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dragonbarbie · 9 months

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𝐖𝐇𝐘'𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇?

modern!aegon ii targaryen x reader

rating: 18+, minors dni

summary: reader thinks aegon can never be more than a one night stand, and aegon is intent on getting her to give him a chance.

word count: 2.5k

tags: modern!au, smut, drunk!aegon having sex with sober!reader, voyeurism, exhibitionism, tity sucking, pussy eating, p in v sex, unprotected sex

note: i very much write fanon!aegon, not the canon, show!version.

sidenote: is this lowkey inspired by my irl situationship who wont quit calling me every time he gets drunk?? maybe

it was a regular friday night for aegon. his frat was throwing a big party, and he had organised everything down to the last detail. he had a reputation to maintain after all, known affectionately as the king of parties of dragonstone university. he had already drunk his own weight in alcohol, flirted (and then proceeded to get handsy) with a couple of girls but he’d been too distracted to follow through with any of them.

his mind instead wandered back to a couple of weeks ago, at another party, where he’d met y/n. she’d been chatting to cregan stark, wearing a little black dress that hugged her in the best way imaginable. he knew, looking at her enchanting laugh at stark’s dumb joke, he had to have her. putting on his most charming smile, he’d approached her.

she’d been wary of him because of his reputation around campus (who wouldn’t be) but after a few disarming jokes as his fingertips grazed the side of her thighs, he’d managed to convince her to give him a chance.

drunken steps were then taken back to her dorm room, and they’d had what aegon could only call amazing sex.

now hold on, you have to believe him when he says amazing, alright? he’d slept with too many women to count, after a while the nights blended to the point that he couldn’t much differentiate between what having sex with each of them had felt like. so, when one such night stood out for him? it meant it had met a very high bar indeed. after all, he thought, he didn’t go around spending the night at every girl’s place.

he'd thus expected a little warmer treatment come morning and was rudely shocked at her attempting to throw him out. still, wearing his jeans in such a hurry that its button and fly was undone, unlaced shoes, bare-chested as he held his rumpled shirt in his hand, he’d had the audacity to offer her a lazy grin and promise “i’ll call you.”

“please” she’d snorted with an amused look, “everyone knows aegon targaryen is not the type to call.” taking no note of his offended expression, she’d shut the door in his face.

he’d been wondering about those words ever since. sure, she hadn’t been wrong but, hey, he’d meant the lie this time! with tits that great, ass that perfect, why wouldn’t he want a repeat of last night? he’d thought to himself.

determined to prove her wrong, he’d asked around the frat house and found out her number. but as his hand had hovered over the call button, something had stopped him. she’d caught him spot on, he realised. he wasn’t a relationship guy, and she wasn’t expecting the relationship-thing with him. perhaps it was best he left her alone.

he’d done just that, at least while sober. drunk aegon on the other hand, found it much easier to pick up the phone and dial her number.

“who is this?” there was panic and sleep in her voice, having picked up an unknown number at 2 in the morning “sweetheart! you picked up” he’d grinned, words slurring. he could practically hear the eyeroll on the other end. “aegon… to what do i owe the pleasure?” “i was just missing you.” he sighed. “sure.” nothing in her voice indicated that she believed him.

“i’m actually not far from your dorm. how about i come up with a bottle of tequila and we can… catch up?” he suggestively added. “it’s 2:14 am…. on a tuesday.” she pointed out, but her words didn’t seem to mean much to him as he replied, “so?” an exasperated sigh could be heard over the phone, “good night, aegon.” click. he stared down on the iphone in his hand in disbelief, she’d hung up on him.

he decided maybe he’d come out too strong, so the next time he texted first. he’d stared at the text for a couple of minutes, and when he saw that she was online but hadn’t bothered to text him back, he’d walked over to the nearest girl and proceeded to make out with her in the bathroom. until he was interrupted with a buzzing in his pocket, “just a minute” he’d mumbled against her lips, unbothered by her disappointed expression as he fished for the phone in his pocket hurriedly.

he saw that y/n had finally replied to his ‘u up?’ with a ‘depends.’ his brow furrowed at her response in confusion, he typed back ‘on what’.

the notification arrived with a ping. her response read ‘are u drunk?’. something told him instinctively to lie. he typed out a no, but once the message sent, he realised it had autocorrected to ‘yo’. he corrected it to a no and sent again, only to find the same mistake committed again. it was only after a string of typos had been sent, did he blink and realise autocorrect wasn’t to blame at all, his damn fingers just refused to cooperate with his inebriated brain.

ping. after receiving the string of nonsense, she finally replied ‘i got my answer.’ “aegon?” the girl in front of him looked at him impatiently, only to have him grab the handle of the bathroom door, leaving with a quick “gotta go”. he immediately called up y/n as he walked out of the party, but the call went straight to voicemail. all four times.

thus, every night aegon had gotten drunk since, he found himself being distracted by thoughts of y/n, frustrated at her refusing to engage with him.

that night too, once the clock on the wall started to look to him as if it were melting off and his feet seemed to stumble wherever he walked, his brain suddenly thought showing up to her dorm was the best idea ever.

reaching her door, he ran a hand through his hair before knocking. no response. impatient, he loudly whined “y/n! c’mon, open up!” met with more silence. he whipped his phone out, blinking at the bright screen as he concentrated to make sure it was without typos, he sent her a text, ‘m 0utsidee’. he pounded with his fist on the door one more time, before a door opened, but not the one he was standing in front of.

three doors down, y/n stood against her doorframe in her small black shorts, red tank top riding up slightly to reveal skin just above them. “wrong fucking door, idiot.” aegon grinned as he walked towards her. “you’re lucky baela’s out of town for the weekend, otherwise she would have kicked your ass for banging on her door like that.”

ignoring her, he pouted as he leaned his head against her door frame, looking too much like a wounded puppy. y/n felt a tug at her stomach at how undeniably cute he looked. “why don’t you ever pick up my calls?”

“why’d you only ever call me when you’re high?” she asked instead of answering. “what?” he mumbled, confused. “high….why’d you only ever call me when you’re high?” she slowly repeated, as if talking to a two-year-old. “i’m not interested in someone who needs to be drunk to call me. i don’t want to be your booty call.” she shrugged. his lower lip jutted out further at her response, crease appearing between his brow. oh, gods, y/n found herself thinking, how could someone manage to look this pathetic and this cute at the same time.

“you’re not a booty call.” he groaned in protest. after all, there were enough girls at that party willingly throwing themselves at him, he could have been with anyone, and yet… it was her door his drunken steps had taken the path of.

“go home, aegon. it was a one-time thing. it’s not happening again.” she insisted. her words seemed to have no effect on him, as he placed a hand around her waist and pulled her closer to him, close enough for her to feel his breath on her face. he bent down to her ear and whispered, his words slurring, “let me show you all the reasons that this should be more than just a ‘one-time-thing’.”

he pressed his lips to hers, softly at first. she didn’t immediately kiss him back, but the feeling of his lips on hers felt more intoxicating than whatever it was that she could smell off his breath, and she found her lips moving against his within seconds. he bit her lower lip playfully, at her response. she parted her lips to allow him to slide his tongue past them. his hand, meanwhile, slid under the material of her tank and travelled upwards, thumb pressing against her nipple as he squeezed her breast. breaking from the kiss for a second, he smirked at her, “didn’t bother wearing a bra to greet me?”. “i was preparing for bed!” she hissed in response. “excuses” he shook his head at her, teasing.

with his hand he lifted her tank to reveal her bare breasts. “aegon!” she attempted to keep her voice low, lest her neighbours wake up to the scene, “we’re in the middle of the hallway, anyone can walk in!” the idea of someone catching them only made it all the more exciting for aegon, “relax.” he told her with a laidback smile.

before she could protest, his head dipped and he captured her nipple in his mouth. a moan escaped her lips at the feeling, and she stumbled back, her back hitting her doorframe. aegon continued his tongue’s assault on her sensitive nipple, one hand gripping her waist to keep her in place, the other reaching behind her to squeeze her ass. her hand held the nape of his neck, as her head was thrown back in pleasure at his actions. she whined when he abruptly stopped.

he kneeled down and his fingers reached up, pulling her shorts and panties down her legs, causing a shiver to go up her spine. chewing on her lower lip in nervousness she weakly said, “we should go inside” but she couldn’t deny that the thought of getting caught made her even more wet. there was a hint of recklessness and danger in his eyes, “where’s your sense of adventure?”. he threw the clothes inside her ajar door, then lifted one of her legs over his shoulder. she audibly gasped as she felt his tongue upon her already soaking pussy.

“aegon…ah!” her hand gripped his hair as his tongue played tricks on her core, her eyes rolling back till she could see stars. his grip on her thigh remained firm, and she was certain she would be waking up with a bruise. “close… so…close…” she had begun to say after a few minutes, feeling her muscles tense, when he stopped.

he stood up and started to undo his pants, freeing his length. he grabbed her by the waist, letting the tip of his cock tease her folds. she was already moaning for him, “want me to take you right here? make you scream my name, till your neighbours come checking?” she swallowed at the thought, lust overtaking her eyes.

“let’s do one thing.” he smiled as if he’d struck upon the most perfect idea, but the gleam in his eyes told y/n it couldn’t be anything good. he turned her around by her waist, hand coming to her front to rub her clit as he whispered in her ear, “you see that door?”. she knew he could only mean the door to the elevator which was the way to enter her dormitory floor. she managed a nod in response, unable to form words as his fingers pressed down on her so ruthlessly. “keep looking at it.” he commanded as he grabbed her hips back to push his cock inside her. “aegon!” she gasped at the feeling.

he entered her completely in one go, pulling out punishingly slow before pushing back in. he continued speaking as he impaled her, “someone’s gonna walk in any moment now…” he teased, “…and see you in this mess… see you bent over, taking me from behind…like a whore” the thought embarrassed her, yes, but what embarrassed her more was that she found herself almost wanting it to come true.

“even when they walk in, i won’t stop.” he threatned, his thrusts becoming faster. “you’ll be on display for everyone to see… to see how well you take my cock.” he gathered her hair in his fist in one hand, and she felt him pulling it lightly. “yes, oh, yes!” she found herself moaning, eyes intently trained on the door. “you’d like that? of course, you would, little slut.” she only whimpered in response, his words bringing her closer and closer to her edge. “you’d love to have everyone see just how well you receive a ‘booty call’” he chuckled. she could feel herself going weak at the knees at his pace and dirty talk.

“aegon… i—ah!” pleasure spread over every inch of her body, as she came all over his cock. he continued to thrust into her, chasing his own orgasm, until he emptied inside of her with a grunt.

her legs felt wobbly as he pulled out of her, turning her back around to face him. “next time i call—” he panted as he spoke, exerted from their activities, “—pick up.” she smirked, in contrast to his dominating actions mere moments ago, his words now sounded more like a pleading request; one she felt gracious enough to grant him as his juice and her own dripped down her legs. “i will. promise.”

his pearly white teeth showed as he grinned at her response, pleased. “oh, but i’m not nearly done with you for the night, just yet.” he lifted her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. he shut the door behind them as he walked back inside her dorm.

the next morning, she didn’t kick him out like the last time. she let him linger around her bed, aegon placing a trail of kisses down her body as a manner of greeting her good morning. he was needy and showed it by being as tactile with her as could be. yet she felt comfortable with his touches, allowing herself to lie with him for hours, their legs tangled. even as she bid him goodbye from her door, she had to practically tear her lips off his, neither able to get enough of the other.

she felt content as she’d shut her door behind her, leaning against it as she thought back to the night that had passed, when her phone started to ring. she picked it and smiled as she saw the name being displayed, ‘aegon (don’t pick up)’.

“see i am the type who calls. a lot” she laughed at his words through the phone, able to hear him standing right outside the door. “and also the type who does breakfast. what do you say, brunch in an hour?”

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kneelingshadowsalome · 10 months

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I have an odd request… perhaps a captain price fic where the reader is much younger and edgy- likeee covered in tats and stuff,, and price isn’t rly used to that but finds it hot as hell… idk maybe they work together ?? Smut ensues …

IDK I have tatts and wonder what he’d think of that 👹👹

Just an idea 💡❤️😫

Fire it Up (John Price x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.8 k

Tags/warnings: Smut 🔞 mutual pining, flirting, swearing, older man/younger woman dynamic, forbidden love, smoking & drinking, voice kink, a tiny brat taming kink squeezed itself in here too. Reader has tattoos and works as a coder at the base. Rough ~10yrs age gap described, reader is of age I hope to god it goes without saying (Price is canonically 37) Also: no use of 'daddy' in this fic

A/N: I'm so glad for this request anon and I hope you like what I made! Also people please be gentle, this is my first Price fic 🥹 God I wish I could attach the fat scent of cigar here to give you the full experience.

You don't know what caught your attention first.

The cigar, perhaps. Or the beard? Might be his hips, the ass that tells you this man can fuck a woman for hours.

Or maybe it's the fact that he's too old for you.

No, not too old…

Just older than you. A decade, perhaps, if you were being gentle with him and lenient with yourself.

He certainly isn't old enough to be your father, but he wasn't the type of man your eyes usually drifted on either.

He looks like someone who's supposed to be fishing in Alaska, sucking that fat cigar while taking in the view of mountains while trying to catch wild fish in some wide, free stream.

He's supposed to come home to a remote cabin: to his little wife who pours him a scotch after he has shown her what he caught today. Make sweet love to her while stars shoot and speckle the indigo night.

He looks like someone who makes love to women.

You, on the other hand, want to ride with him to the sunset on the back of a Harley, clutch his jacket as he drives you to some bizarre highway motel. You want to watch him drink that scotch from your navel.

You'd do all kinds of crazy shit with him, keep his head between your legs with both hands, grind all over that mustache, and see how wet it gets. You want him to pound you with those narrow hips, take you from behind while you look back with parted, swollen lips and relish the sight of what must be a grown man's hardened body, covered with hair and scars and–

"The bug's still there."

You return to reality, look at the code on your screen, and then at your colleague, a 20-something bloke who looks at you with the lethargic stare that only belongs to techies. You've just been caught daydreaming your eyes off in the middle of a lazy afternoon. Coffee doesn't do shit after 2 PM…

"Yeah I know. I'm working on it," you say. But when the dude leaves, you decide it's time for a creative break. You tell yourself it's only because the code jumps on the screen, not because you hope to catch a certain someone smoking outside.

