck. Yeah, suck it like that. Fill up on my cock.”

Miguel held your head, controlling the pace but you made your cheeks shallow and kept your tongue wrapping around him. His member jammed the back of your throat and slid down it, you gagged — naturally but Miguel kept it there for a few seconds before pulling out. He rubbed his head, coated in spit and pre-cum all over your lips.

“Pretty puta. You like sucking my cock? You like being my fucking whore?”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond before slipping the tip in. He slid in and out before pulling out and cumming on your face. A spurt landed on your lips and forehead — barely missing your eye. Miguel slipped it back into your mouth and you sucked the head, swallowing the milk that came from it.

You’d lied before. His cum was your favorite meal. His cock was a close second.

Pulling out from your mouth, Miguel reached forward and sliced the webbing open with his talon. Your hands fell to your sides and automatically went to your face. He removed the vibrator from your messy cunt, planting kisses on the poor, trembling pussy.

Miguel wasted no time and plucking a wet-wipe up from his nightstand and wiping your face clean.

“There’s my pretty girl.” He said with softness. You smiled, kissing his cheek and lips. “How’re you? I wasn’t too rough?”

“There’s my beautiful man.” Your hands trailed his body, all the way to his still hard member. Miguel let you lead, guiding his cock into your trembling pussy. You bit your lip and moaned as his thickness sunk into you. “You weren’t rough enough, baby.”

His head dropped, lips to your ear as he hummed against the familiar feel of your walls. You hissed as he pushed himself to the hilt, kissing your skin. You were sure by the end of the night you’d resemble a leopard. “Let me endeavor to correct that then, cariño .”

Miguel’s hand settled onto your throat as he began to stroke you. His girth stretched you slowly, thickness digging deeper into he attempted to dissolve fully into your warmth. He was being kind to your sensitivity but that kindness ended quickly.

His fingers tightened around your neck, conjuring a gasp. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, kissing you sloppily as his hips picked up a harsh pace. His cock spreading you and burning your pussy with its fever.

“You like stretching out this pretty little pussy? Like me making this a home for my cock, whore?”

His teeth nipped your lips, tongue passing across your jaw before he bite your neck.

“Yes, baby. I like you fucking your little whore’s pussy. Stretch me out.” You whispered, fingernails digging into his impossibly large back. You doubted you broke skin but mania overtook you when Miguel’s cock was inside you.

His hips stuttered, ever so slightly, and you couldn’t help but squeeze your pussy around his cock, rocking on the member.

Miguel placed a hand on your crouch, pushing you down. “Not so soon, cariño .”

Staying perfectly still for a moment, he released your throat and sat on his hunches — forcing you to sit up. Miguel placed a hand at your back and another beneath your buttocks, keeping you up.

The movement, and friction of your clit against his pubes, caused for a shutter of an orgasm to race through you. A little thing like that, made you coat his cock.

Full of machismo, Miguel puffed his chest out and began fucking into you. Hard. “Miguel! Fuck, oh god. Oh god!”

“That’s right, baby. I want everyone to hear me fucking you.”

“Oh god, oh god!”

“That’s not my name baby. Fucking say my name!”

And you did, over and over. Until his name became the only word that would fall from your lips. His thick cock dragged against the walls of your sensitive pussy rough and fast, fucking Miguel was holy. Fucking him was close to heaven.

“Love fucking this pussy, cariño . My tight little pussy. Love spreading it open with my fat cock. Oh, take it baby. Roll those pretty eyes back on this cock. My cock dumb little whore.”

Still sensitive, you came wet and messy on top of him. Miguel followed after, chasing his orgasm with hard, burning thrusts until he came inside you. Laying you on your back, he made a few more jerky thrusts; just to get it all inside you and collapsed on top of you.

He rested on you for a moment, before pulling out, cock bouncing onto his thick thigh. Miguel’s chest heaved, his dark eyes looking over your face. His hand found its way between your legs, rubbing his leaking cum all over your sore pussy — pressing some of it back into it.

You couldn’t help it. You kissed his lips and cheeks. God, you loved this man.

Comments are nice ✨

Master list

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o hara #miguel o hara x reader #Miguel o hara smut #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara fanart #spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #spiderman 2099 fanfiction #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel O’Hara x black! reader

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ganondoodle · 6 months

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i might have talked about it before but i kinda wanna rant a lil how nonsensical both the "getting of the time reversal" and "giving zelda the mastersword" things are

bc ... to get the time reversal powers you touch a ... ghost of the enigma stone that used to be there .. and i GUESS it was the one zelda has now but used to be raurus and since its now linked to her we get .... link being astral projected into ghosty dimension similar to the other sages and we get zeldas sage power, but .. how does that even work, zelda, having supposedly long lost her soul to being a dragon is somehow still able to do the whole sage thing of taking you to fogland mclight dimension, just doesnt tell you the same stuff the other sages do word for word (thank GOD)

but how did that even manifest? even ignoring her soul being GONE how can she make that oath or whatever while shes not awake and just floating there, what business does the ghost engima stone have there and why dont the others have something similar to where they were once stored (in the forgotten temple backrooms tm bc we cant have the sonau NOT touch a thing in this world all of the sudden-)

is it bc they were like ... released of their holder from the old sages since they had long died and those go back to being big floaty stones (for whatever reason .. shouldnt have sonias stone done the same when gan took it then??)- also zeldas ability being put into the hand ability wheel while we gotta chase down the damn sages any time you want to use one of their abilities is so unfair .. you could have made the sages usable .. but no ..

its a relatively small complaint compared to the rest but it still bothers me bc it just ... feels so contrived, like it feels to be so clearly just some loose string to get you that power

the same with the weird ass time bubble to get the mastersword back in time to zelda just so she can have a flimsy reason to do what she does (we wouldnt want the character this series is named after be an actual CHARACTER instead of a pretty prize at the end now would we??) and its jsut so .......... why not have her grab the broken master sword as shes falling into the past (SOMEHOW) or it falling down with her bc really link shouldnt maybe not be able to hold it anymore- wait he reaches for her with that hurt hand .. so he did drop it .. and it somehow got back to him instead of being put into the past WITH zelda right then and there?? why??

(also ..rauru just teleporting him to the sky island ... wasnt that arm the last bits of raurus physical body? was his ghost just chilling up there the whole time- ... can ghosts in totk control and teleport their physical, dead limbs to whereever their ghost is? why can a ghost even be so far apart from the rest of his remains .... or was that spiraling energy stuff just him slowly turning into a ghost there ... but my point about ghosts controlling their dead limbs still stands- WAIT he ALSO has to be able to ... SEE somehow bc he grabbed link before he fell too .... the way he talks when you find him chilling on the island tho is like hes seeing it all for the first time too .. so .. he wasnt a ghost yet and still knew where to go .. even tho the place is somehwere totally different to where it used to be and if he became a ghost right there why couldnt you see him when he grabbed link... if the hand that grabbed link wasnt actual the one that fell off gan why does it look like it then? bc gan hand was long and thin with long ass class and raurus actual ghost hands are barely different from typical human ones- .. i think im having more thoughts about this point thant nintendo had over the entirety of making the game .... also fuck rauru for doing the fake out "oooh noooo im fading awayyy" thing just so he doesnt have to answer any of your thousand questions i guess, only to return at the end going, "actually, i want my arm back and yours was fine anyway lol, and here sonia is here too for some reason! also check this out! zelda is back and you didnt have to do shit, isnt that cool?")

the weird time bubble makes me so angry when i remmeber it exists bc it just .. makes NO sense?? what even is it?? if it was a foreshadowing to zelda learning to use her new time powers and you find more over time in the game where she manifests mroe and more until she manages to return on her own like it was kinda teased with sonia tellign her shell find a way to use her new powers to go back since she (SOMEHOW) also got herself here and that point going nowhere like so many other points (hows it going impah, foudn a way to get zelda back yet? dont bother, turns out the solution was 'beat the bad guy' and it all solved itself) OK fine, that works

BUT ITS NOT a foreshadowing of anything, the time bubble thing is just THERE and it drives me nuts, it really only adds to this whole game feeling so weirdly held together by loose strings and it just gets worse the more you think

#ganondoodles talks #zelda #totk #ganondoodles rants #sorry ijust remembered that stuff #and when i think about something that doesnt make sense i kinda spiral into trying to make sense of it #i know a ramble alot but this is pretty much my thought process #i realized soem stuff as i was writing this and it all got more confusing #i want to apologize for the incoherent rambling #but i also know some people like reading through my literal thoughts #i just wish a was a bit more eloquent njkdfbjkdbfks

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ramrage · 9 months

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“fitting a square peg into a square peg” or “and they both were tops”

chapter 5: the cat, in three parts

work rating: E

chapter rating: T

characters: John “Soap” MacTavish, Simon “Ghost” Riley, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick cameo, John Price cameo

Tags: Sexual Tension, terrible flirting, Masturbation, First Time Bottoming, Fantasizing

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

ao3 link

PART 1: THE CAT THAT GOT THE CREAM

Remember that part where Soap wished Ghost’s big ass body would crush him to death? Right, scratch that, actually.

Call it what you want—post-nut clarity or crushing asphyxiation-induced hypoxemia, but the whole notion was kind of losing its charm. Soap was actually sort of shocked. Wanting some distance from Ghost? Unthinkable.

All the same, he did, though under the fight-or-flight response was the sweetness of being pressed so close, sweaty skin to sweaty skin, and Ghost was still in him.

Couldn’t fucking breathe, though.

He gave Ghost a moment or two to catch his breath, gentleman that he was, before tapping twice against his flank.

“Ghost,” he said, strained, when the massive body on top of him didn’t move. In fact, it hardly responded, just groaned a little. “Ghost, you’re crushing me.”

This seemed to light the fire under Ghost’s ass and all at once, the weight on top of him and inside of him was gone, leaving Soap shockingly free but also empty. “Fuck, sorry ‘bout that.”

“All good,” Soap said after ripping a couple deep breaths. With the oxygen returning to his brain, the reality of the situation hit him. He took inventory of the important bits:

- There was cum oozing down his ass

- It was Ghost’s cum

- Holy shit

- Ghost fucked him. Fucking hell.

- and Ghost was still there, panting, to the left of him.

Instead of addressing any of this, Soap decided to say something intelligent.

“Why do you have a bed in your office?”

“It works for me,” Ghost reasoned, not particularly pressed about it. He was still busy sucking air into his body. Fair enough.

“Right.”

Situation Inventory item number 1 was a new feature of the post-coital experience for Soap, and he felt a pang of remorse for all the sorry sods he’d placed in such a position. As Ghost was doing presently, he was used to just lying there, waiting for his soul to do a few laps around the room before rejoining his body, none the wiser that his partners were dripping uncomfortably below or to the side of him—he never left them waiting too long, but all the same, he wasn’t hip to how pressing the matter could be.

Maybe they were used to it or otherwise didn’t mind, but Soap wasn’t quite at that point in his Bottom Journey yet. “Do you have anything I can…” he glanced at his filthy body hoping it was enough to convey his need. For a handful of reasons, he didn’t really feel like bringing words to his leaking ass.

Ghost grunted—apparently his post-nut language of choice—before heaving his body up on a forearm to better survey the room. “I’ve got a shirt,” he offered after a moment or two. Charming.

“Alright, you wanna get it or would you prefer I drip around your office?”

“Fuck, Soap, need a second to catch my breath,” Ghost whined, rolling off the bed as requested nonetheless, like a naked, grumpy butler.

Soap smirked, “Thought I gave you plenty of time to recover. Can’t keep up, old man?”

PART 2: CURIOSITY KILLS THE CAT

A displeased noise crawled from Ghost’s throat as he tossed a shirt Soap’s way, and it was probably no accident that it landed perfectly across Soap’s face, the fucken arsehole. “I’m not old,” Ghost grumbled with averted eyes, sounding pissed, of course, but almost a little…bashful? How fucken sweet. He seemed to debate something internally before continuing, “that was just…”

Soap waited for the end of the sentence, but it never came. Speaking of “came” and its various conjugations, he took sick pleasure in wiping the cum from his arsecrack with his commanding officer’s tee shirt—a cherry on top of his most literal interpretation of “fuck authority” to date. He respected authority plenty, but he chafed at it all the same. “Aw, what, L.t.? Did I fuck you senseless?”

It was with the same reticence that Ghost eventually swallowed and told Soap to piss off, but the lack of heat made it easy for Soap to delude himself into believing that yes, he did fuck his Lieutenant senseless. Delusion though it may have been, it was a necessary one because Soap would’ve otherwise crawled out of his skin at the fragile, fawn-legged silence that followed.

Maybe Ghost needed space despite—or as a direct result—of all they had just done. That made sense. Soap played it casual as he quietly got dressed, as if he wasn’t a bit let down, as if he didn’t feel like a butterfly specimen on pins under Ghost’s eyes, which resolutely watched him in their peripheral, if at all. He was just as fucking cool, calm, and collected when he bid Ghost goodnight and shut the door behind him.

The first thing he did when he got to his room was hop in the shower to finish the job Ghost’s tee shirt couldn’t complete. Ah, the old shower. Another monument to this interesting history. He huffed a laugh, just to himself, when he reached between his legs like he had that first time, just for very different reasons.

“Good god, man,” he thought to himself, “get out of your head. You got what you wanted. Why are you acting so fucken bizarre?”

It’s not like he realistically expected any more than he’d gotten, and realistically, he’d gotten more than he expected. He just had the best lay of his life but was moping around because what? They didn’t cuddle afterwards? Pathetic.

Falling into bed afterwards was easy, falling into sleep was easy enough, too. His unease was fighting a losing battle against his sated and tired body. He spent those twilight moments thinking about cats, weird that it was.

He was the cat that got the cream (ha), but he couldn’t help but remember that curiosity also killed the cat.

On the other hand, satisfaction brought them back. And then that thing about their nine lives. All nonsensical bullshit of a half-wake brain but all the same fitting, fitting stuff because he was feeling like a complete and total pussy.

————————————

Soap was actually rather proud of how he handled the post-shag days, and the good behavior wasn’t easily-earned. No, not by any stretch of the definition, but he was an SAS man, for christ’s sake, and that meant he was no stranger to self-discipline.

If he wasn’t, he would’ve avoided Ghost like the fucking plague which, coincidentally, he was very much tempted to do whenever he caught sight of Ghost’s hulking figure. Aptly fucking named, because the man made himself scarce as all hell, haunting the periphery of Soap’s existence.

Soap wasn’t sure how he wanted to categorize this.

On the one hand, he was pleased to not have to steel himself and strap a mask of normalcy to his sweaty face, but on the other hand, he wanted to take the awkwardness, hold it in his hands and squeeze until something came out of it—bitter or sweet, it didn’t matter.

All the same, he thought he handled the few moments of interaction with as much grace as one could. Like nothing had ever happened. Like he didn’t know how Ghost tasted or felt, or how he sounded when he came undone.

Even though Soap craved to, he knew better than to push this fragile, fragile issue. And god, did he want to push it.

If the pre-shag days were foreplay, this was edging, but if edging was fucking horrible and you were never sure if you were actually going to get off. Actually, no. This wasn’t edging, this was limbo. This was a dice roll, this was throwing cookies in the oven and hoping they came our delicious and not like hockey pucks, this was—fuck the terrible metaphors—excruciating.

Excruciating, just like how the day was shaping up. At Price’s behest, Soap would be running drills with Ghost. Terrific.

Soap took the news with nothing but collected normalcy, arrived at the training grounds with nothing but collected normalcy, and tried his best to greet Ghost with nothing but collected normalcy, but it came out a bit cockeyed, to be honest.

“Hey up, Ghost,” Soap said in what he aimed to be his typical, gregarious nature. But c’mon, what Scotsman says fucking hey up. In his defense, he was trying his very damnedest to not say “Hey, Ghost. Remember when you fucked my ass? Good times. Anyways, drills!” Soap did no such thing—a win in his book—but kicked himself for letting the cringe show on his expression.

Ghost’s face pinched in confusion, but he mercifully kept it minimal. “Morning, Sergeant,” he shot back, and ow, Sergeant? Rather stiff.

Thus concluded their idle chat for the day. Any other words they spared each other were direct, utilitarian, and absolutely boiling with unvoiced bullshit.

But not unnoticed. Like Soap, Ghost was stiffer than usual (impressive), and didn’t slip once in his stiffness from start to finish. By the end of the session, the recruits were aching for a shower, and Soap was aching for a cigarette. Or booze. He wasn’t feeling particularly picky.

Ultimately, the cigarette won out, if only for the social pressure against day drinking, and that’s how Soap found himself leaning against a sun-scraped wall on the base’s western face.

Despite the shite mood that had taken him hostage, he had to admit that it was a nice day. Real nice. Autumn had turned the saturation up on the sky, painting it azure, striking and endless against the reddening leaves on the horizon. It smelled like Autumn and like cigarettes, crisp and acrid, just as it did the day Soap took up smoking.

Him and a gaggle of chums he’d long since fallen out of contact with leaned up against a wall, feeling awfully grown up and cool. Soap often thought back to that day just because he found it so funny. He’d dedicated himself to a new vice just for the sake of looking cool, leading to an addiction that outlasted the friendships that brought him there as well as the desire to look cool.

He sucked in a drag and, holding it close in his chest, wondered if he was actually addicted to making stupid decisions. On the exhale, he decided that it was less stupidity and more impulsivity. It didn’t really matter, he thought as he flicked the ashes, because whatever the motivation, he was left to juggle the consequences all the same. And he didn’t really like those.

His wallet was all the lighter, his skin a bit duller, teeth yellower, scent shittier for all the packs he’d run through. Just for the sake of being the bad boy. He cursed his vanity and his cowardice because even in the safety of his mind, he didn’t want to admit that maybe hooking up with Ghost was another bead on his long necklace of mistakes.

The thought was there, he just didn’t want to let it into the spotlight. Didn’t want to make it real.

A half-brown, half-orange leaf fluttered clumsily into a puddle. “Same, brother,” Soap scoffed.

“Huh?” came the reply he wasn’t expecting.

“Whuh?”

“You said something,” noted Ghost as he rounded the corner in what would be an amble were he not so fucking stiff.

