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queers-gambit · 5 months

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Perpetual L's and Overwhelming Dubs

prompt: slutty stranger bathroom sex on a train.

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 3.7k+

note: are all our safe words pineapple? i need this man to rail me, you know, for science. yep, that's right, Cherry has a new fixation! aren't y'all so lucky?

warnings: author has brain rot, smut (public, strangers, unprotected), obviously cursing, PWP.

Japan was bright, you decided with a soft smile on your lips; looking around the train station glowing in neon lights; some blinking, some colored, all fluorescent. People milled around every inch of the place, all walks of life from school children to professionals with briefcases, talking on the phone, running to make their departure. Couples held hands, families took meals together, and a few meters away, a little girl screamed when her brother stole her Momonga plushie.

You must've been enraptured with all around you that your shoulder bullied into someone else's on the platform, making you gasp an instant apology in Japanese. However, the man you had collided with just offered you a stoic look up and down, letting his lips pull in a half-smirk, checking in English with a thick accent, "My apologies, love. You all right there?"

"Yeah, I-I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention," you bid with a small smile.

"'S all right, pretty ladies like you can run into me all day," he smirked, eyeing you up and down before following after his snazzy-dressed companion - who slapped his chest forcefully.

"Leave the girl alone, mate," the man reprimanded. "Sorry, miss, he gets it in his head he's God's gift to ladies."

"It's really okay, it was my fault for not watching where I was going," you assured the men, glancing at your watch. "I'm so sorry, but I really can't miss this train. Safe travels, gents!" You bid, offering a simple wave, then scurried off - trying not to double back for the man with a mustache.

God, was that man handsome! Like, illegally handsome. Hauntingly handsome.

You'd even go as far as to say he was devilishly handsome! Those eyes? Beautifully clear blue, alluring, drew you in and held you captive. His cologne? Absolutely heavenly, borderline intoxicating. And he was built like a fucking mountain - tall, broad, slender hips, bulging muscles that looked as if they would rip his button-up.

Shaking your head, you rid yourself of the body-heating thoughts about the stranger you had just barreled into. Being horny got you nowhere, but being perpetually horny... Was the biggest fucking L. Sure, you could rub one out; you knew where the clit was and how to stimulate to your own pleasure (unlike most men). But it was something about a man sweating over you, thrusting into you with abandon; creating a mess in your guts, mind, and chest.

Yeah... You needed to get laid, you were fucking drooling over some stranger you had a 23-second interaction with.

However, upon entering your train and locating a seat in the hopefully peaceful quiet car, you mindlessly downloaded Tinder to pursue at your leisure, but only a few swipes in and you were exiting the app and deleting it (again) from your phone. The train was ready to depart the station, you cracking a bottle of water, looking back on your two-week Japanese excursion your job had sent you on.

And now, you were finally heading to your last stretch of meetings, requiring you to purchase an overnight ticket on one of the available bullet trains. Seemed the fastest, simplest, and most affordable way to travel - skipping out on upgrading to first class. Economy was just fine, you decided, perhaps doubting yourself when your eyes widened when you caught sight of the two strangers you ran into on the platform finding their seats a few rows up. There was a third man with them now that was left slumped in a spare chair - probably drunk off his arse, based on the man's grungy, disheveled look.

You tried not to thinking about the handsome stranger, but he was just a few rows up from you! God, you could practically smell his cologne from here, letting your mouth water slightly.

Yeah, perpetually horny was the biggest L - like you said.

Your thighs squeezed together as you crossed them, hoping the pressure was enough to relieve the build-up of warmth in your belly and cunt. Your headphones were placed, your attention diverting out the window, and tried to imagine if nobody else was in this fucking carriage - he could take you here and now.

After a few stops, your empty water bottle sought revenge against your bladder and ushered you to the closest bathroom. It wasn't as tight a squeeze as airplane bathrooms, but it was still a small facility to use. When done, you washed your hands as a knock sounded at the door, calling in Japanese, "Just a second!"

After unlocking the door and opening it, you actually flinched back slightly when the man from early with the '70s pornstache was stood directly in front of you.

"Well, don't you look like hell," you mused slightly.

"All in a day's work, love," he answered, stepping out of your way to let you exit the bathroom. He looked you up and down, asking, "So, uh, where you headed?"

You told him your stop, asking him the same. He told you, your mind doing mental gymnastics to understand that you both had a good bit left on this train... Surely, anything could happen.

"I'll let you, yeah," you half-smiled awkwardly, moving out of his way fully to give him access to the restroom.

"You know..." He trailed, pointing at the empty lavatory, "Could fit two."

You chuckled, "Yes, but I'm finished now - you go on."

He hummed, glancing up and down the train car - spying through the windows of the conjoining connection each car had. When he faced you again, he took a slow, calculating step forward, "That's not exactly what I meant, sweetheart."

You feet took a slow, calculated step back to find the wall, his smirk broadening. "Then how about using your words like a big boy and tell me what you meant?"

"You look like a smart girl, sure you can figure it out, yeah?" He leered over you, either foot standing between yours, nearly pressed into you but far back enough that he could maintain eye contact.

You pouted at him, "I don't read minds."

"Not sure it's me mind yah gotta read," he perked a single brow, glancing out the window again. "Now, I'd love t'stand here and ravish you the way I've wanted since you bumped into me earlier, but maybe exhibition isn't your thing."

"Judging me now?"

Now, both his brows slowly rose. His teeth poked out from between his smirking lips, praising, "Naughty girl."

"Maybe you're the one a bit nervous, hmm?" You quipped, boldly reaching forward to palm his cock - already half-hard. "What's wrong, mister? Don't want people seeing you so, hm, submissive?" You gave a cheeky flex of your hand, his hips bucking involuntarily.

"You fuckin' minx," he chuckled, hands to your waist now. "Get in that fuckin' bathroom or I might just have to give this whole fuckin' train a show."

"Better start charging them all," you whispered, hearing his growl before pushing his chest back to give you a little space. "You do this often, then? Proposition strangers into dirty bathroom sex on public, moving trains? Hmm? In a foreign country? Seems terribly disrespectful, don't it?"

"Sweetheart, the thoughts in my head about what I want to do to this body - those are disrespectful," he smirked. "Wanna tell me I'm not truly tempting you? You would've left by now," he pointed out, making your chest feel warm from the embarrassment you felt suddenly. You smirked and twiddled your fingers at him in parting, turned, and just before you could step away, you felt his arms lock around your waist. "C'mon, darlin', don't be like that," he hissed in your ear, your visible smirk spurring him on. "Not about t'beg yah, princess, get this pretty li'l arse in this stall."

You folded.

Being perpetually horny was an L, sure, but being propositioned by a handsome, hulking, muscly stranger was for sure a Dub, right?

You turned in his arms, lips only centimeters apart; breathing the same air, hand on his chest to ease him back into the bathroom stall. He grinned in triumph, and the moment you were over the threshold, still maintaining eye contact, he reached around you to click the lock in place.

"C'mere," he growled, surging forward to bring his lips down to yours finally - and just like that, your panties were done for. You moaned instantly, feeling something akin to relief when his lips molded against yours; all but immediately sweeping his tongue against the seam of your mouth.

Letting him in was mind boggling; literally making static fill your brain as your hand lifted to hold the back of his neck, threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. His mustache was stiff, wriggling in an irritating fashion against your upper lip and nose, but you didn't notice - too engulfed in the way he domineered every rational thought. His hands both pressed tightly to your ribs, then waist, down your hips, around to your arse - like he couldn't make up his mind where he wanted to touch you. So, he chose to touch you everywhere.

He was intoxicating; feeling drunk on his taste, smell, touch. He was warm, his curls a bit greasy but still shocking soft, and his lips - plush, welcoming, anchoring. You didn't even know his name, but you didn't need to! All you needed was exactly what he was doing: holding complete control over your heart, mind, and cunt.

Your stranger pulled back suddenly, offering a skeptical look, "There's no boyfriend, fiancé, husband I'm gonna have to look over my shoulder for, right?"

"Not since about 6 months ago, no. Do I need to ask you the same?"

"'Course not," he mused with a grin, kissing you again - but just a degree softer. Now, both his hands rose to caress either cheek; his tongue wagging against yours in more controlled caresses. One hand dropped slowly to hold your neck, pulse quickening, and your stranger smirked, muttering against your lips, "Cheeky girl."

You pushed him back half a step, offering him a once over before confidently reaching down for the end of your shirt and pulling it off over your head. Your companions mouth fell open when you revealed yourself to him, smirking as you opened your jeans to show a hint of the lace panties you wore. You told him your name, earning a confused hum. "My name," you explained, "figured you need to know what to moan." His tongue swept over his lips. "Gonna just stand there?"

He chuckled, checking his watch, then started unbuttoning his waistcoat. "Tangerine," he spoke simply.

"That your safe word?" You asked, shucking your jean clean off after toeing out of your shoes. "Hm, mine's pineapple."

"'S my name, love," he chuckled, opening his button up to reveal exactly what you thought - plains of smooth skin over rigid, bulging muscles. "So you know what to scream," he smirked.

You paused, stood in your panties, bra, and socks, asking through a small chuckle, "You're telling me, your mother carried you all those months in her belly, pushed you screaming - bloodied - into the world, looked at yah, and said, 'yeah, he looks like his name should be Tangerine'?"

He peeled his top half naked, your throat swelling close; swallowing harshly to clear your mouth of the overflow of salvia. Slowly, he moved closer to you, once again leering over you. He reached out for your neck, not too tight or aggressive, but forceful enough to tilt your head back. "'S a codename, love," he explained.

"Ah, so can't reveal the government."

"Exactly."

"The fuck kinda job you got that requires codenames?"

"The dangerous kind," he smirked, "wanna keep running your mouth or put it to other use?"

You chuckled and reached for his trousers, holding his eyes with yours as you easily unfastened him and hooked your thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and suit pants. His mouth parted slightly when the cooler air hit his exposed cock, asking, "Safe word?"

He snickered, "Pineapple's fine, love," he sounded far too amused, watching you get on your knees in front of him, "but I doubt we'll need - Oh, holy, fuckin' good God," he seethed through clenched teeth when you eagerly took him in your mouth.

He was bigger than what you were used to - like a full double the size your previous partners had been. He was longer, thicker, and Goddamn, was he sweltering in your mouth. You wondered how long it had been for him, feeling your panties dampen as you felt exhilarated to show this man with a "dangerous job" exactly what your mouth could do - and why he'd never forget your name.

"Oh, there's a good fuckin' girl," he groaned, collecting whatever hair he could in a makeshift ponytail; looking down his nose to watch you. His cock was overwhelming, but you were determined to earn the pleasure he would surely bring; mouthing around his cockhead, using one hand to pump what didn't fit, the other alternating between holding his hairy thigh for balance and cradling his balls.

A few times, you held his eyes with yours as you removed his cock with a pop; licking his shaft up and down like it was a popsicle on the Fourth of July. His jaw would clench each time, sputtering his breath. His veins were pulsing, prominent under the skin; making your cunt contract as his throat bobbed as he swallowed harshly, groaning.

"Li'l too good at this, baby, Goddamn," he breathed, chuckling to himself as he retracted his hips while holding your jaw. "All right, all right," he chuckled, "made your point, love. Get up here 'fore I lose my bloody mind."

You pouted, "I quiet like it down here."

"Darlin', I'm about to bust - "

"Isn't that the point?"

He chuckled and reached down to help you up, instantly searing you in a wet, messy kiss as he backed you into the sink counter; tasting himself on your tongue. It was erotic, something you were vastly not used to - no man ever being okay with you kissing them after having their dicks in your mouth.

But no, this Tangerine fellow was obviously built different.

One hand anchored your waist, the other dropping to toy with your panties gently; petting the waistband before sinking his hand lower. You shuddered lightly when his finger swept through your wet folds, both groaning in pleasure when he sunk knuckle-deep. "Feels so good, love," he praised, your legs widening your stance to let him better access; hand fully disappeared into your panties. "So fuckin' warm, yeah," he breathed, increasing his speed so he pumped aggressively. He didn't need a second finger, he was chasing your orgasm - purely focused on the way you withered before him.

"Tan," you whimpered, gripping his assaulting arm as he found your g-spot and chuckled darkly.

"Got it, there, did I? Yeah, let's see what you've got, love, c'mon."

You whined in your throat, leaning into his chest as your legs began to quake. You didn't get a chance to warn him, feeling that overwhelming urge to urinate - gasping loudly and needing him to support your body as his finger jabbed your g-spot to the point you were gushing into his hand.

"Oh, fuck yeah," he encouraged, stimulating you further; loving the feeling of your squirt in his cupped hand, "keep goin', good girl, that's it, yeah? I got yah, good girl, there you go."

You grunted when he slowed his hand to the point the heel of his palm ground into your clit. Feeling overstimulated, your hand slapped to his meaty forearm, meeting his eyes with a glare, begging, "Okay, okay, okay, you made your fuckin' point."

He grinned, "Didn't know I had that affect on you, love. Huh?"

"You could've offered to fuck me when I ran into you earlier and I would've bent over - right there and then," you whispered against his lips, licking into his mouth right after; making his own mind go blank.

"Feelin's mutual, doll," he nodded, using both hands to shred your lace panties from your hips with a shrill gasp. "Keepsake," he teased, showing you the ruined fabric before dropping it.

You offered him a coy look before turning around for him, not needing the instruction; meeting his stare in the mirror. Bracing yourself against the sink, you slumped over it, making him groan.

"Fuck, doll," he whispered, admiring the view and smoothing a hand over one bare cheek. "Just look at yah, ready fa' me, just drippin'," he bit his lip, giving a few pumps to his length as he looked you over; other hand toying with your weeping hole. He growled and slid his cockhead up and down your slit, both shuddering lightly; moaning in union when he notched himself at your entrance. His eyes met yours in the mirror, his mouth parted, slowly sinking forward to the fucking hilt - making you feel impossibly full.

"Oh, Jesus fuck!"

He chuckled, shifting his hips, "Keep it down, love, don't need anyone bangin' on the door, interrupting us, huh?"

"I'll be quiet when you get a smaller dick."

This made Tangerine genuinely snicker, "Fair enough."

"Fuck's sake!" You yelped when he suddenly pulled back, surged in, and started his own rhythm. Through the mirror, you saw the concentrated, cocky expression he wore; looking purely focused, mesmerized by the way his cock would disappear within you, only to reappeared - soaking wet, glistening.

"Feel's divine," he hissed, the grip on your hips sure to leave bruises. "God, this pussy's made fa me - grippin' s'fuckin' tight. Who was the idiot who let this go, huh?"

"Really wanna talk about my ex now?" You panted.

"Nah, don't need to - 's mine now," he grit, one hand letting go of your hips to bring down on the meat of your bottom. "Hear me? Huh? Fuckin' mine now," he pommeled your arse a couple more times. "Like that, huh? Don't you? Feel you fuckin' squeezin' me each time."

"Yes," you moaned. "Fuck, yes, yes, God, you feel fucking amazing."

"Keep talkin'," another slap that made you squeak.

You were nervous 'cause you never considered yourself the best at dirty talk, but still tried, "So fuckin' good, makin' me so wet. Fuck - never had cock like this, so good - so deep, so big. Don't stop," you whimpered, his feet repositioning to allow himself a new angle and speed to drill into you. "Fuck, yes," you moaned loudly, encouraging, "harder, please, yes, yes, yes! Just like that!"

The motions cause ripples across the flesh of your bottom, thighs quaking. You pushed your hand down your front, your partner groaning at the sight as you found your clit and started massaging; the contractions squeezing Tangerine's cock tightly. His one hand traveled around the front of you, sliding up to yank your bra from your breasts; palming one with fever before tweaking your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger.

"Fuuuuck, Tan," you whined, moaning. "Don't stop, please, 's too fuckin' good!"

"I've got yah, darlin', almost there," he grunted, folded a little more over your back so he could fondle you roughly. "Naughty fuckin' girl, lettin' me bend yah over like this - don't even know me. Just knew you needed my cock, huh, love? Ain't that right?"

"Yes," you moaned, orgasm fast approaching.

"Probably let me do whatever I wanted t'you, huh?"

"Fuck yes, whatever you wanted, however you wanted me!"

"At's a good girl," he grit. "Takin' me so well, so fucking good. Need this pussy again, hear me? Fuck," he panted, increasing his speed to an erratic pace, "need a taste, need yah t'squirt on me again. Need this pussy in all positions." He bared his teeth, increasing his speed, hissing, "Lemme hear you scream, love. Wanna hear my name. from that pretty fuckin' mouth, c'mon."

"T-Tan, fuck, Tangerine, I-I'm right there, I'm so close - OH FUCK!" Your orgasm made you reel back into his chest, milking yourself on his impaling cock. You gasped, mouth left wide as his hand constricted around your throat, his mouth hot against your ear; biting and licking as he grunted forcefully.

He gasped in your ear, moaning your name on a short repeat, shuddering as he stilled himself; coating your wet interior with his thick ropes of hot, heavy cum. Your eyes were closed, head tilted back to his shoulder; his lips actually soft as he planted several kisses along your neck (that he released) and shoulder. "Holy fuck, doll," he whispered, chuckling in disbelief. "'S a li'l too good."

You smirked, "Yeah, I've heard that before, you're not the first t'tell me."

"Ah, way t'ruin it, doll," he joked, making you chuckle breathlessly. "All right?"

"Mhm," you sighed, eyes opening. "You?"

"Never better," he mused softly, sighing as you both tried to regain your breath. He let out a single grunt as he held your hips, pulling his cock free; releasing a gush of cum from you both to drip from your cunt. As you both redressed, he eyed you for a moment, then mentioned, "Listen, love, uh... Don't miss your stop."

"I wasn't planning on it?"

"Good... Just..." He sighed, closing up his shirt. "Make sure you get off this train."

You stared at him for a moment, pondering, "This have something t'do with that 'dangerous job' of yours?"

"A bit."

You hummed, zipping your jeans back up sans panties. "Why don't you get off, too?" You asked softly.

"Can't, darlin', got a job t'finish."

You nodded, "Then be careful, yeah?"

He nodded in return, reaching out to pull you in close. He took a second to look you over, smirking slightly, "Worried about me, are yah?"

"I don't even know you."

"We'll change that," he eased. "Your phone?" You offered a small look before sighing, reaching for your phone, unlocking it, and offering it to him. He typed for a moment, a distant buzz heard from his own phone, then handed it back to you. "I'll call you up sometime, love," he smirked, watching you reach back to unlock the door.

"You better," you mused, letting him press one more searing kiss to your lips. You hummed, pouting slightly and telling him, "Behave, or we'll go at round two."

"Don't threaten me with a good time, darlin'," he pocketed your shredded panties with a cheeky grin.

"You still owe me for those," you pointed.

"Send a bill, I'll make it up t'yah."

You smirked, "No bill, but I'd take dinner."

To your honest shock, a sort of... Contemplating, soft expression took over his face, nodding, promising quietly, "I'll call yah, darlin'. Just make sure you answer."

[ part two: Shower Shenanigans ]

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

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were-changing-cake-vaults · 3 months

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Etho cannot deny that in some way, the ocean is messing with his friends, and that he noticed far too late.

It targets Gem first, long before it goes after anyone else, so subtly it’s almost undetectable. Here’s the way he notices: her little boat is cute, but the mangrove wood on the trim seems old and rotten in some places, murky river water staining the paint that coats the sides. The lighthouse, when built, seems washed out, as if the color has been sucked from the stone that forms it. Etho finds this strange, but refuses to jump to conclusions- Gem is still his little sibling with the same warm smile, so he lets it be for now.

It’s really when the fishing craze begins where Etho starts having doubts about the normalcy of things. Grian is in no way an average person most of the time, but this level of dedication is new and sort of suspicious. It starts with the mending book, which is fine, since he’s decided to avoid villager trading this season. Etho comes over sometimes and jokes about the luck of the sea. Here is where it gets weird, though: when he comes over to make that joke again, Grian turns his head, oh so slowly, expression serious and eyes blank as he replies.

“The ocean will provide the book. It’s the next one, I know it.”

It takes a little more effort than it should for Etho to not turn tail and run. The tambre of his friend’s voice is off-kilter and strange, almost hollow in the way it echoes. And it’s the way he doesn’t say mending, he just says the book- Etho can’t help but feel like he isn’t fishing for enchantments anymore. The air smells of rot and slime. He swallows bile, gives a little uh-huh as a reply, and leaves as soon as he can.

Then there’s Pearl and Beef, obsessed with salmon, of all things. Pearl’s thing seems like a one-off, but Doc tells him that Beef has taken the joke about “big salmon” a little too far, claiming he’s gotten emails from them that have threatened the goat directly. Etho doesn’t really know what to make of that, or Pearl’s salmon head, or the continuous slapping of fish on noteblocks that’s driving him insane.

But he knows this: he’s never really liked fishing before, not for its intended use, anyway. It’s good to have in a death game, but not once has Etho found the monotonous motions of fishing appealing. Grian said it best himself: he used to think fishing was lame. And he did. Does. He thinks it’s lame. He thinks all of this stuff about the river and the boats and the ocean and the salmon and the rot is all really weird and not at all cool. He’s only here to make sure his friends are okay. Not to fish, because he doesn’t want to, just to keep Magic Mountain in line.

But Grian says it again: Etho walked up here and was like ‘this is lame’, now look at him! Etho, in turn, looks at his hands. When did he start fishing? Was the sun always that high in the sky? Did the ocean always sing like that? Was there always a magnetic force to the waves at the shore, pulling him closer with every lap of sea foam? Was the lighthouse always this beautiful?

No, no it wasn’t. He knows this. Something is very, very wrong. There’s something in the water that’s making his friends lose it, and there’s something supernatural that’s trying to pull him in. He needs to get out of here, back to the jungle, with its nice green grass and earthy smells-

To his right, Etho hears his death call. The bell rings, the swan sings, and the water keeps lapping at his feet. It’s too late, he knows it, in the way that his hands are gripping the fishing pole with white knuckles, in the way the lilypads seem to grow under his feet to get him closer to the great deep blue. The music continues, the serenade settling into his bones, giving him an eerie sense of calm.

In the magnetic pull of the moment, he doesn’t even realize he’s crying.

#woosh writes #hermitcraft #ethoslab #grian #geminitay #oceans calling au #<- that’s the tag I’m using for this- l will edit the other fics tag to have this later #anyways I’m So Fucking Normal about this

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cherryxblossxms · 2 months

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🔞 Riding Buggy but he's so fucking loud, wailing and whining and moaning like some kind of broken siren. Half of it is moans, and the other half is broken babbling telling you to keep going, how good you feel around his dick, how close he is to bursting, how he wishes he could just fuck you like this every day instead of pillaging. As he gets closer to cumming, his volume only gets worse, his grunts and moans making a filthy symphony with the rocking of the bed and the wet sound of bouncing on his dick.

You can feel the way he's rock hard inside you, his hands gripping your hips so tightly that you know you'll be bruised tomorrow, and the way his eyes are starting to roll back tells you he's close. No doubt he's going to scream his head off when he cums, and as much as you know he's the captain and the crew would never bring up his... activities to his face, you also prefer not to be the subject of hot gossip for the next few weeks. Just as you're feeling close as well, your position makes it easy to slap a hand down across his mouth, immediately muffling his wanton sounds.

Whether it's just your timing or the fact Buggy loves it when you force him to be quiet, he's quick to cum right after, practically exploding inside you. Just the feel of his hot seed and the thought of him emptying his balls in you sets off your own climax, your bounces stuttering as your body clamps down on him, quickly settling into grinding your hips instead to ride out your climax. Even muffled, the pitch of his whines reaches a new level, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he feels you milk him, moving into overstimulation faster than usual, but he'd rather kill someone than pull out of your heat just yet.