The leather jacket is a little too much these days, but you throw it on out of pure habit. You realize the weight of your mistake when you go outside from the ventilated building and notice the sweltering heat. Spring has finally turned into summer.

Coffee doesn’t do shit, but it’s time for another kind of wakey-wakey. And butterflies are a funny term for something that mainly feels like it’s eating your insides out of pure excitement.

Because he's here too.

Jonathan Price, although no one calls him Jonathan. Few call him John, either.

Mostly, he goes by the title Captain.

He's stressed; you can tell. But his eyes soften immediately when they fall on you, a brief look to the side, just to know who else comes out to have a breath of fresh air or a smoke. He looks like he's been expecting you, but that might only be a silly girl's daydream. You two share a vice, and you've never been more grateful for your bad habit before this place and him.

And you wouldn't call it necessarily a bad habit. It's simply stress relief if you do it once or twice every few weeks. It's not like you smoke two packs a day. It's not like you even smoke one cig per day.

Although ever since you started this odd little job in this odd little place, you've smoked one or two nearly every day… And it's not because of the stress.

It's because of Price.

John. You’d like to see his reaction to you moaning that word in his ear…

"How long have you been here?"

His eyes are still on you, mouth covered by a hand as he makes love to his cigar. And that bedroom voice always gets you. It's better than the upcoming slow drag of nicotine. You're not here for tobacco at all.

"Two weeks." You reach for your excuse and try to prevent your hands from trembling as you light the cig. Usually, you're not this shy with people. Not with men, anyway. But with him, your wits and words disappear.

You blow the smoke through the air with a quick, lively wisp where he lets it roll out his tongue in a heavy cloud. He's still watching you as if to weigh what kind of woman you are exactly.

"How about you?" You continue the small talk with nervous ease.

He chuckles; the little smile even shows a flash of teeth as he steals a look at the clouds, calculating years with those surprisingly lively eyebrows curled up toward the sky.

"Ages."

He's not that old. Perhaps well over his thirties, might be knocking his forties. The statement is merely an underline of his stress today. You can only wonder what kind of pressure the captain of Task Force 141 is under when you get sleepless nights from a stupid source code. There are a few wrinkles around his eyes, but they only tell you that this man smiles a lot. He might be the only one in this compound who smiles a lot.

"Have you ever tried a cigar?"

There's a glint in his eyes as he offers the thick roll of tobacco to you. It's suddenly difficult to breathe, difficult to even keep your thoughts together.

"No," you shake your head as if your answer wasn't enough to tell him he's the first person ever to offer you such a thing. Then you realize the word does not precisely deliver your eagerness to try that stout cigar.

"Would love to," you hurry to add with a soft smile. "Can I have a taste?"

He walks to you slowly, and your eyes drop to those hips, which sway like he's purposely trying to seduce you.

Fu–ck…

Then your eyes sink even lower, between his legs, to his fucking junk, and it's too fucking late–

Jesus–get your shit together…

You force your eyes back to his and see the little glimmer in them gain a surprised spark – you're totally caught red-handed on checking him out.

Fuck. How can you be so stu–

"Gently then, kid."

You swallow your heart and thoughts down and take the offered cigar; of course, your first thought is how thick and heavy it is. And somehow, you decide right then and there that you will no longer be the nervous, hot-cheeked woman on the corner.

It's time to make him flustered.

So you take a hollow-cheeked, slow suck on the fat cigar. A chaste, savory taste, more like, but there's nothing chaste in the way you raise your eyes to his, putting every ounce of soft seduction in that stare.

He draws breath slowly – his face is full of expression for an allegedly cold-hearted elite soldier. You don't know how often women flirt with this hunk of a man, but he sure looks taken aback by your sudden play. Probably thinks you're too young for him – and you curse the second time you put that jacket on. You want to see his reaction to your sleeves.

"Mm. It's thicker than I thought," you weigh the cigar between your fingertips and let the smoke roll out your mouth. The man switches his weight from one foot to another, speechless, and you suppress a big beam of a smile.

"The taste," you emphasize as if innocent, as if you didn't see that shocked little shift. "Round, and… god, it's almost sweet."

You smile as you give it back, and he chuffs an approving laugh through his nose – those eyes are bear-warm playful now, his mouth curves into an easy smile.

"Nice," you look him up and down as if you're talking about the man and not the cigar.

"Beats those little sticks."

His voice drops down a few notes; it's almost a husky growl. You barely make out the words he's saying. The tension in the air could form little balls of lightning around you, the flirt is over the roof, and there's even no roof because you're outside – and you take your jacket off, slowly, to make it clear it's summer and not spring.

His eyes fall on the ink immediately, and he blinks a few times, draws some more breath – you tweet your thanks accompanied by another smile and go back inside.

You know he's checking your ass in those black jeans as you walk away.

….....

It doesn't end there.

You see him again and again and again, and at some point you realize he has to walk almost 100 meters from the other end of the base to get to the little corner where the two of you smoke.

He's intrigued but decent. Holds a distance, never says anything that could be taken in the wrong way – or even in the right way. But he's fucking you with his eyes.

No… making love to you.

And it drives you crazy.

You don't want that. You don't need that. To be that little wife in the cabin. Pouring him a drink, climbing in his lap, ghosting a finger down the stubble on his chin, see how wide and proud it makes him smile to hold you like you're his and his alone...

God. When did it come to this?

You suck on his fat cigar every now and then. Look him in the eyes while you do it. Once, it makes his tongue dart out, it wets his bottom lip, and then he does that thing with his mouth... the thing where he kind of purses his lips and it makes the mustache dip, and you realize, you learn it's a sign that he's restless, he's flustered.

You make the big, burly captain of Task Force 141 flustered.

And he doesn't smell like the people inside smell. Of stale coder sweat and Joy Division and soft drinks and mommy's home-cooked meals. He smells of rich forest and fine bourbon and half-burnt gasoline. Maybe Saxon on vinyl. Definitely beats those little sticks that are your nerdy co-workers at the hacker department, as you call it.

He may have a flask somewhere; perhaps he takes a sip or two every now and then, whether at work or not. And you don't blame him. Even with those laugh lines and that brown bear benevolence, you can tell he's seen things.

You wonder what he's like out there in the field. Brutal? Or just efficient?

He never asks about your tattoos, but he eyes them often. There's a certain admiring esteem in his stare. He's checking you out, scratches his chin, and rips his eyes off when they start to drift down. He forces his eyes to stay above your neckline no matter the cost. You mourn that you got rid of the septum a few years ago: you're pretty sure he would've liked that, too. After all, it's a piercing that screams 'warrior' the most. Break after break, you return to your desk, aroused and giddy and surrounded by the rich, masculine aroma of his cigar.

One night, he drives by when you're walking home after what was supposed to be one or two pints.

The car is a big, black pick-up, and when it slows down and starts to inch by your side, your first reaction is a silent curse of why the fuck don't you carry some pepper spray in your pocket.

"Hey, you ok?"

Your head rises from the asphalt the second you recognize that smooth, pleasant voice of a man you had compared every guy to at the pub that evening. The whole man is brimming with burnt sienna, he's hard alcohol with no ice…

You stop and turn, a little wobbly from the pint turned to two or three. Or four.

"Yeah. Had a little girl's night out."

The car rumbles softly, not two meters away, and the sound reminds you of his voice. A soft purr that can turn into a growl, even a roar if he wants to.

He looks like he's going fishing, even without the boonie hat. The dark hair is cut short, so you won't have anything to tug if he ever ends up between your legs. But you don't really mourn that fact, because he looks so damn good.

He looks you up and down, and you notice the briefest blob of his Adam's apple before he gives you another offer.

"Want me to give you a ride?"

Would love a ride.

Would fucking love to ride you.

"Sure. That's kind of you."

Your eyes must be sparkling like the fucking stars.

"No problem at all," he leans his elbow on the open window and waits while you round the car and get in. You try to tone down your drunken state, but your moves are a little too brash for a calm and collected coder lady this man has usually caught leaning against the wall of the workplace you two share.

"Did you have fun?"

He sounds like a dad picking up his girl from a school disco, and you purse your lips in slight distaste and amusement.

"Yeah. You know how it is when someone asks you for a pint."

He gives a short laugh and starts to drive. "That never ends well."

You smile and turn to look at him.

"Mm… This one kinda did."

You enjoy the brief look out the window, the sight of someone so formidable and robust and experienced trying to find his way out by feigning something caught his attention in the black, empty distance of a quiet city.

"Glad I could be of service," he brushes off your flirt like it's nothing more than a speckle of dust on his coat.

The rest of the ride is silent, too silent. He turns the music off in case it "bothers you," and it turns into an awkward, overly polite fight about whether to keep it on or not.

It's a minor shock to notice he was listening to some classical. Not 80's rock, not country, not even BBC. He was just soothing his nerves.

You can't put your finger on what makes you feel so sheepish around this man – usually, you put men on a leash with a few dry jokes and a hearty laugh or two. Now, your flirting is shy and does nothing: there's a wall built up, and from behind that wall, only a few stolen looks…

The pick-up is humming, the engine is running at idle next to your place far too soon, and it's time you get off the car – but you have vehemently decided you will knock down that fucking wall even if you have to drag him to your bed.

"You wanna come up and have a nightcap?"

Another look out the window as he raises his hand over his mouth, fiddles with his mustache, and avoids the rising heat between you two.

"Thanks, kid. But you need to sleep."

Your heart is pumping, and you feel like a harasser as you place your hand on his thigh.

He doesn't move, but you can hear the audible swallow this time. He doesn't move a single finger even when you slide your palm down that leg, then drag it over to the inner thigh, and start to drift back up slowly, slowly, to give him the time and space to stop you before you reach….

….the visible bulge between those legs, the absolutely gorgeous, ample bump pulling at those pants, something so delicious that you must fight tooth and nail not to race your hand up there and give it a fond grope.

His hand falls over yours just before you reach it.

"Kid. Let's leave it here and call it a night."

His voice is strained and tight, and he's still looking out the window. You don't move your hand away because he doesn't move it away. His warmth stays there, keeping you against him, and you feel like shit for thinking it's not a no… That it's a yes when he seems to hold your hand as a prisoner, wanting to feel your dainty little palm against him.

Your fingers curl slightly, a hopeful gesture to imagine how it would feel to curl and claw at his hips and that ass while he's fucking you.

"Listen. You're a nice girl. A very nice–"

You give a heavy, demonstrative sigh and finally draw your hand away.

"Come on Cap… You're seriously going to give me the "you're a nice girl" talk?"

Finally, he turns. His nostrils quiver as he tries to keep his breaths calm. Your lips part like it's a whole caress he just gave you – and his gaze drops to your mouth instantly. You start to see where the problem is.

You're too young.

You're forbidden.

"I offered you a nightcap," you tilt your head slightly. "You can come up or you can go home."

You wet your lips, give the bottom lip a tiny little bite, and offer him the last, inviting, soft smile. It must hold an equal amount of sorrow because you can't drown the bitter feeling of rejection, no matter how many drinks you've had that night. No matter how much he seems to want you, it doesn't change the fact that he's apparently decided to stay strong and keep his hands off the cookie jar.

You turn and get out of the car, lean on the door for the final fucking time...

"Didn't know I'd only get to suck your cigar... You're all smoke and no fire, Price."

The door flies closed with a louder slam than you originally meant.

Now that was a little bit passive-aggressive, you have to admit. But you're drunk, and he's being a pain in the ass, calling you a kid, looking at you like that, having a fucking hard-on and giving you nothing.

…But it does the trick.

You smile like an idiot when you walk to your place and hear the purr of the engine stop. Another car door opens, then closes, wide footsteps follow you…

A nightcap it is, then.

He looks even bigger when inside a place with walls and a roof. He stands inside your apartment tall and wide as if he's waiting to call attention. Those large hands are over his crotch, concealing the swell of erection you already saw in the car.

You know the tank top you wear reveals even more skin covered in tats as you throw your jacket away and go get him that drink. The glasses glide on your table, slide nearly to the floor, and the bottle of Jim Beam meets the counter with a devastating clank. You look at the excuse to get him into your place and sigh.

"You know what… Fuck this."

Offering cheap bourbon to someone like him seems a bit ridiculous. So you offer him something he might actually like. Something he actually came here for.

You walk to him and throw your hands around him – he stiffens from the middle but looks down at you with a heated glimmer in those eyes. You could've sworn they were charred brown, the same color as his cigar, but up close you see they're actually molten iron. Mercurial.

"You sure about this?" He asks softly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He unclasps those hands from over his groin, and the warmest weight falls to rest on your waist, even steals a caress to your hip. You want to hurl yourself at him, press yourself against his crotch and grind until you bleed from just that tiny touch he finally gives you.

"You've had one too many, love."

Love…

Shit.

The warmth spreads from his eyes, from that hand, from the word that rolls out of his mouth like a beautiful puff of smoke. It unfurls inside your heart, swells inside your throat, plummets to your groin, and you switch the weight to your other leg to feel how that hand gains more weight as it gets pressed more firmly against you.

"Doesn't change the fact that I want you."

Your voice is nothing short of a purr. When have you ever purred like that to a man? You sound like a housecat, tame and adoring, waiting for a gourmet meal.

"You really want an old man?"

He still has that reserve in his eyes, decent and distant, but underneath, you sense a terrible heat, like the glow of a cigar lit in darkness, an adamant smolder that never dies out.

"You're not that old."

Your purr turns into a deprived meow. You dangle from his neck, and the smoke, the fire that surrounds him, blends into the gentle scent of a man, the musk of a mature beast. You know he's hairy under those clothes; he fucking has to be. The vision of how his cock must look, surrounded by untame, coarse fur, has tormented you night after night.

And now he's finally here. In your apartment.

You skate your hands over his chest while slowly dropping into a squat, then languidly kneeling in front of his crotch.

He doesn't stop you, not even when you open his belt and the zipper and crawl your fingers down the waistband of his underwear. You have to stifle a delighted gasp upon seeing how his cock springs free and stands proud in front of you in all its glory. And fuck yes he's hairy – the hairiest man you've ever had.

Cigars feel like tiny little sticks when you wrap one hand around him and lick the weeping slit like it's your favorite ice cream. The groan that follows is a husky eruption above you and gets stuck in his throat as you take him in your mouth.

"Fucking hell, kid…"

He's thick, broad, and the musk fills your nostrils, but what he just said makes you pull back and whisper on the bulbous tip–

"Don't call me a kid," you breathe on his cock, swirl your tongue around him, and his thighs bunch. "Old man."