Soap shrugged, doing his best to keep his surprise and abject terror to himself. “Ah, just talking to myself.”

“‘M sorry you have such a shite audience,” Ghost joked in his own personal brand of casualness. He settled his back against the wall, too, leaving ample breathing room between their shoulders.

If it weren’t for the honking elephant in the room, it’d be sort of nice just standing there, drinking in the rare nice day.

Eventually Ghost tilted his head Soap’s way, eyes focused on some faraway tree. “Mind if I bum a fag?”

Soap snorted, “You gotta be joking me.” He closed his eyes and indulged himself another chuckle at the idiocy. Maybe it was a mistake to acknowledge the elephant, but Ghost seemed more at ease than he had in days, and the blue sky was making Soap feel brave.

Maybe it wasn’t a mistake, because Ghost started laughing, too.

“Thought you already did that,” Soap teased as he dug the pack from his pocket and offered it to Ghost once it was open.

Ghost reached for it but stopped short and hit Soap with a quizzical look, “Giving away your lucky?”

“Eh, it’s all superstition.”

“Then why flip it if it’s just superstition?” Ghost pocketed the empty pack once his cigarette was lit, and passed back the lighter that had rested within it. Soap pointedly didn’t gawk at the exposed portion of Ghost’s face as he palmed the lighter.

“Something to do,” Soap responded with a shrug, finding no better explanation. The lit end of his cigarette was creeping all too quickly to the filter, and he cursed his choice in cheap, fast-burning brands. Usually he was happy with a low-commitment smoke, but now… Now he was a bit distraught to see his excuse for enjoying a surprisingly normal moment with Ghost literally smolder into ash. The silence was less awkward if it could be chalked up to their mouths being occupied by other pursuits.

Soap angled the tip of his cigarette upwards to slow its burn, to buy just a few more seconds. If he was going to say something, the time to do so was visibly running out. Awkward things like these were harder to address the longer they’d had to linger.

So he took a decisive drag and counted down from 3…

2…

1…

fuck it.

PART 3: THE CAT HAS NINE LIVES

“Can we cut the bullshit?” Soap said on an exhale. Ghost finally looked at him and Soap didn’t see anything like surprise in his eyes. “I just want to make sure we’re…cool. You know, don’t want to let anything get in the way of what we have to do.”

Ghost took it in, took another drag and nodded. “Cool,” he mused with a half-hearted smirk that spoke to surrender.

Soap rolled his eyes. “I know I’m no fucking Shakespeare, Ghost. Leave it out.”

“Thank fuck you aren’t.” And there was that look of surrender again. “I’m solid,” Ghost eventually said, “I’m solid if you are.”

“So solid you treat me like a leper? What was that about?” Soap responded, but not unkindly. He was well aware of the awkwardness, having experienced it himself and all, and without Ghost’s emotional… issues, at that.

The whisper of breeze-swept leaves filled the empty space as Ghost considered his words. “I was thinking.”

“Of?”

“I don’t know,” Ghost said around a mouth of smoke. “How to not fuck this up?”

“Friendly tip: don’t avoid me next time,” Soap offered, crushing the spent butt under his boot. He pressed off the wall, brave lad he was, and faced Ghost. “Because I do want a next time. If you’d have me.”

“I would,” Ghost said simply, finding confidence somewhere in Soap’s words. Soap couldn’t help but grin and look terribly corny, but he could sense Ghost had more to say, and so he left the silence hanging, free to take. If not then, then eventually. “I think not knowing—I think that’s what held me back.”

Weightless. Soap felt weightless. He shifted in his boots to remind himself of the solid earth beneath him, but he felt too buoyant to ground down. He was addicted to impulsivity, after all. So that’s why he stepped to crowd in Ghost’s space, to pluck the half-smoked cigarette from his cold fingers, to hold his gaze and then break it, to eye up those soft-parted lips. “So we’re cool, then?”

Soap hardly felt cut down when Ghost rolled his eyes, heaved out a long-suffering sigh. Maybe he would’ve if it didn’t feel so fond, and what did that matter when Ghost tilted his chin up, a slight invitation to claim what he was so clearly seeking. And who was Soap to deny a vice?

Impulsive but not idiotic, Soap kissed Ghost for just a moment, and it was enough. Enough, at least, to drive a stake through the heart of his worries. Enough to even remotely satisfy his desires? Absolutely not.

But it would have to do.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Soap said, stepping back only enough for the scene to look less suspicious. Visibility be damned, he wanted to jump Ghost’s bones.

“God, you’re fucking insufferable. Yes.” Ghost said, and then a mischievous look spreading across the exposed features of his face.

“What?”

“I said I’d have you,” he began, voice strained slightly as he pushed off the wall to leaned in next to Soap’s ear. The next words were a whisper, “and I’ve done some experimenting, too. How would you like having me?”

BUT SATISFACTION BROUGHT HIM BACK

-fin-

#ghostsoap #soapghost #soap x ghost #ghost x soap #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #ghoap #my writing #mine #square peg

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lya-dustin · 9 months

Text

All is bliss

Chapter 36

Cw:unsafe drinking, intrigue

Gif by @baddie-on-a-mission-xx

Taglist: @darylandbethfanforever9 @mercedesdecorazon @watercolorskyy @aemondx @sweethoneyblossom1 @ewanmitchellcrumbs @alexandria-millie

Aemma drinks a small glass of wine and braces herself as she opens her bedroom door.

She walks with purpose and confidence to her destination and waits patiently after knocking on the door.

Septon Eustace is shocked to say the least as he apologized for taking so long to answer his door.

“What can I do for you, your grace?” He asked, rubbing his eyes from sleep, he had left the feast early as usual. Had to be well-rested for tomorrow when he blesses the funeral procession.

“I need you to perform funeral rites for the dead.” The young queen said the words she has rehearsed ever since she got this idea.

People who were executed were not given funeral blessings or had rites performed unless they were of the noble class and of moral standing.

Either by mistake or for whatever reason Aegon had done it no one, absolutely no one, was giving any sort of respectful burial.

“I can only do so to whole bodies, only the heads remain, your grace.” The Septon said tiredly, as if he too had been against it.

Once you scratched the surface you found Aegon’s reign stood on a foundation of sand.

No one wanted him as king, his only epithet is Aegon the Usurper.

Couldn’t even call him Aegon the Mediocre.

“I do not care, do what you must and allow them to rest in peace.” The young queen stood her ground and the Septon gave in without a second to even give a half-assed argument.

“I can perform a blessing if they are buried, we would need permission to give them a burial.” He said as if that was difficult to obtain.

She is about to whore herself out to get children to stop being sold like chattel in Flea Bottom, a place to bury those who suffered Aegon’s wrath will be easy to get.

“Leave that to me, your holiness.” The young queen said, and the old man looked at her the same way Orwyle and Jena did.

He looked at her with hope.

When she returns to her room, she finds Aemond drinking enough for both.

In the odd turn of events, Aegon had all the cravings she had and Aemond got the nausea she occasionally got.

So far things had been going smoothly, she had gained the right amount of weight and Aemond only had to lie once about why he couldn’t stand the stench of garlic.

“Where were you?” he asked annoyed and yet looking at her like he wanted to consume her body and soul.

To be fair cunnilingus was referred to as eating cunt these days.

And boy did her lover feast on her like a man starved.

“Had some business to attend to.” she said, keeping it vague as she began to undress in her dressing room.

It wasn’t that he wouldn’t approve, but more like he doesn’t care for anyone outside his immediate circle and thinks her caring about others is a little odd.

He humored her, just as the rest do, even mother did.

Otto, Viserys and Alicent had instilled in them that if one gave things like education and freedoms and other progressive things like that, the smallfolk would realize nobility and royalty are merely titles one gives power to.

It wouldn't kill them to end the practice of serfdom or allow trade guilds to include women or make their subjects literate, they just think it will and it was a fucking problem.

Even mother and both her grandfathers thought the same.

Only grandmother thought differently because after her mother died Queen Alysanne and her father raised her and Aemon was of the same mind as his lady mother.

“If you were wondering where your husband is, don’t bother looking for him he fell asleep from the wine.” Aemond is smiling from the sheer luck of it all.

She can hear it in his voice as he comes to help her out of the dress.

“Thank the gods, I felt dirty and used when it hit me that I was whoring myself ---and you---for a semblance of power here.” She admitted avoiding his gaze through the looking glass.

He doesn’t know she only agreed to it because it is the only way they can be together.

“Good, I know you wouldn’t believe it after the things I said at supper, but I would rather take my remaining eye out than have him watch me fuck.” He confessed as he searched for laces or buttons on the back and sides.

The dress was fastened by the silver clasps accentuating her cleavage.

“Am I going to have to cut you out of this dress?” he asked after he gave up.

Once she was literally sewed into a dress, it had been hell to remove, and she knows Aemond took immense pleasure in tearing it off her with his dagger.

“No, dearest, the smith who made the silverwork, had the genius idea of making them clasps.” Aemma demonstrated by undoing them one by one.

If these innovations persist, the handmaidens who dress her will be out of their jobs, the queen thinks as she eased her own clothing off her body.

The shifts she usually wore underneath had been replaced by a red silk petticoat that matched the lining of the sleeves. The ribbon tying it to her waist is familiar enough for Aemond to undo.

And because neither wants to pay the toll, this may as well be the last time they are together.

Only a handful of people are brave enough to come.

“They plan to retake Dragonstone while the Western lords fight by the Riverlords, Prince Jacaerys has a bold plan to end the war.” Mysaria whispered to the young queen who stands there and says all the right prayers as the Septon sends off the innocent into the afterlife.

Her innocent baby boy would have been one and twenty, he would have been named Baelon after the Spring Prince. He would have been a man, a knight with his own keep and lands and would never fear a slaver’s boat or the auction block or the whip of a master.

He would have been the sun to her, and they took him from her before he had even been born.

That night she had wished to kill Otto Hightower herself, but she settled with taking out his eyes and feeding them to the ravens she keeps.

Rhaenyra and Viserys were dead and paid for what they did to her only Alicent Hightower, Daemon and Larys Strong remained.

“And how would they win the war without an army? The north cannot come, the Velaryon fleet has no commanders, and the Lannisters will likely make mincemeat out of the riverlords.” The little queen asked, no longer the same girl she had been before.

The proud little queen had been humbled, and with the right person, she could be molded into someone better than Alysanne Targaryen.

Mysaria could be that person.

She could make the queen and have all those who wronged her begging for her mercy.

Wasn’t it just wonderful?

The woman whose happiness they took making a queen out of the child of the one who helped Hightower and his dog kill her innocent baby.

“They have dragons, more so than your captors. Prince Aemond will be sent to take Harrenhal while Daemon is gone and the Western lords dead, with the Hightower host busy burying their dead, the city will be ripe for the taking.” Lady Misery gives the good news.

If it all went well, the war would be over before the last of the harvests is brought into the city’s storages.

#aemma velaryon #aemond targaryen x velaryon!oc #all is bliss fic #all is bliss(in the court of aemma the great) fic #aemond targayen x oc #aegon ii x oc x aemond #ewan mitchell

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twilightarcade · 7 months

Note

You're in the dungeons of Fear and Hunger. Your reasons for traversing the world to arrive at this decrepit place has lost you, at this point. The dungeons had a special, otherworldly cursed effect on you. Your hunger and mind dwindled much faster than it should have. Though, time was impossible to tell. Now your main objective here was to merely survive.

Early on, you spot a cage that held a little girl. Scarred arms, blue eyes, ginger hair, wearing a black dress. The way she seemed, she could be no older than 10. Why was a soul like hers imprisoned here, where the worst offending criminals were meant to rot? You unlock her cage, she nods a thanks. Meek and unspeaking.

Soon after you find a small dagger, one that is much unsuitable to your hands. But to the girl, it fit in her palm comfortably. She aids you as best as she can in the dungeons, though you try to make sure her safety is above yours.

The next gift for her was a small doll that you both found in a cell. What it was existing there for was an unknown that you didn't truly care about. You gave it to her, to hold on, to comfort her. She has a small smile.

Now you've dwelled deep. How deep did this dungeon go? Your equipment is starting to be a bit too weak for the stronger and more horrific enemies the deeper this hellhole goes.

A light, in a dark ravine you're traversing through. You see a tall figure. A man, with a wooden mask resembling a cat. His coat is purple, fancy, like he was a royal. His brown boots sleek, polished. A sane being able to have a proper conversation with?

His voice, refined, posh. He went on a few minutes, monologing how dark and depressing the world is. You decide to let him have his time talking, with how the dungeons were, he probably was lonely and needed to get some things off his mind. Soon, he sighs and gets to a topic that makes your eyes widen and your fists clench.

He asks for the little girl that you brought along in your journey.

In return, he would offer you a reward of a powerful sword, with only a few blows, could slay enemies easily. Your eyes dart to the long sword in your hand, getting duller. It seems the dungeon's darkness also effected the utility of items, too.

You probably couldn't stand a chance with the enemies soon to come with this sword. There's only so many times you can run away.

Do you trade away your travel companion, this girl you found just a few hours ago, for a better chance of survival?

(idk I was thinking that you're the questions guy I thought why not give you epic funger scenario)

ouhhh is this that cat guy i've heard so much about

honestly um? Desperate survival situation?? I can't say much on what desperate survival me would do maybe u should kidnap me (honestly I don't know what not desperate survival situation me is up to most of the time). BUT hypothetically yeah I am putting that kids safety above my own u got that right,, Absolutely adore children and also I think I would get lonely pretty quickly especially while im like. Sitting here fighting for my life. Lonely me easily translates to desperate me which easily equals not pretty good. (bro can't be left alone in the dungeon for a few hours 🤣🤣🤣🤣)

I would just sharpen my sword myself honestly man bet you didn't think about that huh [i am going 2 die horribly]. I mean based on recent trends it's just going 2 keep getting harder so like? I'll die eventually. Why give up some kid while I'm at it [<- HIS ASS IS GOING TO GET BOTH ITSELD AND THE KID KILLED] Also I don't trust that guy anyways. People with elaborate voices aren't trustworthy

#askstag #didn't read this carefully enough the first time and was like 'wow what did i do to get locked up in super villain jail'#very briefly we lived in a universe where i answered this formally then I dropped it and it all went out the window #thankies 4 this btw... <3 chewing on it #is there a right answer 2 this do i win a prize. Most morally correct reasoning award

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or-something-better · 1 year

Text

Sam’s Story Corner

July 31, 2022

🔮✏️🚨✏️🔮✏️🚨✏️🔮✏️🚨✏️🔮✏️🚨

For anyone who'd like to participate, our next Item is: "Share a Defining Moment in Your Characters Life" that the show doesn't cover or doesn't adequately cover."

Ruby

My First Time

Once I became a demon in Hell, it didn’t take long before I was thrown into the job of Crossroads Demon. It always sounded better than just a demon. Truth be told, it was just like any other job. The higher up the food chain you go, the more work you have to do. While my territory widened considerably, so did the pressure to get more done. Being a lowly demon meant close supervision from other, higher, demons and it chaffed. By the time I got my ‘promotion’, I was more than ready to get the hell out of…well, Hell.

I got about a week’s worth of OJT (on the job training) and then was sent out on my own. The whole world literally opened up to me. Language had no barriers. It came along with the job title. I could be in Iran in the morning, and the Canadian wilderness in the evening. I went where called, 24 hours a day.

I’ve heard it said you never forget your ‘first time’. Believe me, it’s true.

I had been a Crossroads Demon for nearly a century before one of the ‘perks’ of being a demon knocked me on my ass. I’d been summoned by a young man in the Massachusetts territory in 1645. He wanted to sell his soul to be with his ‘great love’. (Love and money are always the top two reasons someone sells their soul.)

We were discussing terms when another young man appeared. It seems my client had picked a betrothed young girl to fall in love with. And her fiancé was none too happy about her running off with someone else. The fiancé decided to take matters into his own hands and had come armed with a musket. One thing led to another and before I knew it, my client thought I was fair game to hide behind when the fiancé shot at him.

Before I could react I felt a punch in my right shoulder and was knocked on my ass. My 'perk' of not dying saved me. After struggling to stand, I looked down at my shift and saw the hole in it. “God Damn It!” I cried out. “Look what you’ve done to my favorite shift!” Feeling the energy build, I thrust out my hands and blasted them both against the nearest trees. I was not leaving without my soul! And by damned, I was taking a bonus as well! The fear of what I might still do to them, convinced my client to finish the terms, thus getting his girl and the other to accept ten more years of living or die on the spot.

I’ve managed to avoid getting shot more often than not. But I can definitely agree, ‘You never forget your first time.’

…………………………………………

Sam

((Time Period: “Exile on Main St.” Season 6 Episode 1 #Soulless))

I stood back from the road, hidden in the shadows cast from the streetlight, and stared across at the little house at 11 Main Street. Dean lived there. Had for almost a year now with Lisa and Ben, trying to make family life work. I’d pushed him to it, made him promise me that once I carried Lucifer back into the pit, that he’d come back here and try… that he’d not waste time trying to get me back.

And as far as I knew, he hadn’t. Wasted the time. Something else had seen fit to return me top side, but after running down every clue, I still didn’t know if Angel’s or Demon’s or something unknown altogether was behind it. So, I did what I could do, I Hunted.

I fought every night. Black blood running over my blade. Always a smirk on my lips. Enjoying it. The screams, the final look of terror. The blast of light as the demon was sent back to its rightful place in hell. A devious spark in my eyes as I turned towards another. Blade at the ready. For true Hunters like me, the world held signs… clues of monsters… clues of vampires… clues of demons… all threading the streets of every town. All obvious in their mistakes. Their desires. Admiring themselves in shop windows. Blocking the world out with music. Fumbling around those they craved. They all craved so many things. Objects, blood, food, a touch, a safe place. Some desired death. The darkness could always be broken through. Hidden myself, shrouded in the cloak of death, I watched the others. Especially those blackest of heart. The true enemy of all. The angels. All were seen and could be broken by my blade. By my singular mission, to destroy them all. I had become the perfect Hunter.

………………………………..

Eileen

We all know my parents were murdered by a Banshee in 1985, that Banshee scream rendered me deaf.