The silence afterward is almost deafening, now only filled with the sounds of heavy breathing as you both struggled to catch your breath, his mouth now freed of your hand. Neither of you are willing to move just yet, limbs limp and his cock still plugging you up, though the sweat is making you stick to each other. The desire to just stay like this for hours is tempting, hopeful that your captain's noisy tendencies didn't make it outside his room, but a soft knock on Buggy's cabin door puts an end to that thought.

"Uh, Captain? Sorry for... i-interruptin', but there's something we need you for," a timid, clearly scandalized voice says through the wood.

All Buggy can do is give you a sheepish look, his cheeks turning a ruddy color much like his nose. You were going to have to invest in some much more effective soundproofing measures...

#buggy x reader #buggy the clown #buggy one piece #one piece smut #buggy smut #buggy thirsts

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the-whispers-of-death · 2 months

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Home Again

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Most gods would be happy that they were back in the paradise realm after previously being banished and stripped of their divinity, but Fallen God!Ghost aches for you.

His nights are spent dreaming about you, the mortal who showed him what love was. He dreamt of sleeping beside you, kissing you, even cooking with you. He dreamt of your beautiful hair, your breathtaking eyes, your jaw-dropping smile. His dreams were filled with memories of your laughter, your smooth and lyrical voice.

Paradise realm is a paradise, sure, but nothing could compare to you. Your beauty outshines the paradise realm's, your presence calms Ghost in a way the paradise realm can never. The air was always lighter when he was around you, the colors of the world always brighter. You are his light, his world, and everything is dull without you.

He spends week after week searching for how to get back to the mortal realm and back to you. His power is potent, he can just teleport himself down to the mortal realm to see you but that doesn't seem like a satisfying answer to him.

Ghost would eventually have to leave you and go back to the paradise realm, forced to be able to only visit you from time to time. He didn't want that, he can't bear the thought of leaving you. Of sleeping in his own bed, alone.

He also couldn't make you a concubine of his, bring you to the paradise realm. It didn't feel right for him to ask you to leave everything you knew behind just so you could spend hours alone in his temple while he worked. You deserve better than that.

So what else was there to do?

It takes Ghost a few days to realize what he must do. What he has to do in order to see you again.

He is standing in God!Price's temple, all of the deities summoned there for the monthly update of what the pantheon has been doing since they last convened. He can barely hear what the others are saying, it being meaningless as his mind finally reaches an answer to his burning question.

"I'm stripping myself of my godhood and powers, permanently," Ghost says, interrupting the conversation.

The entire temple is silenced at once, everyone turning their heads to stare at Ghost in disbelief.

A god deliberating turning himself mortal? That was unheard of. It was absurd to even those deities who loved the mortals so much.

Price frowns, clearly thinking Ghost has gone mad. "Now, Ghost, let's think about this," he says, his words slow and carefully curated. "You can't just abandon your godly duties, you're the God of Warfare. If there's one thing that the mortals do the most, it's engaging in war."

Ghost scoffs. "My duties can easily be done by our Goddess of War," he replies, gesturing with his hand towards said goddess. "I no longer want to be a god."

His words ignite a flurry of murmurs between the other deities, all of them shocked beyond disbelief. They don't understand why he wouldn't want to be a god, especially after centuries of hearing him look down on mortals.

"Is this because of the mortal you met during your banishment, {Name}?" Price asks, peeved now. "I hadn't thrown you down to them for you to fall in love with them, Ghost."

"No, you did it so I could learn the importance of mortals and I have," Ghost cuts in, his power flaring up as his anger spikes. This isn't up for debate. "I'm doing this no matter what any of you say, I was doing a courteous thing by giving you all a heads-up."

Price shifts in the seat of his throne, itching to get up and slap some sense into Ghost. "Enough of this, Ghost. You don't even know if they will take you if you're not a god. Perhaps that was the only reason they fell in love with you in the first place."

Ghost snarls in rage at the accusation and assassination of your character. "Even if that's the case, which I doubt it is, it is my choice. I'd rather spend the rest of my mortal life heartbroken if they turn me away than spend eternity aching for them," he says defiantly.

Immense power fills the temple, all of it Ghost's as he pools it all in his veins. Stripping himself of his godhood and powers is excruciating, the pain almost enough to stop him, but he keeps pressing on with the action.

It was worth it, for you.

"Someone stop him!" Price bellows at the other deities, but it's too late.

Just as God!Soap reaches for Ghost to try and stop him, Ghost's godhood and powers are stripped from him, his last act of being a god is to send his mortal form where it needs to be: at your doorstep.

His second fall seems euphoric, a laugh bubbling up in his chest as he falls through the clouds and lands on your front porch just like he had done months ago.

He looks to the side just as you open your front door, a smile gracing his lips at the sight of you. The weight on his chest is lifted, everything falling into place once more.

"Ghost?" You ask, surprised. You had thought you would never see him again. "Did... Did you get your godhood taken away again?"

Ghost stands with your help, his skin thrumming at the sensation of your hands on him again. "I took it away myself," he murmurs, breathless as he stares in your beautiful eyes.

Your face twists into confusion, which makes sense since he had been itching to be a god again the first time he fell. "Why?"

"For you, love. I couldn't bear to live eternity without you," Ghost says, secretly nervous that you won't take him now that he's not a god. "I love you, {Name}."

"I love you too," you reply, making him relax. You step closer, happy that this isn't a dream. "I don't care that you're not a god anymore, I only ever wanted you."

"You will always have me, for as long as you will have me."

Ghost steps closer as well, reaching up to gently cradle your face between his hands. He can't wait for you to lean in as well, though you do so as he gently presses his lips against yours.

The kiss can only be described as heavenly, all of the noises of city life fading away until there was only the sound of you two kissing. It's so gentle and slow, Ghost savoring what it's like to kiss you. He pours every ounce of love into the kiss, needing you to be filled with his love.

It feels like you are kissing for hours before you both pull away for air. Your soft pants fill the air between you two, you smiling at him.

"Come on," you say, gently grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers together. "Let's go inside and have dinner together."

Ghost nods and follows you inside the house that truly feels like home now. He lets you lead him into the kitchen, not even complaining about having to cook with you.

He had been a fallen god when he had first met you but now, he was neither fallen nor a god. He was just Ghost. A man you loved.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

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agaypanic · 5 months

Note

can u write a chase davenport x baddie like everyone knows she’s fine asf and has no clue why she’s dating him and he’s just super lovey and fluffy

Chase Davenport Dating a Baddie Headcanons

Masterlist

Request Something!

A/N: a bit suggestive in one part but that’s it

***

Everyone’s surprised that he pulled someone, period

But seeing that he pulled you specifically?

They act like this is earth-shattering news

Lowkey thought that it was a prank or that he was paying you

“So, Chase, when are we gonna meet this girlfriend of yours?” Leo asked as he and the bionic trio entered the school. To be honest, they half thought Chase was joking when he told them he was in a relationship, but wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Uh… Oh! Seems like right now.” Chase left his siblings to go to his locker, where you were waiting for him. He grabbed you by the waist and pulled you close to him.

“Oh my gosh, she’s gonna slap him,” Adam said as you raised a hand to Chase’s face. But to everyone’s surprise, you used the hand to pull his face to yours and kiss him.

Adam, Bree, and Leo slowly approached you and Chase, clearly shocked. When you pulled away, you noticed them and gave a wave.

“Hey.”

“This can’t be real.”

Chase is absolutely smitten with you

Follows you around like a puppy

He just wants to do anything that’ll make you happy

“Chase, you don’t have to carry my bags.” You tell him, but you still let him take the bag of things you just bought from your hand. Watching his muscles flex as he grips the multiple bags is definitely a plus.

“I want to.” He shrugs, jutting out his elbow to signal you to take it, which you happily do.

The two of you go through the mall, occasionally popping into another store. Before getting to the food court, you stopped in front of Victoria’s Secret. Getting an idea, you bite your lip to stop from grinning and turn to look at Chase.

“You know Build-A-Bear?”

“Yeah.” Chase nodded, soon perking up. “Oh my gosh, we should go and make mini us’s.” You couldn’t help but smile at the idea and his excitement.

“I was thinking something similar to that.” You say, looking at the store, yourself, and then back to Chase. “More of a… real-life Build-A-Bear.”

Despite being a genius, it took Chase a minute to realize what you were insinuating. But when he did, he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Really?” He asked. You nodded, and the next thing you knew, Chase was running into the store with the excitement of a child.

Before you left the mall, you did end up going to the real Build-A-Bear.

If you like getting your nails done, he insists on paying

When you let him pick the color, he gets all giggly

Almost always chooses blue tbh

When he chooses the color, you ask for his initial on one of your fingers to surprise him

“Hey!” Chase greeted you as he entered the salon. Whenever he dropped you off, he’d always pick something up for you after your appointment and would come back right when you were finished.

You met him at the counter, where he gave your nail tech his card before looking at the hand you were holding up for him. He held your hand, smiling as he looked at the nails.

“You got my initial.” He softly cooed, thumb brushing over the white ‘C’ on your ring finger. “So pretty.”

You blushed as he kissed your knuckles, taking his card back before leading you out of the salon by your now interlocked hands. Even though Chase had treated you like this since the beginning of your relationship, and you should’ve been used to it, he never failed to turn you into a giggly, bashful mess.

“I got your favorite,” Chase said when you got in the car, handing you the bag of food. You took a bite, moaning at how delicious it was.

“Ugh, I love you.” You said, grabbing his face with a freshly manicured hand and kissing him. He gently latched onto your wrist, thumb rubbing over the joint.

“I love you too.” He said, stealing another kiss before reaching over to steal some of your food.

#agaypanic #chase davenport x reader #chase davenport #chase davenport headcanons #chase davenport x reader headcanons #lab rats x reader #lab rats

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anantaru · 1 year

Note

How about jealous reader with kuni?

cw. [ex]plicit, jealous! reader, established relationship, fem! reader

kuni was as pretty as a drawing— or a picture made by the most finest camera of fontaine. beautiful, bewitching, pretty— there were many ways to accurately describe your boyfriend‘s alluring demeanor.

but in your own very eyes, they still did not do him any justice.

consequently, you, in all respects, did not mind the eye twitching chit chatters behind your back you oh so happen to catch onto every once in a while— how, another clique of people you only knew distantly, would slowly walk past your boyfriend and afterwards gush about his darling face and his beauteous traits.

his lustrous eyes and the color— which was hypnotizing in its own rights, reminding them of how he‘s idly behaving and how damn strong he was said to be according to the other rapidly growing news chumming about the mysterious man wandering around sumeru city.

but, snap out of it, not to lose sight of the fact that in actuality he was all yours— yours, yours and yours. but for some annoying, irksome ground you wanted to show him, as if he wasn't already aware of it— even though scaramouche knew and did not require you to prove nor demonstrate anything of that sorts to his person.

thus far, you kept it to yourself— that brewing, gut-wrenching feeling manifesting in your belly and littering into your bones, remained concealing by yourself until it all shattered right into your face.

now, you hover over him, saddened with your mind everywhere but where it should be— clumsily glissading your hands over his pale chest before raking your head down. you think he notices that something wasn't right but you hope he doesn't after all.

at your own pacing, you ghost over his jawline before placing your lips on top of his, for once sealing the insufferable distance between your bodies and stealing a couple kisses from your lover.

"i hate it." you admit against your own volition, it's almost as if something metaphysical forced you to say it out loud, though you're moaning into his mouth as he skillfully bottomed his hips deeper into you, erratically slapping his erection into your worn out hole.

"i hate it when they talk about you!" but then, it hits him and scaramouche opens his eyes at your baffling words— which had also been confusing him greatly as he carefully reduced the flow on his hips to pull your face off his, observing your with sorrow drenched expression.

"ah— wait!" even with him trying to decipher what was going on with you, he catches himself flinching into your lips again when you jerk your cunt into his length, walls twitching experimentally, like a second pulls enclosing his throbbing cock.

"who— fucking who talks about me?!"

breathing slowed, you pout at him, unintentionally reliving the innumerable days you had witnessed people attempting to get with him, with scaramouche; your boyfriend, soulmate, your life.

it was sad— but more embarrassing if you were actually truthful to yourself, that you let someone so insignificant as a random person‘s words influence you this much that you‘re still thinking about it even while your boyfriend was in the midst of fucking the broad daylight out of your skull.

"those girls." you sniff, messily shoving away the crystallines sticking onto your doused lashes with the back of your hand. but before you can catch a breather from your own damned psyche, scaramouche curls your body close to him, your hips now muted— though his cock would rest and skim into the cavernous pits in your pussy, but mellowing down your rise and falls.

"they always talk about you." you hiccup again, kissing his lips once, twice— one more, trying to hide the fact that you were tremendously jealous right now, of everything and all, it's not even 'just' those people, you began to doubt yourself and if anything, that's what worsened the whole setting.

scaramouche‘s face was ridden with confusion still but he did not say anything right away— right now, he thinks the most important was you, as always— to aid you, to kiss and drink your tears away and keep you warm, plugged into his chest.

genuinely, he had no clue who or what you were talking about, but if he learned one thing from being in a relationship with you; it’s that whatever is happening in either of your lives, you're battling it together, as one entity.

yet still, did you already forget that he‘s absolutely in love with you? or lets rephrase that, shall we? scaramouche was obsessed with you, downright and shamelessly crazy about you. that you‘re the only person that crosses his mind hour on hour, night on night?

he opens his eyes, he sees you, he closes them, he sees you.

"i don‘t care." he spoke upfront to be certain to get his point across.

yet scaramouche needed to show his disinterest in more ways than a simple sentence— in an immediate chain of reactions, he was flaunting you on your back so he‘d be the one to tower over your pretty frame.

you're his, you're his and his, he thinks about it, knows it and wants to imprint it into your insides and out.

"i don‘t care about anyone." he drawls back, using his skilled tongue to plant a wet line on your collarbones before shutting down your worries by a swift hurdle of his hips in you, bringing one of your legs over his shoulder as you tremble under him by how good of a position he had you in, how almost feral, he uncontrollably claimed your sopping cunt with the relentless tempo on his hips.

"i only care about you." he smacks his cock forward again and again, "you, you, you." and he muses in tune with each thrust— fuck, again and he wants to make you cum so badly his cock was beginning to ache, then twitch in you, from both excitement and the pinpointed drags of his heavy cock rubbing over your inflamed insides.

"so stop thinking about it, hm?"

with the impact now being significantly larger, your breasts bounced in keeping with his newfound, reckless energy— and you cry out his name with a sweet, satisfied smile on your lips.

#scaramouche smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #scaramouche x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x you #genshin drabbles #genshin impact drabbles #genshin impact scaramouche smut #genshin impact scaramouche x reader #wanderer smut #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader smut #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #𖤣𖤥𖠿𖤣𖤥 thirsts'

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aerkame · 1 year

Text

Just a silly thought...and more

Just a silly little thought I had on Wally headcanons while I was trying to take a nap. EDIT: This turned into a short fanfiction, I will now have to make this a full one, there's too much potential.

So like Wally comes off as super out of it when it comes to our world almost. Like he's never been outside of the show, he's so used to being in Welcome Home with all his friends. Wally also seems like he's the only one truly sentient of himself within the show and the outside world.

He also seems pretty smug, or some other version of him does, No doubt Wally's ego has to be through the roof with being the center of attention all the time. Not only that, but he gets to spend all day with each and every one of his friends!

I'd imagine that if one day some poor unfortunate reader just accidentally brings home all of the puppets thinking they're ordinary puppets and wakes up early in the morning to these very odd and colorful strangers in their house. Like the puppets just came to life looking like their cartoon versions of themselves and also became life-sized, even some of the shorter characters just tower over you easily, and Barnaby can hardly fit through any of the doors!

Wally is sitting at the edge of your bed staring at you with Barnaby sleeping against his legs, Frank is looking at your shelves reading through books, sketchbooks, etc, Sally being more interested in the sketchbooks, Julie found some workout equipment and is playing with a jump rope, both Poppy and Howdy are rummaging through the kitchen, already antsy about needing to make stuff, Eddie is pretty interested in your printer, and you're sitting up in bed getting ready to scream bloody murder.

You don't scream though, but you're ready to. You can't tell if you're dreaming or not. Dreams are usually a pretty trippy falling feeling right? This feels real though. Where's that weird falling feeling you get when dreaming? Why are you able to think so clearly? Your brows furrow in deep thought.

Wally just sits there smugly smiling at you, leaning forward to give you a hello, he's so tall you feel like a small child compared to him. "Hello, I'm sorry that we had to meet like this, I hope you don't mind." His voice sounds soothing, monotone, and deep, and he isn't blinking. Instinctively, you slap your hand on his face and keep it there, feeling his expression scrunch up in confusion.

Nope, not a dream.

He gently takes your hand in his and removes you from his face, a small red area showing up where you slapped him.

It took about an hour of talking you down from being freaked out for Wally and the others to introduce themselves. They had sooo many questions of course. Like "What is this thing that makes colored paper come out?", "Why do you have these heavy thingies?" Sally holds up a 50lbs dumbbell with one hand like it's nothing, or "Why aren't you more colorful like us? Ooo can we cover you in paint?"

Needless to say you also had a lot of questions too, none of them were really answered though as all of the colorful characters were busy inspecting your house or were preoccupied with asking you about all sorts of items, they were like little kids. Wally was the only one that seemed to be the more mature one here though, it felt off, like he already knew you or like he was used to this.

At dinner, you went ahead and made food for everyone while also showing Poppy how you cook in this world. You noticed Wally didn't touch anything but the food simply disappeared right before your eyes, leaving you slack-jawed and speechless. "Oh don't worry, that's just how he eats!" Sally waved off your concern. This was starting to freak you out a bit.

After dinner you did your best to find places in the house for everyone to sleep until Wally suggested they all just sleep in your room like one big sleepover...something told you that he just wanted an excuse to be closer to you or to be able to keep a close watch though. Que you being squished in between these giant softies like a kid hiding in a giant pillow fort. Barnaby did make for a comfortable pillow though, and Poppy's feathers were so soft...and..and..you dozed off, not taking notice of Wally's staring eyes.

Sure, Wally has his friends to keep him company, and Welcome Home is such a cheery and colorful world! But it's missing just one thing. You.

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coconutcordiale · 2 years

Text

do not disturb

pairing- jake 'hangman' seresin x female!reader (no use of y/n)

synopsis-

“It’s one hundred degrees in this room,” Hangman defends himself. “I can’t sleep in pants, I’ll die.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, considering just sleeping in the hallway yourself and ending this torture. “Is your penchant for drama genetic? Are your sisters like this too?”

warnings- 18+ only minors DNI, what's a plot never met her, explicit protected piv sex, lil corruption/innocence kink, choking (pls look up the correct way before doing it), hangman's dirty mouth, size kink (if jake doesn't have a big dick I'm staging a revolt), brat tamer hangman if you squint, inexperienced ish reader (tried but I'm a hoe so idk if I managed it), no kink negotiation here (talk to your partners first irl), safewords not explicitly stated but I promise this is consensual af, excessive pet names, exasperated sleepy friends to lovers

length- 4k this was supposed to be like 1k I don't know blame hangman

an- this is just smut w lil fluff sprinkles. i'm a hangman girl (read: I'm obsessed with glen powell) so I felt some type of way about being mean to him in tailspin & that's why this now exists. also idfk what this even is sorry! hope it's not terrible ok ily bye

Technically, it’s the middle of the night.

That’s why you’re burying homicidal urges when you hear knocking on your hotel room door.

Urges that increase tenfold when you open it to see Jake Seresin, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly in an old Navy shirt that looks way too soft for your sleep addled brain to deal with right now.

“Hangman,” you greet drily. “Why the fuck.”

Rubbing sleep from your eyes, you’re not unhappy to see him, per se, but it’s well past acceptable social hours. He’ll have to forgive your less than enthusiastic welcome. Part of you thinks you might still be sleeping.

He at least has the decency to look sheepish for waking you up. Well, about as sheepish as Hangman is capable of looking. “Coyote said he was bringing someone back to our room. Can I crash with you tonight? Everyone else is either hooking up or dead asleep.”

Fucking weddings.

You narrow your eyes. “What if I have someone here?”

He smirks and you kind of want to slap him.

A testament to your willpower, you sigh instead, briefly wondering if it’s really that bad to force him to sleep in the hallway, before opening the door and stepping to the side.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he drawls, letting you feel the heat of his body as he passes by you, just a touch too close for comfort.

“Cool pjs.” He smirks again, raking his eyes up and down your colorful matching shorts and shirt set.

“Bite me.”

Hangman smiles good-naturedly causing you to idly wonder if anything has ever bothered him in his entire life.

“You’re real cute when you’re tired,” he says instead of being offended and now you’re debating if you actually should slap him, or maybe yourself for the way his compliment brings heat to your cheeks.

“Where’s Phoenix? Thought you were sharing a room with her this weekend.”

Your stomach drops as you consider that Phoenix might be why he came to crash in your room, and you try not to make a face at its betrayal.

“She’s probably in your room with Coyote,” you deadpan to cover up your discomfort, and then relish in the way his mouth drops open in surprise. “Christ, aren’t you supposed to be smart, Hangman? I’m kidding, she met someone at the reception.”

You know you’re being a little more abrasive with him than normal, but you can’t quite help the jabs that come out when you’re feeling uneasy.

And Hangman does nothing, if not make you very, very uneasy. Especially like this, with his blonde hair soft and flopping all over his forehead, that old t-shirt clearly having been shrunk in the wash over the years straining across his chest, riding up a little high above his sweatpants.

The gears are clearly turning in his head, no doubt forming something witty to gain back the slight upper hand you’ve gained in this verbal sparring.

You should be preparing yourself for whatever he’s about to say that’s sure to make you lose your footing. But he looks like a goddamn sleepwear model like this, mellow and soft and cuddly, eyes drooping a little from tiredness and the whiskey he was sipping on all night, clothes begging to have someone’s hands fisted in them and…okay. Stopping that train of thought right the fuck now.

Nothing but danger lies down that road with a girl like you and a guy like Hangman.

You’re contemplating if you could get away with taking a cold shower when he finally looks around your room, its distinct lack of two beds apparently killing whatever comeback he had on the tip of his tongue.

“I can sleep on the floor.” He’s rubbing the back of his neck again and his uncharacteristic awkwardness is starting to make your skin itch.

Message received, Hangman. We both know I’m not your type.

You’ve seen the girls he usually goes home with. Even if every single one of them wasn’t annoyingly beautiful, you already know where you stand with him. For all intents and purposes, you’re just another one of the guys. Sure, you don’t take a different conquest home every other night like the rest of them, but you banter and compete with them like buddies.

And since you and Hangman are just buddies, you roll your eyes for appearances. “Just get in the bed, Seresin. It’s huge, I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor.”

He shrugs, like he’s giving himself credit for his half-assed offer and goes to pull his sweatpants off. You give him a withering look of disbelief, studiously avoiding looking at the way his boxers stretch over his muscular thighs.

“It’s one hundred degrees in this room,” Hangman defends himself. “I can’t sleep in pants, I’ll die.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, considering just sleeping in the hallway yourself and ending this torture. “Is your penchant for drama genetic? Are your sisters like this too?”

He just gives you a dazzling smile in response, and you spin away from him before everything inside you melts.

Turning the thermostat down, you shoot an evident you’re welcome stare in his direction, but his sweatpants remain in their place on the floor. He’s laid out on the bed, all tanned skin and muscle, arms crossed behind his head in a way that’s surely meant to draw your attention straight to his biceps.

Deep breath, you tell yourself. You can do this, just lay down on the other side and don’t be weird.

You get in and pull the covers tight, hoping the shiver that runs through you as the air conditioning kicks on isn’t noticeable.

“And I’m dramatic,” Jake huffs, getting under the blanket and rolling closer to you. You tense, merely out of reflex and a frown creases his eyebrows almost imperceptibly before he gets comfortable on his side, pulls you into his arms. “Relax, sugar. Just trying to keep you warm, since you’re always so cold. Been told I’m like a furnace.”

By who? You want to snap at him, but instead you swallow the words and lean into his chest. He really is warm.