You finally manage to push some buttons.

The back of his hand brushes your cheek, then slides over to your throat. He's gentle but firm as he forces a thumb under your chin, curls fingers around your neck as if you're a cat who's about to be force-fed some medicine that's only good for her.

"Is that how you wanna play it?"

His thumb brushes down the ridge of your throat. Tentative, promising.

"Perhaps," your lips quiver with anticipation as you smile; your voice is a pitched vibrato before it drops, just to give him a reason to put you in your place... "Old gum–"

The hand pulls up, the grip tightens just enough to guide you back to your feet and up to meet his face.

"Didn't know you asked me here to tame a brat."

Fuck…

You almost moan.

The hand doesn't choke you; it makes love to you. Claims you as his.

"Really…?" You sigh. Flash him a filthy, guiltless smile.

The fire surges forth and nearly buckles your knees. His eyes flash in rhythm with your grin, like a sudden flicker of a campfire in the middle of a dark, parched forest.

"This what you want? Hmm?"

The rumble reminds you of the engine of a Harley roaring to life. His throat is burned from the fire of his cigars, the hand on your throat is used to squeezing dead metal and pulling pins from frigid grenades. But even they can't stand a chance against his woodland fire and sycamore smoke. He could bring a cold, inanimate rock back to life with all that fire.

"Yes. I want it. John."

His name on your tongue is a cat's meow. It has the exact effect you hoped for.

"Let's get the brat tamed, then."

"Hah," you finally moan. "Promises, prom–"

The fingers around your throat pull you to his mouth with a python strength. His lips spread yours with soft devouring as he coats you in fire. The coarse beard smells of sweet tobacco – nothing like a pungent cigarette. It's like an old memory: safe and sturdy and strong. Male.

You moan in his mouth – god, what will it be like when he's inside you? – and he capes both arms around you and crushes you against him. Broad shoulders envelop you like a shroud of thick smoke, the cock gets trapped between you like a hot spear, and you mewl like a slut.

Your pussy clenches, just from his warm mouth, the rich velvet of his lips. He takes everything with that kiss, and you're weak in his arms as he bends and molds you against him just the way he wants, opens your mouth with his own and breathes you, samples you like those puffs of smoke he sucks from his cigar.

Your brain short-circuits, you barely notice how your top slides up as his hands go under it. It's dragged up, up, over your breasts and then over your head as he detaches just enough to rip that piece of clothing away.

You look at him like he's Christmas, then reach for your bra while he opens his pants more to get them down. Your jeans are accursedly tight, and he's breathless, too: the whole room is dark and filled with heavy breathing and rustle of clothes as you claw your socks off, slide your strings down and away, watch him get out of his shirt and throw it on the floor too, all propriety gone.

And then…

Jesusfuck–

He picks you up, lifts you from the ground like you're nothing but a leaf, and strides with you in his lap until your back meets a wall.

The barrel-like chest presses the air out of your lungs while your back travels up – you don't know if his arms or chest do the lifting, but you're being positioned for his cock to enter. Your hands try to grasp something solid before it's too late – his back and neck – your legs wrap around him, feet hooking over his ass as the thick of his tip pokes your soaked folds, and after a few seconds of probing, slides in.

"F–uck…" you gasp, sounding so needy that it could be a voiceline from a bad porno movie. His lips find the place between your ear and neck immediately.

"Be good for me now," he gruffs, dark and round like the sweetest bourbon, although you know he's the finest single malt in the world. "Be good…"

"Ah–John…"

I'll be good…

Just for you, I'll be so, so good.

He pants heavy on your neck, grunts as he starts to fuck you against that wall. You knew he might be intense, but apparently, you had no idea. The man is needy as fuck, and has concealed it up until this point.

You could cry, scream from joy from the thickness that spreads you, fills you with every fat glide of a thrust. The sex borders on rough but is so incredibly tender too, so needy it makes your heart collapse, compress into a taut knot in your chest. It's the softest rocking, the gentlest fucking as he retreats, then ruts into you again and again with sharp, rusty moans. You're in a slow but steady rodeo with this man, your breasts pressed against a solid chest covered with hair, and it tickles, even if his pecs threaten to crush your ribcage.

"You're one hell of a girl," he gruffs in your ear, beard grazing up and down your neck. "Taking me so– Fucking hell, look at you…"

His eyes are embers as they sweep over you: your abundant ink, the helpless, adoring look in your eyes, the little mouth that opens with a gasp, the trickle of sweat that forms between your breasts and meets the hair on his chest.

He doesn't have to look down to see how greedy your cunt is for him. He can feel it.

"This is what you wanted the whole time? Huh?"

He's all smoke. All fire.

"Yes…"

"Wanted me to take you against a fucking wall? Eh?"

"Yes…just, just take me," you moan and purr some more, giving him everything he wants. "Fuh–fuck me good…"

"Ahh shit..."

You know you're a drug to certain decent men. But to him, you're a forbidden fruit in all its aspects.

A calm, collected captain who enjoys wide respect, eyeing an edgy, younger woman from the tech department? That's not how this was supposed to go. Thirsting for someone who did what they wanted, looked just the way they wanted, walked this earth like a dark fairy – that's not his usual go, surely. He was supposed to settle down with a proper lady. If he were to settle down at all.

"I've dreamed of this," you whisper in his ear, lips moving just enough to deliver your secret to him.

"Yeah..? Me too," he gives your throat more love with a velvet growl. "Know I shouldn't, but–"

"Shh. Don't–don't…" You grip him tighter, taste the spruce and salt as you breathe his neck. "It's good. It's all good."

He rumbles in approval. Your skin is raw from his beard; even the coarse hair dusting his thighs feels too rough on your skin. And your skin is used to being needled, shot full of ink right inside the dermis. But this… This is branding.

You're silk in his rough embrace, and plundered with no remorse. You sigh and moan, hug him... And then he dares to stop, panting and throbbing inside you.

"Darlin'. Where's the bed?"

The soft question makes you panic. If you go to bed and let him push inside you while you're lying on your back, if you brave a look into those eyes while he takes you, you'll develop more than just a horrid lust for this man. If he collapses on top of you, spent and spoiled while you're at your most vulnerable, you'll tie a string from your heart to his, and you can't, you just can't allow that to happen.

Because he's untamed too. He's not a man who settles down, he's not up for domestication; he's a wandering fire.

"No–no bed," you pant on his muscles, the shoulder that keeps you safely pinned on the wall. "John…? Please."

He's breathing wild too, disguises his surprise well.

"Alright."

He sounds disappointed, and it's not because he doesn't have the strength to maul you against that wall. The rejection stings him too. It makes you want to offer a truce, a little something. When he rocks you again, you graze your fingers up the back of his neck, knowing he will feel ripples across his scalp from your caress.

"We can smoke a cigar after," you propose, not knowing why your voice still comes out as an airy whisper. "Together. I'll pour you that drink…"

His chest swells with a deep breath, he huffs fire on the hollow trench between your collarbones.

"Fuck, woman…"

It's dense syrup that surrounds you much like those shoulders and arms, that coarse hair, that bold male want.

"And after that I want you to…" You catch your breath and sound like a mouse with your next shy question. "Would you go down on me, John?"

It's like you're under a bear attack, but he stills; his head tilts a little to the side and meets your temple.

"You wouldn't tease a man like this," he says. A soft warning, brimstone coated in velour, but the core of it is despair. So much need, so much forbidden, distant want…

"Right? No more teasing."

He's still thinking that you're teasing him… That it's some kind of a joke that you want him.

"I'm serious... I want your mouth on me. I need your–"

"I'll put my mouth on you as soon as we're done here, love."

You have to bite your lips, suck them between your teeth to prevent another deprived moan from escaping.

"Want you to fuck me all night," you continue to whisper on his neck. You should shut the fuck up because it doesn't take a bed to tie that string from your heart to his. After all, they're right there, beating against each other through bone and skin and chest.

"Yeah? That's what you want?"

"Want you to… F-fuck me slow and good from behind and–"

You sniff. Whimper.

You should be ashamed: mewling for more when he's already buried inside you. What kind of a brat are you, wrapping your thighs around that narrow waist like you never want him to pull out?

And you're not crying.

It's just that the cock inside you is throbbing against your walls as if he's making a home there, his hands dig into your ass cheeks like you're his already, the breath upon your sweat and skin feels far too affectionate. When exactly did a raw wall-fuck turn into such an affectionate, gentle taste of love?

And it's not enough. You want to climb on top of him every morning, ride him slowly and watch him unravel as the sun climbs the sky and coats that fur in gold.

"Could you do that? Please… John, please," you whimper and whine, beg like you're tame already.

"I'll fuck you all night if that's what you want. Fill this pretty, tight cunt up every way you like."

It's coarse smoke. It caresses you until your legs start to shake. He adjusts his grip, drags the pull-outs like he drags those pulls from his tobacco. Keeps you nicely in place for him to drive back in–

"I'll fuck you 'till you cry, love. Yeah?"

He punctuates that promise with another good, fat thrust. You moan all tame now – a rippling stream, laughing and crying in his molten hold.

His cock fills you while your thighs quiver and tremble in his hands. Your pussy throbs; it sucks him already, the orgasm is seconds away, and your fingertips search for support but only slip over sweaty, hard muscle.

John. John.

"Fuh-…"

He spreads you a little. Those arms are pure iron as they mold you for him to plow. You know he can feel the waves, the way your cunt grips him with longer, deeper pulls as you start to sound downright pathetic.

"Just like that, just like… hah…"

"M-hm. Yeah," he bends the vowels, daubs them with smoke. "That's it. You're doing good. Doing so well my love."

He huffs between the thrusts that have turned into slow, intense love-making. He's making love to you – god, why does he have to be like this…

"Cum for me. Nice and pretty, yeah? Come on."

He encourages you with words, but you can't hear them anymore.

Heat coils in the pit of your core just before you burst with a heady scream.

The spasm is so sudden you almost hit your head on the wall. He's at your throat the minute it's exposed, and your scream turns into a weak wail when his tongue grazes your skin. It's blazing, and dips into the hollow between your collarbones like it's a shot glass full of scotch. Next thing you feel is fire, even some teeth on your neck.

And you thought Price might, just might be intense…

Your head drops as the blunt of the orgasm leaves you. Your feet unclasp, and next up would be some soft waves, but the man continues to fuck your shattered cunt and marshmallow soul with a good, intense pace. The words that pour out of your mouth are those of a brainless person.

"Ah–hah, God–"

"Where's that cheek now, mm..? Pretty little thing."

"John–h…"

The thrusts rub you against that wall like he wants to staple you there.

"So nice and good for me now, ain't ya? Cummin' on command…" An amused chuff right on your poor, chafed skin… "Begging for my mouth and cock."

You travel up and down in a limp heap, trying to hold on to him with weak limbs as he drives into you with a tight series of half-thrusts. Your legs hang loosely on the side, but he has no trouble carrying the full weight of you.

"Slow–slowly, Cap…"

"Ahh fuck–"

He swears on your ink, right on the trotting pulse on your neck. Through the vapor of man sweat and rich smoke and a whiff of cedar trees bending in the wind, you feel him tense and thicken.

"The fucking things you do to me…" he pants with a low growl, hushed but intense. Your pussy answers with a good, demanding pull.

"Fuck… fuck–!"

You're a limp doll between him and the wall when he comes. Pressed between a rock and a hard place, literally. His chest being the rock, an entire boulder that whips the oxygen from your lungs as he drives deep, his balls giving a few taut pulls against your ass as he empties himself into you with a satisfied, dry moan. A dark, ripe blossom, shooting straight to your core while you're sealed tight around him.

The world goes still after that; the only thing that moves is your breath and his, a refreshing hot breeze coursing through the stale air. The darkness of the room isn't half as snug as the safety of his arms.

Your fingers find his neck, the short-cut hair and the skin pounding with a rush of blood. He lets you go reluctantly, bends a little to set your feet back to the solid ground. He doesn't pull out, keeps huffing all over you even when you're returned back to the earth.

And you never want to come back. Your cunt still throbs around him and cries a tiny, thick stream down your thigh. His upper body still pins you against that wall, his breaths still mist your skin, caress the red burns of his beard.

He feels so good. Too good…

When he pulls out, he does so with intense care. He gives you some space to catch your breath, and you finally notice he has fucked your legs into splinters.

"I'm…" You break the hush of heavy breathing with a soft laugh. More viscous load pushes out of you with it. "I don't think I can stand."

"Yeah? Tried to take you to bed," he muses softly, sounding annoyingly content with his achievements.

"Gotta admit it was a good idea."

"As was the nightcap," he rasps, voice drenched in soft smoke.

"We'll get there eventually."

"I have no doubt about that."

You give him a soft, warm chuckle as you cast your eyes between the crest of his pecs. Rough, tight muscle meets your soft breasts with heaving breaths, and teases your nipples to taut little points. The wet hair on his chest looks good paired with your inked, smooth skin… You two look so goddamn fine together.

"I hope I didn't make you deaf with that scream."

He stands at his full height, but tilts his head down and slightly to the side as if you were a new, interesting species he's just found on his travels.

"Wouldn't complain, love," he says. More wet syrup, just for you. He weighs you with his stare, curious and appeased, and you feel shy. For fuck's sake, you still feel shy even though this man was inside you just a moment ago.

"The bed. Now be a good girl and tell me where it is."

"Down the…hallway."

A delicate little whisper, again.

It's laughable, how the veteran of Task Force 141 turns you into something so dainty and meek. Captain John Price takes you against a wall like you're nothing but a doll, makes you purr and beg, reassembles you into a weak-willed woman who gets carried to bed.

This is not how it was supposed to go...

He lifts you back in his lap while you continue to hold onto him like he's your prince Charming. A laugh spills on your lips when he tries to lay you gently on the bed and you manage to pull him down with you. You end up tumbling there in a sweaty, messy heap.

"Knew you were trouble," he's smiling too as he settles beside you. You curl and wrap yourself around him, your bodies mold and curve together like they're made for each other.

He's so solid, so warm, the kind of man you'd love to fall asleep on every night. No more cold sides of the pillow, no more tossing and turning and trying to get the code out of your head. Just… this chest, those ember eyes burning in the night. Some soft breathing, a roaring engine standing still, waiting for you, just for you…

"I hope this wasn't a one time only occasion," you test the waters.

"No." He shifts a little, disentangles from you slightly. "Unless you–"

"No."