The only reason I'm even still alive is because Lillian O'Grady was tracking that Banshee and found me in

my crib days after my parents' death. Lillian took me in and trained me to be a Hunter. She started just

by teaching me how to kill monsters. Cut off a vamp's head… Silver bullet to the heart will kill a

werewolf Silver blade to the heart will off a Djinn. But the most important one she taught me, is that a

gold blade to the heart kills a Banshee. We tracked that monster all over the globe. I found a few others

along the way, but never the bastard that made me an orphan. When I was 16, Lillian died of cancer. She

fought it just as hard as she fought every demon and monster she ever came across, but it bested her in

the end. From then on, I was alone. I met with other Hunters along the way, but never stayed with

them. I hunted anything I came across. Ghouls, vampires, werewolves, Djinn, and I even knocked out a

Wendigo or two. But I was always chasing down that Banshee that murdered my parents. I traveled to

Germany once when I saw signs of it pop up, but by the time I made it to Germany, the Banshee had

disappeared. I had missed it again. It had been 4 years since the last appearance. Who knew how long it

would be underground this time. And so, I continued hunting, never catching up to the one monster I

was most desperate to find. I hunted for another year, and then the news I've been waiting to hear for,

quite literally, my whole life, makes its way to my ears. Well, figuratively, anyway. The Banshee has been

wreaking havoc in Lebanon, KS. And from here on out, you know…

……………………………….

Crowley

Screaming, that’s all I know, the only constant I’ve felt. I don’t know how much time has passed but it feels like an eternity. I break off mid scream when the knife stops, only for it to be ripped from my throat again as the blade is sheathed in my gut. Straining, I peek up from the rack seeing Alistair looking away from me speaking to another demon. I thrash a bit and they both turn towards me and I go stiff seeing those yellow eyes again.

I go limp on the rack again and scrunch my eyes shut wondering if he’d chosen to come kill me now that I was in his home field. My pride was what had kept me here rather than getting off and taking up the knife, which was funny since I’d never had an issue hurting others before. I scream again, eyes snapping open to see Alistair hovering over me once more. As he brings the knife down I flinch, only for my left arm to be freed, then my right. He was cutting me loose, was it because of the demon with yellow eyes?

“Who was he?” I ask while sliding off the table, only to almost slip and fall on my own blood. “Your king, now show some respect.” He grabs me by the scruff and drags me from the pit. I want to ask more, but he looks pissed at having to cut me loose already, Still, why would the king want me off the rack? Why would the king care unless…unless what he said was true, about being my father? What were the odds there were 2 yellow eyed demons that seemed to care that happened to me?

I grunt as I’m thrown forward, my knees feeling like they shatter on impact with cold stone, and I look up to see a woman. Somehow, her white dress remains pristine even in hell and I can feel the power even before her eyes turn milky. She must be different, sadistic and warped was my guess. The only other demon I knew with white eyes was Alistair, so my reviews weren’t exactly glowing for quality time.

“You, I’m told you could be helpful.” I flinch when she abruptly speaks, gruff and demanding just like Alistair. Idly, I wonder if they’re related.

“I’m sure I can be, what do you need? Given the chance I could prove most useful.” I push myself to my feet to prove myself not weak and level my gaze. I could hold this glassy eyed bitch’s gaze if it meant I got off the rack without conceding to Alastair's plea deal. She’s sizing me up, I can tell, so I swallow down the pride that landed me here and keep my mouth shut. This could be the chance of a lifetime after all.

“You seem like a salesman to me, so I’m going to send you there. Give it a couple decades, and maybe if you do a few favors for me, I could make it a bit better for you.” She’s leering at me as though she could eat me alive. This is Hell, so I suppose that’s not out of the question. Still, I’d never regretted those extra inches until now. “Of course I accept. I’ll be certain to make this decision worth your while.” Time to start schmoozing and buttering up the boss I suppose.

“What’s your name, salesman?” she demands looking only mildly interested in knowing.

“Fergus MacLeod ma’am.” Lilith makes a disgusted look and I take an instinctive step back, only for a hand to dig into my shoulder. Alastair, how could I have forgotten he was still there?

“No, Nope. That has to change.” Lilith is ranting and I can only wonder why she was so offended? It’s just a name, I’m inclined to agree a shitty one, but still mine. It bore a reminder that my mother cared long enough to at least name me. I hadn’t even realized Lilith had been speaking, listing off random names to change mine too until another voice speaks from a forgotten corner of the room.

“Crowley. His name shall be Crowley.” All our heads turn towards the voice. Once again I can see only yellow eyes as I swallow reflexively. The aura was strong and commanding and I knew, right then, what I wanted. I wanted respect, I wanted power, I wanted presence. I wanted what this demon had. But for now. For now, I have a name and a job.

I am: Crowley the Salesman.

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theewokingdead · 2 years

Text

First Look - Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x Fem!Reader Summary: It’s your wedding day and there are a few surprises in store for your husband-to-be, Frankie. Word count: 3k Rating: T Warnings: Fluff fest. Language. Benny doing Benny things. You and Frankie have a preschool-aged daughter. DILF Frankie deserves its own warning. No use of y/n. I know very little Spanish. A/N: Valentine’s Day on Morales Monday?! This calls for Frankie fluff! This started as a quick thought and somehow exploded (as my thoughts always do, apparently), and I hope you enjoy it. Happy Valentine’s Day! I hope this warms your heart and soul and has you yearning for our dear Frankie ❤️

Frankie is a nervous wreck, his heart pounding in a way that makes him fear it’ll rip through his chest and destroy his rental tuxedo. A culmination of all things led him right here, to this very moment – when he finally could see his beautiful bride. It’s been a long journey to get here. Frankie can easily navigate a helicopter through damn near any condition, under any amount of pressure – but navigating a relationship? That’s been a damn near impossible feat - one he couldn’t have done without you.

A bead of sweat falls down his forehead, but he pays no notice to it. He fidgets with the finger where the physical representation of your love will soon be placed while his mind runs a million miles a minute, thinking about what he'll say when he sees you; how beautiful you are, how excited he is to finally make you his wife. He’s also reminding himself to hold it together and not find a way to fuck up this moment, this day, because today is all about you, and for that reason alone, he wants everything to be perfect.

He doesn't understand why he’s so nervous. The two of you are already married in every respect except by law: you share a home, you share expenses, and you even share a daughter together. Most importantly, you share a deep love for one another. Even with all the struggles through the years – yours, his, both – your love has never faltered. You were there for him through the cocaine addiction, through the rehab, through the weeks you were home alone with a newborn worrying he was dead in some jungle in Colombia while on that stupid mission with Pope, and through the PTSD he experienced after he returned home. Your constant unwavering support amazes him, along with how fully capable you are to give him a swift kick him in the ass when he needs it – especially when he doesn’t realize he needs one.

What did I do to deserve you?

Dozens of memories of your relationship flood Frankie’s mind as he stands in the clearing of the forest. This place is special to you both, one that he introduced to you and brought you to countless times afterward - and one you brought him to when you knew he needed a breath of fresh air to help clear his mind. Many nights were spent here stargazing in the bed of his truck, flirting, giggling, and talking about the future. Not to mention the unmentionable things you’ve done in the privacy of the forest. It’s where your relationship grew – and was sometimes tested, considering the number of arguments and deep conversations you’ve also had here. Getting married here just made sense.

Frankie senses a figure approaching from behind, drawing him from his thoughts. He quickly changes his posture, but struggles to decide what to do with his hands. He settles on standing with them in front of him, his right hand clasping his left wrist. The photographer snaps away with her camera before pausing to offer instruction, but the words are muffled in his ears. All he can hear is his heartbeat, the pulsing seeming to build in intensity as the seconds tick by.

Finally, he feels a hand tap his shoulder and verbal permission to turn around to see his bride. Taking a deep breath, he turns around, and immediately locks onto a pair of piercing blue eyes.

Wait…those aren’t your eyes.

For a moment, Frankie questions whether he has somehow lost his mind somewhere in the chaos of the day. Had the heat finally gotten to him? He’s looking at a bride, but it sure as hell isn’t his bride. It’s not you. It’s not the warm smile that he’s accustomed to. Instead, it’s Benny Miller smiling brightly at him, wearing an old wedding gown and veil he picked up at the Goodwill when this plan was first formulated. His muscular arms look absolutely ridiculous in the strapless dress, his tattoo on his right shoulder on full display. A hint of chest hair peeks out of the loosely fitted sweetheart neckline.

Realizing what’s going on, Frankie doubles over in laughter, his hands on his knees to keep him from falling to the ground. Benny immediately follows, roaring as he throws his head back. Somewhere in the background, hidden amongst the trees, Will and Santi are howling with laughter, having held it in for so long while watching it all play out. Tears fill Frankie’s eyes, and when he finally is upright again, he flicks them away, feeling the stress of the day fly away with them.

As the laughter begins to die down, Benny grabs Frankie’s hands. Looking deeply in his eyes, he says breathlessly, “I love you. I love you, Francisco. Can I…Can I please make a baby with you?”

Frankie laughs one more, then pulls Benny into a hug, the two men enthusiastically patting one another on their backs as they embrace.

“Congratulations, man,” Benny bids, breaking from his charade long enough to express her feelings to one of his best friends. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, hermano…,” Frankie begins in sincerity. He pushes back to take a look at the man, then adds, “For whatever the fuck this is.”

Benny grabs Frankie’s face with his big hands and turns it to the side, planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek, eliciting another big laugh from Frankie.

“Fuck you, pendejo,” Frankie jokes, lightly pushing him away.

“Don’t you love me anymore, Frankie, baby?” Benny teases. He pushes up on the bustline of the dress, which is hanging loosely from his lack of cleavage. Frankie pulls on the neckline, playfully looking down, causing the two other Delta members to whoop and holler in the background.

“Like what you see?” the blond man questions.

“You’re beautiful, baby!” Santi teasingly yells from across the way.

The photographer finally interjects. “Can we do a prom pose with the lovely bride?”

The two men immediately get into position, Frankie standing closely behind Benny, his hands wrapped around the younger man’s waist. Another laugh escapes Frankie’s lips, then he plants a kiss on Benny’s cheek, causing the man to chuckle as well.

“I can’t,” Benny wheezes, breaking away from Frankie. “I can feel your cock on my ass.”

“You know you like it,” Frankie jokes, slapping him on the ass before he’s out of reach.

“Oh!” Benny exclaims dramatically. “You dirty boy!”

“Get your ugly ass out of here,” Frankie commands in a playful tone, shooing him away. “And tell the other two to stop drinking until after the damn ceremony.”

"You can't tell us what to do, Morales," Will shouts.

“Fine! I’ll find someone who loves me for the way I am,” Benny responds, dramatically flipping the veil out of his face and over his shoulder before walking away

Frankie shakes his head, feigning disapproval while trying to contain his laughter, though the stupid grin on his face gives it away.

The photographer instructs him to return to his original position so they can move forward with the first look. He nods, moving to stand with his back toward the way you’d be coming from. Though he’s still anxious, he’s far less stressed than he was before. Gratitude overflows in his heart as he thinks about his friends and their willingness to do whatever it takes to ease tension. He is sure he chose the right people to stand next to him at the altar.

After patiently waiting for a couple minutes, the photographer finally says, “Alright. Turn around and take a look.”

Frankie’s confused at first, wondering why you hadn’t tapped his shoulder, as Benny had. He doesn’t question it though. Instead, he eagerly turns around. Once again, he doesn’t see you. In fact, he doesn’t immediately see anyone at all.

Hearing a little giggle, he drops his gaze and is met with a carbon copy of your eyes, though they don’t belong to you. Instead, they belong to your daughter, dressed in a flower girl dress, a flower crown on her head, dark curls flowing freely. She looks up at her father with a crooked smile.

“Hi, Daddy!” she exclaims.

“Mija!” Frankie cries, instantly dropping to her level, his arms outstretched for her. She happily runs to him.

“Hi, baby girl,” he says, holding her in a tight, warm embrace. He is in shock not just at the sight of her, but how beautifully she’s dressed, like a little lady. “You’re not who I was expecting!”

“Were you waiting for Mommy?” she questions, pulling back and standing with one of his arms still wrapped around her back.

“I was,” he responds, fussing with her dress, trying to fix where it had wrinkled. Then he adjusts the crooked crown on her head. “But I’m just as happy to see you.”

“Mommy’s so pretty!”

Frankie glows. He didn’t need his daughter’s word to know that you’re beautiful. “She’s always pretty.”

“But extra pretty today,” she emphasizes.

“Okay, mija,” he concedes. “I believe you, but I can’t wait to see for myself.”

Her little hands reach out and touch his jacket, feeling the fabric. She fiddles with one of the buttons. “Am I pretty, Daddy?” she questions.

The smile on Frankie’s face widens, revealing his dimple, watching while she examines his black tuxedo. “Beautiful.”

She looks up at him, then touches his freshly-groomed face, giggling as she feels the stubble on his jaw, which relaxes beneath her touch. “You’re pretty too.”

“Thanks, baby.”

“Do you wanna see my shoes?” she questions, backing away and lifting up her dress before he can even answer, showing off her heeled dress shoes.

“Oh, wow!” Frankie theatrically gasps. “They’re so shiny.”

“They make me taller!” She raises her hands in the air and jumps for emphasis.

“They sure do, mija,” he responds. He gazes at her, his eyes shining with pride. How did he have a hand in creating something so wonderful? He credits you, mostly, but he knows if you were here, you’d assure him that he’s had just as much of a hand in forming her.

His pride quickly turns into sorrow as he realizes that one day she will grow up and no longer need him. His eyes swell with tears, listening as she rambles on about her shoes and dress. He quickly wipes away the tears before they can fall, but it didn’t prevent her from noticing.

“Daddy, are you crying?” she asks, looking concerned.

“I’m happy, mija. These are happy tears,” he assures her. “Promise me you won’t grow up too fast, okay? I'm afraid I'll blink and you’ll be a big girl. Then I’ll be walking you down the aisle.”

She gasps in shock. “I’ll get married too?”

“One day,” he says with a nod. “If you want to.”

“Who will I marry, Daddy?”

Frankie hates when he doesn’t have answers to her questions, but he knows that there are some things that just can’t be answered. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t know.”

“I wanna marry you!”

Frankie chuckles. “No, baby girl. I’m sorry…but I’m marrying Mama, and some day, when you’re big, you’ll fall in love with someone and marry them.”

The little girl crosses her arms across her chest and huffs, stamping a foot on the ground. “If I can’t marry you then I don’t wanna marry anybody.”

Frankie chuckles. “I won’t argue with that.” He reaches up and grabs her small, soft hands, caressing them with his large, calloused ones. “That doesn’t mean you won’t have my heart forever, mija. I promise you that no day will pass where you don't feel my love. Okay?”

She nods. “Okay, Daddy.”

He offers his daughter a comforting smile. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He pulls her to him and she wraps her arms around his neck. Holding her tightly, he closes his eyes, savoring the moment, wishing he could keep her there forever, to keep her little forever, and to protect her from all the things he’d endured in life.

“Mommy!”

The sudden shriek surprises Frankie, especially because she yelled right into his ear. He winces as he lets go, allowing her to run to what made her so happy: you.

“Hi sweetie,” you greet, bending at your knees to meet her.

“Mommy, you look like a princess!” she says, looking at you in awe.

“Thank you, baby,” you say. “You do too.”

“I know! Daddy said I’m beautiful.”

You giggle. “He did, did he?”

She nods.

“Well, he’s right. Hey…” You quickly change the subject, knowing it’s time for her to go elsewhere while you get some private time with your future husband before the guests start to arrive. “I heard Uncle Benny is trying to sneak a piece of cake. You should go find him before he does.”

The girl audibly gasps, then turns and, after picking up her dress, runs off toward the large tent in the distance. “UNCLE BENNY!” she shouts. “NOOO! No cake!”

At first, you’re proud, thinking you sent her to stop Benny, knowing the little girl always wants to play police and catch bad guys in action. However, when she adds, “Not without me!” you start to question your decision. Those two are trouble together.

Oops.

Standing straight, watching the little girl run as fast as her little legs and heeled shoes can take her, you cannot help but laugh. She is perfect to you in every way; the perfect combination of you and Frankie.

Frankie…

You turn, a smile plastered on your face as you catch sight of him. He is still, standing with his feet glued to the ground, as if the mere sight of you had turned him to stone. Your heart leaps for joy the moment your eyes meet. He’s so handsome, and looking at you as if he had just seen the face of God.

What did I do to deserve him?

Biting your lower lip, you pick up your dress and slowly walk to him. He shakes his head, as if in disbelief that he’s seeing you. The moment you stop in front of him, he lets out a sob, then turns away and covers his mouth with a fist, trying to collect himself.

“Frankie, baby…,” you coo, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder.

He lets out a tearful laugh after hearing the pet name. “I wish I could say that’s the first time I’ve been called that today,” he snorts, putting his hands on his hips.

You chuckle, knowing what had transpired, having been in on the planning and watching it safely from afar. “Benny?”

“Benny,” he repeats, shaking his head once more. He inhales deeply and releases it, then finally turns to you. He looks at you with a warm glow in his eyes, tenderness radiating all over him. His eyes are dark and wet, but also warm and calming, like the cups of hot chocolate you've shared here so many times in the past.

“Dios mío…,” he mutters under his breath. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You giggle nervously. “Not the first time you've said that.”

“You look…” He swallows and furrows his brow, trying to find the right word, but none of them seem good enough. “Incredible,” he finally gets out.

“Really?” you question, never able to easily accept the compliments he so often showers you with.

“Really. Let me look at you.” He extends his hand, which you accept, then he raises your arm and you give him a twirl, allowing him to see you from every angle. After your spin, he pulls you close to him. You let go of him and place both of your hands on his chest while his own fall to your hips.

“Preciosa,” he softly murmurs. Gorgeous.

You look up at him through your eyelashes. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

“Can I?” he questions.

You giggle once more, thinking he’s asking permission like some awkward teenage boy at a middle school dance. “It’s not against the rules to kiss me before the wedding. I mean, we’ve done far worse things here.”

The heat instantly rises in his cheeks. A chuckle escapes his lips as he looks down for a moment, before looking at you once more. “I just mean…I don’t want to ruin your makeup.”