“Would never do anything you don’t want me to,” he mumbles, but there’s a trace of a chuckle in his voice that feels like he’s making fun of you.

Mocking aside, that's definitely true.

You'd never expect him to do any of the things you want him to, either. There's a reason your apprehension stems from you crossing some sort of invisible line with him in your bed and not vice versa.

"I know," you whisper, not trusting yourself to say much else without divulging all the thoughts about him you've buried deep under your comforter at home.

“How come you didn’t ask anyone else to come up and keep you warm?” Jake teases, after a few moments of silence where you were busy focusing on the whirr of the air conditioner and trying to ignore your pounding heart.

You squint, still kind of wondering if he can feel your pulse racing.

“The curly haired guy, from the wedding,” he supplies helpfully to answer your confused expression.

Oh. You’re surprised Jake noticed you talking to him at all. “It’s not like I wanted to sleep with him. We were just chatting.”

“Well, he definitely wanted to.” You’d love to imagine there’s a hint of bitterness in his tone, but you know that’s just wishful thinking.

“That’s not really my thing,” you say quietly, as if he doesn’t already know. He knew enough to know you wouldn’t have anyone up here with you, after all.

It’s so much easier, laying here in the dark, not having to meet his beautiful green eyes, to be honest. All your jabs having melted into smooth, silky edges at the warmth of his body.

There’s a playful lilt to Jake’s voice again. “Sex?”

You smack him lightly on the chest. “One-night stands. I can never get comfortable enough with a stranger to have a good time, things are just better for me when it’s more involved.”

When there’s feelings, you don’t say, because you’re pretty sure he can put two and two together without you having to spell it out.

You still kind of wish you hadn’t said anything, are kicking yourself for admitting that out loud when he cuts through the anxiety of your internal monologue.

“Nothing wrong with knowing what you want, darlin’.”

“It sucks sometimes,” you admit. “It can be a little lonely.”

“Better than being with the wrong person if it’s just going to make you feel bad.”

Part of you wants to roll your eyes and scoff at him, as if Casanova Jake Seresin has any idea what that feels like, but he’s rubbing small, comforting circles in between your shoulder blades and it’s short-circuiting your brain. You find yourself running your fingers up his spine instead, playing with the soft threads of his t-shirt like you’ve wanted to since the moment you saw him at your door tonight.

“Feels nice,” he comments, pulling you in closer.

Spurred on by his praise you keep going, wandering down his back to where his shirt rides up. You look down and see that little strip of blonde hair that disappears into the waistband of his boxers, slung low enough that you can see that stupid Adonis belt on his abs. Your hand moves to the front of him of its own accord, tracing the ridges there, brushing dangerously close to the strip of elastic at the top.

Jake’s arm pops up so he can support his head with his hand, looking down at you imploringly. “What’re you playing at, sugar?”

You take your hand back like it’s been burned, cheeks suddenly hot as you realize you’d gotten carried away. “I’m sorry, I just—I didn’t think about what I was doing. Got distracted.”

He’s definitely smirking, you can practically feel it in the air above you, but you’re sure as hell not going to look up and see that self-important grin for yourself.

He pulls your fingers back to his stomach, and you can’t help but immediately brush them over his happy trail. The dusting of blonde hair surprises you a little, having expected Hangman to be too vain to leave any hair around that might distract from his physique.

You’re silently wondering if he has any hair on his chest when he catches a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. You see his green eyes darkened, studying your face for something. You’re not entirely sure what.

Apparently finding what they’re looking for his expression softens, the hand supporting his head going to brush hair away from your face and you break eye contact, feeling small under his undivided attention. His fingers hover for a second, like he wants to do something more, but go to rest on your pillow instead.

“Thought that I had you pegged wrong all along for a second there, using lines to get in my pants. That’s not really my thing,” he mimics, smile twitching at the edges of his lips.

“Oh, I’m—Jake, I’m not—” you stutter, certain you must be bright red now. Your fingers are playing with the hem of his t-shirt, nervous and fidgety energy working to get released.

I’m not like this, you want to say. I’m not like you.

He exhales audibly, looking down at you, at the cherry blooming on your cheeks, at where your dainty fingers pluck at his shirt. His hand clenches once in the pillow above your head, knuckles practically white, before releasing.

“I know, sweets, was only joking. Fuck, I get that you’re a good girl,” he breathes, strained like he’s barely holding it together. “S’why I always want to ruin you.”

What.

Everything inside your mind shuts off.

All you can hear is the humming of the air conditioner, the slow intake of air into his lungs. Something inside you clenches.

You’re fairly certain a sound that closely resembles a whimper breaks from your throat, but you can’t know for sure, since all thoughts have been erased from your brain.

You hear him suck in a sharp breath, breathing in and out evenly for a couple seconds, regaining control, before he speaks again. “Sorry, sweetheart. Shouldn’t have said that. I won’t, told you I’d never do anything you don’t want.”

You already know that. That’s not the problem. The problem is how many nights you’ve already spent wishing his fingers were on you instead of your own. How many nights you've spent biting back his name, too embarrassed to let your lips form the syllables of someone who you were certain didn’t want you.

Now, though, those walls of certainty seem to be crumbling at every edge.

“What if I want you to?” You ask quietly, barely above a whisper. It almost gets stuck in your throat, but you force your lips to form those words and let them leave your lungs.

Jake’s entire body goes tense.

But then he rolls over, putting you on your back and caging you in with his arms.

“You mean that?” He’s looking at you intensely, so intensely you might be frightened if you weren’t distracted by the weight of him on top of you, by every single scorching point of contact between you.

All you can manage is a nod, eyes starting to glaze over as he fills every inch of your vision.

He chuckles. “Guess that’s a yes.”

Jake ducks his head to kiss you, it’s sweet, sweeter than you ever would’ve expected from him. Sweeter than you thought it would be when you were hiding beneath the sheets in your bed, with your fingers on your clit, choking back his name.

But then he slides his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss as he tangles a hand in your hair, tugging hard enough to make you moan straight into his mouth. His lips move down to ghost over your neck, across your jaw.

And suddenly his words are hot in your ear. “What do you want, sweetheart? Want me to ruin you? Tell you about all the times I’ve thought about taking you apart?”

Your thighs clench together, heat blooming in your stomach and you notice, all at once, how wet you really are, slick pooling between your thighs under the wispy material of your sleep shorts.

You open your mouth to say yes, desperately trying to find your voice, to find your familiar jabs so you can go toe to toe with him like normal, but all that comes out is a squeak.

His hand stops at your neck, just briefly, thumb rubbing on your pulse point. And it turns every last bit of you in you to sweet, sticky, melting caramel. Your breath hitches, you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, holding back a whimper.

He’s not even doing anything, not really, but your mind immediately latches onto what he could be.

Jake’s eyes go wide for just a second before something wicked glints in the thin ring of green left.

“Thought you were so fucking innocent,” he grunts, running his thumb from your pulse point to your jaw and back again. You bring your hands to his, pulling him closer, silently asking him to press down.

You open your mouth to respond, but you don’t know how to explain. You may not do this kind of thing a lot, but you know what you like. Your imagination has certainly run wild enough times.

But any words that might’ve been readying themselves to leave your lips wither into nothing the moment he squeezes your neck.

“Jake,” you gasp, words breathy underneath the fingers around your throat. “Jake, I…”

“Hmm, what’s that, sweetheart?” His hand relents a little so you can answer, but you immediately wish he’d tighten his hold again.

“Yes, Jake,” you whine. “I want you to ruin me.”

And you don’t know what’s come over you, if you were even an ounce more present in your own body you’d probably be embarrassed.

But Jake’s head drops next to his hand at the crook of your neck, and he makes a strangled noise, the moan reverberating through your skin.

“Jesus,” he mutters against you. “Trying to kill me, sugar?”

You don’t have an answer for that because you’re not trying to do anything, you just want more.

Your fingers are still grasping his hand, the one still around your neck, tightly, like you’re scared he’ll pull it away, leave you to drift without his grip to ground you, to remind you this moment is real. It’s actually happening.

He lifts his head up to latch his mouth onto yours again and it’s heavier, so much more desperate than before. You whine into him as he slides his hands down your body, pushing up your shirt and you want to laugh at the absurdity of it, that you’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your entire life and you’re both still fully clothed.

He peels your shirt up and over your head, letting out another obscene groan at the sight of your bare chest.

“Fucking perfect,” he murmurs.

You fist your hands in his shirt in answer, tugging upwards, figuring fair is fair. You’re trying hard not to blush, not to show how his approval makes you light and fuzzy. He grins and sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt up and over his head, ruffling his floppy hair in the process.

Lips parting unconsciously, your tongue flicks out to wet them. You knew he was built, but it’s overwhelming, really, to have all that tan skin on display just inches from your face. You get to run your hands up the length of his entire chest now though, leaning up so your fingers can dance through the tuft of blonde hair near the top.

Jake pushes you down on your back, firm, into the pillows. Smiling deviously when you pout and immediately clench your fingers in the sheets beside you, when your thighs press together, seeking some sort of relief to the ache between them. The seam of your shorts presses just right against your center, and you let your head fall back with a soft moan.

Something akin to dangerous flashes in Jake’s eyes, as he hooks his fingers in your shorts, pulling down in one swift motion and tossing them off the bed before you can gain any more pleasure from the thin material. He pushes your legs apart and groans at the sight of you, glistening wet for him. “God, sweetheart, look at you.”

Just when you think you might die if he doesn’t put his hands on you, if he doesn’t touch you, if he just keeps looking at you like that, like he wants to devour you; he swipes a finger up your slit, tip pressing lightly, teasingly against your bundle of nerves. It’s too much, but not enough all at the same time. He slides a finger in, curling it exactly right on the first try and you can’t help but keen, throwing your head back into the pillows.

He sucks in a sharp breath at your reaction, eyelids going heavy as he presses rough figure eights on your clit. “Want to get my mouth on you, get my tongue inside that gorgeous pussy, but I can’t wait, darlin’, been thinking about this for too long.”

Warmth blooms in your chest at the realization he might’ve imagined this even half as much as you have. You’re sure you’re smiling like an idiot.

Reaching down to the pocket of his sweatpants, he pulls a condom out of his wallet, and you want to tease him, presumptuous much? But any semblance of thought goes out the window when he pulls his boxers down, hard cock slapping against his stomach. Your mouth is suddenly, immediately sandpaper dry.

Fuck.

Of course he’s huge. No one with an ego as colossal as his doesn’t have a reason, or several to back it up.

You don’t even hear yourself saying it out loud, don’t even realize the curses forming on your tongue, until he grins, eyebrow raised, chest puffed out in pride. “Think you can handle me, sweetheart?”

It takes you a few moments to answer, to figure out that you should answer, since you’re transfixed on him, on the strong fingers rolling the condom onto his length. If you had any sense of self-preservation at all you might be genuinely worried about his question, about not being able to walk tomorrow.

Hopefully you don’t sound as winded as you feel when you tell him to shut the fuck up.

Before you can bother with any stupid survival instincts, you’re pulling him down on top of you, wrapping your legs around his waist, savoring the grunt it draws from him as his tip reaches your folds.

“Love it when you’re mouthy, darlin’, nice little challenge for me,” he promises, before pushing himself inside of you.

He goes slow, tortuously slow, and you screw your eyes shut tight as your walls flutter trying to adjust to him. You don’t notice you’re on the verge of a sob until he brushes your hair back from your sweaty forehead. “Just a little more, sweetheart, you can take it.”

The stretch of him seems to go on forever, just on this side of agonizing, but way too good for you to care about the pain, too good to be real and you can barely focus on anything else. Can barely hear Jake’s molten honey voice repeating a slew of continuous praises in your ear, can barely register the weight of his body covering every inch of you.

Any moment now you’ll wake up in your bed at home, covered in sweat, grinding into your bed, achingly alone. You’re almost certain of it.

But then you feel his lips on yours again, hand holding your cheek, gentle, affectionate as he bottoms out. When he finally moves, the heavy, slick pull of him in and out of you reminds you that you’re here.

You don’t even recognize yourself, mewling, long string of unintelligible noises tumbling from your lips.

Jake practically preens. “Where’d my feisty little brat go? That all it takes to shut you up, sugar?”

You can only hope those were rhetorical questions because he’s hiking your legs over his shoulders, picking up the pace, new angle hitting that spot deep inside you again and again, and you can’t form a single thought, let alone words.

Jake’s fingers find your center again and press against your clit in heavy, decisive circles, winding that coil in you tighter and tighter.

“So close,” you whimper, fingers tearing at the bedsheets.

He smirks.

“Did I say you could come, sweetheart?”

Your jaw drops in surprise, eyes rolling back and ears ringing, mind engulfed in the heat burning in your belly.

He’s still grinning smugly as one of those large hands comes back to your neck.

You whine, high-pitched and breathless, eyes fluttering closed, gripping the hand around your neck as he applies pressure, desperate for something to hold onto, and you think you’re trying to form words, some of them may even be making it out of your mouth, something along the lines of please please please, let me come, Jake, I can’t, JakeJakeJakeJake…

“So pretty all fucked out like this, stretched around my cock.” His gaze is fixed on where he’s plunging in and out of you, tone almost reverent. “It’s okay, sweetheart, come for me, wanna feel you, want…”

You don’t hear the rest because you’re focused on where his fingers dig into the sides of your neck, tipping over the edge, string of lights inside of you tangled and blowing a fuse. Everything bursts all at once and you’re clutching Jake’s arms so hard you’re positive you’re leaving marks, but it doesn’t matter, you don’t care because you’re in a free fall, toes curling in bliss.

When you come to, you’re just barely aware of his pace growing erratic, hand on your throat loosening as it goes to brush your sweaty hair back from your forehead. His thrusts are getting shallower, mouth spewing a litany of jumbled praises so tight, so wet, so perfect baby, when suddenly he’s arching over you, hands tight on your hips as he empties into the condom.

You’re not sure you’re still functioning. You’re not sure you’ll ever move again. You’re pretty sure you’ll ever have a coherent thought again.

Distantly you can hear his heavy breathing, feel his weight on top of you but you don’t fully register it.

“Sweetheart?” He asks when you’ve been silent for minutes, or maybe hours, who knows.

You look up at him, blinking slowly, eyelids made of lead, vision unfocused.

Jake grins, and it's almost boyish. It's annoyingly cute. “That good?”

That cuts through the haze enough that you kind of want to slap him, for the arrogance littering those three little words. Or yourself, for helping his ego grow any bigger.

As it stands, you’re too dazed to actually do either. You nod, silently burrowing your face into his neck. He chuckles again, and you decide maybe you don’t hate that teasing sound that much, maybe you’ll spend your days trying to elicit it from him as often as possible. You’re still thinking about it when he peels himself off you to clean you both up.

When he settles back down, he pulls you in tight, curls around you in a way that should be uncomfortable, like he’d crawl inside your skin if he could.

Jake is still glued to you when you wake up in the morning, and your heart clenches too affectionately to be irritated by the fact that you can’t really move. Or breathe.

But you take one look at the smirk on his face, the mischievous glimmer that seems to linger even in his sleep and the butterflies in your stomach turn to stone.

You don’t think he’s that much of an asshole, you’re pretty sure the bravado is all a front. That he wouldn’t do something like this, knowing how you operate, without any intention of moving forward, but the anxiety still thrums incessantly beneath your ribcage.

You’re lost inside your own head, fighting the panic rising in your chest when he yawns, rubbing his eyes before tucking himself back into your side, impossibly closer.

“Guess that fifty bucks I gave Phoenix to find somewhere else to stay was a steal,” he mumbles, fingers dancing across your bare skin.

It’s his turn to pat himself on the back as your mouth drops open in shock.

Jake grins, eyes sparkling as he presses a kiss into your hair. “Good luck getting rid of me now.”

#jake hangman seresin #hangman x reader #hangman x you #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #hangman smut #hangman top gun #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin smut #jake seresin fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic

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ilongfor-the-arts · 9 months

Note

Just read the museum marquis fic and I love it. I wonder what would a fanfic where the marquis de gramont met a ballerina reader?

Poetry in Motion

Pairing: Marquis de Gramont x fem! Reader

Warnings: mild language

Summary: A tall and handsome man has been watching you preform for a while. What will happen when he finally chooses to introduce himself?

Word Count: 2.5k

I got multiple reqs for this! So, here ya go! Enjoy!

“You’re late Y/N!”

I dashed into the locker room, tossing my bag atop the dressing room counter.

“I know! I know! I’m really sorry! My apartment door wouldn’t lock and there was traffic and then-”

My director held up a hand, silencing me.

“I don’t care. Please-just, be ready to go by showtime.”

I nodded vigorously.

“Yes, yes, of course. I will be ready, I promise.”

She quickly turned on her heels and began walking in the opposite direction. Her blue dress swayed gently as the dancers rushed around her. Her spine was straight, her posture rigid.

I don’t blame her. I'm just as nervous as everyone else to see how this performance goes. Unfortunately, I'm a dancer, so rigid posture isn't ideal. I'm forced to keep my anxiety bottled up inside my head.

“Y/N.”

My friend called my name, jolting me from my trance. She was fully dressed, with a full face of makeup. She stared at me, completely stunned.

“Y/N, you better hurry! Everyone else is ready to go!”

I moved rapidly, quickly opening my makeup bag, praying I had enough time.

“What took you so long?”

I slapped my palms against the table, annoyed.

“Oh, Clara, it’s been such an aggravating day.”

I stared at my reflection, watching as the foundation completely coated my face.

“Do tell.”

I took out my eye makeup.

“Well, first my apartment wouldn’t lock.”

I closed one eye and applied eyeshadow as quickly as I could.

“My key wouldn’t work! And of course I couldn’t just leave my apartment unlocked so I had to bother my neighbor to get the spare key I gave her.”

I moved on to the other eye.

“Then there was so much traffic. Then I couldn’t find a good parking spot because I got here so late. Then I had to walk almost six blocks.”

My eye makeup looked... alright. Sure, if I had an extra hour, I could make it look fantastic. But, due to my unfortunate situation, I had to settle for average.

“Wow girl, that’s rough. I’m sorry.”

I pulled out my blush.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think that cute guy will be here tonight.”

I scoffed loudly.

“He’s always here. If he goes four days without seeing a ballet, just assume he’s dead.”

Oh my goodness, that blush color was really clashing with my eyeshadow. Shit! I didn't have time to remove it and start over. Perhaps I could just add another color to my eyes, creating a strange hybrid color that would blend well with the blush.

“I don’t know Y/N. I’ve been here longer than you, and he only started going regularly once you got here.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, right. It’s probably just a coincidence. I doubt he’d spend a shit ton of money on fancy ballet tickets just to see some pretty girl dance.”

I watched Clara shrug from the corner of my eye.

“I dunno. He always dresses like he’s ready to meet the queen, and he sits in a box. He doesn’t seem short on funds. He definitely could be the type to buy ballet tickets just to admire you.”

Okay, the blush and eyeshadow looked fine. I could handle "fine." I could work with "fine.”

“I don’t know Clara. You know, when you watch a performance, faces and names blend together because there are so many people on stage. I doubt he picked me out of the crowd and decided I was going to become the object of his affection.”

I put on some red lipstick, trying not to be distracted by the fact that all the dancers I saw in the mirror were fully prepared.

“Besides, a handsome man like that?... he probably has a girlfriend.”

Clara perked up.

“Oh, so you admit you think he’s handsome.”

I rolled my eyes for a second time.

“I mean, come on Clara, look at him!”

Clara let out a loud and obnoxious laugh. My face turned hot. Thankfully, the makeup covered most of the natural pink that had begun to appear on my cheeks.

“Oh my God you have a little crush on him, don’t you!”

I held up my hands in defense.

“I am not having this conversation right now!”

I stood, rushing over to the costume rack.

“I’ve never seen him with a girl Y/N! I think he’s single and ready to mingle!”

Clara’s loud voice drew some attention. I swiveled on my heels and placed a finger to my lips.

“Sh!”

The show was finished, and the final bows were taken.

The roar of the crowd washed over me like a wave. I was moved to know that they were all applauding for this performance. As the entire company gathered for one final bow, I observed the crowd's faces contort into bright smiles. I felt moved knowing that at least one person in the audience was thinking about what a wonderful job I did tonight.

I hoped it was the man whose appearance I had grown accustomed to over the past few weeks.

The gold theater sparkled. The red seats gradually vanished as people rose to pay their respects to the performers.

I was unable to avoid glancing around at the various people in the crowd. I started in the box seats, hoping to spot a tall man with a penchant for fashion.

No luck.

My gaze was drawn to the floor seats. I scanned them all as quickly as I could. Maybe he sat closer? If he truly came to see me, it wouldn't hurt to get the best view possible in the front row.

No luck.

I'm not sure why I was so desperate for him to be here. Nonetheless, I felt my heart sink slightly as I considered the possibility that he missed tonight's performance.

We finished with a company bow. We waved goodbye, and quickly scattered off the stage.

“Y/N!”

Clara exclaimed as we walked back to the dressing rooms.

“You did so well! Jesus, I thought for sure you’d be all scattered from coming in late, but you really pulled it off well!”

I didn't notice her hands cutting through the air as she spoke. I didn't even bother looking at her. I kept my head down, stuffing various cosmetics into my black backpack.

“Thanks Clara.”

I said flatly.

“Alright, what’s going on? Who’s got you bummed?”

I grit my teeth.

“He’s not here tonight.”

Clara leaned in.

“What did you say?”

“I said he’s not here tonight!”

I snapped involuntarily. Clara retreated.

“Woah woah, how do you know this?”

“I didn’t see him in the crowd.”

Clara furrowed her brow.

“Come on Y/N, there’s thousands of people in that crowd! There’s no way you could’ve checked every seat for him!”

My lips were pursed. Clara wrapped her hands around my shoulders, soothing me. She leaned into my ear, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“I bet he showed up tonight. And if he didn’t, it was his loss entirely.”

The cold Paris air bit at my exposed skin. The chill penetrated my tank top, chilling me to the bone. I drew the sides of my peacoat together, attempting to conceal my torso and thighs from the wind.

I began to stroll, trying to enjoy the lovely Paris evening despite the fact that so much was less than ideal.

After about thirty paces, I was struck by an uneasy sense that someone was watching me. I initially ignored it. There were numerous high-rise apartment buildings. I'm sure that feeling came from being a window away from someone's living space, and the possibility that someone was watching me inadvertently.

I couldn't shake the feeling even after another thirty paces. The buildings in this particular neighborhood were completely dark. That is, everyone was sleeping, and if anyone was watching me, it probably would go unnoticed by bystanders.

I took a peek over my shoulder to ensure my intuition was correct.

About thirty feet behind me was a tall, lanky man in a black coat.

Alright, probably just a coincidence-

Wait.

I did a double take.

Holy shit.

It was the guy from the ballet!

This all is just one big coincidence.

I kept my head down, trying to maintain my composure.

His footsteps became audible. I focused on them, noticing that they were becoming slightly louder with every step.

Shit.

Shit!

God, this guy is a total creep! How could I be so stupid?!

I’m about to get totally kidnapped!

I started to move faster, trying to appear calm despite being aware that my heart was pounding in my ears. My blood rushed to my heart, leaving my face pale and cold.

God, he’s getting closer!

Jesus my stomach is in knots!

“Don’t look so frightened, darling.”

The man’s velvety accent pierced the air like a knife. My heart jumped.

I’m fucked.

“Really, I just want to talk with you.”

No way in hell was I stopping. My calves burned. My eyes were wide. My hands trembled within my pockets.

My chest came into contact with something solid. I stumbled back, looking up.

Oh my goodness, he was right in front of me.

How did he get there without me hearing?

The heat left my body.

I stood, wide eyed and perplexed.

The man's neutral gaze softened as he noticed my anxiety.

“I am very sorry to have frightened you, madame. I am simply a fan wishing to pay my respects.”

He placed a hand on his chest.

“I promise, I mean no harm. There is no reason to be frightened.”