You bend in his arms like a young willow, cut his doubts off with a kiss. It's passionate, and so sloppy it threatens to make the same sounds as your cunt and his cock a while ago.

The hand on your hip tows you closer, then steals its way down your leg. You hike your thigh up, perfectly willing. You're a sticky mess, but so is he: his rock-hard thigh meets your still soaked pussy like these two have always belonged together. And this man's full fire has escaped you until now. There are so many hidden, wild things in him too.

He would look so good on a Harley… He would look good on a motel bed after riding for days and days with you attached to him like an eloped dark bride. The nights would be smeared with hot sex and cinder and smoke, a dash of scotch on top, he could drink it from your lips. You would serve it to him from your mouth, round the taste a bit so that it wouldn't burn so much…

"Have you ever been to Alaska?"

The liquor is leaving you, but you don't feel any more sober. The lava in your veins has only been replaced by another kind of fire.

"No."

"Would you like to go?"

"What'ya mean," he murmurs on your tongue, and you know he's hard again just from the thick lust coating his voice. "What kind of question is that?"

"I was just thinking."

"What were you thinkin', kid..?"

"Don't… call me that," you laugh. In truth, you're growing quite fond of it. It reminds you of old movies. "Here's looking at you, kid" and all that.

His laugh is a charred roll in his chest. To him, you're a brat – an unruly kitten – no matter what you say.

"Kid. Why Alaska?"

He's curious. Borderline hooked. You steal a peek into those vulcan eyes.

"You'd look good in Alaska. Old man."

"Really," he rumbles a soft purr against your heart.

Another soft kiss follows. Affectionate… He plays time, but he's also a probing, scanning. You bloom in his embrace, unfurl on his lips like he just wrenched you wide. He could haul you to the cabin right now and you would only cook him dinner.

It's too late, even if you try to shift after such a kiss. Escape to press your cheek against that place between his pecs, the spot where the hair is darkest and thickest. You want to lick that valley where his heart meets his musk. That scent must be born from a good, stout heart.

"Would you take me with you…? If you ever decide to go."

It's a fragile question. A baring of the heart. It holds so much more than an inquiry about whether he would whisk you away on a secret leave. It's strings, pulling from your heart to his, taking root.

"Sure. But you're quite a handful, love."

"Is that so…?"

You crawl over him as gracefully as you can. He allows you to straddle him, and of course he does. You're no threat; you're only a one woman show. The only thing he's probably missing right now is a glass of scotch and a thick roll of tobacco.

He takes in the view with hunger: not satiated by that pent-up fuck, just like you're not...

But then his hands come to rest on your thighs to check if they're still shaking. The touch bleeds possessiveness: it's a thoroughly absent-minded, instinctual attempt to reach for you. It tells you you're exactly where you belong.

"You seem like the kind of woman who's not for the faint of heart," he says like you didn't just mewl in his arms like the tamest fucking housecat.

And perhaps that's what intrigues him. Contrasts. And even more than that, the odd place where black fuses into white, the gray area where everything is possible. The split-second moment when the skin accepts the ink and traps it in.

Everyone always says you get buried with your tattoos. That you should think twice before staining your skin with such permanent hookups.

But the thing is, you get addicted to it. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff before a bungee jump. You know you'll never be the same person after you jump, and you know you can't leave that cliff without jumping. It's a stalemate until you clear your mind of doubt and just plunge.

And you don't want to leave this earth without getting stained and sweaty, without dipping your soul into the full experience. You're supposed to get a little dirty. This is Earth, after all.

Your fingers disappear somewhere in his slick fur. Sunrise is hours away, but his eyes spark aflame. They're always, always smoldering like the butt of his cigar. He's a man who causes wildfires at the end of the world – he's a reckoning, a flicker in the dark forest, roaring into a bonfire as soon as the wind passes through the trees.

And you've always loved fire. Wild, and free. The only thing that competes with such freedom is a wide, wild stream.

"But you can handle me. Right?" Your fingers curl softly around the hair surrounding his navel. "Tame me and everything?"

It's an offering that causes even fire to tilt its head in curiosity. In the end, you're not sure who tamed who.

"Someone has to," he grabs your hips with rich promise.

You'll pour him that drink. Light him a cigar after his mouth is full of your taste, see how well it pairs with fire and smoke. You'll toast to the Harley, the crazy motel…

And Alaska.

#john price x you #john price x reader #john price x female reader #captain price x you #price x reader #captain price smut #captain price x reader #john price smut #john price #mw2 smut #captain john price #john price fanfic #cod fanfic

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kissami · 3 months

Text

HEAVEN AND BACK

sum. after a tough breakup, you find comfort in things you never thought you would do.

fem!reader with she/her pronouns

warnings: drug usage, very rushed, angry katsuki but the usual, y/n is a mess lol and kinda a crybaby srry I was pmsing when I wrote this…

inspo: heavily inspired by Heaven and back by chase Atlantic I love that song sm gn

not proof read sorry I’m lazy I’ll edit it later, YOU’VE BEEN WARNED

She was always dealing with the devil

She was always into taking those chances, yeah

“Thank you, have a wonderful day.” You smiled at the customer as they grabbed their cigarettes and left the convenience store you worked at.

It was currently 7:47 PM, and all you wanted to do was be at home with your cat and sleep.

But it’s never sleep when it comes to you. It’s always work, study, work, work, repeat. Living alone was stressful, especially when you didn’t have a support system like you used to.

Your support system..your precious katsuki. Gosh how much you missed him. That night of your breakup was one of the worst things you had ever experienced.

It wasn’t like the time when you lost your pet turtle and it crawled into your father’s work boots, leading to its awful death.

It wasn’t like the time you lost the charm bracelet your best friend had gotten you for your birthday in 7th grade.

No, nothing could ever compare to the way you felt like your heart was yanked out of your chest and tossed aside like a rock.

“Being in a relationship with you is exhausting.” You remembered saying to him as he was ranting about god knows what. You didn’t remember why you two argued, or how you two got in that position.

“Are you fucking serious?” You finally realized what you had said, going up to him to apologize.

But all you remember is him scoffing with tears in his pretty ruby eyes and yanking his jacket off the coat rack, slamming the door harshly. That was the last time you seen him.

“Hi is your lane open?”

You looked up, seeing three girls who were dressed in tight dresses, fur coats with huge smiles on their faces. You caught a whiff of the familiar green plant many would find relief in and their bloodshot eyes as they looked at you in excitement.

“Yes of course. Is this all?” You scanned the bottles of Pedialyte, chuckling as the girls began to ramble.

“You’re really pretty to be working at a place like this?” One girl with brown hair and pink highlights said, holding onto her phone.

“Oh uh thanks?” You blinked at her, looking back down as you scanned the Tylenol.

 “We’re going to a party later, you should definitely come! When does your shift end?” You sighed, looking at the clock. These girls didn’t even know you and they wanted to party with you?

“It ends now, but look I don’t really go out at all though so-“

“Even more reason to come! Come on! It’ll be fun!” The shorter girl with curls said as she shoved her pixie stick in her mouth.

“I don’t even know your names.” You tried to explain, shaking your head in disagreement to this idea of theirs.

“I’m Yei, this is Lumi and Honey. We already know your name,” Yei the girl with blue hair pointed to your name tag giggling. “So there’s no other excuse. Please come with us.”

“I think that’s an amazing idea.” You felt a soft shove, looking over to see your coworker Ley looking down at you smiling.

“But I-“

“Go, Y/N. You’ve been working too hard and I know Layla asked for you to cover her shift for tonight but I refuse. As your boss and your friend, go have fun.” You sighed, nodding as you handed Ley your work apron.

Some would say it was pretty weird to have a boss who treated you this way, but you’ve know Ley since middle school. He was basically one of the reasons you still had a job here.

“I don’t even have anything to wear though.” You walked next to the girls as they dragged you along.

Said she met a couple other women

Who were into going late night dancing, yeah

You side glanced at the numerous people that were dancing along with the loud music, smoke overtaking the air as you clenched onto one of the girls’ hand, following them as they led you in further into the party.

You sighed a deep breath, feeling anxious as you watched everyone pushing and grinding on one another.

Gosh you wished you could call Katsuki to be here. Or even to just take you home.

“Hey, have a drink you look stressed.” Lumi laughed as she passes you a red cup. You gulped, smiling as you clenched it in your palm.

“Hey leave her alone, she said she’s not one to party so maybe she’s just not used to this environment.” Honey gave you a side hug and rubbed your shoulders in comfort.

‘I want to go home.’ You thought as you started to sip on the drink, making a small face at the sweetness of the alcoholic beverage, but still not putting it down.

“Mina said she was coming over with her friends.” You tensed up as you heard your old friend’s name from Yei who put her phone back in her small clutch, going back to downing the small shot glasses that were scattered around the counter.

“Mina as in-“ before you could finish, you felt warm soft arms grab your hands, squealing in your ear as you turned around to see the familiar pink girl looking at you in excitement.

“Y/N what are you doing here?!?” She asked, grabbing her hands tightly again smiling widely.

“Oh I was just-“ you looked up for a second and took a double take as you saw him.

Katsuki, standing in all his glory. His large arms in full display in that black wife beater tank, the chain that hung on the side of his loose jeans and your favorite gold chain that laid so gorgeously on his neck. You saw that he got an eyebrow piercing along with two more ear piercings and with pretty gold rings that hugged his fingers perfectly.

The fingers that were wrapped around a girl’s waist tightly.

Your breath hitched as you watched the way he smiled smugishly into the heated kiss with the girl who looked like an angel.

She was the complete opposite of you. So perfect.

You stared back at Mina with wide eyes, making her frown as she slightly turned around to see what you were looking at.

Her deep sigh of disappointment was all you needed to know.

You pulled away from Mina, walking to the bathroom as a loud sigh escaped out of your chest.

“Stupid stupid stupid.” You kept repeating to yourself as you started to put cold water on your face to cool down.

A loud knock interrupted your mini crisis. “Hey we need the bathroom!” A girl yelled, twisting the doorknob annoyingly.

“Sorry.” You whispered as you walked out, seeing two girls drag in a boy with blond hair with a lightening streak who was smiling dumbly. You now realized it was Denki who was dragged into the bathroom.

Good for him. You thought with a small smile. You began to make your way out, only to be caught by the wrist.

Looking back, you saw the face you were dreading to see now.

“Let me go, Katsuki.” You spoke sternly, yanking your arm away. You saw a small glance of hurt in his eyes that was quickly overtaken by the look of anger.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He asked, looking over your shoulder and back at you.

“Who are you with?” You rubbed your face in annoyance and frustration. “That’s none of your business.” You heard a small huff from him, seeing the way he licked his lips in irritation.

A habit you used to love because he looked so good doing it.

“It is my business when you-“ you felt another pair of hands grab your shoulder, being shoved back into a rough chest.

“Is this guy bothering you?” You looked up, feeling your breath hitch at the gorgeous man that stood before you.

He had a tight compressed black shirt with gray sweatpants. Pretty green eyes and raven black hair as he looked at Katsuki.

“Uh what?” You asked to yourself, looking back and forth as you soon realized you were in a muscle sandwich.

“Who the fuck are you?!” Katsuki barked, feeling a vein pop out of his forehead.

“Katsuki.” You spoke softly, looking up at him as he laughed softly.

“Whatever, Y/N. Do whatever the fuck you want. I’m sick of worrying about you and your stupid decisions.” He brushed you off, walking back to the girl from earlier as he grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the party.

You felt your heart hurt a bit, gulping at the way he tenderly talked to her as they left, without a second glance.

“What a crappy ex huh?” The guy joked softly, looking back down at you.

“You seem like you need something to get your mind off things.”

Then she fell in love with a pill, that could take away all her pain, yeah

“What is this?” You twirled the pastel rainbow pills in the small shot glass, looking up at the guy whos name was Kyle, in curiosity.

“I like to call them my happy pills. Come on, try it. Let it course through your veins as all your worries leave you.” He sat back in the raggedy couch that was in the basement as he smoked a joint.

You scratched your neck, feeling a bit tense and bothered as you saw the gray sweatpants that hugged his waist as he man-spread.

“I’m not gonna die, right?” You never did anything like this before, and you had no idea why you were even trusting this man with anything he was giving you.

But you were a whore for a man in a tight black shirt that showed all his good..qualities.

Then she fell in love with a whole new drug

That could fill her veins

And then

An hour later, you were laughing hysterically as you drank, looking around the room.

You felt like you were floating, never had you felt so alive before. This was a new sense of happiness you haven’t felt in all your years.

You started to feel addicted to this feeling.

She's high

She lives in the sky

Tonight, she's satisfied

Rolling back her eyes

You put your hand up, turning it as you inspected it in curiosity. Giving a side glance, you saw Kyle talking to his group of friends, smiling over to you.

You fell on the couch face first, groaning as you felt your vision start to blur.

“What?” You asked, seeing blobs looking down at you, shaking for you to stay awake.

“I’m having fun, leave me alone.” You giggle, pushing one of the face’s away, humming a song softly.

“Katsuki, please take her home.” Honey was looking down at you in worry, wiping your sweat off your forehead as she spoke in the phone.

There were incoherent voices in the background that you happily blocked as you sipped on another drink that was passed down to you.

“Get up.” After a good fifteen minutes of pure bliss when honey hung up the phone, you looked up confused to see him staring down at you completely pissed.

You looked around as Lumi helped you stand, seeing the girl who Katsuki was with looking at him annoyed but she was now sitting on Kyle’s lap drinking.

“Huh?” You asked, pushing his face aside when he tried to help you walk.

You limply looked up at him, seeing him even more mad than before had you sober up a tiny bit.

But then she starts to cry

Everything is turning to black

He lead you outside to his car, his keys jingling around while he helped you to sit inside.

You nuzzled up to the familiar texture of his seats that you used to sit in countless times before.

It was silent the whole ride and you began to cry.

Not just a normal sniffle cry. But a gut wrenching wail, the endless tears falling down your cheeks.

“Don’t be mad at me. Please I’m sorry.” You said clearly extremely intoxicated, watching him clench the steering wheel.

“I’m not mad!” He yelled, making you tense up and cry again.

“I-I’m not mad at you…okay? Whatever happened before….i forgave you for it. I’m mad at myself because I fucking left you!” You could hear the way his voice sounded so distraught and upset that it made you scotch closer to the car door a bit more.