“When has that ever been a problem?” you ask.

“You’re not a bride every day,” he insists.

“Frankie…,” you sigh, dramatically rolling your eyes. “Shut up and kiss me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responds.

He immediately acquiesces, and as soon as your lips meet, everyone and everything melts away; it’s just the two of you. All you know is the kiss; all you feel is his lips pressing into yours.

You’re unsure how long your lips stay locked, but when you break, he lays his forehead against yours. The two of you stand there with your eyes closed, enjoying the presence of one another.

“It’s not too late if you want to back out,” Frankie jests, causing you to chuckle.

You open your eyes, looking up at him with all the love and adoration you can offer. “Sorry, Morales, but you’re stuck with me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm. Want me to prove it?” you question.

His cocked eyebrow implies he is internally wondering what you are up to. He smiles coyly, then says, “Alright. Prove it.”

The lips of your mouth curl into a sly smile as you gently push yourself off him. He puts his hands on his hips as he watches you back a couple steps away from him. You then extend your hand to him and say, “I’ll marry you. Right now.”

He looks from your hand to the ground, a chuckle escaping his lips. After a moment, he looks up at you, a bright smile on his face, one that reaches all the way to his eyes, causing the skin around them to crinkle. It’s one you’ve seen several times before: when you first agreed to go on a date with him, when you accepted his proposal, when you told him he was going to be a father, and when your daughter entered the world months later. It was filled with love, radiating happiness from deep in his heart’s core, the glow of it warming your own body and soul.

Without hesitation, he reaches out and grabs your hand. “Alright. Let’s go get married.”

#frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal character fanfic #triple frontier #triple frontier fan fic #triple frontier fan fiction #triple frontier fic #pedrostories #my fic #catie writes

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80s4life · 3 years

Text

Little Dove*

Word Count: 3,949

Status: Not Requested!

A/N: Had a thought lol

Fandom: Karate Kid 1985

Relationship: John Kreese x Student!Female Reader

Summary: You had stayed around throughout all of his bullshit. Throughout the beginning of a forever-long battle with Daniel LaRusso, throughout losing all of his Cobra Kais, going through crippling debt, and now, more than ever, as he tries to put himself together. You’ve been there, the whole time. So why is it, that when a random man from his past appears, all of his problems are fixed without a glance your way? What does this Terry Silver have that you don’t (besides endless money and a history)? It’s unfair. It’s selfish. It’s Kreese.

Taglist: @intersellars-the-alien-of-human @snapessecretdiary

Warnings: smut, teasing, jealousy, age-gap paring, language, Terry being an overprotective cockblock, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), slight dubcon, daddy/little girl kink, degrading kink

Masterlist Karate Kid Masterlist

{not my gif, credits belong to @atmostories}

I just love how innocent he looks here lol ^

Staring into the window of his office, you make no attempt in engaging in the conversation your peers were having, the people on the other side of the glass proving to be more interesting at the moment. Besides, it’s the same conversation over and over again, “Terry’s so great,” “The money,” “The brawn,” “The elegance,” you snort. All that Terry was anyway was trouble with enough money to pay off his stupidity.

The other man, however, was different. He did not become as fortunate as his younger companion. He went through many hardships that Terry would simply never understand. The proof: you. You had been there, through thick and thin. You can still remember the fights, injuries, and brokenness of a man like a slideshow constantly playing in your head, haunting your dreams. You should’ve left a long time ago, but you didn’t. There were points in your life that made you consider dropping him and everything he was in contact with at one point. But, yet again, you never did. All you did was forgive and forget, most of the time without apologies.

But no matter how much you’ve tried, there was always one outlier that couldn’t be erased.

Holding onto your brothers shoulder, you congratulate him on how well he’d done. He lost the tournament, but it was his heart that shined through it. Johnny was the one who handed LaRusso his trophy even as they were beating each other senseless moments ago. Pulling him in tightly, you whisper, “You did good, Blondie. We’ll get ‘em next year.”

He smiles broadly at this, returning the favor, “You didn’t do too bad yourself, Tiny. Hell, maybe next year, you’ll be the one to beat his ass for me... That, or you’ll be the same height as him,” he ruffles your hair.

“Shut up!” you swat his hands playfully, shouldering his side, then making your way over to the man of the hour. “Congratulations,” you outstretch your hand, “You were tough to beat! I’ll get ya one day though!” you point to him smiling as Johnny pulls you out of the arena with him.

“Thanks...Oh, and I’ll hold you to it!” he yells back, lifting his trophy high above his head. You leave with a sly smirk and playful roll of the eyes, not bad LaRusso.

Walking outside, you smile at Kreese nervously, knowing that he wasn’t going to take the loss lightly. Ignoring you completely, he snatches your brother from your grasp within moments, pinning him the the nearest car in the parking lot. With Johnny under the weight of Kreese, you try to yank him off, no longer in fear of your actions but what could happen if you don’t act fast. Shoving you out of the way with a hard jab of his elbow to your eye, Kreese goes back to harming your brother, switching positions as he goes to tighten his arm around Johnny’s neck.

Tommy, fearing for his life, stands still, on the verge of passing out. Dutch goes to help you up, pulling you away from Kreese’s proximity, but not for long. Full of anger and disappointment, you tear you body away from Dutch’s, giving him a stern look that he acknowledges and respects, stepping back. You run towards Kreese once more, putting more force into your pushes and shoves. He catches your eyes for a moment, anger glazing over his own as he gets a good look at the utter helplessness and determination within your own. He doesn’t loosen up though, tightening his hold even more so as if to test you.

Lunging once more, he blocks you from him and counters with a hard blow to your face. You fall again at Kreese’s feet, Johnny’s purpling face looking down at yours in fear and worry. As you go to make a final attempt, your prayers are answered, a man about your height grabbing Kreese’s fist in a vice grip. In a daze, Johnny is able to slip from his hold to the ground beneath him, falling into your outstretched arms as you lunge, again, to protect his head. Kreese, now turning his fury onto the short man, goes for a punch, missing and smashing the glass beside his target.

As the fight starts to get worse, Dutch gets a hold of Johnny, taking his weight off of yours and dragging him to safety. Jimmy and Bobby, going to help Dutch, leaves Tommy to help you up. Taking his hand gratefully, you are able to see Kreese’s demise clearly, a burning crimson decorating his now busted fists, no doubt shredded and in need of medical care. You turn back just in time for him to look your way, grief washing over your figure as you feel a sense of uncertainty.

The boys get into Johnny’s car quickly, pulling out of the car lot. Tommy, silently turning his calming body to yours, questions you with his eyes. Shaking your head lightly, you signal for him to go with them, your head hazy with the brute force of numerous blows previously clashing with your face. He nods knowingly, smiling weakly, as if questioning your motives or even why you were considering the choice you’d made up. Johnny looks back at you too, but is reassured as the short man, Mr. Miyagi, places a hand on your shoulder. As they peel out of the lot, you sigh and all the strength you’d conjured dropped instantly.

“You need checkup,” the older man states, looking you over.

“Yeah, but I need to take care of him first,” you point at the man.

“Ah. Good heart always forgives. You come by dojo sometime.”

“I’ll think about it,” you answer, kindly excusing yourself as LaRusso runs over to Miyagi, leaving just you and Kreese left in the parking lot.

Slowly, you pace yourself as to not speed too closely, too quickly to the man, walking lightly and quietly. Upon entering a close proximity, he looks up, neutral expression catching you off guard. Blinking once, he looks back down at his continuously bleeding hands, acknowledging your presence but not daring to step the line of communication. He never does.

“Do you...Do you n- ...?” you start, at a loss for words as you try to rephrase the question in a way to still make him feel superior without appearing weak to himself, “Do you want my help?”

He doesn’t say anything as an answer, just simply stares at the reddening hands.

So, following his chosen behavior, you adopt it and act the same. Slowly, you take off your fleece sweater, soft and warm to the touch, and move closer to Kreese. As you move into his personal space, you don’t dare look him in the eyes, and go to rip a piece of the sweater in half. Silently, you carefully take one of his hands in your own, them swallowing yours in turn. Wrapping the now torn cloth around his fists, you slightly tighten the material around the injury to prevent further bleeding, tying off the ends to keep the sweater where you want it. Turning to do the same for the other hand, Kreese never winces, or sucks in a breath, or even grunts in anguish.

As you finish your duty, you step back, parts of your hands and some of your pants now coated in differing amounts of blood from the constant dripping mess he’d left it in for a while. Taking in a deep breath, you look at him directly for the first time of the night, “Get in the car.”

That was the first of many nightmares that litter your mind. You grew into a tough, headstrong, and independent woman not only physically, but mentally as well. You were no longer the child looked down from the tip of Kreese’s nose, and despite your height not making much of a difference, you had filled into your body, soul, and mind. You were a woman nonetheless.

You were understood by Johnny, but to an extent. As you had continued to serve Kreese, it was only right that Johnny distanced himself from him, and with that, came you as well. You accepted this, and knew that you were not at war with him, settling for calls and texts when you missed him most. Johnny still allowed you the time to talk about your problems like you did in high school, and even let you rant about the newest situation with Kreese. Everyday, he worried for you, but he knew that this was what you wanted.

He knew you fell for him before you even had.

After that night, you went through phases with Kreese: sometimes he was happy and nice to you, other times was full of anger, arguments, and nonstop screaming at one another. You were like an old married couple without the ring, matrimony, and age. You didn’t pay any mind to it, the mixture of feelings for him stronger than the will to leave as you’d wanted to in your youth.

But overall was the feeling of betrayal, or at least a form of it. For 4 years, after the night of the failed tournament, you were with Kreese, and finally, when things started to clear themselves out, another problem arose. Although shit out of luck, Kreese was ready to give up the dojo, give it to the owner, and move on in hopes of wiping the slate clean. You were ready to forgive him. And then, Terry Silver, unable to let the past be the past, convinced Kreese to give it a second try.

Now as you sit in a circle with Dennis, Mike, and Snake on the mat of the dojo, doing some stretches before training starts, you couldn’t help but look at the men excluding you from something you had tried to keep alive as long as they had. Longer than Terry at least.

Snapping sounds through your frustrated haze, knocking you back into reality by Snake’s fingers. Scrunching your nose in confusion, you look at him, anger now turned towards him instead. “You keep drooling like that and we’ll all be slipping around and breaking shit. Then how would we be at the tournament?”

“Fuck you, Snake,” you get up, stomping to the office without another word. He just turns a mock-offended expression to the boys who give confused ones in return.

Storming into the small cubicle deemed an office, you turn to the men standing side-by-side. “Aw, what’s the matter sweetheart? The boys not playing fair?” Terry teases, trying to push your buttons.

Face now reddened with anger, you spit, “We don’t pay for you to sit around in your office and play with each other’s dicks. You can do that on your own time.”

“You don’t pay period as far as I’m concerned. And last time I checked, you weren’t of much use here anyways, Shortcake,” Terry rebuttals.

“And last time I checked, you're just here to tie your hair back, paint your nails, torture a kid half your age and an man even older than you.”

“Why you-!”

“Terry!” Kreese warns, a hand placed on his comrades’ chest, “It’s not worth your time, just go get the boys readied up for practice.”

“Sure...sure Johnny, I can do that,” he says eagerly, leaving the room with a side glance your way and elbow to the shoulder as he passes by.

Getting up from the back of the desk, Kreese loops around to close the office door, going back to where he was previously. “Wow, you really have that dog under wraps huh? Ready to bark when you say ‘bark’ or growl when you say ‘growl’?”

“Y/N, not now. You better cut this shit out now or I’ll kick you out,” he warns.

“Oh, so now your protecting him?! You’re going to sit here, right now, and threaten me for what? Because he served with you? Because you saved him?! What a load of shit!”

“Watch your mouth! You have no right to raise your voice to me! What I do with this dojo is none of your damn business, and will certainly never concern you. Ever.”

“Oh yeah! For sure! What did he even do, huh? What’s so great about him that is worth protecting his ass for when he’s never had to do anything in return?! I was there John! I was! I dealt with your shit for 4 years! Not 1! Not 2! Not even fucking 3!”

“I never told you to! No one was stopping you from walking out that damn door when everyone else had! I would’ve done perfectly fine without your ‘help’ when all it did was provide extra shit to take care of!”

“Really?! That’s what it was? Nothing? I dealt with your anger issues, your screaming! The god damn punches, kicks, spits, screams, hell anything you wanted to do in order to harm someone else to make you feel better! But that wasn’t me... No... Of course it wasn’t, right?”

“I’ve got no time for this. Stay in this fucking room and don’t move. You even dare come out into that dojo and you’re out. I have a winner to make and not some little girl to argue with.”

“Fuck you,” you spit, tears pooling at the bottom of your eyelids as the door hides you from view.

For hours, you sit in boredom, listening to the repetitive “hut” or “ah” as blow after blow is thrown into the dummies and punching bags. If only they could do that to me, take me out of my misery for fuck’s sake. But, despite the utter pissed state you were in, you did not move from the desk, even deciding to take a nap. It wasn’t until Dennis’ unusually loud laugh is echoed within the whole dojo do you finally wake back up. Looking through the blinds, you see the boys getting packed up. Doing the same, you walk out of the office just in time for Terry to leave with the boys a few moments later.

Speeding across the length of the mats, you take long strides in order to storm as fast as possible out of the cage that holds the biggest chains around your neck. Going for the door, you are unable to catch yourself as Kreese grabs your hand and flips you onto your back, splaying your body on the mats beneath you.

Groaning, you move to sit up, watching as he goes to lock the door to the dojo, throwing the keys somewhere and closing the blinds of the big glass panes adorning the front wall. Getting up, the harbored anger floods your being once more, “I’m done with your bullshit Kreese. Let me the fuck out so I can leave this place once and for all. You seem to be doing ‘perfectly fine’ with your boyfriend, so let me go!”

Without answering, he grabs you by the neck firmly, but not enough to choke you. The memories of Johnny instantly flood your mind, causing you to grab his hand just as tight, eyes peering straight into his. Noticing your change in demeanor, he loosens his hold a little and pushes your back up against the closest wall to your back. As your back collides with the wall, his lips clasp yours.

Whining in surprise, you go to pull back only for him to pull you closer by the neck. Realization dawns on you after a moment, and within seconds, your leaning into his touch absentmindedly. You only break apart once your lungs beg for more air. “There. Is that what you wanted?” he asks you, voice gravelly.

Ignoring his comment, you grab him by the nape of his neck, pulling him into you once again, tongue battling his own. Your tongue dances around, observing every crevice and tasting every bit of his mouth, grazing his teeth, biting his lips, and even tangling it with his. Taking control back, he shoves your body back into the wall, separating your mouth from his, a trail of saliva the only thing connecting your bodies.

His hand, long forgotten and hanging loose on your neck, tightens the grip back up firmly once again and moves his other to pin your arms above your head. Now basking in dominance, he kisses you once more, pinning his knee between your legs in the most delicious way. Taking advantage of the placement, you attempt to grind your core against his thigh to relieve some tension.

“Ah. Ah. Ah,” he warns, pulling his knee away and moving to unbuckle his belt instead, “On your knees, Slut.”

Obeying instantly, you do as he says and place yourself on your knees. Finally undoing the tie of his gi, he pulls his pants, alongside his underwear, down just enough to let his dick spring free. Gulping in admiration, you take in the view of his girth and length, precum oozing at the tip.

“Looks like your happy to see me,” you joke, loosening your tension in your shoulders.

Stepping closer, Kreese edges closer to your mouth, and, taking the hint, you wrap one hand around the base of his shaft. Your other hand, deciding teasing is the best get-back, wraps itself closer to the tip, thumb grazing the slit. Earning a shudder of pleasure from the man, he goes to move in closer again. Pulling your head away, you squeeze the tip loosely, staring up at Kreese.

At your locked gaze, his cheeks burn bright pink, enabling you to give the man what he wants now that he’s at a loss for words and flustered for you. Taking him into your mouth little by little, you stop just before the barricade of choking. Eyes locked onto his, you place your hands on either side of his hips for support, then take him in as fully as physically possible. Instantly, you are met by struggling moans of relief.

Swirling your tongue around and lapping at his veiny member, he struggles to control himself, the undying need for more consuming him. Pulling away just enough to keep the tip in your mouth, you nod at him, giving him the okay to do as he pleases. That was all he needed to start going, pulling your mouth around his cock again, and tangling his hands in your hair for a better grip. Thrusting into your mouth now, you try your best to breathe as you feel him start twitching, knowing you will be fine in a few minutes.

The closer he gets to ecstasy, the louder he gets, hips thrusting in any possible direction as his pleasure threatens to bubble over. “Look at me,” he orders, looking you in the eyes. Slightly confused, you do as told, looking at him through your eyelashes as he continuously uses your mouth. “That’s it, Good Girl.”

Without warning, he unleashes his load into your mouth, the hot and sticky cum shooting to the back of your throat, forcing you to swallow. Licking up the remains, you make a show of swallowing the contents as well, getting back onto your feet with a help of his hand. Pulling your body into his, he kisses you deeply, tasting himself.

You whine as you are still left in uncomfortable need for him, having not gotten your share just yet, the feeling of being filled a painful reminder. “Don’t worry, Daddy’ll take care of you.” And that, he does, getting to work on untying your gi and throwing the long-sleeved shirt over you head. Doing the same to him, you match his enthusiasm, pulling his shirt off and throwing it somewhere in the room.

Playing with your clothed breasts, Kreese slips a hand under your bra to pinch your nipples, twisting them between his middle and fore fingers. Moaning, you pull him into your chest nibbling his ear. Gliding his hands down your sides and to your waist, he slowly edges his fingers slightly underneath your pants, pushing them down with your panties. As he busies himself with your clothes, you move your hands behind your back to unclasp your bra, breasts springing free and instantly hardening at the new temperature of the room.

Fingers, teasing your entrance, catches you off-guard, moaning again at the first shocks of pleasure. “Kreese,” you start breathlessly, “Enough is enough. Mgh... Stop teasing me,” you try to order, impatient and horny.

“As you wish, Princess.”