He was considerably taller than me. In two seconds, he could pick me up and throw me into the back of a shady white van.

Nonetheless, his luxurious accent and courteous eyes made me believe he was telling the truth. So I allowed myself to relax ever so slightly.

“Did you come and see the show tonight?”

A smirk played on the corners of his lips.

“But of course. It would be foolish of me to disregard the opportunity to observe such talent.”

Wow, I'm going to give credit where credit is due. He’s a smooth talker. He speaks with such elegance. I'm unable to ignore his words. With bated breath, I await each sentence.

“Well, that is very kind of you to say.”

He slipped his hands into the pockets of his black overcoat, shrugging nonchalantly.

“I only convey the complete truth. In my lifetime, I have seen hundreds of ballets, operas, and plays. It is uncommon to find such a passion for the arts in the hearts of the prefromers. Few people allow creativity to encompass every aspect of them. But, I have noticed fire within you.”

He glanced deeply into my eyes, as if he wanted to capture some of the "fire" within me and preserve it for himself.

“I can tell by the way you dance and command the stage.”

The gentle breeze rustled the end of his overcoat as his pale eyes shone in the pale moonlight. He exuded a sense of mystery that beckoned me to embrace the unknown.

“Your blood runs red with creativity.”

He came to a halt, his piercing gaze catching my lips before darting back to my eyes.

“And, your beauty is unmatched.”

Forget about my face being cold; it was now scorching hot. I just hope I kept enough blush on my cheeks to hide the natural pink.

He extends his leg, the buckle of his pricey loafer catching the moonlight. He steps closer, the wonderful aroma of whiskey and bergamot wafting into my nose. The scent cloud muffles my brain, making me dizzy with anticipation.

“How long have you been dancing for?”

I raise my eyebrows.

“Oh, well, my entire life. I started the moment I could walk and I’ve pretty much been in the dance studio everyday since.”

The enigmatic man nodded, pleased with my response. I took my hands from my pockets, as they were sweating despite the chill.

“And… Do you enjoy it?”

I nodded vigorously.

“Yes, I remember, um-.”

I took a deep breath, careful not to trip over my words and reveal that my heart was racing.

“I remember my first official dance class. I was- about four or five.”

I swallowed, a lump forming in my throat.

“All the kids were complaining. I mean, y’know, at that age it basically is just an excuse for the parents to get their obnoxious kids out of the house.”

He chuckled.

Yes!

“But I never complained, not once. I loved it from the start. And, it’s completely consumed my life since then.”

He took another step forward. The distance between us was almost non-existent now. To meet his gaze, I had to almost completely crane my neck back.

“I can tell. You don’t just dance, you float over the stage. It really is beautiful to watch.”

His voice dropped to a sultry whisper.

“You are beautiful to watch.”

My stomach flipped.

My breath caught in my throat as he cupped my face with his hand. His grip was gentle, as if he were coddling a baby bird.

My mind was empty, a void waiting to be filled by him.

He exhaled deeply, a breath fanning over my face. I instinctively leaned into him, craving his warmth, craving his scent, craving…

Him.

He ran his calloused thumb along my cheekbone. My face was burning. I knew he could feel it beneath his palm.

He grinned.

“You have a very bright future in the arts. Paris is only the beginning.”

I could sense the tension rising. I was on the edge of my seat, waiting for something magnificent to unfold.

A hug?

A proclamation of love?

A kiss?

“I hope and pray that you will allow me to be an integral component of your bright future.”

He slipped something into my empty pocket sneakily. He smiled broadly. My heart skipped a beat. His smile was enticing, so simple yet so effective.

“Call me, Ma chère.”

He took a step back, turned, and began to stroll away. My shoulders loosened. My chest gave way. My cheeks had lost their warmth. The tension had been released.

I could breathe.

I could think.

“Wait!”

I shouted. He glanced over his shoulder.

His figure looked very intriguing. Most of his ridges and curves were hidden by his long coat. It enticed one to venture into uncharted territories.

“What’s your name?”

He scoffed.

“When you call, I will tell you.”

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tarjapearce · 7 months

Note

soccerfamily!au Miguel and wife’s wedding?

It's Soccer Family week ~ ❤️✨

A little long, hope you like ~ c:

After Miguel proposed, there was a miriad of things that came over both. Gabi being seven months old, you looking for a dress, the both looking for a venue and so many details Miguel found annoying.

He was a simple man. If it was up to him, he'd marry you in Peter's house where he met you without that much grandeur. However, seeing you so excited for having a little wedding and the glimpse of you in a gorgeous dress, decreased his peeving. He did everything you wanted, just for the sake of seeing your smile.

This week, you'd finally see a venue that had tickled his interest. Something comfortable enough for a reduced number of people. Neither of you had much friends, which was good economically wise, not that you were struggling, he just found it useless to splurge a lot of money on people he didn't know. The ceremony would be something for friends and family.

At first he wasn't sure of asking you about your family.

"Do you plan on telling them?"

"I will. Just my dad and my eldest aunt."

He held your hand and squeezed gently.

"Are you sure of it?"

"Yes. Dad well... he's alright. And my Tia is the only one I actually like there, so..."

You rested your head on his lap, and caressed his chin.

"And your brother?"

"He's in another country right now. And doubt he reaches to show up in time. Just them."

Miguel nodded and weaved his fingers through the silkiness of your hair.

"Alright then."

"Are you inviting your mom?"

He heaved and shook his head.

"No. Doubt she comes in good spirits anyway."

Humming, you nodded and kissed his hands.

"Alright. I think we won't be even that much people anyways. Feels like an elopement"

He chuckled while you played with his fingers.

"Isn't it? The only difference is that we chose to have witnesses."

You curled in his chest and smiled

----

The venue was as charming as the ad promised. A backyard looking space which grass was greener than envy itself, wild flowers painted the milieu with their rich colors, a little lake on the side to make it look straight out of a fairytale.

Miguel couldn't help but squeeze you as your eyes shone with excitement.

----

You nearly had a crisis when the perfect dress you had picked wasn't available in your size. Even though Miguel tried to comfort you by saying you'd look gorgeous even in a burlap potato sack, you didn't want a traditional princess pompous dress.

You wanted to make his jaw drop. So you went the extra mile to get it done with little retouches. Even Gabi had a little dress custom made for her along a matching headband.

The dress turned out even better and was easier to slip out of it. The venue was looking perfect, the wedding planner had surely made it look just like you wanted. Cozy, intimate, truly ready to celebrate with those that had been through it all with Miguel and you.

Sadly, not everything was butterflies in the meadows. Some family members of yours had known about your wedding, and naturally, they didn't like the fact you had excluded them. Your mother specially.

Even if the confrontation was unavoidable, you stood your ground and not invited her, and your other relatives. Severing the troublesome bond for good.

She only saw Gabi briefly, and left.

Miguel gave you a little reassuring that night ~

And finally the day came.

You took breakfast together, and then went to your respective activities during the day.

"See you later, Mr. O'Hara." You squeezed and slapped his butt before sending him off.

"Just for you to know, I'm getting my revenge later, cariño"

"Looking forward to it, nalgón" (bubble butt)

He greeted Gabi, played a bit with her and left.

Jessica and MJ arrived a couple of hours later and soon the preparations begun. Your dress and Gabi's finally arrived.

You bathed her and got her ready for the day.

"Whose taking her for the wedding night?"

"Oh no, we're taking her with us."

"Thought your aunt Isa would take her."

"Miguel refused. It's not like we-"

"Uh uh. Don't tell me"

Jessica's lips pursed, annoyed as you giggled.

"Anyways, look at this beautiful princesita!"

You put Gabi her little headband and snapped a picture to send it to Miguel.

Mi princesa preciosa. She looks so beautiful. Can't wait to see you.

The text made you smile and gave you enough boost to keep through the motions. The makeup artist and stylist came, MJ was the first, then Jessica and finally you.

While they got ready, you made sure to breastfeed Gabi and put her to sleep so you could get ready without much issue.

You spammed Miguel with silly pictures.

See this cereal?

Hm?

It's missing something.

Milk?

No. Not any milk. Yours 😘.

His cheeks had turned flushed as he was getting ready with Peter.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

You're so in trouble.

----

Two pm came and the small guest list filled in the room. Gabriel was his groomsman. Around twenty people were there including some coworkers from Miguel's, your aunt Isa, surprisingly your brother had arrived on time and attended as well. Around twenty people in total.

All seated in their respective spaces.

Miguel constantly loosened the tie, only for Gabriel to fix it for him.

I'm almost there, Gabi was hungry.

He sighed and as he was about to fiddle with his neck again, Gabriel slapped his hand away.

"Relájate. Ya va a venir." (Relax, she's in her way)

Gabriel gave him a little bottle of tequila.

"Drink it."

He gulped it down and sighed.

"Better?"

"Yeah."

"Vows ready?"

"Si."

Gabriel chuckled and patted his shoulder.

"You'll do great. Relax."

His cue to enter was there and with a deep sigh he walked to the altar.

Many looked at him with genuine excited faces. If he was honest, a wedding was the last thing in his mind, it was one of those things he thought once in almost never. But now, things were different.

He was different. You didn't fix him, just improved him, guided him through the darkest things to make amends with himself and allow him to overcome so many fears.

Having a family mainly. His own problems had hindered his growth in so many levels, but with your help and patience, everything was a bit easier. Your nurtured him with things he didn't even knew he needed.

And now, he was about to get you all to himself before anyone else. Of course there had been men that tried to take you away from him, but your loyalty to him was unwavering. What other proof he needed when you stood there, like an angel in a lovely dress, ready to take him as your husband.

Your dad walked next to you, waltzing you to the altar as Jessica and MJ followed you. A proud feeling invaded Miguel's chest. He gave your dad a firm handshake, an unspoken Thank you for giving her to me.

Miguel took your hand, giving a kiss to your palm.

"Hola."

"Hola"

The smile in his face was one that disarmed you. His eyes were full of pride and love, just like yours. Someone took a picture.

Your aunt Isa held Gabi. And soon, the ceremony begun. The wedding officiant gave the introduction speech, and soon the vows were brought up. Miguel started.

His hands trembled softly as he pulled out the small sheet he had wrote them in. Some blotches of ink sprawled, discarded words and the like.

Your name rolled of his tongue. So ever sweet, yet teasing.

"Mi corazón. I know I'm not good with words, but know that they're true when I say, you know better than anyone how difficult I can be. My nature and constant attitude often pushed people away." Here he pauses, a subtle softening in his eyes as he looks upon you.

"But you," he continues, "saw past all that. With your warmth and good humor, you stayed by my side. You eased my worries and made me feel understood. Because of you, I've learned that opening my heart does not make me weak - it makes me stronger." A little smile tugs at his lips now.

"I promise to cherish your love and welcome your light each day. You are the place I long to come to every day. My vow to you is this - I will strive to show you each day how much you and your faith in me mean. You are my partner in crime and all things, mi Pitufina. I am yours, now and always."

Your hand squeezed him tighter, noticing a little flush on his ears and cheeks.

"Thanks for giving me the honor of being your husband and the father of our child, mi niña."

You kissed his hand as he looked at Gabi as the crowd clapped.

"Miguel. Mi amor. Papasito"

The attendants chuckled and Miguel cleared his throat as you giggled.

"Ever since I saw you, I thought, damn he's tall. I'd climb him like a tree."

He couldn't help but choke. Gabriel cleared his throat, trying to suppress a laugh, Peter tittered under his breath and your dad stared intensely at Miguel.

Jessica face-palmed and MJ just smiled.

" But jokes aside, It surprised me you really went to open that beer with your teeth. And that alone made me curious about you and again I thought, yeah this man is mine." He rolled his eyes with a tiny smirk.

"We've been through so much that it's impossible to pick one single moment I wasn't fascinated by you."

His eyes softened and you squeezed his hands lovingly

"We've had our downs and up, cause no relationship is perfect nor easy. You've taught me so much about myself it's ridiculous how well you know me." You smiled,

"I know that I'm not the easiest woman to handle or be with some days, but know that you have someone that will be through thick and thin with you, yesterday, today and always."

You took a deep breath, "I can't wait to see what life has in store for us, Mi amor. Te amo. And I can't wait to kiss you."

He chuckled. Once the vows finished, the ceremony kept going. Gabi was the ring girl, and with the aid of Tia Isa, delivered the ring to you both.

Neither Miguel or you hesitated to say I do. Just made the moment even sweeter when you kissed as newlyweds.

"I introduce you, ladies and gentlemen to Mr. and Mrs. O'Hara"

The crowd cheered you both. Miguel took Gabi after you dad took several pictures with her.

She cooed upon seeing Miguel. Then, you both moved to the next location a couple of steps away.

Tables neatly adorned, the lights were set with an intensity enough to not overwhelm Miguel’s eyesight. Your dad took once more Gabi, letting you have the first dance with Miguel.

The soft and mellow beat of "My Love Mine All Mine" echoed through the speakers. Miguel hadn't tell you but he had been practicing a bit more his waltz. Funnily enough, Gabriel had been his dance dummy. Lots of crushed toes and sore feet later was worth your surprised face as he twirled you and swayed you through the song.

You thanked him with a big smooch and a smile. Your wedding rings clinked as you took each other's hands.

"Mr. O'Hara?"

"Yes?"

You got on your tiptoes and kissed him.

"You happy?"

He shrugged, earning a playful gasp from you.

"Been better"

"So mean!"

He took your chin and gave a little kiss

"I'm proud of you, Miguel." He huffed softly and you pulled a little strand from his hair as a revenge.

"I loved your vows."

"You kidding me? I nearly choked."

Giggling you lead him to your seats.

"Now, we gotta hear how people make fun of us."

"I will also too."

"Enough with your vows, cariño."

You giggled

"You looked like plum! All red!"

"Impossible not to when you said you wanna climb me like a tree"

You kissed him with a laugh, "Well yeah. I've climbed through those mountains-"

"Stop" His shoulders shook softly at the silent laugh he gave you.

"See? What would you do without me?"

"Probably overwork myself until death."

"I was being sarcastic, but still doesn't sounds good."

"I'm way too used to having you around."

Your eyes softened and hooked your hand in the joint of his forearm.

"Well, lucky for you, I'm stuck with you. Forever. Or until one of us deci-"

He nipped your ear. A clear Shut Up.

"You talk too much when nervous."

----

The rest of the wedding unfolded as expected. Almost everyone laughed at the friend's speeches about you two.

Gabriel gave a half funny half heartfelt speech about how happy he was for his brother. And Peter he plainly embarrassed Miguel by saying how much of a nervous and babbling mess your now husband was whenever you looked his way or interacted somehow with him.

And once the reception ended, you went to your hotel with Gabi.

You both were far too tired to actually have sex, or celebrate it.

Miguel had to remove Gabi since she fell asleep latching from your breast. He was tempted to wake you up by eating you out, instead he carried you to bed after putting Gabi next to your sleeping form that ended up in his arms.

Miguel O'Hara was now a married man.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #soccer family ⚽🕷️#gabi o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #Pre Soccer Family #t writes✨

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florencemtrash · 7 months

Text

Hummingbird: Chapter Eight

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

What if the Earth-1610 (Miles’s universe) version of Miguel’s wife was actually Miles’s AP Art teacher?

Masterlist

Warnings: Some suggestive content and fluff

You squeezed your eyes shut against the light streaming in through the window, painting the backs of your eyelids like a sunset. You were uncharacteristically warm and comfortable in bed, but you burrowed further under the covers, rolling over and immediately hitting Miguel’s chest. You blinked in surprise. You’d grown so accustomed to the weight of his arm around your waist in the night that you’d forgotten he was there. Heat flooded your cheeks.

You were both still very, VERY naked.

Miguel grumbled in protest when you shifted in his arms, wrapping them tighter around you and pulling you against his chest. He hummed in satisfaction, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck before he sighed and went back to sleep.

It must have been noon and you didn’t doubt this was the longest night of sleep he’d gotten in a while. You relaxed into his touch, running your fingers through his hair and hearing a soft murmur of approval slip through his lips. You were entranced by him. His breathing was a comforting, even beat, brushing across the skin of your neck so that every so often you’d shiver from the closeness of it all. You continued to bask in his warmth and the little noises of contentment that escaped from him as you traced the muscles and curves of his back, noting the rougher scar tissue beneath your fingertips and wishing you could rub them away.

Eventually he stirred awake, pressing his face against your heart and kissing you everywhere he could reach.

“Buenos días, mi amor.” He murmured softly, eyes lighting up when he saw the color once again flood your cheeks. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

“Yes you are.”

“No, I’m n-”

Your words were cut off with a gasp when he pressed his lips against yours, hands coming up to cup your jaw and pull you closer. Heat raced through your body, familiar and all-consuming.

“Yes you are.” He whispered into your ear. You shivered and blushed even more.

“It’s not a crime.”

Again that smile of his crossed his face. “I know. I just like to see you blush.”

An idea popped into your brain that made you smirk. Your hands drifted lower… and lower.

His eyes widened and he stuttered. “Y/n-”

“I like to see you blush too.” You said with a wicked smile before climbing on top of him.

_________

You collapsed on top of his chest, both of you gasping to catch your breaths.

What time was it now? Three o’clock? Four? You didn’t care. You were sweaty and spent and ready to go back to sleep, even if that meant you would have done nothing productive that day. Well… that was a lie. You’d done many things… many times.

“I like the bed better than the kitchen floor.” Miguel said in between deep breaths, hands still gripping your hips like a lifeline.

Your eyes widened and you couldn’t help it. You burst out laughing, burying your face into his shoulder.

“Oh god. We really did it on the kitchen floor last night.”

You didn’t even want to think about the mess you’d have to clean up later - both in your bedroom and in the kitchen. The sheets alone were a mess.

Miguel was grinning from ear to ear. “We did it on the kitchen floor.”

“Stop!” You slapped his chest, trying to suppress your smile, “You don’t have to remind me. I was there.”

“I never said it was bad. I just like the bed better.” He smirked, “It’s bouncier.”

“Oh my goodness, shut up!”

He was shaking with laughter beneath you. “Make me.” He dared.

You pursed your lips, suppressing the desire to blush and laugh once again. Miguel was alight with happiness, wiggling his eyebrows at you and daring you to take him up on his offer.

You shook your head. “I-” You poked him in the chest, wrapping the sheets around you and blinking to the bathroom door. “Am going to take a shower.”

Miguel shouted in disappointment, throwing his hands up in protest now that he was lying in bed completely exposed. But he immediately shut himself up when you threw him a sultry look and asked, “Care to join me?”

He was by your side so quickly you wondered if he had suddenly gained teleportation abilities of his own. You yelped, slapping your hands over your mouth in surprise when he scooped you up in his arms.

“Always.” He said, smiling as he carried you over to the shower. When he saw that it came with a built-in bench seat his smile turned into a wicked grin. “Nice shower.”

_________

“Do you think they-”

“Oh absolutely.”

“Without a doubt.”

“Seriously, like-”

“I’m so happy for them! We’re going to have more spider-babies!”

“Pavitr, what the fuck?”

“That’s really what you’ve been thinking about?”

“Whaaaaat, I’m a romantic.”

“Ok but like actually. You think-”

“Yes.”

“I saw her moving her things in.”

“Do you think they’d adopt m-”

You coughed. Loudly.

Peter B., Gwen, Pavitr, and Miles spun around, looking at you like deer caught in headlights.

“Heeyyyyyyyyy, Ms. Y/n! We were just talking about you.” Pavitr said, waving enthusiastically.

“I can see that,” You said, arching your brow and folding your arms over your chest.

Pavitr barrelled through, missing your sarcasm.

“How are you and Miguel? How’s the move-in going? I’m assuming you made it official and everything, but Miguel hasn’t told us anything and I know you’ve been swamped with work but-”

“Pavitr-”

“And switching universes must be a lot of work, but I’m dying to know all the details. Like have you guys gone on a date yet? Oooooh there’s this fantastic restaurant on 65th and Roover with the best malai kofta,” He gasped, “Oh my god are you guys getting married! Are you going to have kids soon?”

“Whoa, wait a second-”

“CAN I BE PART OF THE WEDDING?!”

“Pavitr!” You clamped your hands down on his shoulders. He was practically vibrating with excitement. “We are not getting married and yes we’ve gone on a date. Not that that’s any of your business.”

“Bullshit!” Peter booed, cupping his hands around his mouth. Miles and Gwen joined him.

“Language!”

“Bullllllllshiiitttttttttt.”

“Peter!” “Whaaat?” He threw his hands up in surrender, “It is absolutely our business knowing what you freaky spiders are getting up to.”

Your face turned brick red and Peter’s face lit up even more when he caught sight of Miguel lumbering up behind you, two cups of coffee in his hands.

“Miguel!”

Miguel handed you your mug before he wrapped a casual arm around your waist like it belonged there, and without even realizing it, you leaned into his touch. Gwen and Miles shot each other a look as Pavitr once again began to vibrate like a chihuahua on Cuban coffee.

“Enjoying yourselves?” Miguel asked, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead - an action that made you blink in surprise. He had never come across as a kissing-in-public type, but just then he’d kissed you like it was as natural as breathing.

“Not as much as you two are enjoying each other.”

Everyone groaned at Peter’s terrible joke, but he paid no mind. Mayday was home, so he would let loose.

Miguel’s arm never left your side, even as Peter kept dropping half-veiled, dirty jokes all throughout lunch. You were surprised Miguel stayed as long as he did, letting you steal fries off his tray as he chatted with Peter.

The spiderlings - the affectionate nickname you had for any Spider-person under 21 - listened with rapt attention, chiming in with their more than occasional thoughts and comments. Conversation ebbed and flowed around the table, the ruckus growing when Penny and Spider-Noir joined in later. Both were equally surprised to see their normally stoic and ill-tempered leader begrudgingly settle a debate between Miles, Gwen, and Pavitr on the physics of bread falling butter-side down.

Peter couldn’t help the grin that remained plastered to his face. Miguel looked at ease, stealing glances and sending soft smiles your way as you played Cat’s Cradle with Penny’s robot and marveled at the little chirping sounds it made.

He was cracking jokes - small ones, but more than Peter had heard in years. He couldn’t be happier for you two… and selfishly he and MJ wanted another married couple to go to wine tastings with.

“You know, you never said thank you.” Peter said slyly to Miguel, leaning over the table and giving him a wink, “Now, now I’m willing to forgive you because emotions were high and you had other things going on, but I still think-”

“Thank you, Pete.” Miguel said, laying his hand on Peter’s shoulder.

Peter drew back in surprise. Miguel hadn’t used that nickname in years. He was still smiling, briefly looking over at you as you continued your conversation with Miles. His gaze softened and he absentmindedly rubbed your hip bone with his thumb, just to remind himself that you were real and sitting next to him.

“Truly. Thank you. For everything.”

Peter swallowed thickly, not expecting the wave of emotion that hit him like a truck. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but seeing his best friend spiral out of control after losing his family had broken something inside him, something that was only just starting to mend itself.

He coughed in his hand, using the opportunity to wipe his eyes, “Yeah well it was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing. Not to me.”

Peter sniffed, “Ok stop it. I can’t handle you when you’re being gushy and emotional.”

Miguel smirked, “I’m being emotional.”

“Shut up.”

Miguel snorted, taking a deep drink of his coffee. Peter looked at him carefully.

“I better be the Best Man at your wedding.” Peter said, sniffing again.

Miguel raised his eyebrows, “Who else would it be?”

“Yeah you’re right. You don’t have any other friends.”

“Damn. Ouch.”

“...Sorry.”

Miguel tipped his head back and laughed, a deep rumbling sound that grabbed everyone’s attention. After a brief moment’s pause, Peter did too.

_________

“So… I guess they all know now.” You said. You sat on the bathroom countertop, face clean and teeth brushed as you waited for Miguel to finish his nightly routine. He patted his face dry, and you wanted to bury yourself in the crisp scent of his aftershave.

“Is that alright?” Miguel asked, slotting himself between your legs and gently kissing your chest.