“And what the fuck did you take?! How fucking stupid are you to do something like this? Did you even know that fucking guy?? You’re fucking smarter than this, Y/N what were you thinking??”

You felt your cheeks burn from the alcohol, the embarrassment, and the frustration.

“I wasn’t okay? I wasn’t thinking.”

“Fucking clearly. What the fuck happened to you?” You sat up, looking at him completely heartbroken as he spoke those words to you.

“It’s you! It’s all you!” You cried out. Katsuki looked at you, extremely pissed now as he slammed the car breaks which made the car shriek.

“Oh so it’s my fault now?!” Katsuki now turned his whole body to you, pushing the driver seat back so he was more comfortable as he faced you.

You scoffed, trying to open the car door only for him to reach over and slam it shut, along with putting the child locks on.

“You’re not fucking leaving. We’re going to talk. What the hell is going on?”

You looked at him as your head limply fell back, lightly hitting the seat as tears streamed your face.

“I was doing fine. Then these girls picked me up after my shift and then I went to that stupid party! Then I see you there, making out with the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. I was so upset i ran to the bathroom but then denki and some girls came in so then I left only to bump into you! After that you started being a fucking asshole which made that dude come over! The-then he gave me these pills. They made me feel fucking incredible!!”

Katsuki’s mouth opened like a fish out of water, his eyes wide as you rambled.

“So there! That’s what’s wrong with me!” Reaching over his lap, you unlocked the car and got out.

As soon as you did, the cool fresh air hit you instantly, making you hunch over as you started to throw up everything in your system.

You heaved, throwing up even more as you clenched onto the tree that was on the side of the road.

You heard the door slam and a comforting rub on your back the more you threw up.

“It’s okay. Let it out.” You turned around, feeling your legs get wobbly as you pushed his hands off.

“You said you could care less about me so leave me alone.” You spoke drunkenly, only for your head to roll back and everything going black for you.

Katsuki sighed as you plopped on the dried orange leaves that luckily saved your fall.

All in one night

She just went to heaven and back

You slowly opened your eyes, seeing that you were in the back of his car, laying across the seats with his jacket that used to be your favorite to steal.

You watched him skip through songs, groaning at the annoying stations that played.

“Who was she?” You almost laughed at the way he jumped, turning to see you sitting up now.

“Jesus fuck, you scared the hell out of me.” you could practically hear the way his heart was racing and ponding from the tight grip he had on the steering wheel.

“Answer my question.” Katsuki stayed silent.

“Just…a girl I started talking to.” Humming in response, you leaned your head against the car window.

“That’s why I did it. As pathetic as it sounds, I took those pills to forget about tonight. To get that imagine of you kissing her so lovingly out of my fucking head.” You didn’t realize just how much you started to cry, only seeing your tears landing on your hands that were laying on your lap.

“Y/N-“

“It’s my fault though. I was so stressed with school and making sure I had enough money for the week that I was so mean to you when you tried to talk to me that night. I’m sorry I said you were exhausting. I’m sorry I’ve been a shitty girlfriend to you, I’m sorry for everything.”

Silence.

You wanted to bury yourself in embarrassment at the way you had rambled your apology, overthinking that maybe he didn’t give a shit about you or your relationship anymore.

“I can see you having a fight with yourself, stop it.” Katsuki gave you a deep sigh, thinking for a bit before he gave himself a small nod.

“Don’t…apologize. I was being an asshole too and pushing your limits when you were saying you weren’t in the mood to speak. I should’ve given you your space. I’m sorry I fucking kissed that girl.”

Before you could respond, he parked the car and you finally realized where you were at now. You were parked right outside his apartment.

The door opened and Katsuki sat next to you.

“Look at me,” he grabbed your hand. “I’m sorry. We both were…really shitty with each other and I’m sorry. I want…to work things out. Maybe it isn’t our time yet, but I just want you.” Katsuki looked down at you, wiping your cheeks.

“I love you. So much. But I can’t…not right now. Not when I have so much regret and resentment with myself for letting this shit happen to you.”

You hum, looking down at your hands as you were thinking of what to say.

“It’s crazy how much shit can happen in one night huh…but can I ask a favor from you?” He looked at you, waiting for you to continue.

“Can we stay like this? Just for tonight like old times? Before I lose you again?”

#kissami #x reader #angst #katsuki x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugo katuski #katsuki bakugou #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugou #mha bakugou #bakugou angst #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x you #katsuki bakugo mha #mha x reader #mha #my hero academia

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hyuckmov · 1 year

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request #4 - himbo haechan (preview) FULL FIC HERE

wc: 1k (full thing est. 10k) genre: mostly fluff, gets suggestive (full thing will be 18+) a/n: by this time it should be clear that i'm someone who posts previews to encourage themself to finish the whole thing. and also because my account is so dry writing-wise (entirely my fault lmfao)... i just want to leave something here. so yeah i'll be working on this...and the rivals one... and whatever comes to my mind i guess.... thank u to everyone helping me along w this idea <3 this hyuck is turning out to be very special to me and he will only change and show more sides of himself as this fic goes on 🫶🏻 lmk if u like this or wna be tagged

the first time you meet haechan, he doesn't exactly make a good impression.

"what are you doing?"

slowly, he lifts his head from where his lips were brushing your neck. "um…" blinking, his eyes refocus on yours. "trying to kiss you."

"haechan!" you hiss.

eyebrows raised, he beams back at you. "y/n!" he hisses back, imitating your tone.

"i came here with someone else." you push his shoulder lightly, trying to make space between him and you but it's no use — his body slumps even harder, and you can see his eyes scanning your neck, zoning out of the conversation.

"i know…" he mumbles, tracing a fingertip at your pulse point and making goosebumps erupt on your skin.

"you do?"

"yeah…" his other hand hovers in the air, as if he's deciding whether to grab your waist or press his palm to your lower back.

"so you know i'm talking to someone right now, and it would be bad if i went around kissing my project partners...?"

silence.

you dip your head slightly to try to look at him through his messy bangs, only to jolt slightly when you glimpse his expression. his eyes already half-lidded with lust, mouth hanging open and drool glistening on his plump lips. why did he look so…needy? fucked out? it had only been about a minute or so since you saw him walk towards you, the easy smile he kept on at full blast. you had exchanged small talk for about 10 seconds over your professor, and then he started nosing at the juncture between your jaw and your neck.

"haechan?" you prompted, hesitantly. "everything okay?"

"um...all's good," he mutters, before moving back towards you, lips puckered slightly and ready to mark your skin.

spluttering, you push him away, again, confusion starting to settle in for you too. could he not take a hint?

"were you even listening?" you ask, incredulously. "i said i'm talking to someone right now."

"uh huh." he tilts his head to the side. "um, did you say something after that? sorry-" he breathes, wincing at the frustration on your face. "you just smell so good, i couldn't pay attention…" and as if he couldn't help himself, you noticed his body gravitate towards you, again.

gripping onto his shoulder to keep him at a distance, you say slowly, "haechan, if i'm talking to someone, it wouldn't be good for me to mess around with other people."

you see the words register in his head, see the furrow in his brow deepen as he ponders what you're saying. "it wouldn't?"

"no, it wouldn't."

"but you're not dating him yet."

"no, i'm not." you see him open his mouth, so you quickly add, "but we're on our way, and i want to show him i'm serious about it."

"but i'm serious about you." it was practically lazy – the way he pulled your hand off his shoulder and intertwined your fingers with his.

you couldn't help the thrill that ran down your spine as you were reminded of how strong he was, even though he didn't necessarily look it.

"serious about me or serious about fucking me?" you bite back.

"both."

you let out a scoff. unable to stop yourself, you blurt out, "are you used to women saying yes to you or something?"

"huh?"

"where do you get your confidence?"

he raises his eyebrows at you in genuine concern as if you're the confused one in this conversation. "where do you think?" he makes a vague gesture to indicate his pretty face, and you're a little annoyed at how right he is. with heavy eye makeup, mismatched contact lenses giving his look a more piercing quality, moles tracing across his cheek just begging to be suckled with kisses and those heart-shaped lips…you think you would be hard pressed to find a woman in this room who would say no to his shameless flirting.

"you shouldn't assume, haechan." something close to confidence begins to stir up in you, and you straighten, shaking your hand out of his. "it's not nice to kiss someone without asking them properly. you should always try to read the situation, and make sure you have consent."

listening intently like a student in a classroom, he nods slowly to show he understands. "not nice, got it. anything else?"

"don't try to steal people away from their dates," you add on, inspired.

"right."

"and don't say things like 'i'm serious about fucking you' if you don't really mean–"

"-this is hot." he interrupts, words blurring together in a rush. his eyes unfocused and dreamy, he drags his gaze up and down your body indulgently. "you teaching me things."

"hae-"

"teaching me how to be a good boy…" he breathes. "yeah. fuck."

your jaw drops, momentarily speechless. and yet, despite everything you were supposedly teaching him, his straightforwardness, the lack of filter, the raw desire that seemed to course through his entire body…you couldn't deny that it was making you feel a certain way too.

fixing him with a look that conveyed as much seriousness and frustration you could muster, you shake your head.

and he cowers.

"sorry…" he mumbles, stepping away from you, almost ashamed. "i should've kept that to myself."

you resist the urge to laugh. "yes, maybe you should have."

turning to go, you pat him on the arm lightly, feeling a little bad for him. "see you around in class, okay?"

he nods, eyes cast to the floor gloomily, and you're about to exit and head back to the main room when he calls your name.

"y/n?"

"yes?"

"i meant it."

"what?"

"i meant it when i said i was serious about fucking you." quietly, and with surprising gentleness, "i wouldn't lead you on like that. i wouldn't say it if i didn't mean it."

and as you turn your back on the pretty boy in the hallway, you couldn't help the butterflies that seemed to burst into life in your chest at his words.

#not tagging anyone bc this is really a previewwww sry #like i only have this and another scene and like the start of the final scene but anyway im treating this like a fic bc i like the idea #and this is gna have a world and everything #haechan fluff #haechan smut #haechan x reader #haechan scenario #nct scenario #nct dream scenario #nct 127 scenario #haechan au #nct smut #donghyuck fluff #donghyuck smut

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loliwrites · 2 months

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September: Beast of Burden

part two of fountain of sorrow

⇢ pairing: javier peña x f!reader ⇢ rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni ⇢ chapter warnings/tags: set between s2 & s3, early/mid ‘90s, single mother [reader has a young daughter][child won’t play a massive role], SMUT, oral [m&f receiving], unprotected p in v sex, blink and you’ll miss it anal play, choking, hair pulling, brief cum eating, one single solitary spank, cigarettes [are bad for you], post-sex photos, terms of endearment [querida], female reader, no physical description, protective!javi, no use of y/n. ⇢ word count: 5.0k ⇢ series masterlist ⇢ a/n: javi fully in his slut era. but the slut to girl dad pipeline is impending ❤️

The final month of summer was punctuated by more than Labor Day and fading heat. This year was marked by the bruises of fresh hickeys on your neck and chest, and the scratches you’d carved down Javier’s back. Emphasized by the lazy mornings that followed; all strong black coffee and subdued yearnings for lust that never went unanswered. You had come to learn that the rumors that trickled through The Tack Room about him – the ones that hung heavy and muggy in the air, like the inside of your car, steaming up the windows – were all true. A good time guy. Hung like a horse. Insatiable. The best goddamn lay ever.

Truthfully, you hadn’t had the wherewithal to pay much attention to the rumors before sleeping with him. There wasn’t the time to. In a world consumed with a day job that led into a weekend job and virtually single handedly raising a child, you weren’t afforded to pay too close attention to the local gossip about the playboy man-child. It seemed every other woman in town was talking about it enough for the whole lot. And though you were certainly hearing of the whispers at The Tack Room, it still didn’t dawn on you to pay close attention. Javier Peña, despite being the son of a cherished and valued member of Laredo, didn’t have the same distinction. He’d come back into town like a hurricane, whipping up the wind and rain, leaving broken windows and hearts in his path. And hell, a guy willing to fill the early hours of your weekend mornings and not take up any of your other already limited free time, was welcome. Especially the guy who was giving you the orgasms all these other women were reminiscing about.

“I haven’t seen him. He keeps giving me excuses. Working on his dad’s ranch or something.”

The last bit of gossip you needed before clocking out that Friday night. A little dagger you could take and sink in between Javier’s ribs. Twist and turn, nicking arteries on the way. See, Javier could have any woman he so much breathed in the direction of. The line stretching through town seemed unending, all trying to get a glimpse of his attention. A glimmer of love for the night. What these women didn’t know, and why you only pursed your lips and smiled to yourself, was you knew why they weren’t hearing from him anymore. It hadn’t been intentional. There wasn’t some grand plan to get him off the market. In fact, there generally wasn’t too much meaningful conversation. But he spent most days of the week working in the sun, doing hard manual labor that was a far cry from his previous life in the DEA (not that he ever spoke about it to you), and his Friday night, Saturdays, and Sundays had been spent balls deep in you, knocking your head into the headboard. At least for the last month it had been.

You pushed through the heavy metal back door of The Tack Room and slung your purse over your shoulder. Hooking a left outside the door, the first thing you saw was the orange glow of his cigarette. The smoke wafted upward, curling around his nose and cheeks, obscuring the rest of his head like a shroud for the dead. He was leaned back against the brick wall in a relaxed posture. If only the women inside knew the man they were fawning over was just a handful of yards away from them. Better than that, you knew he had been for nearly an hour. While there wasn’t any intention in keeping him to yourself, you felt it important to know he was wrapped around your finger. And for him to know it, too.

“Thought you were quitting,” you smirked, plucking the cigarette out from between his fingers. You brought it up to your lips for a puff. When he stepped closer, you blew the smoke out in his direction.

“You too,” he snatched it back and set it back between his lips. “Also thought you said you were off at eleven.”

You didn’t need to look at a clock to know you were an hour late. Wrapped around your finger. “I like things that are bad for me. And I thought I was,”

Turning for your car, you heard his boots clicking on the pavement behind you. Always in tow. You didn’t have to look behind you to know he was taking one last, long puff from the cigarette, holding onto the smoke and nicotine; one last hit of this drug before moving onto the next. He threw it to the ground in front of him and smothered it out with his boot on his next step forward. He stood close behind you, waiting for you to unlock the car door. You turned on your heels once you pulled it open. Not much could be said for Javier’s virtues but once he had something, or rather someone, he wanted in his sights, his patience was unwavering.