Lifting up one of your legs and wrapping it around his hipbone, he lines himself up with your entrance, entering slowly. Together, you sigh in ease simultaneously. Nodding once, you lean your forehead underneath his chin, starting to thrust slowly. Knowing this isn’t the pace he prefers, and body adjusting to his shape, you pull him in closer, whispering in his ear, “Faster, Daddy.”

Jolting at the name, he fastens the pace, grinding in rougher strokes, rubbing every part of you body in the best way possible. No one’s ever filled you the way he is now, and it leaves you stunned in a trance of utter euphoria. Tapping your other leg, you hop up to warp both legs around Kreese. At the new angle, he thrusts upwards, the overstimulation causing you to shake in a new sensation.

Squeezing his dick tightly, you try to hold your orgasm off for as long as possible, but the building want of release causes you to topple over the edge quickly, spilling all over the body still within your own. Without faltering, Kreese continues his assault on your body, causing you to scream out in the fury of pleasure being all too much for you. Shaking harder, you struggle to keep yourself around his body for long.

Seeing this, Kreese keeps himself sheathed in your cunt, laying you on your back against the mats of the flooring. Grabbing your legs, Kreese bends them until your thighs meet your chest. Then, thrusting at the same pace as before, Kreese is able to fuck you senseless without further issues. Moaning screams of ecstasy echo throughout the dojo, the combination of yourself and the slapping of skin being the only noises in the room.

As quickly as you’d built up the previous time, your orgasm and need of release forms again, your pussy throbbing in anticipation. “Kreese..” is all you manage, the older man quickly teetering towards the edge with you. Thrusting the hardest he had the whole night, he manages only a few more before you both come at the same time, screaming as you pull him down by the neck and into your chest, your name falling from his tongue in multiples.

Sucking in as much air as possible, Kreese and you stay in the same position panting before he unsheathes himself and collapses next to you. Catching your breath, you cuddle into his side in a naked heap of sweat and satisfaction. “Are you still jealous of Terry now?”

“It depends, am I still as useless as before?”

“I don’t believe so,” Kreese giggles, “but if you pull another crazy stunt like that, I will really have to give you a good beating. Huh, Babydoll?”

“I like the sound of that,” you say, going to straddle his hips as he lays on his back, “How about round two and I’ll consider not ripping his throat out?”

“Deal.”

#john kreese x reader #john kreese imagine #john kreese #martin kove #martin kove x reader #martin kove imagine #terry silver #tig #thomas ian griffith #mike barnes #sean kanan #kk3 #kk1 #kk #karate kid #karate kid imagine #karate kid 1 #karate kid 3

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dameronology · 3 years

Text

you have my number {bucky barnes x reader}

summary: bucky barnes' memory is a little selective, thanks to all the brainwashing - but one thing he'll never forget is his love for you, even if you're a complete & utter pain in the ass. his ass. (based on deja vu by olivia rodigro)

^even tho this fic refers to bucky as having a new gf, the reader is still g.n :)

this is spoiler free! enjoyyy

- jazz xx

Your relationship with Bucky Barnes had been nothing short of a train wreck.

And frankly, that was putting it nicely.

It had been a short & passionate affair; intense and sweet and filled with so much emotion in such high concentrations that you'd both almost drowned in it. For every euphoric moment, there had been one so low that you'd scraped your knees on the ground. Climbing a ladder to heaven whilst simultaneously digging your own graves had taken its toll on you both, and eventually, you had no choice but to go your separate ways. It had been for your own sanity, really.

So there he was, tucked away in a neat little box in your brain, labelled don't touch, ever. Even when you were completely wasted, surrounded by your friends and their respective lovers, you never dared to venture back down that particular memory lane. Forgetting all the bad parts and selectively remembering the good parts was easy enough to do, but you had the common sense to remember why you'd broken up in the first place. Because Bucky Barnes, despite being easy on the eyes and having a charming sense of humour, was a pain in your fucking ass. He managed to press every one of your buttons without even trying and his ability to bring out the best in you was completely and entirely wiped out by his tendency to bring out the worst. That wasn't even getting started on his emotional hold-ups; a can of worms neither of you had dared to open until it became the very reason for your demise.

Six months had passed, and you'd managed to expertly avoid him. You worked different missions and Sam Wilson, god bless his sweet soul, went the extra mile to ensure your paths never crossed in a professional sense. On a personal level, however? That was a little more difficult. New York City felt a lot smaller after your break up. You found yourself occasionally ducking under your hood when you saw him on the F-train, or rushing to cross the road when you saw him coming towards you on the street.

That was when you had the whole city to lose yourself in; streets and shops and little food carts to distract yourself with should you need to. Being confined to the same room for a work party was a different story entirely, and one you didn't want to read. Yet, thanks to some insistence from your boss and a little grovelling from your colleagues, you found yourself rocking up to the former Avengers tower on a Friday night.

"So you do exist outside of your work uniform?" Sam Wilson greeted you with a quirked eyebrow.

"Yeah, yeah - nice to see you too, Wilson."

Despite your initial attempts to elbow him in the rips, he wrestled you off of him and pulled you into a tight hug. Sam was one of your favourite colleagues and oldest friends - he'd witnessed the rise and fall of your relationship with Bucky, and been there for you both during the break-up. That had been an exhausting few days, running between your respective apartments in an attempt to offer emotional support to you both.

"D'you want some champagne?" He asked.

"I'm good, but thank-"

You froze, eyes widening at the sight of James Barnes across the room. He looked quintessentially the same, bar for the fact his hair was a little longer and he had a fresh, pink scar under his left eye. Having ditched his usual attire for a black blazer, he looked good. Annoyingly so, in fact. It made you secretly grateful that you'd chosen to dress up a little more than usual too.

"- on second thoughts." You took the flute of champagne from Sam, also grabbing a shot of vodka from the same trey. It was gone in seconds.

"Need I ask?" Sam gave you a playful frown. His brown eyes followed your gaze over his shoulder, landing on the man you'd been staring at. "Ah. I need not."

"Sorry." You murmured. "We haven't actually spoken since, y'know."

"Since you had a break-up that made Ross and Rachel look good?"

"I don't think Bucky has ever seen Friends." You quipped.

"His loss." Sam shrugged. "You should talk to him."

"Nope." You snorted. "Absolutely not. I don't even know if he's moved on."

"Judging by the pretty blonde on his arm, I think he has," Sam replied. "Would you look at that! They're headed right for us."

That was a lot of information to process at once. You would have needed a week alone for your poor, tired brain to deal with the fact that Bucky had someone else on his arm, and a further three days to big yourself up enough to talk to him. Alas, that was not the case tonight. Instead, you had about five seconds between Sam finishing his sentence and your ex-boyfriend reaching you. It was just as well you found the energy within that timeframe to down your champagne.

You could see the woman on his arm clearer now. To give credit where credit was due, she stunning. She looked like the sort of girl who smelt of strawberries and Chanel, and grew her own vegetables on the fire escape. The kind of person you swore to be with every New Year that came, but quickly ditched after a week, returning to drinking coffee from the Starbucks under your apartment rather than going to the organic, vegan place a few blocks over. There was an ethereal glow about her and fuck. You were mad.

"Sam!" Bucky called out to his friend - for a minute, you thought he was ignoring you, before you realised he genuinely didn't recognise you. Your name rolled off his tongue with a tone of uncertainty, as though he was learning a new language and still learning how to pronounce things. "Wow. You look...different."

"So do you." You shot back. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Katie." He awkwardly smiled. "My...my girlfriend."

"It's nice to meet you." You forced an equally pained grin, taking her hand in a shake.

"How do you and Bucky know each other?" She asked.

"Work." Bucky quickly said. You thinned your eyes at him, almost in disbelief.

"So you're an Avenger like these two?" Katie asked, clearly not picking up on the tension. "That's so cool."

"Not in an official capacity." You replied. "But they'd be fucked without me."

The night only got longer from there, really.

There wasn't enough champagne in the world to help the void in your soul. It was a gaping wound that Bucky Barnes had both filled and widened - and tonight, he was doing the latter. It sounded as though him and Katie were having a grand ol' time of it. From the parts of the conversation that you'd actually bothered to listen to, you'd gathered that she'd arrived in New York from London just over three months ago. That meant she had a fucking accent. Of course she did. It made everything she said a thousand times more interesting.

"We were in Paris, in this little cafe. What was it called, babe? Maison de vie?"

"Maison de l'amour, doll." Bucky corrected her. It had only sounded right when he was calling you that.

Your eyes shot up from your drink, immediately staring daggers at them both. The slimy bastard. You had been the one to show him that place. You'd been in Paris for a mission, and after realising it was your four-month anniversary, you'd taken him there for pancakes. It had been a slow morning, filled with hazy eyes and pink skies, and it had ended with him dropping the L-bomb for the first time. The photo you'd taken of Bucky, sat beside a pile of pancakes the same size of him and with whipped cream on his chin, had been your phone background until the day you broke up.

"I've been there." You didn't break away from his gaze, holding cold blue eyes in a trance that he found to be almost suffocating.

"Oh, nice!" Katie beamed. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Yeah." You sniffed. "The company was shit, though."

"Oh, man." She replied. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's not your fault." You gave her a sweet smile - to Bucky, it was a look of venom. "So, tell me more about your trip to Paris."

He quickly cleared his throat. "We didn't do much. Just a weekend getaway-"

"- are you forgetting that we saw Billy Joel?" Katie cut him off with a laugh. "The Billy Joel!"

"Right." It looked as though his mouth had gone completely dry.

"He told me he loved me for the first time to Uptown Girl-"

"-excuse me for a moment." You shoved your glass in her hand, before backing away from your little huddle.

Your brain was focused on getting away and only on getting away. The room suddenly felt a thousand times hotter, and a thousand times smaller too, as though the walls were closing in on you. Maybe that wouldn't have been so bad if they'd just collapsed around you and swallowed you fucking whole. Anything to get away from this situation.

Making a beeline for the balcony doors, you elbowed them open and stepped outside. The cold air of the rooftop gardens was a welcome contrast to the stuffy indoors, biting, night air hitting your face like an icy hug. The sounds of the city rung below you - sirens and yells and tourists - and tangled into the faint sound of the music, all parts of a world that your brain was working overtime to block out.

You focused on the city instead, using the bright lights of the surrounding buildings to anchor you to reality. None of it really even made sense - you were over Bucky. Had been for a long time. It was just the thought of him doing all the things that he'd done with you, with someone else. It made you feel a little bad for Katie, too.

"I was going to tell you about Billy Joel."

You glanced over your shoulder, giving a derivative snort. "Piss off, Bucky."

"I'm serious." He ignored your demand, cautiously approaching you.

"I brought you those tickets!" You turned around to face him. "We were meant to go together. Billy Joel was our thing."

"We broke up!' He reminded you. "Like I said, I was going to tell you that we went together-"

"- I don't care." You cut him off. "I genuinely don't care."

"That was a lot of storming off for someone who doesn't care."

"Okay, maybe I care a little bit." You huffed, taking a seat on a bench. "It's not even that you're with someone else, it's that you're doing all the things we did. The nicknames, the pancake place, the concert."

"I..." Bucky took a seat beside you, pondering for a moment.

"And declaring your love for someone to Uptown Girl is fucking weird." You muttered.

"Do you have a better suggestion?"

"Vienna, obviously."

"You're such a pain in the ass." Bucky replied. "But for what it's worth, I wasn't thinking of Katie in that moment."

You glanced up at him, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"D'you remember that morning when we were in New Orleans?" He asked. "And we had a few hours to kill before our flight, so you started dancing around the hotel room to Uptown Girl?"

"I remember." You softly smiled.

"That was when I realised I loved you." He admitted. "I was replaying that in my head at the concert, and it just kinda came out, and Katie heard."

"Damn." You muttered. "Sucks to be her, huh?"

"I like Katie." He said. "Truth be told, doll, I'm still stuck in the past a little bit. With you, and with what we had."

"We fucking hated each other by the end, Buck."

"I know, but I mean all the stuff before that." He explained. "You were the first person who saw me for who I am and not what I've done. The first person that actually made me feel loved and worthy."

"I do try."

He lightly elbowed you "I'm serious. I think I'm just projecting my longing for what we had onto my current relationship."

"You're being painfully honest tonight." You observed. "It's fucking weird."

"Who taught me to be painfully honest?"

"Right." You rolled your eyes. "So this is how Frankenstein felt when he created his monster."

"You're the worst," Bucky muttered. "I genuinely am sorry, though. I shouldn't be recycling our memories. I should make new ones.'

Dusting off your trousers, you stood up. "You're right."

"Thank you, though."

"For what?"

"For finding me first," He replied, "and for teaching me what love is."

"Well, if you ever need to be reminded? You have my number."

#why am i low key in love with katie?#i want a tall woman who smells of strawberries :(#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x gn!reader #bucky barnes x y/n #avengers x reader #avengers x you #avengers fluff #avengers angst #avengers imagines #avengers imagine #marvel imagines #marvel imagine

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benditlikepress · 3 years

Text

one good movie kiss

here for @sunforgrace 's thesis statement: give dean one good movie kiss and he WILL be alright

“Are you avoiding me?”

Dean’s hand stills in the air above his cup of coffee as the voice cuts through the kitchen.

Cas is standing in the middle of the room in an ill-fitting sweater and his hair is dishevelled as though he’s been tossing and turning. He looks so unremarkable, so human, it makes Dean’s breath catch in his throat at the reminder.

It’s been three days since Cas got back and it occurs to Dean when he speaks that it’s the first time they’ve been alone together. Awake, that is: Dean realised early on that difficult conversations couldn’t happen if you’re asleep. Thank god for Cas’ Empty-rescue hangover.

“No. I’m not avoiding you.”

“OK. Good. I was worried that after what happened things might be weird between us, but I suppose that’s unavoidable.” Cas pulls a face that’s a little self-deprecating.

I’m fighting the urge to run the hell away from you, Dean thinks. To stay the hell away from you before I do anything else to hurt you. Before you make a reckless decision to save me, again, or say something so brutal and true that my legs give out from under me and I’m left sitting alone on the floor wondering how the hell I’m supposed to do this on my own.

I’m fighting the urge to wrap you in my arms and never let go.

“I’m not avoiding you, Cas. I just.. I’m trying to figure out the stuff I have to say to you.”

“I understand. I know everything that’s happened recently is a lot to contend with.”

“Yeah, that’s an understatement.” Dean coughs and stands up, tapping his hands against his legs for something to do. Cas is looking at him expectantly and Dean knows he deserves answers but how is he supposed to do that? How do you even begin to explain to someone that their mere presence in the room has your breath hitching? “But it’s not.. you. It’s not you I’m avoiding. It’s just. Y’know. The stuff you said before you..” He doesn’t say it. He can’t. Cas blinks.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. That’s – god, that’s the last thing I want. I’m just.. trying to get my head around it.”

“I meant it.”

“I know you did. I know that. I just.. I believe you, and nobody’s ever really said that stuff to me and meant it before. So I don’t really know how to talk to you about it. But I.. so long as you know I appreciate it.” The words are too fast and Dean doesn’t know if that’s more or less embarrassing than the way he’s stumbling, pathetic half-words forcing their way out of his mouth.

“OK.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

And it’s that simple to him, apparently. He doesn’t ask Dean for anything else. It pisses Dean off, actually – he wants Cas to ask him. Maybe if he’s forced to confront it the words might come out a little easier.

“I mean, you know that I.” Dean stops again abruptly and jesus christ why is there a lump in his throat? “It means something. To me. It means a whole lot, actually. Maybe if it didn’t it’d be easier to talk about. There’s stuff that I wanna.. stuff I need for you to hear. That you deserve to hear, when I get my head out of my ass. Because I don’t feel like I deserve any of that crap you said to me, but you deserve to hear things back.”

It feels like a monumental admission but it’s clearly not the thing on Cas’ mind as he frowns.

“You think you don’t deserve that? You really believe that?”

“Honestly? I’ve never believed it. I don’t know why you give me the time of day half the time, man. And you don’t have to.. argue about it, or anything. I know you want to. It’s just how I see it.”

Cas thinks about that for a couple of seconds, eyes boring into Dean so deeply he half-wonders if he can’t still see his soul. He walks further into the room but doesn’t approach Dean – not really. Just takes a couple of steps between the distance.

“I won’t argue. Not now. But I hope I can make you understand that you deserve it. Happiness, peace.. love-” The word has Dean’s mind reeling, flashbacks and heat rushing “– I spent a long time believing I couldn’t accept them for myself. I thought too much had happened, or that I wasn’t built to be capable. You allowed me to think differently. I want you to do the same.” Cas looks down and taps his hand on the edge of the table as though he hasn’t got Dean’s heart in the palm of it. He looks up again and his expression is breath-takingly earnest. “Dean, the things I said barely touch the sides. I don’t know if I could ever put into words the impact you’ve had on me since we met. I just wanted you to understand. I needed you to understand how other people see you, even if you can’t see it for yourself.”

“Message received.” Dean responds like a fucking asshole but Cas smiles all the same, warm and knowing and in a way that fills Dean with the relief of being understood.

“I can give you space to think about things if that’s what you want. I know I’ve put you in a difficult position.”

“It’s not difficult. Probably not for anyone else except me.”

Dean smiles in derision and Cas returns it but it’s pity and sadness and love and Dean’s mouth closes. “It was difficult. I threw things at you that’d been on my mind for a long time and didn’t give you any time to process it.”

“I’ve had weeks. Weeks and weeks, and I still can’t.. I think until I saw you again I had no idea how to understand it. Looking you in the eye and thinking about it-” Dean closes his eyes and pushes away black ooze and secrets and everything else that threatens to flow over the things he wants to remember. Tears in Cas’ eyes and his smile so bright, brighter than Dean even thought him capable.

He’s looking at him now like he might break.

“I’m sorry, Cas. I know I’m not-”

“I know exactly what you are, Dean.” The words are clear and sincere and Dean wonders if there’s anyone else in the universe capable of arresting him so simply. “I’ll leave you to it.” Cas eventually nods at Dean’s breakfast and smiles, dipping his head as he starts to leave.

“We’ll talk. We will.”

“I know we will.” He smiles a little as he turns to walk away and suddenly Dean’s heart is in his mouth at the sight of the back of his head.

Say something. Say something.