You smiled, thumbs tracing over his smooth, freshly shaved skin. His hair curled tightly around the nape of his neck where it was still wet and you twirled it between your fingers, watching the dark strands spring back. He melted into your hands like putty.

“Yeah.” You said, “That’s perfectly alright with me.” Miguel smiled back, “Good.” He whispered against your lips before capturing your mouth in a kiss. He tasted like toothpaste.

“Bed?” He murmured, catching the slump of your shoulders and the tiredness in your eyes.

You sighed in relief, “God, yes.”

Without warning he scooped you up in his arms and carried you to your shared bed. You suspected it was something you’d have to get used to now that you would be living in Nueva York with him.

With him.

The thought made you giddy inside.

Miguel slid into bed beside you, one arm snaking around your waist and pulling you flush against him. You could feel his solid chest against your back moving with the rhythm of his breaths. He sighed in contentment, burying his face in the crook of your neck and breathing you in. You still smelled like your shampoo.

You kissed the palm of his hand before cradling it close to your heart.

“Mi vida,” Miguel murmured, his voice laced with drowsiness. You pulled yourself from the brink of sleep and hummed in response.

“Thank you.” He said quietly.

“For what?”

Miguel pressed a gentle, reverent kiss against your neck, “For staying with me. For saving me.”

Your lips curled up in a faint smile. Two years ago you never would have imagined this kind of life for yourself - a life of adventure with superpowers and Miguel. You’d both come a long way since that night when he’d saved you from the super collider. But even then, you’d known that he was someone safe… that he was your home.

There were an infinite number of rules to the multiverse that neither of you understood. But you had a feeling you were always meant to find each other. One way or another.

This version of Miguel and this version of you.

Together. Across time and space. Always.

“You’ll save me and I’ll save you. That’s what we’ve always done and that’s what we’ll continue to do.”

You didn’t see him smile, but you felt it.

“I like the sound of that.” Miguel whispered.

“Me too.”

“I love you.”

He waited until your breathing evened out, finding peace in the quiet sighs escaping your lips, before he let himself fall asleep. And for the third night in a row since you’d moved in with him, he enjoyed a deep and dreamless sleep. One of many more to come with you by his side.

<- Previous Chapter

_________

Author's note:

I have learned that I am kind of shit at writing endings (hence why this chapter took me so long to post...oh well).

Thank you all SO FREAKING MUCH for reading. I hope you enjoyed it and I hope I was able to do these characters justice.

Finally, thanks for sticking with me through all the chaotic updates. I still feel like I have more to write with these characters and I love them all so much, but a story has to end somehow.

So here we are, folks. At the end.

Love,

Florence B.

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#miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #atsv x reader #miguel o'hara x wife reader #miles morales #gwen stacy #across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #peter b parker #that's all for now folks #miguel o'hara fanfiction #atsv fanfiction #hobie brown #pavitr prabhakar

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joshsjipple · 16 days

Text

Safe Measures

JOSH KISZKA X FEMALE READER

A/N: Hey beauties! I hope you’re all doing fantastic! I love you all, hope you enjoy some josh!

Word Count: 3.1k

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI! explicit sexual content, pain kink, small sir kink, unprotected sex (wrap before u tap), slapping, choking, p in v, oral sex (f recieve), praise, dirty talk, degradation, public sex, exhibitionism, squirting, language, dom (m) sub (f).

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

You stare at the man hunched over his notebook in front of you. His eyebrows are furrowed, sand-colored curls dusting over them. He pulls his bottom lip between his perfectly white teeth, tugging on the skin as he intensely studies his material.

You shift in your seat quietly, resting your chin on the palm of your hand. You lazily drag your eyes over your book just incase Josh is disturbed by your movement and tosses a glance your way. You doubt he would even care but you do it anyway.

Eventually, your eyes find his face again. His dark eyes glare into the pages of his anatomy book as he mumbles under his breath. You watch his fingers twirl a pen in circles and for a brief moment your mind attempts to imagine what else he would be good at.

You swallow and squeeze your eyelids shut in hopes of shooing the thoughts away before your whole chair is soaked. When you return to Josh’s insanely sculpted face, he is furiously jotting down notes.

Dressed in a white t-shirt, his arms are in your line of sight. You watch the muscles in his hands that run all the way up to his bicep emerge from their hiding spot.

You shift in your seat, rolling your hips in a motion that will only satisfy you for a minute. Your chair creaks from under you and you grit your teeth. Josh pauses and tilts his head slightly upward, just enough to give you the death stare of your life. You only give him an apologetic smile and mentally curse yourself for getting turned on by him being upset with you.

Josh continues jotting down notes and you continue pretending to help. You brush your hair over your face to make it appear like you’re studying as well but in reality you’re watching him. He’s laser focused on his notes. His red tongue darts out from out of his mouth and rests between his lips. His jaw—already freakishly chiseled— clenches at his work. He tilts his head, hands still writing, and mumbles under his breath. You lose yourself when he runs his tongue over his bottom lip. Under the damp glow of the desk light, the slight trail of saliva coating his flesh adds to your fantasy.

You shift in your seat again, another squeak accompanying you. He doesn’t look this time. Or the next time. Or the time after that. By the 3rd time you’ve caused the painful screech of the chair to echo through the room, his eyes flick up to yours again.

“Are you just going to sit there and make noise all night?” He quips, letting his pencil roll into the crevice of his book.

A bit startled, you take your time to reply. “Sorry.”

“Is something wrong with your chair? How many times do you need to readjust yourself—”

His words trail off making you bury your hands in your lap as a brief wave of silence washes over the two of you. The air is thicker now, like he’s somehow trapped in your mind, reading your thoughts and seeing your imagination. You feel hot and red, your core damp between your legs.

“I see,” he says after a few moments of impending torture.

He clears his throat and rests his arms on the edge of the table. Your eyes flick from him to the floor, undecided on where to stay. The table squeaks when he leans forward to close some distance between the two of you.

Immediately your eyes find his.

“What?” You spit out after he fails to speak.

His eyes dart across every inch of your face, inspecting and soaking up every pore. He reads you like a book, every word, every line, every individual character. When he’s done, he smirks and uses his thumb to gently circle the skin on your chin.

“Josh—”

“Hm?” He asks, his voice silky and smooth. “Something bothering you?”

Your lips part and his eyes watch them closely. “What do you mean?”

He playfully rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue in the process. “Don’t play games. I’m not in the mood, mama.”

The nickname sends goosebumps cascading across your skin. Your eyes widen but you quickly recover. The rest of your body is flaming hot and you squeeze your thighs again.

“There it is again,”

“Sit back down. You’re imagining things,” your voice shakes.

“I can feel your body heat from here. If I had a marshmallow I’m pretty sure I could roast it,”

Your cheeks are flaming as you choke back a laugh. He giggles softly, the most gentle thing you’ve ever heard him release. Your breathing hitches as your eyes connect again. It’s now that you can see the lust and desire that drowns in them.

His fingers—perched on your chin— drag your face upwards slightly to meet his lips. They brush against yours at first, along with his nose. Your eyes flutter shut as he presses them against you more firmly. His lips are warm and soft as they gently work across yours. He opens his mouth just enough to give you a taste of his saliva. It’s sweet like honey, making you want to drown in the sticky liquid until you’re covered in nothing but him.

When your mind finally processes what the fuck is going on, you pull away first. Despite only kissing for two seconds, you’re extremely out of breath. Then again, maybe it's his hand cupping your cheek that has you spiraling.

“Josh we shouldn’t,” you say unconvincingly.

“Why not?”

“We’re in a library.” You scoff.

“A private room. The hallway lights are shut off, they forgot about us. If someone comes up the stairs they will flicker on and we will know,” he talks softly into your face, thumb still stroking your skin. “Besides, I think it turns you on a bit.”

“What?” You respond rather quickly.

“You’re panting and I’ve barely touched you.” He blushes even though his eyes are filled to the brim with cockiness. “You like the idea of being seen doing something we aren’t supposed to?”

Caught in your own trap, you swallow and hunt for something else to say. “What about anatomy? We have a test tomorrow and—”

“Okay. We’ll study.” He agrees but he doesn’t move. “But first can you stand up for me?”

Confused, you rise to your feet. Josh sits on the edge of the table, a shit-eating smirk on his face. Quickly, his hands fall on your waist. He pulls you into him, parting his own legs to grant you access. You don’t protest despite your words from a few seconds ago. When you’re standing over him, you bring your hands to his hair. You can’t help but softly fluff his curls. He whines slightly when you accidentally tug on a few strands, making your knees wobble. With his big brown eyes staring into yours, you lean down and kiss him again. You’re so desperate to feel his skin against yours again. He smiles against the kiss, his hand finding its place around the back of your neck. His other hand wanders down to your ass and squeezes it. You reply with a soft moan and reward him with a light tug of his hair. With that, his hands dart to the front of your waist to work insanely fast undoing the buttons. Then he pushes you backwards a bit, giving him room to stand in front of you.

He spins you so the back of your legs are pressed against the table as his were a second ago. His tongue enters your mouth, exploring the area as his teeth pulling on your lip. He begins to work your pants down until they rest on your knees. Swiftly, he spins you around so your back is pressed firm against his chest. You feel his breathing hitch as his hand wraps loosely around your neck. You feel yourself begin to spill down your leg and with a whine you say:

“Harder,”

He obeys quickly, squeezing with enough force to knock the wind out of you but careful enough he doesn’t hurt you. His breath dances across your skin as his mouth nears your ear.

“I’m gonna fuck you into this table. But first I’m gonna play with you.” He rasps.

With no warning, you’re bent across the table. It’s cold pressed against the thin material of your shirt, making you yelp in pleasure. The hand that Josh used to guide you into the position dances down your back before smacking your ass cheek.

“Oh fuck!” You moan.

“Oh yeah? You like that, pretty girl?” He smacks the same area again and you cry in pleasure.

He sinks to his knees, pulling your panties and pants all the way off your feet. His hands massage your calves as he kisses up your body, worshiping every inch like it’s sacred. His warm tongue arouses you as it drags across the back side of your legs. You’re already squirming.

His hands sit between your legs now, gently prying them apart to his liking. Josh takes the tip of his finger and drags it through your folds and your body jumps at the contact.

“You’re soaked. So fucking wet for me, yeah? Tell me how wet this pretty fucking pussy is for me.”

You gather your strength. “So wet for you. Please do something.”

“How could I ever say no,” he says in a soft tone.

When his tongue licks a stripe through your folds, you feel yourself begin to evaporate. Flattening your hands on the surface, you allow the pleasure to engulf you. His tongue, as soft as silk, toys with your clit. He swirls the flesh in his mouth, repeating every motion that makes you whine into the room.

His fingers dig into the skin of your thighs, holding you open for his own pleasure. He eats you out like it’s the only thing he has ever wanted to do. He flicks your bud with his tongue before pulling it into his mouth with his lips. He kneads it between the skin, earning pathetic whimpers from you.

“So good, Josh. Just like that,” you encourage, reaching behind to wrap your hands in his hair.

He moans at the praise, sending vibrations straight to your clit. Fire burns in your core and your teeth violently attack your bottom lip to keep yourself from screaming. When he inserts a finger, you know you’re a goner.

You’re grinding against his face, cursing and moaning with every stroke his tongue makes. He continues to make noise into your pussy, getting off on your own enjoyment. His tongue toys at your entrance, circling the hole wishing it was his cock. You grind onto his tongue, ecstasy taking over your body as you ride out your orgasm. You eyes go black, stars shooting. Electricity spiraling down your body, making your legs fall limp. Josh catches you and holds you above him, using your weakness of knees to his advantage. You sit directly on his face, giving him better access to your dripping cunt. You ride out your orgasm, cursing and chanting his name until you physically cannot form any more words. When you’ve finished, he removes himself from under you but keeps his hands tightly wrapped around your legs. You pant as he stands to his feet, hands gripping your waist so you don’t fall.

“Oh my god,” you breathe.

“So pretty when you cum on my face. It’s unreasonable to think I’ll have to eat anything besides that ever again.” he coos, helping you onto your back.

Laying in front of him, he kisses your neck. You expose more flesh to him by removing your shirt. His hands quickly find your breasts, squeezing the fat softly. His thumbs spin across the peak, making your mouth fall open in pleasure. His hard cock is pressed right over your soaked cunt and he rolls his hips into you. Still sensitive, you yelp into his shoulder.

“You sound like heaven,” he whispers. “Keep singing for me, yeah? Be a good girl for me.”

“Josh— I need more,”

He tilts his head and slowly grinds into you, making your eyes roll back. “Really? You hated my guts ten minutes ago.”

“Well now I want you in mine so don’t screw this up, okay?” You try to sound confident with your words as if you’d truly get up and leave.

Josh only laughs at your words and rolls his hips again before wrapping his hand firmly around your neck. He squeezes, making you lose your breath. Despite his tough exterior, you know he wouldn’t dream of hurting you.

“That’s not how this is going to work.” He clicks his tongue in disapproval that makes your cunt cry. “You’re gonna shut this pretty little mouth of yours and take whatever I give you, okay?”

“Yes,” you answer when he lifts his hand.

You’re shocked and completely aroused as he brings his hand across your cheek. It stings enough to make you moan. You never knew you were into pain during sex, but you’d let him do anything to you. The way he does it, so careful yet firm, makes everything feel so intimate. It turns you on more than you’d have ever thought.

“Yes what?” He quips.

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl,” he purrs.

Pushing himself off of you, he works his jeans off. Pulling them down just above his knees, you’re able to marvel at him. He’s rock hard, straining against his boxers. A small wet spot rests on the fabric from where his precum leaks. You watch him wince as he pulls down his boxers, his cock bouncing up. Noticing your staring, he smirks and takes himself into his palm.

“See something you like?” You lick your lips. “Ask nicely for it.”

You’re a bit taken back by his words. You’ve never had to beg for a man, especially in a sexual scene. Your cunt throbs with anticipation. Josh is bringing out a side of you that you didn’t know existed.

“I want it,” you start, holding your tongue in fear of embarrassing yourself.

“What? I can’t hear you, mama. Gonna have to speak up.”

Mama.

“I want your cock, Josh. Want it so bad,”

“Keep going,”

You watch his fist work over his length, stroking slowly and squeezing as he nears the tip. With your legs spread, you slide your fingers over yourself.

“I need you to fill me up, baby. God you’re so big and perfect. Please fuck me. I want to feel you in me.”

Josh watches you play with yourself, hand gradually picking up the pace on his cock. He watches you, eyes flickering to your face and then back down to your pussy as you speak.

“Let me suck it,” you whine pathetically.

“If you do, I won't last. Bend over this for me.”

He taps on the rim of the table and backs away. You scramble off the table, doing exactly as you’re told like a dog. Bent over the table once again, your nipples are rock hard.

“You’re perfect,” Josh says, lining himself up. “So pink and wet. All ready for me.”

He pushes the tip in, a hand squeezing your hips as the other guides himself in. He lets out a shaky breath as he slowly eases his way into you.

About halfway, he stops to speak, “You’re so fucking tight and warm. It’s like you were made for me.”

“More,” is all you say, cock-drunk.

Mercilessly, he slams into you, making you launch forward. Your breasts scrape across the table, making you whimper. His hands wrap around your waist and tug you back to him. He stretches you so deliciously as he thrusts in and out of you at a steady pace.

“Oh. My. God.” You cry with every thrust.

“Feels so good, mama. So good.”

Your eyes screw shut as he quickens his pace, skin on skin filling the room. “Tell me more.”

“So soft, like silk. So fucking tight, squeezing my cock so perfectly. Fuck. I’ve thought about this for so long—bending you over a table and fucking you senseless praying no one walks in—or maybe praying someone does walk in.”

You tighten around him at the thought.

“I knew you liked it. You want someone to see how good I fuck your pussy? How I make you beg for my cock to fill you up? You want someone to see how slutty you are?”

His hips buck violently into you, hands finding your throat to pull you up. Strained, your back is against his chest again. He continues fucking you as his lips enclose around your ear lobe.

“Answer me.”

“Yes! Fuck, yes!”

“Yes what?” He sucks on your neck.

“Yes I want to be seen! I want everyone to know who’s cock I’m cumming on!”

“Oh, God.” He pants. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he attaches his fingers to your clit. “Need you to cum on my cock. I’m so close.”

“Me too. Keep going.”

“Ah, fuck. Where do you want me?” He says as his thrusts become sloppy.

“In me. Please.”

“So hot when you beg for my cum.” He cries as he falls over the edge.

You join him, crying his name as your legs shake. You feel him in you, squirting his cum into you. He whimpers and cries, making you explode again.

“Oh my god,” he whines, his hips gradually slowing. “Have you done that before?”

You heave in front of him, oblivious to his words. After a few minutes of nothing but you and Josh’s muffled breathing, he removes himself from you. He takes a step back until his entire torso is exposed to your eyes. Your jaw drops when your eyes find his shirt completely soaked.

“Jesus…”

“It was hot. I didn’t know you could do that,”

You quirk your head. “Me either… sorry.”

“Fuck. Don’t apologize,” he smiles, grabbing your hand to help you off the table.

“So now what?” You ask, cheeks red. “I’m too messy to put my clothes on like this.”

Josh nods as he examines your body. “I’ll go downstairs and bring up some paper towels. I’ll make sure the place is empty before you come down.”

You can’t help the bubbly laugh that fires in your chest. “If anyone was in the building, I think they would have heard us.”

“Probably, yeah. But for safe measures.” He shrugs.

“Yeah. Safe measures”

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka #josh kiszka smut #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #greta van fleet smut #josh kiszka fic #josh gvf #sam kiszka gvf #josh kiskza fanfic #josh kiskza smut

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 10 months

Text

I'll crawl home to you

Next chapter

a/n okay this sat in my notes for so long. I wanted to delete first, then I thought hmm... let's indulge, right? Also, please be gentle, I've never written for Javi.

summary: having a fight with someone you care about right before the mission might be the worst idea ever especially when you don't know if you'll make it out alive.

warnings: fighting, guns, past trauma, injuries, blood, mentions of death...I think that's all.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Is Carillo in?", both males lifted their heads from their never-ending piles of documents right as you approached. Each step was laced with nothing but confidence. Only fools would stand in your way. You were nothing like the women Javi was used to. He had never seen you striding across the office in a skirt or a skimpy shirt that most secretarial women preferred here. But then you weren't a secretory ether.

"Yeah, he should be", Steve said, beating Javi to an answer and eyeing the files in your hand. Neatly put as always, followed by the colorful tabs that no one else used, and even if Javi had made fun of them in the past, it was something that constantly reminded him of you. "What's that?", Steve tried to reach for the reports, but you only slapped his hand away playfully. As if he was nothing but a curious kid, shoving his nose into something that wasn't for him. "You'll see. Meeting in five, watch", you stated before walking through Carillo's door, closing it with daring eyes and a wink.

Carillo was the one to command emergency meetings, so you calling the shots looked nothing but childish to an unknowing ear, but then, not even two minutes later, Carillo emerged from the door, "Meeting in five", his voice boomed through the office, and with the corner of his eyes, Javi could see you leaning against the table smiling to yourself.

You fascinated him. There was no other way to go around it. Back when you just joined the team, Javi did doubt you. Toxic masculinity and all that shit got him humbled real quickly alongside all the other sorry fucks who didn't know how to keep their mouths shut. There were not many females among the leading troops, but you were unbeatable. Many men were pissed beyond any mark when Carillo made you his second in command. Even Javi was pissed. Because most of the fuckers here had been here for years, some ten and counting, and it took you less than two to climb almost to the top. But then, no one was better fitted for that role, and with time passing, one thing got even clearer. The thing that pissed Pena off the most was that your position got you and Carillo way too close for Javi's liking. Not that you were his. Not that there was an us.

But you were like an illness clinging to him. Javi couldn't think clearly. Most of his brain was occupied with you. He fucked so many whores when he felt his heart starting to want to lean just to you. He had fucked them all by that time, he was sure that he liked you, but that only made him feel worse. Common Bogota whore. That's what he was. Equally as much, he sold himself both for information and because he needed someone to cling to him, even if it was for the money.

"Why an orphanage?", Steve was leaning against the table, looking down at the papers you had forbidden him to touch five minutes ago. "Would you look there?", you sassed back, making Steve shrug his shoulders in agreement as he continued to flip through all the other documents. "We don't need a full-blown mission. It would just be a check. If we find something to hold onto, we'll send more men", you continued, glancing to Carillo, needing his nods as validation now that the room was dead silent.

"Pena", Carillo called out, getting the agent's eyes to shoot up at him, "You haven't said anything". And it was true he hadn't. One thing that Javi loved was disagreeing. You two were the best at that. But he was never this silent. Regardless of whether he liked the idea or not, he would still share his thoughts, but now you got absolutely nothing.

"Send an armed force; do the thing. I don't understand why we are even discussing this", Javi carelessly threw the case with documents onto the table before crossing his arms over his chest. Your mouth thinned into a straight line. "No armed forces are walking into an orphanage. Those kids have enough trauma to last them a lifetime".

Javi scoffed, running his hand over his beard. "What do you suggest we roll up for a walk there with no guns, no nothing?", he said in an almost mocking manner as his lips curled upward. The room stayed silent. Your eyes met his, and you swallowed thickly. Something in Javi's face twisted. "You can't be serious…", he trailed off. "I'll just go and look; we only need access to the basement parts; hygiene security paper will do the job", you said firmly. The plan seemed simple enough. "You're not going to a potential hideout without a gun", Javi leaned closer to you over the table, fists starting to clench as he glared at you.

"It'll look suspicious", Carillo added, seeming so unphased by all of this and all the things that could go wrong that Javi had to pull the last string of self-control to not pinch him in the face. "Suspicious, my ass, she can be walking into a trap", Javi raised his voice as he shot daggers at the head of the national police unit.

"Since when do you care?", those words took a moment to sink in. And when Javi turned back to you, there was no resemblance to the man you saw a couple of minutes ago. They were dead empty, and there was only anger there. "Good luck dying there since you seem so eager", Javi spat out, not turning away from you because he wanted to see the way your face fell.

"Javi…", Steve muttered. Out of everyone in the office, he was the only one who truly knew just how much you cared for one another. Your eyes started to sting, but you didn't drop the stabbing gaze that Javi was hurling your way, "Don't worry, agent, no one will send you an invite to the funeral". With those words, you turn away from him. Snatching the papers from the table as you turn towards Carillo as if Javi was no longer around.

Did Javi regret his words instantly? No, but he regretted them the moment he watched you unbutton the dress you were going to wear so none other than Carillo would strap communication devices onto your body. He hated that his hands were on your body. Fingers tracing the soft, warm skin. Does Carillo know that Javi's fingers were there too? Does he know that Javi would give up everything, even his career, for the chance to feel that soft skin again on his body every morning? With a frown on his face, Javi put his cigarette out before snatching his jacket off the chair and heading out.

This seemed silly, but you had never gone on a mission with Javi upset with you, and it left a bitter taste in your mouth. Yes, you argued often. Agreeing on something with that man was a challenge, but you made it work most of the time. You would blow each other's brains out by shouting at the office, and then one would always join the other outside for a smoke or just a breath of fresh air.

You would bump Javi's shoulder, making the frown even worse, until your fingers would sneak to pull the cigarette away from his lips so you could take a drag yourself. You would rarely talk. Both stubborn and aware that it would most definitely lead to more fighting. So silence it was. You would lean on Javi's shoulder, and he would never miss an opportunity to bring you closer to him.

The embraces at times felt so intimate that fighting back tears was a challenge. But the smell of Javi's aftershave and the smoke lingering there brought you unimaginable levels of comfort. The same comfort that you felt laying in his bed, tangled in his sheets. It had only happened a couple of times, but those couple of times were enough to make you addicted. Because the Javi at the office was nothing like the Javi you got to see behind closed doors. And it wasn't because he fucked good. No, that anyone could tell. It was because his touch did linger, and behind the wall that he had built for protection was the man who was so capable of love - he had just forgotten it.