He slung his forearm over the top of your car door. A slanted smirk crossing over his lips, eyes glinting in the moonlight. He didn’t have to say anything for you to know the smug thoughts going through his head. For as much as you had him wrapped around your finger, he knew you were wrapped around his too. Not too many women turned down Javier fucking Peña.

“I’m exhausted so you better make it quick tonight,” you cocked your head to the side, giving your best attempt at disinterest, knowing it wasn’t very convincing.

The smirk on his face broadened, fully aware of your blatant lie. If he’d learned anything over the past month, it was that you were never too tired for him. Never told him no in four weeks. He raised his hand and caressed your chin between his thumb and index finger, “sure, querida.” Those deft fingers stroked down to its point before dropping back to his waist.

Well, shit. You were no better than all those other women in the bar. Reminiscing about his touch, knowing they’d melt with the gentlest of acts. The warmth that spread through your stomach, inching down to your most inner parts was a testament to that. Another unconvincing glare in his direction was the last thing you did before you ducked into your car. He shut the door behind you and took a step back when you all but peeled out of the parking lot, in a race back to your home. But he waited until you were out of sight before he reached into his back pocket, grabbed his carton of cigarettes, and pulled a new one from it. Took his time lighting the damn thing before he spun and made back for his car. If only you’d known the lengths he was going to, to make you wait.

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

As much as you figured Javi was ruining other men for you, you knew you were ruining other women for him. However long this lasted (his reputation was evidence enough that this wasn’t someone meant for long term monogamy), you were taking up as much of his free time as he was taking up yours. Cocooned in this false sense of security. Bathed in a rush of dopamine and oxytocin. The last five weekends had all gone pretty much the same. Only a little variation in the order of events… positions… the absolute filth Javi whispered in your ear.

“You like having this tight, little pussy filled up, huh?”

“Look at me when you come,”

“Can you feel it, querida? My cock all the way up here,”

That last one was paired with his large hand wrapping around your stomach, fingers pressing in just below your belly button. What was even more astonishing was that yes, you could.

The nights always started with some form of pleasure for you. Long makeout sessions that had once been lost to adolescence were renewed with fervor. Lingering touches over the expanse of your body. Heavy handed things that ensured you felt the weight of his fingers long after they’d moved on. Along with the rumors of his exploits here in Laredo, there’d also been rumblings of what he’d gotten up to in Colombia. Not the nature or details of his job. But the details of his… extracurricular activities. And every night you found yourself in bed with Javi, those rumors started to sound more and more plausible.

And after the makeout sessions, Javi always oh so willingly dragged his mouth lower; lips giving attention to the skin his fingers had previously been responsible for. Never had to ask. Never had to convince him. He’d work down your body until he got to the apex of your thighs which had already spread to accommodate him. Hook those arms around your legs. Clutch those hands around your hips. And without fail – every single time – he’d take a long, deep inhale through his nose before his mouth set forth. First with his tongue broad and flat to your clit, rolling over it to warm you up (as if you needed it) before he gently closed his lips around it. He never questioned it. Never searched your eyes for reassurance that he was doing it to your satisfaction. He knew he was. Probably perfecting the move for the past fifteen plus years. If there was ever any anxiety about whether or not he was doing it well, that all vanquished by the time he migrated down further, to your entrance, lips and tongue working together to keep you on edge. The squeaks and moans that left your lungs didn’t leave anything up for debate. Worse, more than once, you noted the smug smirk he wore when he heard the noises from you. Face buried deep between your legs, tongue lapping and probing for entrance, and that fucking smirk was still obvious.

Like every man, he wasn’t one to turn down a blowjob. His eyes always seemed to light up when you started to inch your way down to his manhood. Eyes affixed to each of your movements. The way you started with soft kisses to the head of his cock. Always followed up by the tracing of the crown with your tongue before you let your lips kiss down his shaft. You were willing to take this slow – far slower than he probably would’ve preferred – but given the sheer amount of women he’d been with, his stamina was something else entirely. Raising a child didn’t exactly allow you the time or opportunity to get your stamina to the same level. But he never rushed you. Never pushed on the back of your head and forced you to stay with him down your throat. His hands were always present somewhere. Brushing your hair away from your face so he had a better view of the way his cock filled your mouth. Holding your hair in a ponytail to help set a rhythm whenever you started to veer off the path. Cupped beneath your chin, praising you. Look at you, champ. That mouth feels amazing, querida.

Going down on you was a standard occurrence. Whether or not he did it until you climaxed depended on the night. Most nights he was happy to stay there as long as he needed. Sometimes it was all that happened. Over and over again until your body couldn’t take anymore. Until your hand shot down and pressed back on the top of his head, trying to get some reprieve. Sometimes you couldn’t wait for him to be inside you, and though you appreciated his dedication, had to beg him to give you what you needed. It was something you’d learned quickly about Javier: with enough begging with the right amount of eyelash batting and pouting, you could get him to do just about anything you wanted.

He was always slow with you to start. Never pressing too far too quickly. Always giving you the time to adjust to him; the cocky bastard knew genetics had heartily endowed him. Perhaps he did it just to get you to beg more. To fill you up. Harder. Deeper. And when he teased (or tortured) you enough and sunk fully into you, you always strained your ears for the sigh he released. It didn’t matter what position he had you in. There was always a steady exhale of pure contentment. A longing to remain just where he was, nestled deep in your heat. But he always managed to rile himself out of it. To get himself back on task. And only then would he allow himself to get lost in ecstasy. Tenderness wasn’t something you’d say was in Javi’s repertoire. Perhaps gentleness was reserved for someone else. He was there with one objective in mind: you get you both off. And if nothing else, Javier was very efficient at it.

On this night, like the others, he was quick hands and lips, and the pace he set once he was inside you made you really reconsider taking up a religion. You were face down on the bed, chest making contact with the mattress too. The only thing held up was your ass, thanks to Javier’s arm. Wrapped tightly around your hips to keep you up at an angle conducive for the debauchery he was committing. His other hand groped your fleshy backside, tugging and squeezing each time your anatomy fluttered around his length.

“Javi,” you whined breathlessly. Sweat beaded at your hairline, matting the strands to your face, making you feel even warmer.

He smiled to himself, thankful you weren’t in a position to see it. Normally that expression on him resulted in your hands flying at him to slap it off. “Yeah, querida,”

“You’re so good,”

“I know,” he grinned even harder to himself. And when that response had you pushing up on your arms to snap your gaze back to him, he released your ass and pushed your head back down to the mattress. Another smile passed over his lips; this one holding space for much more fondness. For he could get you, full of spice and vigor, to submit to him so easily. Willingly. “So good for me, querida. Get your hands back here, let me see how good you are.”

Without a moment of contemplation you reached back, more pressure on your chest and cheek as your hands went to obey him. Fingers latched onto your ass, replacing where his had just been, and you tugged softly to yourself, giving Javi the view he wanted. Unobstructed to watch his cock slide in and out of you, each thrust coating him a little bit more in your arousal and stretching you out. With his length filling one hole he set his thumb at the other. You choked on your breath at the feeling. Though he added no real pressure to push the digit in, there was just enough force that let you know he could.

“Javi, m’gonna…”

You were being hauled up to your knees before you could catch your bearings. One moment you’re face down on the mattress and the next you were pulled up, your back pressed tightly to his chest. Your head tilted back and rested on his shoulders. Javier wrapped one arm around your waist to hold you down on him while the other snaked up over your breasts until his fingers found purchase around your throat. He squeezed tightly, smirking at the noise you let out.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna come already,” he mocked, leaning in closer to nibble on your jaw. Knowing you were too blissed out to answer, he snapped his hips forward with a particularly hard thrust, “just like the way I fill you up, huh?”

Nodding wildly, digging your nails into his forearm around your waist was all you could manage for a moment before, “love it.”

He growled in your ear. “Yeah? Show me. Show me how much you love my cock,” he kept his pace steady despite his own breaths getting more labored. He wouldn’t be long behind you. “Come all over me, querida. Let me feel it,”

The command became your ultimate undoing. Your body shivered, tensed, and a cry tore through your throat. The muscles in your core squeezed and released his shaft in perfect rhythm, though it didn’t slow him at all. He fucked you through the orgasm that overtook you until you crumbled out of his arms and back to the bed. Javier followed you down, never fully slipping out of you before you were pinned between him and the bed. Each thrust forced a little more of your release out until you could feel the wetness it left behind each time your skin met his again.

“Javi,” you moaned with pure lust.

One of his hands planted on the bed beside you to give him enough space and leverage to keep up his ministrations, while the other went to the back of your head and grabbed a fistful of hair. He tugged your head back, catching the sexed out sight of you. Jaw slack, skin tacky with sweat. He almost lost it there without warning. Choked out a groan and furrowed his eyebrows as he held on for dear life.

“Fuck,” he spat. His game plan was to pull out and come over your ass. But then the feeling of your hand gripping into his hip, clutching into him and tugging to keep him forward on you, let him know you had other plans.

“Inside,” you gasped, pressing backward to keep your core as far down on his length as possible. “I want it inside,”

The muscles in his stomach and chest flexed. He bowed his head, “you’re gonna kill me.”

“Good,”

It was just one more snap forward. One last squeeze of your muscles to make the fit even tighter. He didn’t even have time to stick to his game plan even if he’d been so inclined. He buried himself as deep as he possibly could, coming inside you with an animalistic groan. Stuttered thrusts shot his load and then pumped it further into you. A bite landed on your neck as he finished, his length throbbing inside you, laying heavy. Still. The rest of his body laid heavy on you, too. Weight nearly suffocating on top of you, blocking out the rest of the world that wasn’t the feel of him and the scent of sex.

“Peña. Off,”

“Give me a goddamn second,” he huffed. There was no real anger or annoyance in his tone. Just the playful animosity for the use of his last name.

“I can’t breathe,”

“Got enough air to speak,” he exhaled. But he was quick to rouse when you clenched your core around his shaft, “okay, okay.” He backed himself up and looked down to watch as he pulled his length out of you, taking some of your shared release with him.

A whimper floated past your lips when he was completely unsheathed. The emptiness felt nearly unbearable. As if he could read your mind, he brought a hand to your center; nimble fingers collected the come that had leaked out of your spent hole. Then his middle and ring fingers pushed forward, spearing you yet again. Your legs shifted open to accommodate them. Another moan resulted from him curling the digits inside you, inching his come back inside you.

But his fingers left your gaping hole just as quickly as they’d entered it. And your eyes only opened from their comfortable rest when you felt his wet fingers on your lips. He was leaning over you again, eyes fixed on your mouth, waiting for you to obey him. You both knew you would. Keeping your gaze on him, you opened your mouth and wrapped your lips around his long, thick fingers. Tongue danced over them, licking away the come he’d collected. But he couldn’t let tenderness win, and instead of removing his fingers once you’d swallowed his offering, he pushed his fingers to the back of your mouth until you gagged on them.

You yanked on his wrist until he relented and pulled his fingers out of your mouth. “You’re an ass,”

He laughed and pushed himself off the bed. With a brief search, he located his boxer briefs and picked them up off the floor. But there was a pause. A moment where he just stood by the bed and stared at the form of your body. Stretched out on your stomach, laid out on display like some real-life work of art. But then you turned your head and spotted him, and all he could do was clear his throat and smack his hand down on your ass. “Best pussy I’ve had in awhile,”

You rolled your eyes and turned over just in time for him to throw his underwear at you before he left the room. Now left alone, with Javier walking naked through your home, you slid his underwear up your legs and settled the waistband around your hips. And as clothed as you were willing to get for now, you reached over for the nightstand and pulled the drawer open. Produced from it, the Polaroid camera.

Javier was already heading back down the hallway to your bedroom by the time you lifted the camera up and peered through the viewfinder. He had no time to conceal himself before you snapped the photo the moment he passed through the threshold. One hand held a glass of water up to his mouth. The other arm hung at his side. His manhood swinging between his legs. The photo printed and you set the camera aside. A disgruntled groan clued you in to the fact that he wasn’t particularly pleased you were taking another photo of him, but he no longer truly voiced his displeasure with it like he had the first time. For as much as the routine of your sex escapades became commonplace to you. This had become commonplace to him. Every single night you’d been together had resulted in you snapping at least one photo of him. Sometimes more, if you were lucky. Before sex, after sex… during sex. The collection you’d started of Javier Peña, DEA, would be something legends were made of.

He came back to bed and flopped down beside you, handing the glass of water over. You exchanged it for the new photo of him and took a sip of water while he admired the photo of himself. Never short on ego.

“What do you do with these?” He used the advantage of you having turned onto your side to set the glass on the nightstand to sidle up behind you. With his chest pressed tightly to your back, he held the photo out in front of you until you took it from him.

“I’m creating a mural in the women’s bathroom at The Tack Room,” then looking over your shoulder and offering him a wink, “the many faces of Javier Peña.”

“Don’t think anyone’s looking at my face,” his hold on your hip tightened.

You looked back at the photo – this one unfortunately had most of his face obscured by the glass of water. Feeling his teeth at the soft skin on your neck, you reached forward and tugged the nightstand drawer open again, “I am.”

He lifted his head again, but finding you’d already averted your gaze, followed the outstretch of your arm to where it dug through the drawer. It didn’t take long for you to find what you were looking for. It was placed in a spot all of its own; not mixed into the ever-growing pile of salacious portraits of him. “This one’s my favorite,” you rotated on your back and held the picture up so you could both gaze upon it.

You knew he’d question it. Going through the rolodex in your mind, you could pinpoint a handful of other pictures where he was objectively more handsome or more mysterious looking. Could think of any number where his manhood looked larger. Because this photo? It was simple. You’d left the room to retrieve the camera from your purse and had come back to him in this state. Snapped the picture before he could protest (like usual). And it was just so real.

Javi laid back on your bed, naked. A sheen of sweat over his face, neck, chest… hair skewed and wild. His member laid back against his stomach, no longer at its fully hard length, and he had one hand limply cupped over his balls. His other hand was splayed on his chest, fingers outstretched. Just prior to snapping the photo, you had noticed how he seemed zoned out. His eyes, unblinking and unfocused, staring off at nothing. Whatever he was seeing was no longer physically in front of him. You’d managed to get the photo in the same moment he looked up at you. His eyes, while now focused, were still heavy. Eyes that you had only ever seen as ravenously lust-filled, or overtly enigmatic, had given up their act. Forgotten they weren’t alone and had fallen to their true state.