“Cas.” Dean calls too quickly, too desperately, and when he turns to look at him with naked expectation all of the wind is knocked right back out of his sails. “I… fuck, Cas. I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

He smiles with complete and utter sincerity, and god he has to stop doing that. Stop accepting Dean’s bullshit as though it’s nothing. Shout, argue, anything.

He’s leaving. He’s still leaving, he’s turning away and suddenly Dean’s legs are propelling him through the kitchen of their own accord.

Dean grabs his arm and yanks him around, the force of it making Cas briefly stumble a little before he straightens his feet and looks at Dean with a wide-eyed confusion that makes Dean’s heart hammer in his chest.

Dean brings his hands up to cup Cas’ face around his ears on his neck and jaw, in a way he has before and convinced himself wasn’t ever possible when they weren’t battling life or death. Cas’ stubble is a little longer than usual and he strokes the line of it with his thumb, watching as Cas’ mouth falls open just a touch in the echoing silence.

Dean takes his time, registering every mini-movement of expression in Cas’ face as he understands what’s happening. His hand comes up to Dean’s wrist but doesn’t push it away, rather grips it for dear life as though he’s afraid it’s going to disappear. When Cas’ eyes travel down his face Dean takes it as invitation and closes the gap between them, pressing his lips lightly but surely against Cas’.

At first Cas’ are stunned frozen against his and Dean starts to panic that he’s made some kind of earth-shattering error in judgement before the hand on his wrist relaxes and he feels a pressure against his mouth. Cas’ lips are a little chapped, like always, and Dean feels his eyelashes flutter.

He opens his eyes reluctantly as he pulls away, not sure what he’s expecting to see (rejection? Lucifer? nothing at all?) and almost slams them shut again when he finds Cas peering at him with such utter arresting devotion he thinks his knees might buckle.

Dean’s hands drop to his sides of their own accord, suddenly absolutely terrified, but Cas doesn’t move away in return. In fact, he brings his hand to Dean’s cheek and Dean’s sure he must look like a fish opening and closing his mouth in stunned silence before suddenly Cas moves in to kiss him again, other hand coming up to grab his face and hold him in place as his lips are ferocious and impassioned against his own.

And this, this is more like it, Dean’s barely able to think as Cas’ mouth opens and his tongue plays along the line of Dean’s own lips, his heart hammering in his chest as he hears a noise in Cas’ throat as he allows him entrance.

Cas kisses like he’s never going to get another chance: like Dean has granted him a once-in-a-lifetime wish that’s going to get taken away at any moment. He’s hungry and sharp and warm and Dean feels breathless as he lowers his hands from his face to his neck and then to his hip, pulling Dean sharply against him as Dean’s own hands cup his jaw and try desperately to gain a semblance of control.

There’s stubble scratching his face and he tries fleetingly to explain away the flushing burn on his skin as a by-product of it, but then there’s a hand riding up his shirt onto on the bare skin at the small of his back and it’s on fire.

Where the hell did Cas learn to kiss like this? His head is spinning before he can ponder the question and fingers on his back are steady and grounding even as Cas’ tongue and lips and breath have him practically able to feel the earth spinning beneath him.

The kiss slows steadily and then all at once as Cas’ lips lighten against his, and he feels him exhale against his skin in a release that Dean himself is desperate for. He knows it’ll come, eventually: in every moment he allows himself to open like this, touch on his skin making him feel alive.

Cas pulls away and Dean feels a longing form deeply and harshly in his throat that barely stops him from yanking him straight back in again. He forces himself to open his eyes, wondering if Cas can see water pricking in the corners of them.

“Don’t give me space, Cas. I don’t want it.” He manages to say though his voice sounds foreign and weird to his own ears, like it’s formed by someone else. There’s that smile on Cas’ lips again and he feels a desperation to say something, anything, that’ll keep it frozen in time. “Just stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I know.” Cas’ own voice is quiet now and Dean’s fingers somehow find themselves reaching out towards Cas’ hand, pulling it a little.

“You wanna do something today?” He says, just for something to say. Anything to prolong the moment.

“OK.”

“Sweet.” Dean nods and tips his head away, running a hand through his hair to try to gain some composure as Cas smiles at him as though nothing’s happened.

Dean has to pinch himself to check that it has.

#supernatural #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfiction #my fanfiction

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yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

dilf (and love) | knj | m

pairing: kim namjoon x oc

genre: fluff, domestic fluff, smut, established relationship, marriage and kids lol

warnings: light dom/sub themes, pregnancy kink, penetrative sex, oral sex (f & m receiving), DILF JOON

words: 6, 702

summary: it's been too long since you and namjoon had time to yourselves

“God take that thing away from me!” You whine as you smother your face with your hands.

Jin pins you with a dry look as he catches a glimpse of ‘that thing’ who is looking up at you with big eyes and a toothless grin.

“That thing is your child …” Jin says blandly.

“That thing is ruining my sex life.” You narrow your eyes at Chanmi as she babbles some incoherent words with her ten-month-old vocabulary. You’d think as the daughter and apple of Kim Namjoon’s eye that she’d be able to read, write and speak sixteen languages at the age of one.

You still allow Chanmi to wrap her chubby fingers around your thinner ones and you can’t help but coo at your daughter. While she may have been the one thing that disrupted any intimate moment between you and Namjoon, you would fight anyone that would ever dare to mess with her. Your own husband included.

“Please, spare the details,” Jin mutters under his breath as he watches Chanmi fondly as she attempts to tug at your sleeve in hopes of getting your attention. You squeeze her cheeks before lifting her up in your arms and hold her close to your chest. You whine because she smells so … fresh. Just like a little bread baby that was all yours.

God, you loved her.

“My old sex life brought me this angel.” You grin up at your daughter who just smiles at you, unknowing of the context of your words.

“Can you stop using such vulgar words in front of your child?” Jin scolds you but doesn’t do anything much to take Chanmi out of your grasp.

You roll your eyes.

“She’s like 300 days old. She doesn’t even know how to shit at a decent hour let alone understand what sex is. Penis in vagina. Destroying pussy. A hole in one. Railing—”

Jin slaps his hand over your mouth to get you to stop talking as he glares at you.

“Why did my brother marry a heathen like you.” Jin seethes.

You shrug nonchalantly as you turn your head to see your dumbhead yet smart-ass husband that was attempting to glue back the shards of glass from the wine glass he broke earlier in hopes of you not realising.

“He needed to put his 148 IQ to good use and I’m the best investment his finance major ever got him.”

“The only good thing that came out of your marriage is this cutie.” Jin coos at his niece and you have half the mind to withdraw his Chanmi visiting card because whenever he was over all he did was berate you and your … unique ways of parenting.

But Jin would still say he cared for you as far as a brother-in-law would but with the added benefit of the fact that he was your best friend before he became your brother-in-law. You were an interesting character, to say the least, and the only reason you managed to befriend Jin was due to the fact that you didn’t know what boundaries meant and had invaded his personal space on the first day of lectures when you leaned over him to throw something at a know-it-all. Jin had been annoyed, but then an unlikely friendship bloomed out of the mutual distaste for ‘Howard from Accounting’.

He introduced you to Namjoon just because he thought that it was hilarious that you and his brother were polar opposites. Jin didn’t even expect the two of you to get along with each other let alone fall in love, but life had a funny way of saying ‘fuck you and your expectations’ to Jin when he least expected it.

The only thing that he regrets is the fact that now he had to listen to both you and his brother whine about your sex life, or lack thereof after the two of you became parents. Being a mother was hard because there was no manual to tell you what was right or wrong when it came to your baby but the experience itself. When you first fed Chanmi softened shrimp in her meals and caused an allergic reaction; you cried for hours straight because you felt like you should’ve just known.

Namjoon was a good partner and an even better father because he was understanding. The first few months postpartum he respected the fact that you weren’t ready to show your body to him because of the way it changed after giving birth to Chanmi, and he never told you that you were in your head for feeling that way. He validated all your feelings through all the rough edges that you gave him when you were going through your own things.

You finally felt comfortable to get naked around Namjoon at the five-month mark where your sex drive returned to that of when you were in your early twenties and just begun knowing how to truly enjoy sexual intimacies with a partner, but a five-month-old baby didn’t allow for much intimacy with your hot ass husband either.

It sucked because Namjoon had always been broad and very dad-like, and after he officially became a father to Chanmi you just felt like salivating over him every waking second you got because … God … Namjoon was a gift from the God’s themselves. Whenever you saw the way he handled Chanmi with absolute gentleness and care you felt like dropping to your knees and sucking the soul out of him. It didn’t help that he wore his glasses every night when he tucked her into bed and read her Shakespeare because it would ‘help with development’. You loved your husband but he was a little excessive.

“Oh God stop drooling over my brother!” Jin grimaces when he sees the bedroom eyes you were shooting Namjoon from where the two of you were with Chanmi.

You sigh dreamily and lean against your palm as you check out Namjoon’s ass.

“I can’t help that your brother and my husband has an ass like that.” You click your tongue.

Chanmi giggles again and it’s like a bell chiming at your favourite cafe when you cuddle her closer, feeling comfort in her scent. She smelt just like home and bubbles.

“How about I give you a sibling, huh?” You whisper to Chanmi who just opens her mouth to babble. Jin on the other hand facepalms himself and sighs.

“You’re insufferable.”

“I’m horny.” You shrug.

“Correction: you’re insufferable on a daily basis but absolutely horrifying to deal with when you’re horny.” He sneers.

“I just need to bed him and I’ll be fine.” You drawl, as your husband who spent the better half of your conversation fixing the wine glass grins to himself with his dimples when he finally placed the last piece of glass back into place. He was so meticulous and cute for the wrong reasons.

“Jesus, stop …” Jin groans.

“Jesus would definitely tell me to go get that dick because I deserve it.” You pat yourself on the back and wince slightly when you smell the telltale signs of Chanmi’s poop permeating the air.

“Say … would Yoongi mind having Chanmi over your place for the weekend?” Jin recognizes the devious expression you have on your face and knows that there’s no way out of it.

“I don’t have a choice do I?” Jin sighs.

You shake your head.

“Nope. Cause’ I texted Yoongi yesterday and said he totally wants to see his niece. The baby bag is all ready to go and it’s in the nursery.” You cock your thumb to the room down the hallway and Jin thinks to himself of all the reasons why he shouldn’t have introduced you to his brother at all seven years back.

“It’s weird without her …” Namjoon frowns as the two of you stand in the nursery as if you were mourning the loss of your child. It felt a lot like it, though.

The two of you never spent more than a few hours away from Chanmi ever since she was born and it felt weird to not smell her vomit from the kitchen or hear her giggles as you cooked dinner. You missed Namjoon and the spark you had in the first years of your relationship but you also felt a little empty without Chanmi’s presence with you.

“I miss her.” You whine into Namjoon’s chest and he clutches you tightly as if to say that he mirrored your sentiment.

“Should we call them?” You look up at him with wide eyes and he smoothes the frown lines on your forehead and chuckles, offering a gentle kiss to your temples.

“We called fifteen minutes ago, remember?” He chides you gently.

You huff, “I just … it’s so quiet. Where are my baby babbles?” You pout.

Namjoon sighs and rubs his thumb comfortingly on your arm when you look around at the purple nursery with reminders of your daughter that wasn’t currently with you.

“Let’s enjoy what we have, okay love?” Namjoon offers, “I miss Chanmi too but I miss this too.”

You smile at him the way he first fell in love with you years ago and leans down to place a peck onto your lips.

“I miss having you all to myself.” He whispers against your lips and you shiver at the way his broadness is clouding all your senses.

“You always have me Joon.” You tell him in a tone as soft as his.

His chest rumbles when he laughs and you feel so warm in the comfort of your husband's arms and you felt it too. Besides the physical aspect of having sex with him, you missed holding him like this without a care in the world. Most of your cuddle sessions were left to the nights you slept next to each other in bed because the two of you were either exhausted with work or trying to care for Chanmi. It’s been a long time since you could just feel Namjoon’s presence with you.

“Besides … we can finally, you know …” He mumbles shyly into your hair and the devil horns that you hide most of the time reappear.

“What, Joon?” You smirk up at him, hands trailing slowly down his chest.

Your husband was so big that every room he walked into he basically commanded the attention of every single person that would come across him. That’s what happens when you’re six foot and broad like him. But you loved the fact that you were the only one that got to see the much softer side to him that he didn’t just show anyone. The fact that he was the CEO of his own company made his persona ever more intimidating than he actually was but you knew he was a huge softie on the inside.

The two of you were very different in many senses. From your personalities to the way you approached conflict. Namjoon was very diplomatic but you were anything but. He was truly the most empathetic and understanding person you’ve met in your entire life and you’ve seen a total of ten therapists in your teenage years. Namjoon was the balance that levelled your temper and uninhibited tendencies to always be the loudest person in every room. With every time you snarked at someone who pushed your buttons came Namjoon that placed a gentle hand on your back with a soft whisper of comfort.

In fact, most people thought the two of you would have never lasted. You heard those mean girls in college that made petty bets on the fact that you’d probably end up leaving him because you were too much of a bitch to deal with someone as kind as Namjoon. You remembered most of your fights being about your insecurities and how you always thought that Namjoon deserved better and with him telling you that you were the one for him.

Looking back, you laugh because the two of you were theoretically horrible for each other but exactly what the other needed. Namjoon needed someone free-spirited enough to manage his meticulous tendencies and you needed someone willing to see you for more than your erratic behaviour.

“What’s that pretty head of yours thinking about?” Namjoon hums when he realises you’re not paying attention to him anymore. He clasps your hands together to bring back your attention to him as you look up at him with eyes so full of love.

“Just reminiscing on the old days.” You tell him and he snorts.

“You say that as if we’re ancient.”

“You’re not fooling anyone. I heard your joints cracking when you bent down to pick up the strands of hair on the floor.” You tease.

“And who’s fault is it that I’m constantly bending over to pick up strands of hair because she sheds like a cat?” He retorts playfully.

“We’re both old.” You pout, playing with his fingers and admiring the glimmer of his wedding ring. You can’t believe you bagged a man like Namjoon.

“I still got it, though.” He adds thoughtfully and you raise an eye at his comment.

“Got what?”

“My game.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you suggestively and you burst out laughing because it was so on-brand for Namjoon to make a comment like that but blush when you got a little more touchy-feely with him when he least expected it.

“How about you show me then?” You whisper as you turn around to press yourself against his chest, ensuring that your cleavage was on full show to his line of vision when he looks down at you.

“Did I ever tell you how much I love your tits after the pregnancy?” He tells you breathily and you snort.

“So you didn’t like my tits before I gave birth to your child?”

He rolls his eyes and reaches his hands below your thighs to lift you up so that you could wrap your legs around his waist. The way he could effortlessly carry you and lift you up always made your heart and nether regions flutter because he was so big that he basically towered over you. Especially when he became a dad it was like his hot factor exploded exponentially. He basically became the epitome of a dilf.

“You and your mouth,” He tsks as he carries you out of the nursery and into your bedroom, “I just may need to shut you up.”

You whine into his chest before he tosses you down onto your mattress as he towers over you, looking over your body like you were the finest piece of art he’s ever seen. Namjoon always had ways to make you feel like a million bucks even though you were in an old camisole and your old college varsity sweatpants.

“Why don’t you do it then?” You tease back.

You were different from the women that Namjoon has been with prior to your seven-year-long relationship as most of them were pliant and quiet, and took whatever he gave to them. Don’t get him wrong, he loved playing the dominant character in bed but he also needed a brat to push his buttons and it was exactly what you were. Even if the two of you were so fundamentally different in personalities, the two of you were definitely sexually compatible.

“Flip over.” He demands and you whine before reluctantly turning over.

“I want to see you.” You whine petulantly.

You feel him rather than have him verbally respond to you because he delivers a tight slap to your ass as you gasp at the impact. He rubs his hands soothingly over your butt cheeks and squeezes them as he leans over your body, crowding your back with his body heat.

“Don’t be a brat ___.” He sneers into your ear and the moan is stuck on your throat when you feel him drag his hands all over your body until it reaches under your body to reach for your tits.

“Fuck. I love your tits.” He groans.

Namjoon’s hands immediately trail down your body until they reach the hem of your shorts and you wiggle your ass back at him teasingly. You hear him growl and you always knew that Namjoon was an ass man and your ass made him weak.

“Need I remind you that you’re in no position to tease, sweetheart?” He whispers into your ear and you feel the goosebumps erupt on the surface of your skin.

“Fuck. Please—Joon, touch me.” You gasp as you feel him pull down your shorts to be greeted with a cheeky pair of panties that left little to imagine of what hides underneath. Your husband had the talent of getting you obscenely wet without doing much and it’s proven again when you feel the uncomfortable ache between your legs as he flips your body over once again to get a good glimpse of your heaving body, as well as the stain on your panties.

His knuckles trace the inner side of your thigh carefully as he avoids the place you need him the most while you feel more wetness pool at your entrance. You’ve been deprived of his touch for way too long and that caused your sensitive reactions to anything that he did. You missed his fingers so much and having him so close yet so far away from your pussy was destroying your restraint.

“Namjoon p-please!” You cry when he finally cups your mound with his large palm.

He digs the heel of his palm straight into your clit as you arch your back and let out a low moan.

“So wet baby and I’ve barely done anything.” He taunts you with the low baritone of his voice.

“You make me so wet Joonie.” You pant when you feel him grind his palm into your clit some more, providing the satisfying friction that you’ve been craving.

The feeling doesn’t last long because he’s hastily removing your panties from your legs and tosses them somewhere over his shoulder. His face is directly in front of your pussy and you can’t help but feel flustered at the proximity of his breath to your hole. You’ve done this a million times before but the familiarity is slightly lost due to the time between the last and the present.

“Where’s the brat that couldn’t shut her mouth before, hm?” He mumbles and you feel every breath against your pussy. You squirm and feel his large hands wrap around your thighs, locking you into position so you wouldn’t be able to move.

“It’s just been so—ah—long,” You tell him breathily.

“Too long. Missed this pussy.” He says as a parting gift before he dives straight into your clit and begins to lap rounds over the hardened bud. You let out a high pitched moan at the pleasure he was providing you with just his tongue alone, and the way that he knew just where to focus on your clit with tense figure-eights.