"How could I help you, ma'am?", a voice asked, bringing you out of the trance and causing you to flinch slightly. You needed to put your head in check. This. You couldn't allow yourself to think about this while doing your job. "Hygiene check", you said, unfolding the paper and showing it to the elderly lady. She looked you up and down. "Since when are they no longer sending creepy old men?", she asked you sarcastically, and you couldn't help but chuckle. "Since I told them that it's inappropriate, especially around the kids". The woman nodded her head, dropping the paper on the front desk before reaching for the keys. "I'll walk you through the upper floors; the basement is easy to navigate on your own", she stated, moving to walk in front of you.

"Ask her about the size of the lower levels", Carillo's voice rang in your ear, and you flinched again. God, what was going on today? How can you forget that you had a communication set on, with microphones and all? They could hear your surroundings just as much. Focus, you told yourself once more. "A small basement for such a place—surely that's an issue?", you asked her, bringing the fake criteria papers to your chest and reaching for the pen so you could pretend to mark stuff.

"We don't need it. Things like fresh food and other products come in almost daily", she stated. "You have a company you work with?", you asked, looking at the pictures that covered all of the hallways. "Yes, I can give you the information, and the truck that delivered today's packages is still downstairs", she said, yet her voice slowly died down as your eyes fell on the kids playing in the colorfully painted rooms. The big windows allowed you to take a full look at them.

"Why is he alone?", the lady twisted to look back, stopping mid-sentence about the new vegetable stock, catching and following your gaze, now focused on the boy, seated in the furthest corner of the room. Knees up to his chest as he scarcely looked at the other kids. The lady sighed, "He got here not long ago. Hard to adapt. Both of his parents died, as did his sister. He's alone", bile rose in your throat as you swallowed thickly. Suddenly, you wish you had somewhere to lean on.

Javi's muscles tensed as those words rang through the car they all sat in. Carillo was about to speak into the headset, but Javi snatched it out of his hands. He doubted that Carillo knew. Maybe. He would like to believe that no one else did it besides him. That you had only trusted Javi with the story from your past that night. That you had cried because you hadn't told anyone else beforehand, and reliving it was too painful. Javi waited some more, pointing a warning finger at Carillo, who was cursing Javi in Spanish. Javi wanted to give you a moment to try and pull yourself out on your own. You were a big girl, and he knew that you could handle yourself. But everyone had their demons who possessed them at times; this just happened to be yours. Yet another reason why Javi didn't approve of this in the first place.

"You're in Bogota, not back in D.C., carino", Javi's voice filled your ears, and you had to blink a couple of times, feeling the shiver run down your back. Shiver that was followed by a wave of warmth, because if you could hear him, it meant that he came along after all. "Is he looked after?", the question seemed stupid, but you just had to know, even if it had nothing to do with why you were here, "All kids are looked after here, ma'am".

Javi cursed under his breath. You were slipping, and he could feel it. This was just too convenient. Too out of the blue. This had to be set up. To throw you off the hook so they could take you out. Javi could just feel it, and the worry only grew stronger. "Y/N, if you don't feel well, back down", Javi said again. His voice was firm. It was an order, and you knew that it was the correct one as well, but… "I'll look through the basement today", you said softly as you turned to the old lady. "Of course", she said with a nod, rushing to give you the keys.

"Y/n", Javi spoke again as a warning, but you didn't say anything. You closed your eyes for a moment to collect yourself, right as the lady showed you to the back door. Javi moved to get up instead once the line fell silent, but Carillo stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder, "You don't have the order to interfere". That made Javi's blood boil, "You, out of all people, should feel that she's not in the right mindset to be there", Carillo said nothing, only locking the car doors, his eyes now fully fixed on Javi.

The hour you spent inside there was a nightmare. You took a couple of pictures. Sneaked in some papers that seemed off. Now all you needed to do was walk out of the building, and then it would all be over. A breath that Javi didn't know he was holding slipped past his lips as he watched you walk out of the building, turning back to wave to the elderly lady before you moved closer to the street that separated you from the rest of the team. Even from back there, Javi could tell that your eyes looked hazy. A new worry sparked. What if you misread the speed of the car? What if you get hit? Javi reached for the door handle, his eyes not leaving you for a moment.

You looked around a couple more times before stepping forward; your eyes met Javi's desperate ones. And even if he knew that you were beyond pissed at him, you still shot him a slight smile. A little something that would keep his nerves at bay for now. Until you crossed the street and Javi could once again sense your perfume lingering in the car.

And then a blink of an eye changes everything. A bullet suddenly pierces your shoulder, sending you staggering back onto the street. It feels like the world had stopped as Javi watched the red stain get bigger and bigger. "Get down", Carillo shouted at the top of his lungs, making a handful of men drop to their knees, but Javi didn't move. He pushed off the car and rushed forward, "Pena, that's an order", but he was done with following orders for today. Another shot rang out. This time it sounded a lot stronger, and you suddenly gripped your lower stomach. That made Javi lose all sense; he took off running, and suddenly the distance seemed way too long. Pushing panicked people to the side as he scratches his way to you.

You didn't register the first bullet; it was like your mind blanked, and only the feeling of something wet dripping down your shoulder made you frown at the situation. It's the second bullet that pierced your left side that made you let out a scream. One that kept ringing in your ears. You could see people moving, but no one was stopping to look at you. Your mind was running so fast yet so slowly at the same time. Blinking started to get harder, your breaths were painful and shallow now.

"Carino", you heard before you could even see the face, and for a second, it felt like you were imagining it all. "Keep your eyes open", said Javi, who was now leaning over you, palm cradling your cheek as he pats it a couple of times to keep you conscious for as long as possible. Another shot rang out, and Javi turned around to fire his gun before his attention was back on you. "Not safe", you mutter, your weak fingers now wrapped around Javi's wrist. "I'll be fine", he stated blankly, drawing his gaze up for just one moment, catching a glimpse of Steve tackling a male to the ground before he's looking down at your paling face, "Can you press your palms to your shoulder, baby?"

When you don't move, Javi is the one moving his palm over the second wound, pressing as hard as he possibly can. "Let me", you mutter, and God or whatever that people believe in knows Javi was glad you don't finish that sentence because he can't and won't think of that outcome. "Don't you dare? You're walking out of here, you hear me?", Javi said letting go of your shoulder. He patted your cheek again as your eyes rolled to the back of your head for a moment. Anger only rushed faster as Javi shouted once again for an ambulance or a medic.

"He had Michael's eyes", you muttered, breathing now even, though Javi knew what that meant - your body was crashing. "Did he, carino?", he knows this is not a conversation he should be having with you, but he's desperate to keep you awake for as long as possible. Javi's hands were soaked with your blood by now, and so was your flowery dress. You nodded your head weakly and said, "I saw Mikey". Javi clenched his jaw, trying to keep his emotions at bay. "I hope you said hi from me as well", but your head lulled to the side. Javi's blood went ice cold because, for a split second, he thought that was it—you were dead. You bled out in his arms. Letting go of your wounds, Javi pulled you closer to his chest, your limp body looking nothing like a rag doll in his arms. The sirens rang somewhere in the air, but now all Javi could think of was how he would never be the same if you never opened your eyes again.

#javier pena x reader #javier pena imagine #javier pena x you #javi pena x reader #javi pena x you #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #narcos imagine #narcos x reader #narcos fanfiction

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xhdream · 5 months

Text

who in xdinary heroes slaps pussy

just smut | xdh x fem!reader | mdni

cw: sub!reader, overstimulation, edging, squirting

i decided to share my thoughts on which members of xdh like to slap pussy - this is just fiction & personal assumptions, based entirely on loose impressions ~ hope you enjoy reading <3

♡ gunil

he decides to not spank your ass this time

with him it happens out of nowhere, but the way he handles the situation, makes you realise he’s been wanting to do this for awhile, although he probably won’t admit it if you ask

you’ve had some bickering going on troughout the day and just when you’re about to go to bed, he sees you’re not wearing any underwear under your nightdress. for some reason this rubs gunil the wrong way, so he decides to do something about it. before you have time to resist or even blink, he has you pulled into his lap - your back is leaning against his chest, your head is resting on his shoulder, and he has full control of what happens between your legs from now on… “didn’t i buy you enough panties to wear?” he hisses in your ear, still irritated with you and the way you’ve been misbehaving all day, distracting him from work

he pulls up your dress, but not in a sensual manner. his dominance really comes out in this moment, making his actions more rougher than usual, but he knows you like it - your legs immediately open, welcoming his fingers inside

the first slaps are not too harsh, but not light either, he wants you to feel them. you gasp at the immediate sting coming from his heavy palm. his free arm is placed around your shoulders, holding your body in place, as you start shuffling around from a nice warm sensation creeping up in your lower tummy. he alternates between hitting your flushed clit and thrusting fingers inside you, then goes back to slapping. the more aggressive his hand gets, the more you drip desperately on the bedsheets… every time he comes back to fingering your squeezing hole you fill the room with loud liquid noises, causing him to call you out on the filthy things that turn you on

he keeps talking in your ear, as your whines rise higher, but the more aroused he gets, the more his tone softens. his hard bulge pokes at your squirming body so nice he might as well cum in his pants like a loser. “shit, is this what my princess likes now? getting punished for being a bad girl?” he moves his hand from your chest to your scalp, forcing you to turn to him by pulling on your hair. he might hum and shush at you gently now, but it’s some of the nastiest things he’s ever said to you

♡ jiseok/gaon

he wants to make you squirt

you bet jiseok has been wanting to slap your pussy since the day he met you! now that you’re together, he also really really badly wants to make you squirt. he’s a messy guy - nothing excites him more than having you sprawled out on his bed with a fucked out face, too fucked out to even blink or talk

after he makes you cum twice, he tells you he wants to try something new and pushes your already shaking thighs apart. you cannot resist him, so you give in under his excited touch… when he puts a pillow under your body, lifting up your hips, he slides his flat tongue from your dripping entrance to your sensitive clit, causing you to see stars. “wanna make you squirt all over me, baby doll.” he moans against your folds before pulling away, “will you do that for me today?” he makes the first slap directly onto your sensitive clit with such eagerness. seeing how you jerk up from surprise to look at him with wide eyes makes him chuckle. he immediately slaps you again, “answer me, doll.”

the smaks gradually begin to land faster and harsher, making your skin flush in a color jiseok finds so arousing. for a moment you doubt yourself, you might not be able to go through this, it’s too much to handle, but jiseok doesn’t wanna hear it - he wants you to squirt! just like in the numerous porn videos he’s watched. so he takes his time and fingers you, rubs you, hits you with his palm, and when his hand starts to hurt with his cock. he lets you rest during the unbearable edging, promising you that at the end you’ll feel amazing, you just have to be more patient; you just have to endure some more. “you’re doing so fuckin’ good, come on… my doll can’t give up now.”

he gathers juices from your tortured hole, eats them off his fingers and smacks your cunt with a satisfied smile, cause you’re getting closer to his wish. when you barely manage to tell him you badly need to release, he pumps his fingers deep into you furiously, making your whole body jiggle. you fall apart so beautifully, giving him what he wanted. he’s over the moon when he gets on top of you to lick the tears off your face

♡ jooyeon

he slaps you as a joke at first

one thing to take into consideration about jooyeon is that if he licks you once, he cannot stop! so when you let him go down on you one day, and he gets all cosy between your legs, he doesn’t even realise that you’ve already cummed, and he just keeps on going overstimulating you with his greedy mouth. he holds your thighs tightly, occasionally bringing a hand to your stomach. he’s slurping, moaning and fucking your pulsing hole with tongue as fast as he can

you get overwhelmed, arching your back a little too much, legs shaking and shifting around him like crazy, making it hard for jooyeon to keep his tongue on you. so in a result, he snaps playfully giving your pussy a light smack, as a way to scold you for not staying still. he’s never done this to you before and you get surprised, but even more than that - turned on

the slaps continue when he finds out you’ve been hiding your orgasm a secret from him, but the truth is he likes slapping your cunt now, and he’s just using the moment as a reason to do it. you both slowly realise that this play is turning you on a lot more than you expected, and before you know it you’re both moaning between the loud dirty hits. “baby, is it too much? i can stop if you want,” he asks just in case, but you immediately shake your head, begging him to make you finish again, and he gets soo excited

he watches with an open mouth how your whole pussy gets red and hot from his palm smacking directly onto it repeatedly; how your toes curl from every new hit. periodically he checks your wetness by sliding two fingers inside you, and he absolutely melts at the fact you only get more and more soaked. “fuck, gonna cum again for me soon?” he grins, spreading the sticky juices over your swollen clit. his fingertips move sooo lightly and soooo slowly it makes you lose your damn mind. your burning pussy warms up his palm nicely, before he pulls it away for another slap “damn, this is really turning me on, baby… wanna feel how hard i am?”

#xdinary heroes smut #xdinary heroes hard thoughts #xdinary heroes hard hours #xdinary heroes x reader #xdh hard hours #xdh smut #gunil smut #kwak jiseok smut #gaon smut #jiseok smut #jooyeon smut #jooyeon x reader #jiseok x reader #gaon x reader #gunil x reader #xdh x reader

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talesofadragon · 6 months

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐞

Synopsis: Steve Rogers was looking forward to Halloween. Not because of the costumes, the tricking and the treating, or Tony’s meticulous party planning—he was looking forward to spending some quality time with his Y/N. But a cozy night in with pumpkin spice lattes and that Halloween Town movie he needed to catch up on was soon abandoned when the mysterious house on Easton Avenue called for his attention.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Civilian!Reader

Genre: SMUT | Fluff | Some scary stuff

Warnings: Unprotected sex, P in the V, oral sex, temperature play, sex toys, kegel balls, blindfolds, bondage, pussy slapping, object insertion, deepthroating, shoe humping, degradation, dacryphilia, sex tapes, mirror sex, breast fucking, orgasm denial, edging, squirting, overstimulation, should I go on? It’s shameful sex, basically.

Word Count: 12K

A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN, FOLKS! This is my very first time doing a kinktober special, but I really wanted to submit an entry to @jtargaryen18's Halloween Special! So, I hope you all like this. And forgive me, because I just finished it, and didn't triple-check for typos. Enjoy 🧡🎃

All Masterlists | Steve Rogers Masterlist

𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐘 𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐓 of red surged from within the fifth house on Easton Avenue, sending a chaotic ripple across the entire neighborhood. At least, that’s how you pictured it in your head. That house had a vicious and ominous aura, topped with a polarizing effect that both dared you to come closer and urged you to stay away.

Something about that house wasn’t right ever since its residents claimed it a week ago. It had been a solid year since you moved to Brooklyn to live with Steve, and as far as you knew, that old and frail house had been vacant for the better half of seven years. Yet now, all so suddenly, someone decided it was the most miraculous idea in the world to step through the broken fence and make do with whatever crumbs the beaten structure had to offer—with little regard or effort at fixing it.

“What in the name of God are you doing?”

Lost in the abstract aura of your neighbor’s house, Steve had crept up on you, and you were none the wiser. You whipped your head to the back, hands firmly clutching the binoculars. It was not a sound decision on your behalf because Steve’s majestic blue-green eyes were now tenfold bigger, almost as if they were about to devour you whole.

You shrieked, fingers still gripping the binoculars for reasons unknown. Your startled expression made Steve stiffen and look around.

“Why are you screaming?” he asked, taking the binoculars away from your face. His eyebrows furrowed slightly when he caught the letter “A” engraved on the side. “Did you take these from my mission bag, Y/N?”

You sheepishly gazed up at him, giving him your best pout. Steve didn’t particularly mind if you rummaged through his things, but the reason you lived on Easton Avenue and not at the Avengers Compound was that he tried to keep you away from his “alter ego,” as you liked to call it. So, snooping through his mission bag might have contradicted the boundaries you had previously set.

“I was birdwatching,” you blurted out without a second thought.

Steve regarded you skeptically. “Birdwatching,” he repeated, his tone heavy with doubt.

“Yes. This time of the year brings very colorful birds.”

He didn’t respond, only subtly arching an eyebrow. Placing the binoculars on the nearby couch, his slender and long fingers pushed the curtain aside—enough for him to peek out the window. And because Steven Grant Rogers was God’s perfect human creation, he didn’t need even a monocle to catch sight of the fifth townhouse down your street.

“Yeah, you’re right. That ashen plumage does splendidly reflect the beauty of this season.”

“At least you are a gentleman enough to feign belief,” you remarked, indignantly rolling your eyes.

Knowing what was going to follow, you picked up the binoculars and headed to your shared bedroom. But Steve was right behind you with the same retort he used when he caught you so much as thinking about that house. “Dove, you need to stop investing so much energy into that house. There’s nothing wrong about it.”

“Everything is wrong about it, Steve!” you defended, picking up his bag from the closet and putting the binoculars back. “It’s creepy and morbid, and I can’t believe anyone would willingly choose to settle in it.”

“It’s a nice house. I’m sure, with some attention, anyone would want to settle in it.”

“Well, that’s the thing! Why aren’t the new owners doing anything about it? It’s sitting there like the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade. The only missing part is the werewolf.”

Steve looked somewhat perplexed and unconvinced. His lips parted then closed until he was ready to speak again. “Werewolves don’t exist.” Of course, he’d focus on that part. “And, maybe the owners haven’t had the chance to refurbish the house yet.”

“That’s a great suggestion, Stevie! Why don’t we go and lend a hand.”

It was not, in fact, a great suggestion at all. What it was though is a ruse.

You didn’t give him the time to answer, immediately bolting outside the room. You knew you had him in a corner because Steve Rogers might’ve been a master strategist, a renowned captain, and a fearless leader, but you could always uncover the cracks in his façade, and you were certain something about this house didn’t sit right with him either. He just didn’t want to admit it out loud.

“Uhm, maybe you should sit this one out, dove. You’ve never been good with a paintbrush.”

“Maybe so,” you replied with your back still to him. You didn’t need heightened senses to catch the shy curse that left his mouth. “But I’m good at baking. I can offer the new neighbors some pumpkin pie while you help them with the paint. You’re the artist, after all, baby.”

Steve caught your wrist before you could open the fridge to “search” for the ingredients for your pie.

“You mean like right now?”

“Yes! We may not be able to do much, but maybe enough to not have the trick-and-treaters scurry away at the sight of that house.”

Releasing your wrist from his grasp, you reached for the fridge. Steve’s veiny hand collided with the metal door, forcing it to close. With his hands on your hips, he spun you around and placed your body against the fridge.

“Y/N.” The coldness of the fridge’s metal door against your fingertips did little to appease the flames burning in your soul. God damn Steve Rogers and the effect he had on you. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?”

“…I hate that house.”

“The nice house down our street?”

“The morbid one that looks like Azkaban.”

“Aha!” You joiced, finger digging into Steve’s chest. “I knew I wasn’t the only one who found that creepy old building ominous.”

“Of course not. I’ve been pestering Tony for over a week, trying to find out who bought that place and see if they’re a security threat,” Steve admitted.

You tilted your head to the side, lips pursing in thought. “I mean, I don’t like the house. But is it a security threat?”

Sensing the shift in your voice, Steve’s hand found purchase in your hair, twirling a strand in his index finger. It was a familiar habit he had developed since you’d gotten together. Partly comforting and partly grounding—for both of you.

“According to Tony, it isn’t. But, you know me. Your safety is always at the forefront of my mind. And I don’t like how that house is so close to us.”

“Me neither,” you replied, now playing with Steve’s hands. You traced the veins protruding from his skin, marveling at the difference between his large hands and your petite ones. “But with you here, I don’t care about a silly old house.”

“So, can we forget about your little stakeout missions and go back to planning our private party this evening?” Steve smirked, tugging you closer by your waist.

“It was one time!”

“For five days.”

“Shut up,” you said with feigned indignation. “Or else no private party. I’ll force you to attend Tony’s.”

Steve’s eyes widened at the mention of Tony’s infamous party. This year, the theme was something along the lines of "Halloween of Doom." And since Steve wasn't a fan of the usual wild parties Tony would throw every chance he got, he wasn't looking forward to the Halloween shenanigans.

Just as you took his hand in yours and pulled him toward the hall, a sharp tap against your window sounded across the room. Bemused, you turned to Steve. He immediately stepped in front of you, keeping an ear out to identify the source of the sound.

Incessant in its pursuit of attention, the sound boomed louder. Steve motioned for you to stay where you were while he investigated. Five seconds later, he called your name, albeit hesitantly.

“Y/N,” he said, gaze unwavering ahead. “I think all that birdwatching you did called the attention of an angry bird.”

“Is that an owl?” You hadn’t realized how loud your voice was until the owl in question shrieked behind the glass window. What the hell was an owl doing at your house?

“It looks like it,” Steve answered.

Neither of you tried to open the window, which agitated the owl. It ruffled its feathers and tapped the glass, clearly demanding entry. You studied the nocturnal creature, which obviously lacked a sense of orientation since you were nowhere near the evening. Something on its leg caught your eye. You gasped, pointing at it. “There’s a rolled-up letter attached to its leg!”

The moment Steve noticed the letter, he rushed to open the window. The owl flew in, forcing you to step a couple of feet back—you were a sane person who didn’t go out of their way to look for owls, let alone ones that appeared in broad daylight.

Steve plucked the letter from its leg and opened it. “It’s an invitation.”

“For what?”

“A Halloween feast,” he said, eyeing the letter suspiciously. “At House 5 on Easton Avenue.” It was the same morbid house you two had been discussing.

You carefully approached Steve, mindful of the owl on your coffee table. You took the letter in your hands, reading it aloud.

We’ve Caught Your Unblinking Eye Through the Ashen Veil We Know You Are Curious. We Feel It in Our Veins.

To Uncover the Macabre Truths Shrouded by Our Shadows Join the Halloween Feast Tonight

And Embrace a Chilling Night at Doom’s Manor House 5 - Easton Avenue - 9:00 PM

“This is worse than our phones when they display targeted ads because of whatever they heard us talking about,” you exclaimed, hands tightly clutching the piece of paper.

Steve’s eyes widened significantly, pure horror crossing his features. “Our phones do that?”

"Yeah," you replied with a matter-of-fact tone. You've most likely added one more item to Steve Rogers' “X Things I Hate About the Twenty-First Century” list. "They pick up on our search history too. So, maybe they'll know why that owl still hasn't left yet because it's starting to give me the creeps."

The owl with brown feathers and round yellow eyes hooted, hopping on the table and looking between you and Steve. It definitely did not like you.

“Maybe it wants something?” Steve guessed.

“Like what? Dollar bills or a treat in exchange for its postal services?” you scoffed. The owl wasn’t privy to your cynicism, but you still crept closer to Steve in fear of it deciding to attack you or something.

“A confirmation, maybe?” The owl hooted, seemingly agreeing with Steve. You quickly grabbed his arm, giving it a tight squeeze. “Dove, I don’t think it’s taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

As if on the same page, the owl moved away from you both and flew to the outside of the house. You and Steve just stared at the open window, House 5 right there, teasingly close.

Steve was on high alert. His fingers dug into the edges of the wooden window as he fixed his eyes on the mysterious house down Easton Avenue. You’d think that there would be bustling activity considering the owners had only recently moved in, but he never saw anyone walk in or out of that house. He didn’t even recall catching sight of anyone by the window.

And although the Halloween feast was barely ten minutes away from starting, no one had approached the house yet.

“Dove,” Steve called, pushing away from the window and adjusting his suit. “I’m gonna head out now. I know that Tony and the others overlooked the invite and didn’t want to interfere, but to be on the safe side—”

He was about to tell you to activate your security system and connect to the emergency line of the Avengers Initiative if he didn’t update you within twenty minutes of entering that house. But his words were stuck on the tip of his tongue when you walked into view.

“Why are you wearing your stealth suit?” you asked, almost glumly. Steve just blinked, looking completely flabbergasted, like a deer caught in headlights.

“I can ask you the same thing.” He pointed at your outfit, his tongue poking out and wetting his lips. “Why do you have a stealth suit on? Where did you even get one?”