“M’not even smilin’ in that one,”

“S’why I like it,” you glanced over at him for the quickest of acknowledgement before returning your attention back to the photo. You ran your fingertip over the photographed version of his face, “your eyes look sad.” He traded in answering for pursing his lips together and you twisted over again to set the photo back in its rightful place.

When you turned back, Javi was already getting out of bed. Done with his dutiful minutes of what could hardly be called cuddling, and was yet again looking for more of his clothes. You sat up too, familiar with this part of your dance. Rather impersonal sex, followed by rather impersonal and lackluster aftercare, completed by the awkwardness of him leaving though you knew you’d see him tomorrow night for the same song and dance.

“Can you do me a favor?” You asked, gaining confidence when he instantly looked at you, “if I ask you a question, can you answer me honestly?” He nodded, waited just a second before he snatched his jeans off the floor and worked them up his legs. The whole act caught you flustered. Those tight jeans worked up his thick thighs, over the swell of his ass. And the way they cradled his bulge… it had you salivating. “What’d you do for the DEA in South America?”

Javi sucked in a deep breath through his nose and held it. He wondered how much you’d overheard his dad share at different points… or how much his dad had blatantly told you. He adjusted himself in his jeans and then rested that hand on his hip. “Chased Pablo Escobar,”

It was a name you’d heard in the news here and there in mentions of the war on drugs. But all things considered, Pablo Escobar seemed like a character from fairy tales. His name, while known, held no bearing in Laredo.

“Did you catch him?”

“No,”

“Then why’d you come home?”

Javi ignored the question and bent back down to pick his shirt up off the floor. “That’s more than one question,”

“Then answer one more for me,” you cocked your head to the side. He flicked his eyes back to you. “Are you fucking me for information?”

He cocked his head to match yours, “do you have information?”

“No,”

“Then no, I’m not.” He slid his shirt over his hand. Eyebrows furrowed when he looked back at you, “what’d you hear?”

“Surprisingly not the moans of every prostitute in Colombia,” you snickered, though Javi looked less than impressed.

He shook his head and ran a hand over his mouth. “Look, every woman wants to know what I do– what I did for work, and truth is, it doesn’t matter. Not to this. And whatever you think you’ve heard,” he rounded the bed with shoes in hand and came up upon your side, making you feel smaller than you ever had before. “I paid those women for information, not for sex. The money was always exchanged afterward,”

“That doesn’t matter,”

“It does if you’re a prostitute,” he sat down on the edge of the bed and fiddled to put his shoes on.

You crawled up behind him and wrapped your arms over his shoulders. Buried your face in his neck and gave him soft kisses there. “I’m just trying to get to know you. You know, since you’re at my house every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night; the nights my kid’s conveniently with her grandmother, and you’re fucking me three ways to Sunday, so I just thought…”

“Well don’t,” he looked over his shoulder. The coldness of his gaze had you inching back off him. “Don’t complicate this by bringing up DEA stuff. I’m enjoying sleeping with you. I think you’re enjoying it, too. And I’d like to continue enjoying it with you instead of the other women in town… fuckin’ insufferable.”

“That’s not nice,” you tried to hide your grin. The other women were… rough. All hoping to get dicked down by the infamous Javier Peña but lacked all real substance.

“You think we can keep doing this without talking about Colombia?”

You nodded, relenting. He had his walls up. Tall, strong, and fortified. You figured they’d never been let down for anyone. Or worse… they had and it had gone terribly wrong. Javi pulled you out of your thoughts with a peck to your lips. Very noncommittal, and stood up from the bed, heading for your door.

“What time are you off tomorrow?”

Your eyes followed him, still reeling, “eleven.”

“Actually eleven, or are you lyin’ to me again?”

“Actually eleven,”

Satisfied, he turned his back to you and headed off down the hallway. You’d follow after him in a couple minutes, long after he was gone, to lock your front door again. But right now, he walked down the hallway alone, “see you tomorrow, querida.”

#javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier pena narcos #javier pena x female reader #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena smut #javier pena angst #javier pena fluff #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #javier pena fic #ppcu #ppcu fanfiction

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tokio-motel · 8 months

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Hello! Could you do (male) reader with Bill where they go shopping together? Idk if you've done this before but just them trying on clothes and complimenting each other, going to the women's section and bill debating on bying stuff or not but still being convinced by the reader because he's like "you look GORGEOUS with those feathers on you baby" and stuff like that? Basically fluff because I love your writing so much! Thank you ! <3

BILL X MALE READER: SHOPPING

teehee hii babe

"Ooohh! What about this one?"

Bill asked excitedly, holding up a light blue shirt with a skull pattern to his chest, raising an eyebrow as he looked at you expectantly. "Wha'dya think?" You could only smile and shake your head, shrugging your shoulders. "I think it's nice! If you like it, buy it." You respond, leaning against the pillar behind you. He looked down at the shirt, running his fingers over the seams before muttering a soft "m'kay.." and tossed it in the shopping bag.

You couldn't help but be slightly surprised, you were used to Bill picking out more gothic-styled clothing or just deeper colors. So seeing him pick that out definitely stood out. It didn't matter that much to you though, seeing how his face lit u when he came across the shirt. How his nervous smile just made him seem even cuter.

You walked beside him, finger intertwined as you watched him pick out some other things. You couldn’t stop the grin stretch across your face as you saw how he giggled to himself whenever he saw something he liked. Granted, most of the stuff was black or a darker shade and it all looked the same at the bottom of the bag, but as long as he was happy you truly didn't care.

You walked over to a new rack, and a pair of pants stood out to you. You hummed, strolling over and looking for your size. You smiled softly when you did find it, holding it infront of you and looking to your side where Bill stood. "Do you think it looks nice?" You question, turning it around and looking at the pattern on the back pockets. Bill grinned, looking over at you. "I think it's perfect!" You picked up the tag in your hands, going to look at the price before Bill swatted your hand away softly.

"Don't worry about that. I'll pay." Your jaw nearly dropped as you raised an eyebrow, looking at him with uncertainty. "Bill...do you know how expensive shit in this store is?" You mumbled, too lazy to stop him from throwing the jeans into another bag that had all your things you picked out inside, nearly filled to the top. "I'm sure I'll be fine." You sighed, chuckling a bit to yourself as you spoke a soft "Fine."

Bill glanced around the store for a second, and you watched his he hesitantly took a double take on a certain area. You glanced up at him and raised an eyebrow, looking in the direction he was glancing at. "Bill," You began, rubbing his hand soothingly, "Is there something else you want?" He glanced at you then back at the area before walking uncertainly towards his destination. You looked up at the sign above you, reading "Women"

You shrugged, strolling behind Bill as he looked around, back at you. He expected you to laugh at him or pull him back to the men's section, but you just stood their with a soft smile on your face and gave an encouraging nod. He hummed quietly, turning around as he picked out a shirt with shaking hands. His back was towards you so you couldn't see what it was, yet you could see the faint sparkle of..sequins? Or was it glitter?

"Lemme see." you mumbled. He hesitantly clinked his boot on the ground a few times before turning around, holding the shirt to his chest uncertainly. He had a nervous grin on his face that made your heart gush, his gorgeous smile slightly fading as he noticed you were being silent, not saying anything.

No, the shirt wasn't bad at all. Very far from it, actually. I mean, you certainly wouldn't wear it, but seeing it on bill was..definitely something. It has small sequins covering it, shining metallic green and black under the bright lights.

"Is it bad..? Was this a mistake..oh my god I-" he began, shaking his head as he turned to put the shirt back but you grabbed his arm, taking the shirt into your own hands. "It's amazing.." you mumble, pressing it against his chest.

He looked so damn pretty, the colors complimented him perfectly. You truthfully couldn't take your eyes off him. He bit his lip under your gaze, shuffling from foot to foot. "You look so perfect." You remark, smiling at him as you cocked your head to the side slightly. "Do you like it, Bill?"

He hesitantly looked at you and back down at the shirt, listening to the sequins crinkle against each other. Finally, he gave a soft grin and nodded at you. "I..I really like it." he confirmed, holding back a happy squeal as you put it in his bag. You chuckled to yourself, patting him on the shoulder as you looked over at the cash register.

"Is that all you want, babe?" You asked, going through your own bag to see if you had everything. He nodded, not taking his eyes off of the shirt. As you walked up to pay for the items, you reached into your pocket for your wallet, but Bill swatted your hand away again for the second time.

"I'm paying." he reminded you, taking out his own wallet. You could only sigh, knowing your protests wouldn't be heard. You'd pay him back somehow..you knew you would.

#i was too lazy to type m/n so #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel x male reader #tokio hotel x you #bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz x male reader #bill kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz x you #bill kaulitz x non binary reader #x reader #x male reader #x male y/n #this is sickeningly sweet

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bucknastysbabe · 1 year

Note

For the kink bingo, rimming and/or pegging with Aegon x wife!reader (maybe twin sister-wife if that’s something you’re okay with writing)?

Uh yes you got it!

Kink Bingo - Rimming

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Incest, Sub!Aegon, Twin!Wife!Reader, Aegon is a little chubby in this one, Hightowers In The Back, analingus, she runs the show and the actors yup

For anyone that asked, King Aegon Targaryen, second of his name did not bow to anyone. Simultaneously everyone knew he bowed to his twin sister-wife like a loyal servant. They just didn’t utter it aloud, lest the dowager queen or the hand sent Ser Criston to personally cut out their tongue.

Alicent and Otto carefully crafted the image that her son was not a drunk and clung to his wife like a babe. He’d always had, even when Aegon was running the streets of Flea Bottom. The Kingsguard would escort the sniveling prince back to his sister’s quarters in the morn so he could nuzzle at her and wrap up under her sweet-smelling blankets. After she made him wash of course.

The Hightower’s couldn’t have supporters of the late Rhaenyra whispering of putting her Velaryon bastards on the Iron Throne. Still, Aegon was easy to shirk his duties before being dragged by his ever present twin to court. She carried all of the self-confidence and smarts Aegon floundered with.

So the greens had owed her a little bit of gratitude for keeping the king in check, especially Otto who doted on his granddaughter. Alicent, ever pious and holding strange feelings about women in power could be acrid to the pair.

The sister-wife in question laughed in the face of all the flying rumors and her mother’s outdated thinking. Why would it matter when she basically sat the Iron Throne by fucking her brother silly every night. Aegon listened to her, worshipped her, cried for her love. He sat at her feet now, begging, “Sister, my love, something- anything please.” His eyes were glassy with tears and the drink.

His discarded cup of red sat beside the pair on a table. The woman thumbed his cheek and hummed, “What do you want me to do Aegon?” Her husband’s matching violet eyes looked to the side in thought. Aegon worried at his lip, dumbfounded on his response. She was pretty sure he wished for everything under the sun, greedy whore.

She smiled and sighed, “I always have to do the thinking for you, don’t I sweetling?” Aegon pouted, still arching into her touch needily. Pulling on curls that looked exactly like her own the queen ordered, “Go get on the bed and strip down. Don’t touch yourself.” Her other half scrambled to the huge bed, drunkenly pawing and ripping at his clothing.

His wife watched in amusement, taking a drink from Aegon’s discarded goblet. He was so pretty yet so, so vapid. She tilted her head, shifting minutely while watching Aegon fuss with his belt. The annoyed king whined and pulled on the constricting piece.

“Got too plump for it, my king,” she teased meanly, “Lay off the wine and feasts, mayhaps love?”

Aegon cast an annoyed look in her direction, throwing the belt down and yanking off his jacket. He looked down at his padded hips and fleshy stomach, swallowing in panic. He jerked his head up and whined, “Why didn’t you tell me I was growing stout?”

She shrugged and finished the cup, “I never thought you cared, it’s normal for the king to grow a bit…soft.” The female Targaryen eyed him with heat, pointing toward the bed. Personally she liked the extra flesh, made him more sensitive and soft in her opinion. Aegon complained on, glaring at his body and pinching, “I must ride Sunfyre more.”

“Or actually take your lazy ass to the training yard. Get on the bed already or I’ll leave you there.”

Aegon huffed and clambered onto the bed. His twin lowly whistled at the sight— pallid skin and sweet curves stark against the covers. She undid her gauzy nightgown and carefully placed it on the chair. She complimented the trembling Aegon, “I don’t mind it, not really, you’re so beautiful sweetling.”

Hopeful purple eyes peered up at her, looming over his prone form. He whispered, “Do you mean it?” Carding her fingers through his curls she cooed, “More than anything in the world. My perfect brother.” He happily nuzzled into her hand, fighting to stay still.

The queen slung a leg over the side of the bed to settle between his calves. She stared down at his pale ass, cute and bubbly. The twin asked, “Did you clean up like I asked?” He bobbed his head in quick movements. So eager.

She groped one cheek and smacked the other, grinning wildly at Aegon’s sharp yelp. The Valyrian murmured, “Should I eat your greedy cunt tonight?” She expected his wanton response.

“Please oh gods please fuck baby,” he panted.

She smacked his ass again, watching the pink handprint bloom. Of course Aegon wanted that tonight, she always knew what he wanted. They were one and the same, shared a womb, shared a bed, shared their heart. Always meant to be.

“Ass up then, my king.”

She sucked in a breath at his pink twitching furl, always so pretty for her. Aegon’s ringed fingers gripped at the silken sheets desperately. He quivered eagerly, awaiting his love’s tongue. She breathed over his most intimate part and cooed, “Good boy. No touching your cock, it belongs to me.”

He clenched his eyes and whined, “Only you!”

Aegon’s wife grabbed a handful of his fleshy cheeks and laved a hot stripe from taint to tailbone, him shouting and writhing at contact. Aegon’s head fell down as she began to kiss and lick deeply, working his tight hole open with ease.

He whimpered at her tongue flicking over his sensitive rim, thighs clenching wildly. She dug her fingertips into his ass greedily, wanting to eat her brother whole. Sloppier and quicker Aegon’s wife ate and lapped at his cunt, moaning like she was the one getting eaten out.

Aegon had to swallow back the drool collecting in his mouth, squirming and panting. Sweat began to bead all over his body when she pointed her tongue and began to spear his entrance. Aegon babbled, “Love, fuck- fuck! S’good s’goodGODS!”

She wickedly kissed at his hole while tongue deep, one of her hands coming down to grab his heavy balls. Aegon pathetically moaned, rocking back onto her tongue— crying her name. The wife softly rolled his balls while slurping at his loosened hole, sucking in his whimpers and moans like the air she breathed.