“Ah—ah, fuck—Joon!” You groan as your hands wrap around his hair to tug at it. You feel him moan against your pussy, which sends vibrations up to your core and causes more wetness to pool at your centre.

Namjoon is relentless when he digs his hands harder into the meat of your thighs to prevent you from moving too much as he continues to suction on your clit, focusing his attention on it as much as he could. After years of being together, he just knew what you loved and this was it.

You liked it messy. Wet and fast, and Namjoon always gave it to you good. He pulls away momentarily so he could look up at you with a hooded gaze and you let out a high pitched whine when you see the glistening of his chin all the way up to his nose with the signs of your wetness staining him. His fingers run up your thighs teasingly and you shift under his ministrations only for him to smack your right thigh harshly.

“If you move you don’t get to cum.” He threatens you and you immediately still your body with the impossible threat.

You feel his fingers run up and down on your slit as he gathers all your wetness into one place, hovering slightly over your clit. You have to keep your whine to a minimum because Namjoon got real mean when he wanted to. But he was a good lover—so good.

Your hole is throbbing with a need to be filled, and your husband picks up on that immediately as he prods your entrance with the tip of his index finger. You attempt to grind down on him as you make eye contact with the dark eyes that threaten to take away your orgasm.

“I said. Don’t. Move.” He reminds you.

You whimper in silence as he teases your hole a little more before he decides to return home into the warmth of your walls. The moment that barrier was broken, you feel him go straight for the hook as he reaches his index finger all the way up until his knuckles. You hear Namjoon hiss under his breath as he begins prodding your walls until he finds—

“Fuck—there, Joon—ah!” You gasp, head tilting backwards when your husband finds your g-spot.

Namjoon smirks to himself and slides another finger in to hook them upwards into your g-spot, unmoving as he stills himself against the area; causing pure, unaltered pleasured to run through your veins. You’re vibrating and twitching all at once because you can’t control the involuntary response that comes with your husband's demon fingers that are causing every possible pleasurable feeling to run through your system.

You can’t keep the moan to yourself either as Namjoon looks at you with awe, but you miss it because your eyes are too busy being rolled to the back of your head at the way Namjoon skilfully thrusts into your pussy.

“H-Harder, p-please Joon—wanna cum so bad.” You moan and run your fingers through his hair to bring his mouth closer to your mound.

He lowly chuckles and shakes his head at your sex drive. And the next thing he does next nearly makes you cum on the spot.

The way he gathers his spit at the back of his throat was borderline pornographic as you see the way his throat revs up. He drops the glob of spit directly onto your clit and uses the hand that wasn’t in your pussy to spread the lubricant all over your slit. He purposefully grazes your clit but doesn’t apply enough pressure to make your head spin, but just enough for you to whine in want.

“Your pussy is so pretty love.” He coos, leaning into your mound to deliver kitten-licks to your clit, and the warmth of his tongue with the added addition of his fingers feels all too much.

“J-Joon!” You gasp when you feel him thrust his fingers rapidly in and out of your pussy that your body hitched up the surface of the bed. Every thrust was accompanied by the direct assault of his tongue on your clit as he presses down on the hardened bud with the purpose to drive you closer to your orgasm.

You were painfully close, and the precision of his fingers at your g-spot allows you to revel in the way the coil in your body is ready to snap, so close to release. Namjoon leans down so that his head is where you love him the most, between your thighs as he scores the final goal and presses his tongue against your clit.

“Oh my god Joon—fuck—s-so good—I’m gonna cum!” Your back arches off the bed uselessly because of the way that Namjoon uses his other hand to pin you down, arms wrapped tightly around your stomach.

“Come for me pretty girl.” He coos against your clit and the vibrations is what sends you over the edge.

He fucks his fingers into you as you orgasm, kitten licking your clit with just enough pressure for you to whine as you buck your hips up into his mouth involuntarily.

“Fuck. Baby—hurts.” You whine, pushing his head away from your pussy when the overstimulation gets to you.

Namjoon places one last teasing peck on your clit, which causes you to twitch and pinch his neck as he chuckles, dragging his hand up your body to bring you closer to him.

“Still got it, hm?” He whispers against the column of your neck as you roll your eyes.

“Just kiss me you fool.” You pull him in for a kiss, and your tongue immediately finds its place home in Namjoon’s mouth.

It’s probably because it’s been so long since the two of you could feel each other like this, without any rush to get it over with but with the freedom to enjoy each other’s bodies as much as you’d like. Namjoon’s hands were the truth of that as he trails his arms down the sides of your waist and tugs you closer to him by your hips until he reaches for the hem of your camisole to tug it off your body.

He grabs the mounds of flesh in his hands and squeezes them hard enough to cause another gush of wetness to drip down the side of your thighs and onto his sweatpants. Besides the fact that he delivered a mind-blowing orgasm to you, the stained wetness of his sweatpants from his pre-cum and your slick is enough for you to push him down onto the bed.

“I’m gonna suck your cock.” You kiss him on the lips one last time before you’re leaning down to palm him over his sweatpants.

He hisses above you and grabs the back of your neck lovingly that it has you snorting.

“You know if you’re laughing at my dick my feelings are going to be very hurt,” Namjoon says from above you.

“It’s just …” You shake your head and giggle as you clench your fist around the outline of Namjoon’s cock as he lets out a low breath of approval at your action.

“You used to shove my head onto your cock the moment I reached your pants and now you’re so soft.” You tease.

You hear his breath hitch and the grip on your neck tighten at your taunting words. The excitement already pooling in your stomach at the roughness that would ensue from your husband.

“Me? Soft? Is that what you want baby?” His tone is warning and you know he’s serious.

You shake your head as you look up at him with innocent eyes, a stark contrast to the hand that continues to fondle his balls over his sweatpants.

“Don’t be a bitch and take my cock out.” He sneers, and you smile to yourself cheekily—knowing you hit a sore spot.

You happily oblige as you pull Namjoon’s sweats down to be greeted with your husbands cock. The visual itself has your pussy throbbing, and every time you’re faced with it, you always burn with the prospect of his thick cock pounding into your pussy.

“Now suck it like a good girl.” He guides your head towards his dick but you’re proactive enough to fully start licking at his tip, tongue teasing his slit as you hear him let out a low groan.

Your eyes are locked on his figure, as his head is thrown back. You want to grind on the sheets but you know that would delay him fucking you so you decide against it. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t appreciate the visual that your husband was giving you from where you were.

Namjoon had always been handsome. But there’s something about seeing him throw his head back in pleasure because of you that has your stomach churning with pride. You’d shamelessly admit that you were more on the possessive side, purely because you knew there were many men and women out there who desired Namjoon in more ways than one; and you didn’t like sharing one bit.

You spit onto his dick as your hands worked the rest of the length that you didn’t engulf in your mouth as you hollowed your cheeks to create a suction. Your tongue begins to tease the underside of his shaft, the way he likes the most and you know he’s enjoying your focus there because the hand that grips your neck is now tightly clutching your hair in a fist.

“Fuck. That’s it, baby.” He groans.

Motivated by the praise, you sink deeper, hands resting on his thick thighs as you push yourself until your nose reaches his pelvis. You’ve taken his cock like a champion on many occasions, and you can only thank him for that like the numerous times he had to guide you down on his cock were probably the only reason why your tiny throat could welcome his thick girth.

The sounds of you chocking on his dick was a lot for Namjoon, mainly because he couldn’t get enough of his wife but also because he’s been waiting out to bust a nut down your throat—actually your pussy—so long that he can’t handle the onslaught of pleasure your mouth brings him.

“Baby—baby,” He tugs you off his cock and the redness around your cheeks with the tears that pool at your waterline is enough to make his heart soar. Even though you were nasty in bed, he loved every single part of your forwardness.

“Your mouth is amazing but I need to cum in your pussy.” He tells you.

You whine at his declaration and allow him to manhandle you until you were face down ass up, ass pressed tightly against his pelvis as you grind your wet cunt over the hardness of his dick.

“Fuck—you’re so wet, baby. You like sucking my cock?” He growls, arms reaching around your stomach to pull your body flush against his chest.

When you reach your hand to wrap around his head to balance yourself, you see a view of your bodies together in your mirror. Courtesy of when you first moved in and due to you and Namjoon’s egocentric tendencies of wanting to see you guys fucking each other.

“S-So much Joon.” You garble.

His hand reach down to cup your mound and digs his palm into your clit as you grind down against his hand. You feel him loosely trace over your clit to gather your wetness into his hand to lather it over his dick.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good.” He whispers in your ear when he lines his cock against your entrance.

You whine, excitement erupting inside of you—until he finally slides it.

It definitely takes you by surprise because your husband was big. And the fact that you haven’t had his dick in you for months made it much more of a pleasant surprise when he bottoms out completely in one swift thrust of his hips, which causes your body to fall forward as your hands grip the sheets beneath you.

“Fuck. This tight pussy’s mine, right?” He growls.

You nod your head into the sheets as he begins with a few experimental thrusts as you adjust to the slight, yet pleasurable, sting in your lower half.

Until you squeeze his hand on your hip to give him the go, Namjoon settles for slow thrusts into your pussy, but it’s enough to prod at your pleasurable spot because not only is Namjoon smart, kind, funny, handsome and ridiculously a great father—he is phenomenal at sex. Probably why he knocked you up on the night of your honeymoon with your bundle of joy.

Namjoon begins snapping his hips into yours relentlessly like a man starved, and starved he was. He’s missed the wet heat of your pussy; and God did he love your daughter—but he missed this—your pussy.

“F-Fuuuuu—” You’re heaving.

Namjoon continues to thrust into your pussy, angling his hips upwards so that he’d reach places deeper than ever as your eyes roll to the back of your heart in pleasure.

“Fuck—this—tight—pussy—” His words follow the sharpness of his thrusts and you don’t even know where to grab because all your sensations are heightened, especially when Namjoon reaches a hand down to your clit to begin rubbing it vigorously.

“Nam—Joon!”

You’re so wet that the squelch of his thrusts is echoed in your bedroom, and the only thing you hear besides that is your loud moans and the heavy breathing coming from Namjoon.

It’s only when he plants his knees firmly into the mattress and brings your hips to meet his thrusts is when you feel your pussy clench uncontrollably around his cock as you wail out his name.

“Fuck, baby—you’re clenching—so—hard.” He groans, pushing his hips deeper into your pussy.

“Love your cock,” You moan, “Fuck—Joon, please—fuck your cum into me.”

“Yeah?” He grits his teeth and flips your over effortlessly, dragging your leg over his shoulder as he begins pounding into you even harder as he admires the way your face contorts in pleasure.

“Yeah.” You nod your head like a sex-crazed maniac because your husband was just too good with his hips.

“Gonna give you another baby.” He whispers when he leans down into your face as your eyes widen at his declaration. Your pussy reacts too, gushing out even more wetness as it becomes tighter around Namjoon’s cock.

“Fuck. You like that idea? A sibling for Chan’?” He grinds his pelvis into your clit as his words spur your second orgasm for the night on.

“No shit?” You gasp when he revs up his spit in the back of his throat, looking at your mouth invitingly.

“Yeah,” He says breathlessly, and you open your mouth to welcome his tongue when he drops the glob of spit down your throat.

You whine, feeling your orgasm coming so closely.

“Fuck Joon—I’m gonna cum.” You gasp.

You feel Namjoon’s hips stutter and you know he’s coming soon too.

“Me too baby.” He tells you while giving you the set of most adoring eyes ever. Even as he’s fucking you into the next dimension, Namjoon makes you feel so utterly loved and whole that you can’t imagine spending the rest of your life with anyone else.

He snaps his hips the hardest he’s ever done throughout the entire night, and you feel your pussy throb so much; signalling to you and Namjoon that your release was right there.

“Baby—I’m gonna—I’m gonna c-cum,” You grab onto his shoulder to pull him closer to you.

He welcomes it and leaves open mouth kisses onto your mouth as he fucks into you like a mad man.

“Cum.”

That’s all it takes for you to reach an explosive orgasm, one that quite literally causes you to blank out for a second because while Namjoon’s hot cum spurts into your pussy short after you came, he feels your body go limp in his embrace; causing his eyes to widen.

Only until you’re blinking up at him dazedly is when he holds you to his chest, as you feel his chest rumble when he chuckles.

“Baby … I thought you died.” He cards a hand through your hair and you smile at him, stupidly in love.

“If I die because of your dick I’d be happy.” You grin at him cutely. And he scoffs at the way you look so cute after you’ve been fucked to hell and back.

“My horny little monster,” He flicks your forehead as you bring him close to your chest, his dick still settled inside of you. But there was a sort of intimacy that you couldn’t quite put words to, but welcomed the gesture nevertheless.

“Were you serious?” You ask after a while of sharing a few intimate pecks to each others’ lips.

He finally pulls out to roll on his side as he reaches over to pull your close to his chest. He raises an eyebrow at your expression when you feel his cum leak out of you.

“God you really didn’t jack off recently, did you?” You ask.

He pecks you on the nose as he quickly tugs clean boxers over his legs and disappears into your on-suite. You sigh to yourself dreamily, thinking of how lucky you were to be with someone as loving and compassionate as Namjoon was.

You weren’t necessarily unlucky when it came to your relationships prior to him, but there would always be dealbreakers that caused splits to be more bitter than neutral. Namjoon was the only man in your life that you could speak to without fearing any judgement from because he wasn’t like that. He knew how to make you feel wanted and also how to want yourself, all while being your best friend and partner.

When he returns, he returns with a damp cloth and immediately begins cleaning up the mess between your thighs, even as he cheekily mentions how there was more from where that came from as you slap him on the shoulder.

Once he ensures he’s satisfied, he tosses the cloth into the laundry basket and grabs a big t-shirt of his to slip it over your body. You hum in satisfaction as his scent overwhelms you, even more so when he tugs you close to his body and he looks at you with all the love in the world.

“You asked if I was serious earlier?” He repeats your question and you nod your head looking up at him.

“Yeah.” You let out a breathy smile when he leans down to pull your face towards his own as you admire all the freckles and pores on his skin, fingers tracing loosely over the wrinkles that come with age.

“I know it’s sudden but … I’ve been thinking about our family and—I want our family to become bigger.” He tells you like it’s a secret. You know he’s been mulling over it for quite a while because he looks a little unsure of himself, but all you can do is smile widely at him.

“Really?” You ask, playing with the hair on the back of his neck when you feel his fingers trace over the skin on your back.

“Of course. I love you, and I love Chanmi. I’ve always wanted kids and you brought the best gift in my life to me and … I can’t explain how happy I am when I’m with the two of you.” He smiles at you gently.

You don’t know if it’s because he just fucked you so good, or was it because you were lovesick, but your eyes water because Namjoon was Namjoon.

“But—if you’re not ready then I understand and we can—”

“Yes.” You interrupt him.

His eyes widen as you see the excitement begin to pour into his irises.

“Wait—really?” He asks innocently.

You nod your head and kiss him on the lips softly, no rush as he returns the gesture, holding you close onto his chest where you feel the best in his arms.

“Yes really. I want what you want. And I think it’s about time Chanmi gets a sibling, no?” You tease.

He groans like you’re unreal as he buries his head into the crook of your neck as you caress him gently. Namjoon was really just like an oversized baby and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“When?” He asks.

You tease your fingertips down to his chest and offer him a knowing look.

“Now?” You feign indifference but you can see the wide grin he sports on his face.

“Fuck. Don’t say that. I think my dick is going to fall off at how hard I fucked you just now,” He whined.

“You’re getting old,” You massage his shoulders as he sighs.

“I am …” He acknowledges, “But we’ll grow old together, right?”

The prospect of a future of unknowns with Namjoon only makes your heart bloom. You nod your head, not another word need to be uttered as he holds you in his arms, excited for what’s to come.

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

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I'm Only A Crack In This Castle Of Glass (Hardly Anything Else I Need To Be) PT. 4

Batfamily x Batsis Story!

Word Count: 2K Warnings: Explicit Language, ALL THE ANGST Tags!: @itsnottilly @cloudyskylines @starflyer-104 @justine-en @iwillstaywiththemforever @weirdgirlfromtx @edlothia-baby @soul-end @notsostraightweeb @candlestudy

Author's Note: Some of y'all didn't tag so see if that's something on your end. Enjoy the angst and cliffhanger! -Thorne

Wally didn’t come into the coffee shop for almost two whole months after their fight—not that she blamed him—she was still vaguely upset with his harsh words. But she had to admit that she’d gotten used to his warm presence every morning, and not seeing him messed her up more than she thought it would. More often than not, she found herself absentmindedly staring at the door, waiting for him to walk in with that stupid grin on his face and proceed to boast and recall whatever exciting exploits he and his friends had accomplished earlier. It hurt not to see or hear him, and she realized that Wally had become the greatest friend she’d ever had.

Barry still came in though, and if he knew who she really was, he didn’t say anything because he still acted like he always did. So, even if Wally were still angry with her, at least he’d kept his word and not said anything to anyone about her identity. Which if she were honest, tasted bitter when she thought about the price she paid for his silence—his friendship.

It was getting colder again, which meant a lot more people were coming and going from the shop, so at least she could take her mind off her feelings for at least a few hours. Until she got home, and all she was left with were them and a whole lot of silence to think about them with. Sometimes she thought about calling Wally, at least to hear his voice. Hell, even if their last words to one another were frigid, she missed the interaction. She’d give anything to hear him, even taking another round of cold snipes and trades.

She heaved a sigh and wiped down the last few tables of the evening rush, smiling politely at the people who were still sitting at tables or so across. Today had been hectic and there’d been no let up of customers until the last hour of the shift. She’d never thought they’d run out of coffee, but it came close to that a couple hours ago.

The bell above the door chimed and with her back turned to the entrance, she didn’t see who came in, but with another barista at the counter ready to take the final orders of the evening, she didn’t particularly care. All she wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed. Sleep until hell froze over. That, or until her feet stopped hurting—whichever came first. She let out a quiet laugh that made her chest ache—Wally would’ve found that absolutely hilarious and probably shot back about how if anyone had the right to complain about their feet hurting, it would be him. God, she really missed Wally.

“Melisandre,” someone called quietly, and she glanced over her shoulder, eyes widening when she saw the familiar red head behind her.