The saccharine surprise in Steve’s tone fueled your heart with desire. You chewed on your lower lip, twirling a strand of your hair to draw Steve’s attention to your ponytail. His breath hitched, his eyes running a marathon across the expanse of your neck. You relished the lust that crossed over his features when you swayed your hips and sauntered to his side.

“Do you like it?” came your ardent whisper. Steve’s hands circled your hips, fingers burying in the leather of your suit, squeezing your side in affirmation.

You loved Halloween, making it your October resolution to find the best costume. But it was always hard to find one, considering there were so many options to choose from, and you were as decisive as a Gemini. After some time, an Avengers stealth suit popped up during your search, one which sinfully complimented your ass and curves. So you knew, right away, that getting your hands on it was a must if it would drive Steve crazy.

“Why are you wearing it, dove?” Steve asked once more.

Innocently batting your eyelashes at him, you answered, “Because we’re going to the Halloween feast.”

“Absolutely not.” And there it was. “I told you, I’m going in to check it. Alone. It’s a mission, Y/N. And you stray away from those.”

“It’s not an official mission if Tony didn’t approve it.”

“I’m the Head of the Avengers.”

“You’re Head Strategist, yes. But we both know that if Tony and Fury don’t give the green light, you can’t treat whatever this is as a mission.”

You had him there, and you knew it. While Steve Rogers had a knack for defending any argument and finding a way to assert his stance, this time he faltered for an answer, and only managed to say, “You’re still not going.”

“Don’t you think it’s going to look a tad bit suspicious if you walk into that house alone? And with your suit on?”

“No,” Steve shrugged. “Besides, that’s why I’m leaving my shield here.”

“And your common sense.” If his glare was any indication, he didn’t appreciate your commentary. “If I go with you, it would look like we’re genuinely interested in their stupid feast. You can snoop around while I stick to the activities.”

“That’s too dangerous.”

“So, why do you assume I’d let you go there on your own?”

“Because I’m enhanced, Y/N.”

“And I’m a SHIELD agent for the night, Steve.”

“And you judge me about my common sense?”

“Steve,” you stressed, catching his attention. “If that house is not as safe as the Avengers claim, I am not letting you go there by yourself. You can either go against me and leave me here, alone, well aware that our loony neighbors are watching. Or, you take me with you. It’s your call.”

It’s been yours since the beginning, and you’re not the least bit surprised when Steve mumbled something incoherent before he ushered you out of the house.

The neighboring houses, much like your own, were modestly decorated for the occasion. The Barbers, your neighbors from across the street, had a couple of skeleton bodies strewn across the yard and fake bats hanging from the large tree in their backyard. The Adlers went with carved pumpkins and flickering lanterns, which created a warm, inviting ambiance. Meanwhile, the Hansens had embraced the theme with scattered tombstones and heinous, life-sized witches tending to their boiling cauldrons.

Although the fifth house on Easton Avenue was barren and devoid of even a string light, it stood as the most intimidating and menacing of them all. The sinister atmosphere grew more palpable when you and Steve approached. The wind carried an unsettling chill, and the ancient trees lining the path creaked like ghostly sentinels. It was as if the house was an isle of malevolence adrift in a sea of darkness.

“Why is it the only house with fog surrounding it?” Steve noted. You both stood by a withered fence, the imposing structure casting long, foreboding shadows.

“I don’t know,” you replied, glancing around nervously. “Maybe it’s just a fog machine, but this place is terrifying enough as it is. It doesn’t need any more decorations.”

With a heavy breath, Steve stepped forward, the fog swirling around his boots. You watched in apprehension as the entrance loomed ahead. Steve paused for a moment, turning back to you. His eyes, usually full of determination, now held a flicker of doubt. “I have a bad feeling about this, Y/N.”

The atmosphere turned even more chilling when, suddenly, a low, dissonant hum echoed from the depths of the house, making your hair stand on end. It was as if the very walls themselves held their breath in anticipation.

Without breaking his gaze from the looming house, Steve extended his hand toward you. You clasped onto it, anchoring yourself to this distorted reality. He spared a glance your way, one that was brief in time yet abundant in intensity, and you responded with a nod, your nerves on edge. With a deep breath, Steve raised his clenched fist to knock on the door, but before he could make contact, it swung open on its own.

You both cautiously crossed the threshold, never releasing each other's hands. You were met with a dimly lit room, paintings strewn across its walls, each with a calculating pair of eyes narrowing on you.

"Welcome, Steve Rogers and Y/N Y/L/N," a commanding voice boomed, rattling the portraits on the wall. You jumped in your shoes, trying to catch a glimpse of the source. You were left bewildered, staring at the void that surrounded you. "Welcome to a chilling night at Doom's Manor!"

You didn’t have time to ask questions—you barely had a chance to think before the front door swung shut and the blinds closed, engulfing the sinister house in even more darkness.

“What the hell?” you cried as an oppressive silence descended. It was like you were sucked into a black hole with only Steve’s touch tethering you to earth. “Steve! Turn on your flashlight.”

“I don’t have a flashlight, Y/N,” Steve tersely replied.

“You have a phone, which has a built-in flashlight. Turn it on,” you urged, your voice tinged with desperation. “Then we can discuss why you brought a gun and no flashlight to this place!”

You heard him groan in frustration, palms smacking against the leather of his suit as he fished out his phone. He pressed it, fingers less than graceful when it came to touchscreens. For a moment, you thought he had forgotten how to unlock the device. Until he said, “My battery’s dead.”

“Our brilliant Head Strategist venturing on a mission without the means to communicate! What kind of expert overlooks that?” you chastised, fishing out your own phone. You tapped it repeatedly, but the screen remained blank. A sinking feeling washed over you as you pressed the side button, yet it refused to light up. “I swear it was charged,” you whispered in disbelief.

“I’m afraid that your phones won’t work here,” the same disorienting voice said.

Unexpectedly, a blinding white radiance cut through the darkness, forcing both you and Steve to shield your eyes. As the light faded, it started to flicker intermittently, weaving through the walls and mingling with the torchlights.

Despite all the courage you tried to manifest, your voice brokenly whispered, “Steve, is this a bad time to tell you that I was never fond of haunted houses as a kid?”

The lights were still flickering when Steve ripped his hand from your firm grasp. Your breath hitched, thinking the worst. But he was still there next to you, eyeing the door. “No one is, dove. And I’m not forcing you to like ‘em now.”

With all the super soldier strength coursing through his veins, Steve lunged at the door, attempting to force it open. It broke your heart to see it stubbornly clenching its hinges no matter how many times Steve flung himself against it.

The mysterious voice tutted, inundating your being with fear. You held your breath, praying that Steve would get you both out of here fast.

“You should learn to treat even inanimate objects kindly, Captain Rogers. Or does all that strength chip away at your humanity?”

Ignoring the voice, Steve continued his assault on the door. What he didn’t expect was an incorporeal force that lunged at him without warning. The unadulterated strength in its grip sent him hurling through the air until he crashed to the ground with a loud groan.

“Steve!” you called apprehensively.

“Should I have warned you not to do that? Thought it was self-explanatory?” the same voice commented.

You heard your heels clicking against the tiles before you could even think about moving. Steve was rubbing at his temple, eyes forcibly closed after the fall. You were almost by his side when you felt a hand grab your hair and fling you into the air.

You shrieked, the quiver in your voice igniting Steve’s anger. He raced forward, arms stretched out. But unlike the pale, ghastly form that manhandled you, tangible vines stemmed from the recesses of the house’s tiles and walls, aiming at Steve.

“Get off him!” you commanded as you kicked your feet and threw a punch. Your forceful gestures vaporized into the thin air, torpid against the vice grip of the spirit before you. You gasped hard when the misty form wrapped itself around your neck—constricting the air around and molding you and the wall as one.

“Y/N!” Steve grunted, desperately trying to pry himself out of the vines’ steel grip. “Hold on. I-I’ll get it o-off.”

The morbid atmosphere was getting worse as dark spots clung to your vision’s periphery. The incorporeal assault remained relentless, slamming you once more against the wall. As you forced your eyes to meander, searching for a solution, you focused on antique torches, each with a blue flame in its grasp.

The same torch hung from the wall you were trapped against. With a growl and a hell lot of hope that Ghostbusters had taught you something useful, you snatched the torch and incinerated the elusive monster.

One less than graceful descent later, you braced yourself against the floor with a thud. Steve was still struggling against Mother Nature’s prodigal offspring. He’d gotten a dagger out, but the more he cut through the vines, the more they multiplied.

You staggered your way to him just as the plant lunged at his face. “Don’t even think about it!” you warned, attacking the plant with the iridescent flames. Steve inhaled sharply as the vines, which were wrapped around him, turned into ash.

“Dove, I don’t know if I should be in awe or fear of what just happened,” Steve admitted as you helped him up. You were too busy inspecting his body for injuries to answer.

“We need to get out of here,” you said in one breath. “This place isn’t safe.”

Steve was about to answer when the eerie voice interjected, “Safe is boring.”

You sneered, wanting so badly to punch whoever was callously commenting. Steve grabbed you tightly and maneuvered his way through the house. Luckily, nothing else attacked you two as you navigated the narrow corridors except for the thick dust and the cobwebs.

Steve had found a door, which he immediately opened. As he stepped into the room, large and foreboding, a sense of apprehension gripped him. Shadows danced along the walls, playing tricks on his vision, while a musty scent of decay lingered in the air.

You both tried to find a way out, but to your utter horror, the same door you had opened to run into this room disappeared.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Steve asked, bewildered. He ran his hands over the wall, fingers tracing the edges of the now-invisible door. “How is that even possible?”

You shook your head in disbelief. “I don’t know. But the werewolf would have been better.”

“Well, that could be arranged,” the mysterious voice announced.

In hindsight, you should’ve thought twice before giving your two cents. But how were you supposed to know that the sentient house didn’t only manipulate nightmares but could also manifest them?

Steve turned toward you, distress visibly carved across his forehead. He reached out for his gun just as a violent wind attacked the isolated room. Your hair flailed, falling victim to the assault.

You tightened your hold on the torch despite the wind’s ministrations. It was thrashing within the borders of the room, incessantly clawing at you and Steve. The bright azure flames wavered from where they were perched on your torch, despite all your attempts at keeping them tamed. They tumbled down and crashed into the ground.

The moment the flames met the tiles, they burst into a fit of undiluted anger. The blue orbs separated, each tracing its brittle path and leaving destruction in its wake. The flames circled you and Steve in a dance of tantalizing grace—rising beyond the surface and falling back into the ground’s arms.

You and Steve were each pushed to one side. You stood there, him with a fully loaded gun and you with an empty torch, silently watching as the translucent flames birthed a werewolf.

“I don’t think the situation can get any worse,” you pointed out, taking care to not step into the line of fire. Literally. “So, is it too late to ask for a vampire instead? At least we have a stake.”

Steve looked appalled by the suggestion. “This isn’t the Edmond-Jason debate, Y/N! Both options are worse for wear!”

The werewolf wasn’t fond of Steve’s vernacular; at least, that’s why you assumed since it decided to lunge at him first. You slumped back just as Steve ducked his head and rolled to the side. The beast was relentless in its movement, clawing and growling at your soldier—canines salivating with excitement, eager to dip into flesh.

“I know it’s not the time, but it’s Edward and Jacob! And what I meant is that we at least have a stake! A viable weapon against a vampire. What means of defense do we have against a translucent werewolf?!”

“The same thing we have against a translucent vampire,” Steve grunted, firing three consecutive shots at the luminous creature. All three of them pierced his hollow frame, leaving him unscathed. “Nothing!”

Despite the fear that inundated your body, you still looked for a weapon to fight the beast with. Unfortunately for you, the room was desolate with nothing but mold and fractured walls holding it on their shoulders. Steve was actively trying to retain its attention, steering it clear from your path, but you knew he wouldn’t be able to last any longer.

“Well, maybe the house can conjure a non-translucent vampire,” you thought aloud. Truthfully, you weren’t really thinking straight, but what other choices did you have at the moment?

Needless to say, Steve disagreed. “Vampires aren’t real!”

“Well, what do you know?” you shrieked, all modicum of common sense out of the non-existent window. “There is a Spider-Man and an Ant-Man. Who's to say there is not a.. a Bat-Man that’s willing to make this situation a little less complicated!” The wolf finally caught your voice. It growled as if to show its dissatisfaction at having to hear you speak, craning its head and baring its teeth when its silver eyes landed on you. “Mysterious house, please!”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

If you could take a wild guess, you’d say the werewolf wasn’t particularly fond of the creepy voice. That, or it was crestfallen at the idea of losing its chew toys.

Its blue glow intensified, switching from deceitful calm to voracious hunger. Your heart hammered in your chest, assaulting your ribcage as it sensed the looming danger. You tried to step away, but the wolf spied on your meek attempt. It prowled, ferocious and murderous in its pursuit.

Just as you raised your arms to shield yourself from him, Steve’s body collided with yours. “Y/N!” his scream ricocheted across the walls.

Was it so vehemently loud? You wondered. Or were your ears easily susceptible to noise?

As soon as Steve’s arms wrapped around you, you fell gracelessly into the void. The blue of the wolf fused with the paleness of the room, making a torpedo of vivid, interloping colors swirl before your eyes. The fall was like a dwindling spiral—long, endless, and tiring. And then you landed somewhere more stale; much more dark.

“Y/N!” Your name was the first thing you heard and the light that pulled you from darkness’ heavy lull. Hands roamed your body, gentle yet firm, unrelenting despite the groan that escaped your throat. “Y/N, please. I need to know you’re okay. Tell me that you weren’t hurt.”

You lifted your head, now aware that you were lying on Steve’s chest. The perilous haze only barely dissipated once you opened your eyes. “I’m okay. Are you?” you asked, eyes raking over Steve’s figure to see if he had been hurt in that fight. Besides his frightened and concerned eyes, he looked alright.

A long breath escaped his pink lips. His large hand cradled your face, magically bringing your pulse back to a languid pace. “As long as you’re alright, I’m fine. But I’ll be better once we get out of here.”

You stood up, holding your hand out to Steve, which he gratefully took. Lacing your fingers together, you carefully examined your surroundings, noting the hollow room you were in. Once again devoid of light, air, and a way out.

“How are we gonna get out?”

“Through that door.” By now, your senses had been attuned to the house’s tricks, so you weren’t jostled by the resounding echoes of the mysterious voice. True to its words, a large blue door materialized at the far end of the hallway. It rattled against its hinges, almost as if something was trying to break free on the other side. “Better hurry up, angel wings. Or else you’ll miss it.”

The voice dissolved softly like snowflakes giving away to the sun. And yet, its resolve bellowed across the room, the walls and ground shattering against its whispers.

“Maybe the vampires weren’t such a bad idea after all,” Steve remarked. You knew his Captain's brain was on overdrive, actively searching for the best escape route. But you knew it was there, right in front of you. So, mustering up all the courage you had in you, you tugged Steve’s hand and bolted toward the blue door.

The walls wailed, angered at your choice. They began to move, closing in on you at a menacing speed. Steve pulled you closer, almost molding both your bodies into one. He gained momentum, and your feet were about to give up from the unbridled force of his movements.

The walls were at a measurable distance, and you couldn’t believe you’d made it unharmed this far. Steve reached out, trying to push the silver loop that would open the door. But you should’ve known better than to trust the mysterious house. Of course, it wasn’t going to make it easy.

“Of course, I wasn’t going to make it easy,” the voice parrotted the words inside your head.

“What do you want?” Steve seethed, looking over his shoulders as the walls picked up their pace.

“O Captain! My Captain! To enter Doom’s lair, you must first answer my question.”

“What question?”

You heard someone clear their throat, and you could’ve sworn the bastard was smirking before it answered,

“Forged by fears and entangled in thoughts,

Within the breadth of darkness, I reside.

Devoid of soul, I grasp control,

In my distorted mist, your will subsides.

I am concealed within deceit and unseen with eyes,

Tell me, soldier, who am I?"

“Son of a bitch!”

“Language, Captain. And that’s not the answer.”

Your feet quivered, bouncing in place. Steve had lost his patience, now alternating between throwing answers and attempting to knock the door down. He was spewing some more worthless answers while you stared at the walls. Barely 10 inches separated you from your ultimate demise, and nothing but a correct answer would save you from this situation. Despite your fears, you took a deep breath, knowing you needed to answer that question. Now.

“Nightmare!” you yelled. Steve had stopped the assault on the door, looking at you with a perplexed gaze. “The answer to the riddle is a nightmare.”

A weighty silence gripped the helm of the foreboding atmosphere, lingering until the awaited response finally emerged. “That is correct.”

The locks turned, the door creaking as it offered you the solace you’ve been so desperately seeking. Steve practically pushed you inside, following you soon after. The door closed shut behind you, ushering you into a misty room. The wind picked up once again, and before you, a cloaked figure emerged. Its head was down, edges of the onyx fabric it wore blowing with every single caress of the wind.

“Welcome,” the figure said in the same gruff and deep voice that you’ve been hearing since you entered the house. “Welcome to a chilling night at Doom’s Manor!”

“Who the hell are you?” you inquired agitatedly just as Steve ordered the figure to lift its cloak.

The cloaked figure revealed its pallid hands, previously concealed. With a tantalizing motion, the fingers encircled the edge of the hood, slowly lifting it. Your eyes widened, mind barely comprehending what you saw. And before you know it, you and Steve were saying the same thing in the same affronted tone. “Tony?”

“Oh, god. You should’ve seen your faces!” Tony clapped his hands together, the force of his laughs making him bend down and clutch his knees.

As he did that, the creepy atmosphere eroded, mist evaporating to reveal the large room behind it. Contrary to the other areas within the establishment, the room was full of life and spacious, with neon lights and a large disco ball illuminating it. All of the Avengers were there, and you even spotted Peter Parker in an Iron Man costume tearing Bucky’s ear off with one of his stories. Judging from the number of waiters tending to the even bigger number of guests, you knew what you walked into.

“Did you seriously rent out a spooky house just so that you can throw a secret party in its basement?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“No,” Tony huffed, seemingly offended by the absurdity of your claim. “I bought it.”

Behind you, Steve was rolling his eyes while you raked your fingers through your loose ponytail. You were never going to understand billionaires and their logic.

“I thought you were throwing a party at the Compound,” Steve finally spoke. And thank God he did before you ripped Tony a new one for the scare he’d just cost you. You were most certainly going to have him cover your health insurance for the next eon and the one after.

“I was. But then you bailed to play house with your girl—great costume, by the way, Y/N. We should talk to Fury about making you a SHIELD agent. And they say your boyfriend’s ass is America’s ass.”

“Tony!”

“What? Fine, don’t get jealous. You still are America’s ass but in a less sexy and more annoying way.”

“Would you just tell me what the hell was all this?”

“Man, if I knew all it would take me is Wanda’s freaky manipulation magic to get you to curse, I would’ve done that a long time ago.”

Feeling your headache on the verge of expanding, you put your hand on Steve’s arm and interceded, “It’s clear that you're high on mindlessness right now. So, once you’re down from the Tony Stark Clouds of Wonder, we’ll talk about you and your ridiculous behavior.”

“Geez Louise, you’re not dressed as a shield agent, but the female counterpart of Captain Stern over here.”

“At least I’m not one less nose away from looking like Voldemort,” you spat as you trudged toward the party, Steve a step behind you.

Tony scoffed, his voice softer compared to the blaring music. “I’m dressed as the Grim Reaper.”

“Yeah, well, your stick seems to have been lost somewhere up your ass!”

When you and Steve joined the party, you headed immediately toward the bar. You weaved your way across the dance floor, giving Sonic-dressed Pietro a quick wave and catching the eye of a disinterested Bruce in an Ultron costume.

Natasha was at the bar, dressed as a ballerina with a pink tutu and a lot of pearly pins in her hair. You shot her a questioning look, which quickly dissolved courtesy of the menacing glare in her eyes. ‘Don’t ask,’ she silently communicated, and you were content with sitting there on a surprisingly comfortable barstool instead of running away from a wolf.

“I can’t believe Tony did all of this?” Steve voiced out, shoulders hunched and laced with tension.

Natasha handed him a signature fix she’d just made, passing you your drink of choice. “It’s not just you two. He did it to plenty of people.”

“Like who?”

“Bucky and Sam,” Natasha replied to your question. “They couldn't answer the riddle, so they got stuck outside cursing at one another until Strange had enough of their arguing and portalled them in. They were pretty pissed. Thor made it out, thanks to Loki. He enjoyed it, though. Loki? Not so much. He turned into a snake and tried to bite Tony the moment he got to the other side of the door. Pepper and Happy are next.”

You shook your head at the thought. “She’s going to kill him.”

“Exactly. Which is why he has a surprise for her, under lock and key, somewhere around here.”

Dissatisfied by the piece of information, Steve snatched his drink and faced the other way. “Of course, he’d try to get out something without facing the repercussions.” His attention focused on Tony's exaggerated gestures as he iterated his previous morbid speech to the new guests.

Your eyes narrowed at Tony, thoughts errant as they dug up a hundred ways you could get back at him. Honestly, a part of you was willing to get Snake Loki to bite him or convince Dr. Strange to send him halfway across the universe. But you wanted to hit him where it hurts. You wanted him to feel the fear he inflicted on you and Steve, even if it was for just a moment. But Tony Stark didn’t fear anything. Well, apart from Starbucks running out of his favorite coffee and Pepper ignoring him.

“Pepper!” you shouted in glee. Steve and Natasha looked between you and the door, thinking that Pepper had already crossed all the obstacles and made it safely to the party. A crease lined up on their foreheads when they didn't find her there. “Nat, you don’t happen to have a key to that room, do you?"

At the drop of a hat, Natasha caught on to what you were saying. She shook her head but deviously smirked, green eyes flickering to the space behind you. “I don’t. But Wanda’s been regretting helping Stark on this. It shouldn’t be hard to convince her to help you get back at him.”

You jumped from your seat, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The intensity of your excitement and the tug on Steve’s arm made his drink fall and spill on the countertop. It took you a minute to find Wanda, who was sitting in the corner with downcast eyes, nursing a drink. She didn’t hesitate to help you, literally jumping at the chance.

Moments later, she led you to a room down a few halls and flicked her wrist, materializing a key and unlocking the door. Her 30s-inspired dress swung as her figure retreated. You looked at Steve, took a deep breath, and entered the room. But where you expected to find shopping bags, jewelry, or even a giant Iron Man teddy bear, what you found was something entirely different.

“Steve,” his name came out as a whisper. “Please don’t tell me I have to explain what I’m seeing. Because I don’t think I can.”

Your gaze was fixed on your surroundings, unable to be torn from anything else. You didn’t see Steve’s unblinking eyes or the tingles that danced across his fingers. It took him a while before he composed himself and answered you. “It’s okay. I already know.”

The room was red, a deep, rich shade of scarlet red. And if you had been careful enough to read the plaque by the room’s door, you would’ve figured it was Tony’s Halloween version of the red room. But what was beneath the mirrored ceiling, which quite frankly made you hyperventilate at the thought of the glass possibly falling on you while sleeping on that astonishingly spacious king-sized bed, was not a welcoming ballet class with metal bars and pink pointe shoes on the side. It was red walls with metal cuffs and chains attached to them and a widespread table with three silk blindfolds, floggers, ropes, and a whole lot of other things that made heat rise to your cheeks.

“We can’t destroy anything,” you breathed out with a voice that was too airy to be your own. “We can’t even hide anything with that wide selection Tony has. He’s not going to miss a blindfold, and he’ll just ask for another bottle of champagne.”

Steve didn’t answer, his mind preoccupied with something else. You couldn’t fault him; it was exceedingly hard to look at the room around you. And when you chanced a glance at the corners, you had to bite your lip at the sight of the cameras and lighting. Tony went all out, and to be honest, you didn’t know if this was his “genius-philanthropist” side, who was investing in a sexually healthy relationship with Pepper, or if it was his “billionaire-playboy” side, who decided there’s no shame in indulging in a variety of pleasures and give Pepper the liberty of choice.