“M’close sister, gah, I love you!,” he cried.

She grinned and licked harder, swiping her tongue in playful circles while massaging his sac. Aegon’s sweet belly tightened and rolled as he curled into himself at the nearness of climax. He was close to tearing the sheets. His cock twitched and weakly spurted out pre.

She smacked his ass again for good measure, sending the king over the edge with a bonafide wail. He shook and clenched around her tongue, balls drawing tight. He came on his shaking belly and the silk sheets, crying for her like a maiden. She eased off his rim and cooed, “Good boy, my sweetling cums so pretty, love you.”

He mewled at the last few spurts of his overtaxed prick, sinking back onto the bed into his mess. She clicked her tongue and rolled the worn king over on his back. The woman grabbed a discarded article of clothing to wipe his soft belly, her other hand stroking his pale thigh. Aegon panted and watched her with lidded eyes.

“I love you,” he repeated.

She grinned. “And I love you Aegon.”

He petulantly pulled her into his body, needing her warmth and love. It made him happier than wine— which was saying a lot. Aegon murmured, “I’m so lucky to have you,” he smirked, “And your tongue.”

She jested in return, feeling up the fatty part on his hip, “I’m lucky too and I’ll include your slutty mouth for measure.”

He pouted, “You like my slutty mouth.”

“I’ll put it to good use for me soon, my king.”

His cock twitched again in earnest.

#aegon ii targaryen #hotd fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #asks open #hotd smut #kink bingo

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starrystormwritings · 8 months

Text

DSMP Master List <3

Requests: Open but slow

Master List <;3 Request List

(NOT MY GIF)

Key:

✨ - one of my favourites

💕 - fluff

💦 - angst

🔆 - series

🌸 - romantic

🌻 - platonic

🥀 - not already in the relationship

🌵 - pre-established relationship

🎶 - music inspired

💚💛💜❤️💙🖤🩷🤍🧡🔷 - Taylor Swift inspired (eras)

Wilbur Soot x Reader:

Sister Innit 🔆🌸🥀 -Tommy’s older sister wants to start streaming so he gets Dream to add her to the SMP. He wasn’t expecting Wilbur to like her so much though

Sister Innit Part Two 🔆🌸🥀-You and Wilbur meet for your date, but Tommy's being Tommy

Cold Hands And Warm Smiles 💕🌸🌵-Your heating breaks when Wilbur's not home so you have to suffer through the cold until he comes back

Taunt 🌸🥀🎶-George drags you to a party, forcing a friend to babysit you as he goes off to have some fun

Weapon (Minecraft au) 💦🌸🌵-Wilbur's back, and he's seeking back what was his

Dream x Reader:

Affection ✨💕🌸🌵-You’re tired and just want cuddles but your boyfriends too busy streaming

Loyalties (Minecraft au) ✨💦🔆🌸🌵-Your family (the sleepy bois inc) had always been there for you. But so had dream. So when you lost the both of them you had a tough decision to make, where your loyalties actually lie. Over half of this is made up of flash backs which will be in italics. Also this is set in game

Loyalties Part Two (Minecraft au) ✨💦🔆🌸🌵-Dream's left you with a tough decision, love or family. Although other events might lead you to make a sharp change in decisions and let the foundations you've built burn

White Dress, Red Stain (Minecraft au) 💦🌸🌵-Sam asks you on a date, what could go wrong?

George x Reader:

Love Or Host 💕🌸🥀-You were convinced to join 'Georgenotfounds' love or host, will it work out?

Pillow Talk 💕🌸🌵-Sleepy conversations in bed

SapNap x Reader:

Your New Boyfriend 🌸🥀🌵🎶 -You finally excepted that Nick probably didn't like you back, so you got a boyfriend. Although Nick seems to think he's a bit of an ass

Clingy ✨💕🌸🌵-You and Nick haven't had much time to spend together lately and he isn't happy about it

Traitor (Minecraft au)💦🌸🌵-Your loyal to Dream, you always have been. But when Sapnap chooses the side of L'manburg your forced into choosing who to betray

Karl Jacobs x Reader:

Surprise Betrayal 💕🌸🌵 -Jimmy was doing another hide and seek challenge, Karl and Chandler are the only two people left. Little did Karl know that his girlfriend was being brought in as a last minute seeker

Festive 💕🌸🌵-Karl’s favourite Christmas song starts playing

Challenge ✨💕🌸🥀-Jimmy, Chris, and Chandler come up with a plan to set Karl up with his new crush

Photograph ✨💕🌸🌵🎶 -Lazy evenings that you wish could last forever

Quackity x Reader:

Dancing Flame 💕🌸🌵-Alex's friends are throwing a beach party and you tag along

TechnoBlade x Reader:

Flustered ✨💕🌸🌵-Techno wakes you up while streaming so you get back at him by trying to fluster him

Tired (Minecraft au) ✨💦🌸🌵-Techno plans to blow up L'manburg again. Only this time your loyalty's got in the between his political agenda and his feelings

Royal Pain (Minecraft and royalty au) 💦🔆🌸🥀-Wilbur wants King Dream gone, and Techno is the most able person to do it. But will his relationship with the Princess get in the way?

Royal Pain Part Two (Minecraft and royalty au) ✨🔆🌸🥀-Your not dead, why? In what sick twist of fate has left you sat alone waiting for the answers your never going to get from Dream. You need to find Technoblade and the truth, now

Fundy x Reader:

Forget 💕🌸🌵-Fundy got distracted by coding and completely forgot about how you were over his house

Tommy Innit ( all platonic ):

Stay Alive (Minecraft au) 💦🌻🎶 -It's over for him, you knew it, Sam knew it, Dream knew it. But if Tommy could just stay alive everything would be okay

J’Schlatt x Reader:

Best Of Wife’s And Best Of Women (Minecraft au) 💦🌸🌵🎶-Sleepless nights are taking a toll on the presidents wife

All Too Well (Minecraft au) ✨💦🌸🌵🎶❤️-A sudden change to what you believed to be the perfect relationship

Ted Nivison x Reader:-

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mwebber · 7 months

Note

the" look at you doing all that arty shit" marky mark flower photo could be another contender for the horse cock tag, less Explicit, however, Bulge must be considered in this scientific analysis

ON THE STUDY OF HORSE COCK: a Qualitative Analysis of Mark Webber's Bulge

mwebber [1]

Cite this article! mwebber. (2023). On the Study of Horse Cock: a Qualitative Analysis of Mark Webber's Bulge. Tumblr Asks, 9(11), 6-9. https://doi.org/10.420/horsecock

ABSTRACT Mark Webber, 2015 WEC world champion and retired F1 driver, has terrorized the online world with his dick bulge for all the years he has been photographed. Whether this is due to a lack of well-fitting pants, or simply because his cock is massive, remains to be answered. Building on previous academic work by scholars such as @cedobols and @f1rstyasfk, this paper uses grounded theory to analyze the work of Clive Rose, a friend and photographer of Webber. It takes into account primarily the draping of Webber's pants, the shadows, and his stance to examine whether the work should be added to the existing dialogue surrounding Webber horse cock. We conclude that, though the photo demonstrates bulge, it is unfortunately not obvious enough to be added to the horse cock tag specifically. That said, we suggest the work be added to a new academic collection on Webber's love handles.

KEYWORDS Grounded theory, Mark Webber, Women and Gender Studies

➽───────────────❥

[1] Faculty of Sports RPF, Tumblr University, Tumblr, Internet

Corresponding Author: User mwebber, Faculty of Sports RPF, Tumblr University. email @mwebber

➽───────────────❥

In 2016, Mark Webber announced his retirement from motor racing for good, but this announcement didn't mean the end of his relevance to the racing world. With his limited appearances on television, and without the need to wear team-mandated uniforms, Webber began to gain popularity in online circles who'd never heard of him for one thing: his incredible dick bulge. At least, this is how the history goes; scholars such as bom have pinpointed the phenomenon of what is now called "Mark Webber Horse Cock" as beginning in the late 2000s, or indeed earlier (motorkink, 2022). Dutiful academics have taken the time since to contribute to the contemporary discussion around Mark Webber's bulge, and it is in this context that this paper aims to add to the conversation with Clive Rose's recent photographic work from Singapore, 2023. In this paper, we will use grounded theory to examine the photograph from an aesthetic, qualitative angle to answer whether or not it can be added to the seminal works of the Horse Cock portfolio. We will first discuss the existing literature around Webber's bulge, then justify our use of grounded theory. We will then partake in a detailed, critical analysis of Clive Rose's work. Following the analysis, we will discuss our findings to conclude that though the photo demonstrates bulge, it is unfortunately not obvious enough to be added to the horse cock tag specifically. Finally, we suggest avenues for further study and review.

LITERATURE REVIEW

Perhaps one of the most obvious and encapsulating examples of Mark Webber Horse Cock academia comes from this post the author made in early 2022 (multi2-1). To our knowledge, it is currently the only work that has broken containment regarding Horse Cock and attracted a new wave of critical thinking about Mark Webber's penis. Other works exist in Horse Cock literature, namely by acclaimed scholar bom cedobols, who has contributed much to the movement. The author is too lazy to hack it with Tumblr's shitty search engine, so imagine that the rest of the substantial lit review is source: trust me bro.

This project uses grounded theory to examine Clive Rose's work photographing Mark Webber. Conceived in 1967 by Anselm Strauss and Barney Glaser, grounded theory is as much a theory as it is a methodology (Mediani, 2017). It was created to merge quantitative and qualitative research methods (Greon et al., 2017). It is prescriptive, meaning it generates new theories to account for patterns in a study rather than apply existing theories, thus avoiding the trappings and limitations of existing theories and conceptual frameworks (Mediani). There are several reasons why this study does not use pre-existing frameworks to guide the research. Firstly, grounded theory allows for a looser combination of quantitative and qualitative lens with which to examine the data. It allows for the examination of arbitrary things, such as the shadows around a cropped photo of Mark Webber's crotch. Secondly, though this study of horse cock is not new, the field of research studying the relationship between random photos and dick bulges is an emerging field that is only gaining prevalence with advancements in technology. Thus, avoiding the limitations on perspective that come with pre-existing theories is a benefit in providing insight specific to Mark Webber's horse cock that might otherwise be lost.

Clive Rose's work can be found below. Rose has a prolific portfolio, most notably of beautiful Sebastian Vettel photos, and we thank him for his contribution to our cause (Rose, 2023).

ANALYSIS

First, it is important to isolate the most relevant part of Rose's photo. We have taken the liberty to do so here:

With the benefit of grounded theory, we have identified three key aspects to guide our analysis: the draping of Webber's pants, the shadows, and his stance. First, in examining the draping, we can see that he has pockets on either side. We can also see that the pants fit well; they leave ample breathing room and don't seem to hug his thighs, while simultaneously providing adequate definition to his dumpy, the likes of which we can extrapolate from the front.

Next, let us consider the shadows. They fall most prominently beneath the fold of his right pocket and in the dip towards his left thigh. They are also visible around where his bulge is, in the large crease leading to his right pocket.

Finally, Webber's stance is that of a man on the move, which we can deduce by focusing on his elevated right thigh. We can estimate, based on the rest of the photo, that Webber is walking, rather than running.

DISCUSSION

In our analysis, we highlighted how Webber's pants drape, how the shadows fall over and around his crotch, and his movement in the photo. Based on our analysis, we can reason our way logically through to a conclusive stance on whether or not Rose's photo should be added to the Horse Cock portfolio.

Webber's pockets, namely his right pocket, seems to take centre stage. The way the fabric of his pants drape, in addition to how the shadows fall, leads us to the notion that his pocket is folding as pants pockets do when one walks: outward. Assuming that Webber's pants have a zipper in the front, we can further presume that the front part of his pants are attached along its seam, thus creating the tension that causes his pocket to fold in such a manner.

The pocket seems to be the source of confusion. From a distance, or on a small screen such as a mobile device, the way it folds seems to suggest Mark's dick bulge. However, upon closer inspection, the bulge itself is barely present. As we are debating the merits of adding the photo to works under the horse cock tag, this is what Rose's case hinges on. Thus: we believe the photo should not be added.

CONCLUSION

This paper investigated Clive Rose's recent work from Singapore 2023 to answer the question of whether it should be considered among works demonstrating Mark Webber's dick bulge. It used grounded theory to identify three aspects of the photo we believed were significant: the draping of Webber's pants, how the shadows fell over his crotch, and his photographed stance. Upon analysis and discussion, it found that the photo should not be added to the horse cock tag on the basis of Webber's bulge not being obviously present, and cast blame on his pocket for inspiring hope.

It is a sinister illusion for Horse Cock theorists, but a significant one nonetheless. Negative results, as they say in the research world, are still results. That said, Rose's photo is not without merit, and we propose a new avenue of investigation where it may be relevant, out of the scope of this paper: Webber's love handles.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank the anonymous asked who sent this to my inbox and prompted me to dig out one of my old papers from second year undergrad.

DECLARATION OF CONFLICTING INTERESTS

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article. However, the author would like to request that it never sees the light of day outside Tumblr dot com.

FUNDING

The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article. God, don't they wish they received funding for this shit.

REFERENCES

Ames [@multi2-1]. (2022, January 22). actually insane how mark webber walks around when his massive fucking schlong bounces... [Textpost]. Tumblr. https://www.tumblr.com/multi2-1/703853656379899904?source=share

Groen, C., Simmons, D. R., & McNair, L. D. (2017). An Introduction to Grounded Theory: Choosing and Implementing an Emergent Method. American Society for Engineering Education Paper presented at 2017 ASEE Annual Conference & Exposition, Columbus, Ohio. https://doi.org/10.18260/1-2--27582

Mediani, H.S. (2017). An Introduction to Classical Grounded Theory. SOJ Nursing & Health Care, 3(3), 1-5. http://dx.doi.org/10.15226/2471-6529/3/3/00135

[@motorkink]. (2022, January 25). this needs to be included. [Textpost]. Tumblr. https://www.tumblr.com/multi2-1/703853656379899904?source=share

Rose, C. (2023). [Mark Webber walks in the Paddock prior to practice ahead of the 2023 Singapore Grand Prix] [Photograph]. Getty Images. https://www.gettyimages.ca/detail/news-photo/mark-webber-walks-in-the-paddock-prior-to-practice-ahead-of-news-photo/1682058315

#inbox #im not proofreading this. hit post

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