Speak and the Devil will appear.

“Wally,” she breathed, voice thick with shock, and before she could stop herself, she was throwing her arms around his waist, squeezing him tightly.

He returned her hug in fold. “I guess I wasn’t the only one who missed this,” he quipped.

She huffed a laugh and pulled away. “Believe it or not, it doesn’t feel right when you don’t come around.” Her eyes narrowed almost sadly. “I’ve missed seeing you, Wally.”

“Same here,” he replied, then glanced at the clock above the espresso machines. “Are you almost off? I want to take you somewhere.”

Nodding, she took a look at her watch. “I get off in about ten minutes. Can you wait that long, or will you perish from boredom?”

“I think I can survive ten minutes, Melisandre,” he retorted and collapsed into one of the booths. “Hurry though, I don’t want to be late.”

She rolled her eyes and deadpanned, “Wally, I can’t speed time up. That’s not how that works.”

“Works for me.” He proudly stated.

“I wonder why?” she retorted sarcastically, then gave him a smile before wandering off to clean the last tables.

***

Despite the fact that Wally could run anywhere he wanted in less than a second, he still owned a vehicle and that was downright baffling in her opinion.

“Dick got it for me.” He suddenly said, shifting the car into drive and she blinked internally wincing at the mention of her brother.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I know you didn’t, (Y/N). But you were thinking it.”

“Uh huh,” she doubted and crossed her arms over her chest. “What am I thinking about right now?”

“Knowing you? Probably food, I know you like to ea—” he dissolved into laughter when she reached over and shoved at his side.

“No, I don’t you ass.”

“Really? Because I distinctly remember the time I took a fry off your basket and you looked at me like I’d killed your favorite dog.” (Y/N) glared at him and he pointed at her. “Yeah, that’s the look right there.”

“I don’t like sharing my food,” she said. “You should’ve known better.” Her eyes drifted to the windshield. “So, where are we going?”

“S.T.A.R. labs.”

(Y/N) cocked a brow and stared at him. “Really? S.T.A.R. labs? What’s there?”

Wally shrugged. “Wanted to show you a bit of what it’s like to be me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You mean you came to see me after all this time and the first thing we’re doing is going to a lab so you can show my what you do?”

His gaze momentarily darted to hers. “Is that a problem?”

“I dunno, I just figured we’d go eat a diner somewhere and apologize to each other.”

“Are you sorry?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Are you sorry? For all of the last three years?”

“Not particularly,” she griped, and he shrugged again.

“Then I’m not sorry for what we said to each other that night.” he let out a sigh. “But I’m willing to let it go, because I’d rather us just have a disagreement than lose what our friendship over it.” he looked at her. “What do you say?”

(Y/N) stared at him for a long moment, then she sighed and nodded. “…Yeah, I agree.”

Wally smiled. “Good.” He turned the wheel and pulled into the parking lot of the lab. “But there is food there for us, so you’ll be satiated anyways.”

“Hardy har har. Shut up, Wallace West,” she shot back, climbing out of the car. Her eyes traveled up the tall building. “Wow, this place is huge, isn’t it?”

She felt him stand next to her. “Yeah. Did you know they had to replace the glass windows a whole bunch of times because Barry and I kept shattering them when we’d run up ‘em?”

(Y/N) blinked, unsurprisingly stating, “No, I did not. But I can see that happening.”

He started towards the doors, leaving her to follow and soon they were stepping into an elevator. She watched him hit the rooftop button and she looked at him.

“If you’re showing me what you do, why are we going to the roof? Shouldn’t we be going to some laboratory inside?”

Wally chuckled. “Patience, young padawan.” He ignored her rolling eyes. “Food first.”

“Oh, dinner in the moonlight? Well, aren’t you just the romantic.” (Y/N) cocked her elbow on his shoulder and grinned. “Don’t tell me you fell in love with me all that time we spent away from each other?”

This time, he was rolling his eyes. “Hardly, (Y/N). I just figured you’d want a nice evening where you weren’t staring at your bland kitchen walls.”

She scoffed and pulled away from him. “Look, I’d paint and hang shit up but the landlord wouldn’t be happy.”

“Since when do you care about making people happy? You’re typically a ‘I’m going to make someone unhappy’ type of person.” Her eyes shifted to his and he waved a hand. “Not what you’re thinking about—I was talking about the coffee shop.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything, then she hummed. “There’s nothing more fun than telling someone I’m going to get the manager and then do my magic little spin and cheerfully greet, ‘Hi, I’m the manager’.” She grinned. “Does wonders to see Karen’s little head explode.”

Wally chuckled and the elevator dinged. The doors split open, and they walked out onto the rooftop. Surprisingly, the roof was enclosed and lighted, giving her perfect vision and when her eyes fell on them, her heart seemed to stop in her chest, and her feet to a halt.

They stood from the table they’d been sitting at and with her heart hammering against her ribcage, she immediately spun on her heel, intent to flee back into the elevator, only to come chest to chest with Wally, who wrapped his arms around her waist—effectively keeping her in place.

Her feet were still moving on their own accord and she shoved against his chest, trying to get back to the lift. “Wally, move.”

“No, (Y/N),” he murmured, and she could feel her breath starting to come in and out in panicked spurts.

“Wally, please, I’m begging you, move.” She stared up at him and plead, “Please don’t make me do this. I’ll do anything, just please let me leave.”

His evergreen eyes were narrowed in pity, but there was a firmness that rested within that pity and he shook his head. “I can’t let you leave, (Y/N).”

“Wally, please,” she begged, arms starting to go limp against his chest, the tears flooding her vision. “Don’t make me do this.”

“You’ve gotta stop running, (Y/N).”

She couldn’t help the sob that escaped her, and she rested her cheek against his chest. “I hate you…so much.”

“I know,” he murmured.

“You’re a liar and I hate you.”

Wally sighed. “I know you do.”

(Y/N)’s face contorted in anger despite her pain. “I should’ve left the night we fought. I knew you wouldn’t be capable of keeping it from him. From any of them,” she sneered and suddenly pulled away from his grip, eyes flashing with rage.

“This wasn’t your right to tell!” she shouted at him and shoved him in the chest. Wally didn’t budge an inch and she shoved him again. “God, I was so naïve to assume you’d keep your fucking mouth shut! That’s one thing you’re not capable of doing!”

She growled and turned from him, running her hands over her face. “Three years of relative peace shot straight down the fucking drain,” she shot him a teary glower. “All because of you and your big bleeding heart for your best friend.”

Wally frowned. “I’m doing what I think is best, (Y/N).”

“Forcing me to meet them isn’t what’s best, Wally! I didn’t want to be found! I didn’t want to be associated with them again!” she snarled and in an instance her anger cooled, her shoulders drooping as she lamented, “…This wasn’t a decision you should’ve made. This was never your right to decide. For me…or for them.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t,” he agreed. “But if you weren’t going to draw the line in the sand, I was.”

(Y/N) met his gaze and held it for a long moment, then she turned her attention to the four men who were standing in front of the table, their expressions a mixture of regret, anger, and relief.

She let out a long sigh and reached up to rub at her temples. “Let me guess, I’m not allowed to leave until we’ve had our picture-perfect reunion scene?”

Wally nodded. “The elevator is sadly,” his hand shot backwards and with a sharp crackle of lightning, the light went out. “out of order.”

(Y/N) shook her head in disappointment at him then declared, “The next time I run, I’m settling in a city that has no superheroes.”

“Good plan,” he quipped. “But I don’t think there’ll be anymore running.”

She got up in his face and hissed, “Then you underestimate my feelings regarding the brothers and father before me.”

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oneofthosesimps · 3 years

Text

Head over Heels

pairing: levi x reader I nsfw

word count: 2404

summary: reader gets fucked by levi in his office and both get interrupted which doesn't stop levi from continuing

warnings: , choking, rough sex, dirtytalk, swearing, sub x dom

authors note: first fanfiction since forever so go easy with me <3

all credits to the artist of this pic

(unfortunately, i don't know who it's from. if anyone can help me further, feel free to write me)

-----

Slowly your legs give out and you can barely hold on. You can feel the pain jolting through them and slowly spreading. Almost all of your toes are numb and if they still have a bit of blood in them, they are just tingling from the blood loss they are experiencing. Your chest is rising and falling way too fast, your heart can hardly keep up. Your brain is trying to process what is going on right now.

Your breath catches and your trembling lips release a long moan as you let your head fall into your neck. A hand rests over your mouth and grey eyes look at you. Half-closed and dark, the swirling storm in them twists your head and pulls you in, making you float. You try with difficulty to pull yourself together and leave your heavy eyelids open to look back.

His forehead slightly wrinkled, drops of sweat running down his temples, his lips open, "Oi, didn't I tell you to be quiet, brat."

His other hand digs deeper into your hip and he pushes you harder against the door. The old marks barely faded; he probably wants to leave new marks on you.

"So, everyone knows you're mine, too," he had said once.

Indispensable of his speed and depth, his lips settle on your neck, searching for your pulse, which drums in your ears. Once he finds it, he sucks on the thin skin, leaving another trace on your body.

"Or do you want them to be able to hear you again?" your captain asks, sliding one of his fingers into your mouth. "Do you want me to hear the talk again? The talk about how hard I fucked you last night?" His finger presses against your tongue and you take this as an invitation to let the muscle slide around it. "...That I hear we're supposed to be quieter because we disturbed the others? No, because you disturbed the others". He slid a second finger into your mouth, and you suck on them, drooling all over them. "...That you disturbed them, with your moans, while I fucked your cunt? Is that what you want, brat?" With each of the words of his last question, he thrusts once firmly and deeply into you, and a louder, longer moan escapes you again, which is, however, muffled by his fingers.

Your eyes twist back and your hands on his shoulders become fists. Your nails dig deep into his skin and a low moan falls from his lips as well, while he frowns and puts his head in his neck like you did before. "Fuck," his deep voice vibrates through the room and he pulls his fingers out of your mouth. Both hands settle under your ass again. "Wrap your arms and legs tightly around me."

You do as you're told, and Levi takes all your weight again, lifting you away from the door and hastily carrying you across the room. His cock slides out of you, only to settle between the cheeks of your ass. Your heart leaps as you think of what happened the last time his cock touched that sensitive spot, and a slight blush settles over your cheeks and shoulders. During the short time he holds you in his arms like this, you put your mouth in the hollow between his neck and shoulder and lick the sweat from his skin. A hiss escapes him.

Arriving at his desk, Levi sets you down and tears almost come to your eyes as you let your legs hang and the circulation in your body returns to normal.

Levi immediately takes your lips. You moan into his mouth and he takes the opportunity to connect his tongue with yours. Your hands find their way into his dark hair and you stroke through the longer stubble on the back of his head to the long strands on top.

A growl comes low from his throat and he wraps his arms around your small body, hugging you close before releasing the kiss. "You're the death of me, you know." His gaze bores into your soul again as his right hand makes its way down between your bodies, finally arriving at your hot centre. Easily two fingers find their way inside you, he curves them upward and hits your G-spot, massaging it slowly and delightfully.

Your body tenses slightly and your legs twitch as your mouth makes pleasurable sounds. "Especially now, the way you look at me innocently with your big eyes, like you're not a spoiled little girl".

You lick your lips. As soon as his name escapes you, he frowns again, and his eyes darken. He says you are his death? He is a god as he stands there before you. How his eyes captivate you, take you in and never let you go. How the muscles worked under his skin as his fingers fuck you.

"What do you want, brat? Tell me."

"You," you sigh as his fingers slide out of you and he massages the small pearl between your lower lips with your juices. Your hips jerk forward, trying to accommodate his movements. A small knot forms below your belly.

"You have me," he murmurs, raising an eyebrow. You have had him at least since the first time you raised your voice at him after he teased you for not being able to hold your own against Annie in a two-on-two fight. This, if he was honest with himself, had been somewhat unfair.

"I want your cock," you explain in more detail, biting your lower lip as the knot under your belly grows stronger. He immediately sees the signs on your face as he increases the pressure on your clit.

"Your cock what?" he taunts. Your hand digs into his thigh and you almost go insane as he continuing to play with you and eyeing your face almost with amusement.

"Your cock, s-sir. Holy, I'm about to cum," you stammer to yourself, your body quivering under him.

"Right, about to," is all Levi says, pulling his hand back. A hiss escapes you, you were so close to your climax, the heaven he had promised you. Have mercy on me, please, you think. As if he heard your thoughts, he is already planning his next moves with you in his head.

"Lie back," he says, and in the process, he grips your thighs from below, pulling your pelvis closer to him and spreading your legs further apart. No matter how many times he looks at your pussy, you will probably never lose your complete shame lying there in front of him like that, completely open.

He opens his mouth, and you see a thread of spit come out from between his lips and drip onto your already wet pussy. His gaze falls back to you and the corners of his mouth pull up slightly. You are about to go insane. He reaches around his cock and inserts it into you again, filling you completely once more and thrusting to the back in one go.

A deep moan comes from your mouth, which turns into more moans as he resumes his previous speed and fucks the life out of you. Your thoughts can barely keep up, which is why you just give up trying to process what is happening. Levi moans above you, his hands drilled into your thighs as he presses your legs even further against you. He gets even closer to you, fucking you even deeper, changing angles slightly to thrust against your sweet spot again. You call out his name loudly and arch your back.

Apparently, he's probably given up on trying to get you to be quiet. He's too busy holding you down as his left hand settles next to your head and grips the other edge of the table. His body settles further over yours, constricting your movement even more, trapping you in your current position.

You have long since given up your legs again and submit to your fate. His gaze fixes you and you feel like you are getting closer and closer to your longed-for end. He also seems to be slowly working towards his climax, which is not surprising after the fuck against the door of his office that has already happened before. The table below you slowly start to slide a bit from its original place with every push from the god above you. His documents have long been scattered around the room. Your eyes meet again before he lets his gaze slide over your face.

Never had he beheld anything more beautiful. Your half-closed eyes, sparkling at him. Your under lip, as it was captured by your teeth. Your curls falling around your face and shoulder. Your neck, which was covered with his markings. Your breasts that fit so perfectly in his hands and by his hard thrusts rocked up and down. And if he kept his gaze down even further, he'd see his thick cock driving into you and connecting both of you. A low murmur comes from his throat as he focuses on the feeling. The way your tight walls wrap around him, milking him. He was so close to his limit, so close to filling you from the inside. His hand was already tightening painfully around the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white. Just a little more, just a little more. Just a little more, until your little body would twitch beneath him and you both wouldn't know where Levi started, and you ended. Just a little more until he would break you apart.

A knock on the door snaps you out of your world. Your whole-body tenses under him and you tear open your eyes. Levi looks down at you and puts his hand over your mouth again.

"Keep it down, brat." To your shock, he doesn't stop his thrusts, he just straightens up a bit and slows his pace just enough to bring you back a bit from your orgasm. His other hand finds its way to your clit again, which he rubs in slow circles to bring you out of your shock paralysis. Your body works against you, and so you fall for him again, trying to suppress any sound from you.

"Name and occasion," he spoke in his usual deep voice, but it didn't escape you that he sounded annoyed. You were amazed at how hard he was able to hold it together, but his eyes told you that his head was still with you.

"Captain, sir, Armin Arlert, I'm bringing Commander Erwin Smith's papers as requested," came a trembling voice from the other side. Armin, too, seemed to realize that Levi didn't feel like dealing with him right now. Levi pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. He had forgotten all about that from all the work he was doing. With a deep thrust into you, he replied, "Tch, not now."

"A-but sir, y-you asked me specifically to get the papers."

The corners of Levi's mouth drop, and he pulls you to him again, wrapping his hands around your neck and squeezing lightly to vent his anger about Armin out there. Why is he interrupted now of all times? Your breath catches and your eyes roll back into your skull. "More," you breathe over your lips. If he keeps this up, you'll cum right here and now, while poor Armin stands outside the door with no idea how heavy the scent of sex and sweat is in the air and how well you're getting fucked right now.

"Not now, you piece of shit. Can your little brain handle that simple instruction?" hisses Levi, tightening his grip as you wish. His pace picks up again and he stares into your face.

"I'm cumming," you whisper as you slowly black out. The lack of air and his cock thrusting inside you with a brutality is driving you crazy. By the time Levi loses his cool and takes it out on you, you're head over heels. Sometimes down at dinner you can see his eyes squinting from a distance because he's annoyed with one of your comrades. Almost everyone fears Levi for his cold nature. They can't see through him because he hardly lets his feelings out. But when he comes up to you and grabs you by the collar of your clothes, dragging you through the whole building to his office, everyone knows that the person who has just annoyed him has real problems. And you realize at the very first glance from him to you that your inner anticipation is immeasurable.

"Wait a minute," he murmurs softly. He hasn't heard Arlert's footsteps moving away from the office yet. Probably the boy is still too unsure how to react, since Levi said something else to him earlier. But Levi also knew that it was really time to get rid of him. "Arlert, fuck off," Levi growls and opens your mouth with one of his hands, letting spit drip between his lips again, which this time hits your tongue. Greedily you swallow it, while you finally hear Armin's footsteps and the world around you fall apart. Behind your closed eyelids everything turns white, your whole-body bends towards Levi while his name falls from your lips over and over again. Levi also finally reaches his limit and shoots his juice deep into you, burying his face in your neck and moaning against your skin.

For a moment you both lie there like that as you try to come down from your high and your breath relaxes. Now comes the moment, feeling your aching limbs, and your face contorts. Levi laughs softly and your body shakes under him.

Slowly he straightens up from you and grins at you. "I'd say I'm sorry, but that would be a lie."

A slight grin settles over your lips as well. "The only thing you should be sorry for is Armin."

Levi rolled his eyes and slowly helped you up while his gaze was fixed on the wetness and his juice between your legs.

"Tch, Arlert can take it. I'll still take that scum and his stupid little friend Yeager harder tomorrow."

"Why Yeager?" you frown and are thankful for it as Levi starts to clean you up.

"Why not? That moron gets on my nerves." You smirk slightly and kiss him on the forehead. "You're incorrigible."

#aot #attack on titan #snk #shingeki no kyoujin #levi #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi x you #levi imagine #levi smut #aot smut #fanfic #aot fanfiction #levi fanfiction

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