You were so lost in thought, you were surprised to find Steve examining one of the cameras. He flicked on the lights and turned the camera to your side. Your brain finally registered his actions, and you were sure he didn’t know what he was doing since he barely even knew how to answer a video call. But before you could say anything, Steve beat you to it.

“Why destroy when we can take advantage?”

The camera turned on. You could tell from the twinkle of mischief in Steve’s irises that he caught the stagger in your pulse before you even did. He turned around, his sculpted and perfectly molded back replaced with the sight of his chiseled jaw. You gulped, blood rushing to your ears while shivers rushed down your spine.

You watched as Steve glided across the room, footsteps light and noiseless compared to the harsh speed of your heartbeats and the fray within your every vein. You wanted him. And he knew because with each step he took to get closer to you, you didn’t falter. You stood right where you were, waiting for him to devour you.

His cerulean eyes transformed, ebbing and flowing in a sea of blue and green. Until his waves crashed against your shore, and you met them somewhere in the middle.

“Steve.”

He didn’t reply. He inched closer even though there was no more room for his body to creep to, forcing his knee between your legs and giving you no other choice but to open them. You almost stumbled but quickly understood what he wanted.

It was like a dance. Every time Steve moved closer, you found yourself stepping back until your back hit the door, leaving nothing but locked gazes between you. With a bated breath, you studied Steve’s movements, whimpering as his left arm rose and nestled against your head. His palm was pressed against the cold door, whose color burned with desire. And somehow, Steve absorbed that hunger and set your entire body ablaze with it. Without a single touch.

“I can feel you,” he murmured on top of your lips, his velvety breath claiming rights to a first kiss. Steve leaned his body closer, almost engulfing you whole. His index and middle fingers made contact with your skin, and you swore you could’ve exploded. He traced the distance between your fingers and forearm, leisurely exploring the smooth surface that framed your veins. Involuntarily, your head craned, exposing your neck as he inched closer and closer, cheekily exhaling against your pulse point. “I can smell you,” he almost moaned, or maybe that was you. “You smell so tart, so fresh. So, deliriously scrumptious.”

“Steve,” this time, you did moan, implicitly begging him to touch you. You heard the lock on the door click, but you didn’t dare move your eyes.

In the next few seconds, Steve pulled the key out of the keyhole. You exhaled loudly, head banging against the wooden door when he moved the metal keys against your clothed heat. Sparks ignited in your soul as you began to take the fast lane to heaven, and Steve’s voice didn’t help the ache recede. It only fanned its flames.

“So wet.” He knew it without feeling it for himself. “So inviting.” He moved the key from your center to your navel and then to your sternum. You hadn’t realized how hot your body was until the keys touched your collarbone. It was a clash of hot and cold—an explosion of the senses with Steve’s breath hovering against your shoulders to add the final and delicious touch. With tantalizing grace, the key danced across your throat and chin, lifting your head to meet Steve’s breathless whisper, “So beautiful.”

Your eyes met, and you couldn't tell if his pupils were dilated or if his typically clear blue eyes were merely mirroring your own. He trapped your cheeks in his hold, applying the slightest bit of pressure on them. You couldn’t help but gaze at the camera that recorded the way Steve tapped the key against your lips, almost pushing it in.

Within the next second, his fingers loosened around the key, making it fall into the open space of your suit. You moaned aloud, the sound stretching over a minute when Steve stuffed his index and middle fingers in your mouth while bringing his prominent bulge closer to your heat. “My mistake, little dove.” He thrust forward, his clothed dick deliciously humping against your pussy. You whimpered around his fingers. “Be a pretty little girl, Y/N, and suck on my fingers while I get back that key.”

You nodded your head, vehemently following his order. Hollowing your cheeks, you sucked his fingers inside your throat—lost in the simple pleasures Steve Rogers was known to give.

He planted wet, demanding kisses on your neck and just below your ear, not too far from your earlobe but not close enough. His other hand caressed your cheek until it retreated and began to reach for the zipper on your suit. It was at the forefront, making it easy for Steve to find it and lower it down. His hips met yours just as you pushed his fingers away from your throat. You pulled them back in, keeping the rhythm going while your tongue swirled around his fingertips.

Your zipper lowered, slowly and placidly, yet there was nothing peaceful about the way Steve trailed his thumb across your exposed skin. A fire consumed you whole, a sinful moan escaping when he found the key and cupped your pussy, with it still in his hands. You could’ve cried then and there, and frankly, there were tears on the edge of your lashes. In your lustful delirium, you hadn’t noticed your hiked leg on Steve's waist, which was pushing him closer to your body. He massaged your heat, his fingers and the key playing with your clothed folds until he backed away completely to cup your cheeks.

“Are you going to be a good girl and listen to me, dove?” he asked in a sultry voice that made your core weep.

He took his fingers out of your mouth, keeping his eyes on parted lips. You wet your them eagerly, needing him to satiate your thirst. “Yes, Captain.”

Steve smirked, the key long forgotten but the desire ever-present. “When I sit down on the edge of that bed, you’re going to take off your clothes. I want you to keep that sinful bra, these terrible excuse for panties, and those high heels on. Nothing else, alright?”

“Yes, Captain,” you affirmed.

Steve leaned forward, his pink lips above yours. You chased them, greedily wanting a kiss. But the only thing you got was a smirk in return. He took a slight detour, heading toward the camera on the right to make sure it was on, too. His broad shoulders looked even more breathtaking in the softly lit space.

Then, he sat down on the large bed, legs open and inviting. You took it as your cue. Gracefully, you slipped the suit off your skin, sighing in exaggerated relief as the fabric released its hold. You were filled with a sense of accomplishment when Steve shifted in his seat, his throat bobbing. You grabbed at your sides, making sure your thong was at a perfect angle before lowering the rest of your suit down. Steve’s breath was caught in his throat, eyes examining you as you slipped off your shoes to peel the rest of your stealth suit off.

Remembering Tony’s previous remarks about the suit, you turned back, purposely bending over as you grabbed your shoes. You kept your back at the same lowered angle, giving Steve a front-row seat to your round ass, temptingly framed by the thin black thong you had on.

Despite your bubbling anticipation, you took your time. And you were not disappointed by the sight before you. Steve was already cupping his clothed erection, playing with himself because of your actions. You glanced at him, moving one heel in front of the other, but he put up his hand before you could move any closer.

“St—?”

“On your knees,” he ordered. You were surprised by his command but quickly composed yourself, setting yourself on your knees with your hands flat on your thighs obediently. “Crawl to me, little dove. Come and show me how good you can make a man feel.”

It was like you were moving on autopilot. All your brain could muster were thoughts of Steve. On top of you, underneath you, and facing you. Every single image was of him losing control and moaning your name without abandon. So, you crawled like the good girl you want to be—his good girl.

When you got to his side, you touched his ankles, hands skimming across his legs and fingers teasing the area behind his knees. Choked sounds escaped his parted lips, egging you on. Your lips landed on his clothed erection, and you stilled for a beat, then two. You could feel him twitch as a result of your gaze.

Hands on the inside of his thighs, you gave him a gentle squeeze. You puckered your lips and peppered kisses on his clothed erection, going as far as to whimper. There was soon pressure on your head once Steve carded his fingers in your hair. “Y/N,” he murmured. “Don’t tease.”

Your doe eyes met his in a luscious glance, his eyes never leaving yours. Not when you bit down on his belt, not when you untangled it with only your teeth, and certainly not when you helped him out of his suit, yanking down his boxers and sucking on his tip. “Yes, that’s it, dove. That’s it,” he said, head thrown back.

And you took the chance to make him crumble even more. His dick was large, exhilaratingly captivating. You felt dirty at the thought of wanting it inside of you—inside your mouth and your pussy. Hell, you even loved having it between your breasts. You just wanted Steve’s dick so bad, and you were not shying away from mentally admitting that Steve turned you from his little dove to his good little whore whenever his dick was involved.

You hollowed your cheek and took as much of his dick as you could in your mouth. You had been practicing, some nights trying to deepthroat him thrice to get every bit of him in you, tattooing your every essence on his cock.

Steve moaned, loudly and pornographically, bucking inside your mouth. You accepted him, moving even further down across his shaft, the wet noises only spurring you on. Greedily, you used your hands to grip his base. When your mouth thrust deeper, your hands moved higher, creating a polarizing rhythm that left Steve throwing himself back against the bed. “Good God,” he practically screamed. “Take me. Take all of me in your little mouth and tiny hands, Y/N. Wet my dick with your mouth, baby girl. Make me cum just for you.”

You obliged, taking him even deeper and relishing his moans. Your lips moved lower, tongue circling around his balls before you sucked each of them in. His grip on you tightened, eliciting a slight pain in your head. But you didn't care. “Fucking good girl of mine,” he cried out breathlessly, fingers fisting your hair. “Fucking perfect mouth that’s made to take no one but me. To swallow no man’s cum but mine. To have its walls and roof painted white by my dick and my dick alone.”

Your pussy ached, and you found yourself desperately humping against the floor while you took his balls in your mouth, moaning like a fucking porn star. You were surprised your lustful sounds hadn’t attracted anyone yet, and you quickly realized that the room must’ve been soundproof. The realization made you rub your pussy harsher against the parquet floor, hands now gripping Steve’s thighs for dear life.

In your peripheral vision, you saw Steve move his shoe-clad feet closer to your core. You whimpered, heart beating frantically against your ribcage. Steve was a gentleman, and while he could be feral in the bedroom, he could never find it in himself to humiliate or degrade. But he knew that when lust took over, you desperately wanted to be his slut. His whore. Nothing but a hole for him to abuse and fill at his leisure.

The first time you asked him to degrade you, he froze. And when he wasn’t comfortable with doing that, you didn’t ask again. But Steve would sometimes do something. A small gesture to appease the both of you. He’d reach out for the drawer and silently look at you with a soundless question: can I use toys? He’d put three fingers in your pussy and wait for you to ask for more before he fisted you.

And tonight, he was giving it to you. The chance to be degraded—to be his perfect little whore. And you took it, crying out loud, practically sobbing at the feel of your wetness coating his shoes. He didn’t move, but you did, swinging your hips back and forth while taking all of his dick in your mouth. You hadn’t noticed how utterly filthy and lewd you looked until you raised your eyes and met your reflection in the ceiling’s mirror. Steve was looking at you too. He watched the way you humped his shoes and took his cock in your mouth. He pushed you against his dick, and you choked. Your breathing became erratic the more you moved against his shoes, tears spilling down your eyes accompanied by the symphony of your satisfied sobs. And that did it for him. He exploded with a scream of your name, cum invading your mouth and taking over your entire senses.

He slowly shifted you back, freeing his shoe from your hold. You were a sight for sore eyes. Thong wet and askew, bra hanging low with pebbled nipples almost peeking out, eyes blown wide with desire. He devoured the painting in front of him, committing your disheveled hair and the cum dripping down the side of your red, swollen lips to memory.

“Captain.” Though he wasn’t too far off in his dreams—because they couldn’t rival this reality—Steve had to admit that he got lost in his thoughts. Your voice called out to him like a devious siren luring him to his demise. “Please. Take me.”

You gasped when his hands were suddenly on your ass, but you barely had the chance to think about it. In the next second, Steve placed you on the mattress with his lips perched above your own. They were like the forbidden fruit: enticing, delectable, and there. Just there, only slightly out of reach. He lightly caressed your lips, each time pulling back before you could reciprocate, repeating the motion until he finally yielded to you.

“Let me taste myself on your lips, little dove,” he breathed in your mouth huskily. “Prove to me I’m only appetizing on your tongue.” You obliged. Your lips captured his own in a violent assault, claiming his tongue as a hostage. Trapped within the walls of your mouth, it explored the edges and the roof, clashing against your own tongue.

You caressed his face, fingers grazing over the beginning of his stubble. A sigh escaped your lips, both from his seductive ministrations and the thought of his stubble against your wet pussy. The image dissolved as soon as his lips left your own. You yelped, finding Steve’s hands entrapping both of yours. “Stevie,” you whimpered, every syllable begging him for his attention. His other hand slithered down your body, gliding across your inner thigh. You thought this was it—he was finally giving you your heart’s desire. But instead of the moan you expected to flee from your throat’s confines, you heard yourself yelping. A sharp and blazing sensation overtook your core, forcing your head back.

“What do you want, dove? You gotta be specific for me, little one?”

“Your hands,” you moaned. It was quickly replaced by a sharp cry when Steve slapped your pussy again. “In me. Inside of me, please,” you begged, gasping when Steve landed another slap across your lower lips. Your clit ached, swollen and inflamed, showing Steve exactly where you needed him.

He slithered his fingers across your pussy lips, moving them up and down. You mewled, alternating between looking at your reflection in the mirror and looking at Steve. His fingers quickly found your entrance, and he put the tip of his fingers in. But the bane of mischief that Steve Rogers was in the bedroom, he took them out of you, replacing them with a harsh slap.

“Not yet,” he practically growled. Leaving you fighting for composure, Steve reached out to the table by his side. The first thing you saw was the handcuffs he diligently wrapped around your hands and secured against the bedframe. The second was the silver silk blindfolds, which he wrapped around your eyes.

You willingly slipped into the darkness, mesmerized by the sea of possibilities before you. Your senses amplified when Steve’s fingers traveled down the expanse of your body. You felt the bed dip, Steve’s bulky frame nestled on top of your stomach. And you melted in a pool of unbridled hunger when he tapped his index finger against your lips with a single command, “Don’t swallow.”

You half expected him to be jerking and ready to unload his load in your mouth. Or maybe he wanted you to take him once more down your throat. But you almost gagged at the feel of the cold liquid inundating your mouth—the taste of the bubbling champagne asserting its dominance.

Steve set the bottle down, leaving you unsure whether he had taken a sip or not. His earlier ministrations resumed, this time hands tugging at your bra. He cupped your breasts, weighing them in his hands. You wanted to moan so badly, but you didn’t want to defy his orders.

He reveled in the way you whimpered, sounds oppressed by the force of his command. He continued playing with your breasts, keeping your left one in his hand and drawing special attention to your right one. He peppered both of them with kisses, using his tongue to circle the area around your nipple and make your pussy clench around nothing but the air that surrounded you.

You bucked against his tongue, hands tugging at the restraints, but they refused to budge. Not that you expected them to. Breathing through your nose, you tried to reach for your impending release. You were no stranger to nipple orgasms, and Steve was trying to draw one out of you—you were sure. A fire built up inside of you, leaving your body temperature rising. You thrust your hips in the air. Sadly, nothing caught their movements.

Steve alternated between both nipples, giving each of them an equal amount of attention. You cried louder, trying to hold the champagne in. You were about to come when Steve pulled away.

A high-pitched whine reflected your displeasure, gaining you a slap to your pussy. “Patience,” Steve ordered, and you reluctantly obliged. Even though you ached to be ravaged by him, whether by his hands, tongue, or dick, you had to admit that you were enraptured by his movements and were always more than eager to lose yourself in his lustful tempest.

You let some fresh air fill your lungs, still breathing through your nose, while Steve adjusted himself on your body. Though blindfolded, your senses were elevated, and you could sense Steve’s body heat creeping closer to yours. True to your suspicion, he loomed over you. One of his hands slithered across your neck, trapping you in a chokehold. You embraced his untamed gestures, craning your head to hopefully meet his face.

Without so much as a clue, Steve crashed his lips against yours with such fervor it left you reeling. You couldn’t keep the champagne in anymore, feeling Steve steal some of it from your mouth to his, letting the rest fall down across your chin and chest. Steve didn’t kiss you at that moment. He consumed you, engulfed you with his mouth, greedily taking in everything you had to offer.

You were an instrument, and he was the musician, releasing one string to play with the other. With a loud pop, he let go of your mouth, licking a long stripe down your neck and nibbling at the shell of your ear. “Mine,” he roared, one of his hands moving to your center.

“Yours,” you confirmed, eyes misty with lust and heart lost in the haze of Steve’s ardor. “I’m yours,” you barely managed to whisper before you cut yourself off with a loud yell. Your head hit the pillow, your body forced down by the weight of Steve’s palm on your stomach. You felt something enter your drenched pussy, seething itself to one side. You breathed in deeper now that your mouth had been free of the champagne’s grasp.

You winced, something else entering the right side of your pussy. Steve played with your clit, easing the discomfort. As the pain ebbed and passion rose, you quickly figured out what had Steve done: he’d put Ben Wa balls inside of you.

“You’re such a perfect little dove, Y/N. Letting me do anything and everything I want to do with you, knowing I’ll make you feel so good. Make you feel so perfect.”

“Yes,” you nodded vehemently, restraints rattling in harmony. “Yes, Captain. You make me feel so good.”

Steve smirked, and you just knew it from when he cupped your breasts and covered them with his mouth. “Just as you make me.”

He pulled your tits apart, and you hopped that meant he was going to fuck you. To fuck the brains out of you and the desire that’s nestled deep within your core. But of course, a super soldier like Steve wouldn’t be done yet. You didn’t know how much time had passed, whether it was an hour or an eon, but time always seemed inconspicuous when Steve was involved.

“Do this one little thing for me, baby doll. And I promise, I will let your pretty princess pussy milk my cock.”

“Anything,” you replied. Steve kissed you then, short but passionate. He pulled back and gave you one more peck before you felt him squeeze your tits once more, this time putting his dick between them. “Oh God. Oh God, Steve!”

“You like taking my cock any way you can, little dove,” he stated matter-of-factly, thrusting himself in the space between your tits and toying with your nipples at the same time. “You like having me as yours. Being the only woman in the world who can take my cock in a dozen different ways. The only woman who I can paint with my cum.”

“Steve,” you mewled loudly and sinfully. His movements, your thoughts, and the added pressure of the Ben Wa balls deep inside of you did so little to appease your heat. You cried and cried, moaning louder than any porn star in existence. And when you felt Steve grunt in pleasure, you gave it to him.

“Fucking hell, Y/N,” he cursed when you spat at his dick, drool dripping down your lips and mixing with precum. “You’re so shamelessly beautiful like this. My favorite piece of art.”

He thrust faster, lifting one breast and lowering the other to create an earth-shattering friction that left his dick twitching by your mouth. You knew what was coming, and you didn’t care whether Steve would allow your release or not. You opened your mouth, counting down his brisk breaths. He grunted twice, moaned once, and nestled his head in your neck to bite down on your shoulder. He was coming. So, you opened your mouth and took as much as you could while the rest of him mesmerizingly decorated your face and chest.

Steve released your tits, but the pressure in your core only barely subsided. He kissed your forearms, wet lips trailing your hands until he reached your wrists. Finally, after so much waiting, he released your hands and untied the blindfold. You squinted at the invasive light. Steve took this as a chance to kiss your eyelids, thumb caressing the curve of your mouth. “You’ve been so good to me, little dove. I think it’s time to get your reward. Would you lay on your stomach for me?”

You opened your eyes, seeking the warmth of his irises. “Uh-huh,” was all that you said before Steve helped you to the position he wanted. He unclipped your bra and slowly discarded your thong. Your pussy clenched, and he kissed your ass cheek when he noticed. “I’ll give you everything you need and more, my Y/N.”

Steve reached out for a pillow, placing it on your pelvis. “Stevie, please. I can’t wait anymore. Please, baby.”

“Don’t beg, little dove,” Steve told you while moving your hair to the side and positioning himself above you. “I’m here, Y/N. I’m yours. Take all of me.”

You whimpered, teary eyes looking at him to relieve you of your ache. Steve immediately moved his tip along your folds to collect your essence. Yearning for you as much as you yearned for him, he began to slowly sheath himself inside of you. You cried out at the sheer size of him, hands fisting the sheets beneath you.

Steve inserted himself slowly, bottoming out with a deep, guttural moan. “Fuck,” you breathed, grinding your hips against his—the friction amplifying his passion and yours. The Ben Wa balls intensified your lust, making you feel full and empty all at once.

Slowly, he started to move. His thrusts were sharp and deep, reflecting his need for you. But the more you moaned, the more he faltered, digging his dick further inside you. “You feel so good,” he admitted, knowing this position was a favorite of yours. You both had quickly discovered that it made for the best sex—giving Steve a clear route to your g-spot and an earth-shattering orgasm.

“More,” you demanded, seeking out his unbridled hunger. “Please, more!” You wanted to feel him lose control inside of you. You adored feeling him lose control inside of you. Steve obliged, thrusting in and out of you at a maddening pace, deeply embedding himself within your heat. “Fuck, Steve. Fuck!” you cried, his balls hitting your skin, adding to the lewdness of the scene.

“Tell me I can go faster,” Steve almost begged. You tilted your head, finding him with eyes closed and brows furrowed in concentration. There was a thin layer of sweat on his face, and you sought his hand to interlace your fingers, finding ways to mold into each other further. “Tell me I can ravage you. Tell me that I can give you all of me, Y/N.”

You squeezed his hand, and he reciprocated your touch. His thrusts were on the precipice of control, as were his actions, this close to tipping over the edge. He had taken your neck hostage in his large veiny hands, thrusting his tongue inside your mouth in tandem with his dick inside your pussy. “Lose control,” you told him. “Lose yourself in me, Captain.”

And lose himself he did. His thrusts became irregular, and it was hard to tell where exactly his hands were on your skin. They were squeezing your breasts, roaming your stomach, tightly pressing against your ass. He was everywhere. You looked up at the ceiling, salivating and burying your face in the mattress at the beautiful portrait you and Steve painted together. You both moaned louder than ever before, the cameras eagerly commemorating your actions.

“Steve, I’m so close,” you warned him when he kept on repeatedly hitting your g-spot. His response came in the form of short but sweet-sounding kisses planted from your collarbone to your neck. He nibbled on the shell of your ear, licking the skin there and sucking on it.

“Cum, little dove,” he said huskily. “Cream my cock.”

You moved faster against his dick, taking all of him in until you collapsed in on yourself, every part of you stealing Steve’s affection. You clenched hard against his dick, feeling yourself squirt and cream his cock. It didn’t take him seconds before he exploded inside of you, emptying his load for the third time with a scream of your name. He didn’t relent, though. His sporadic movements picked up again. At this point, you were far too lost in the haze of your unabashed engagements to notice. It didn’t take you long to feel another orgasm building up.

You were about to warn Steve when he flipped you over on your back, dick salaciously pounding into your pussy. Determination itched on his brows, and undiluted want lined his irises. He put his hand on your mouth, and you wailed, back arching, pussy squirting (again. How is this even possible?), and your entire surrounding collapsing on itself.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO DOING?” you heard a high-pitched scream. Too far gone in the throes of passion, you weren’t aware that Tony had opened the door, leading Pepper inside the room. But oh, Steve did. Judging by the smirk, he had heard them coming in.

“Do I really need to explain to you the birds and the bees, Tony?” he mocked, securing the sheets around you both and hiding you from view. His dick twitched inside of you, making it harder for you to breathe.

Tony looked furious. “What I need to you to explain, you ungrateful ass, is what are you doing in this room?

Steve arched an eyebrow. “Procreating,” he answered. You had to cover your mouth and hide behind him so as not to laugh. You could barely move from all the previous activities, and Steve’s dick inside of you, trapped between your overused pussy and the Ben Wa balls, wasn’t really helping the situation. “What are you doing here? Is that why you made comments about Y/N’s ass? Were you hoping to watch us or something?”

“OH MY GOD.”

“Pepper. No, I swe—”

“Is that your idea of making it up to me? Watching Y/N and Steve go at it. Tony—”

“Absolutely not! Do I look like I have a grandfather kink or something?”

“Then, why are we in this room?”

“Well, I was hoping we could engage in—”

“ENGAGE? With Steve and Y/N??”

“NO. I don’t even know what they’re doing here!”

“What every two consenting adults do,” you added with a raspy voice. Tony’s expression was almost as good as the sex you just had. He was utterly dumbfounded, desperately raking his brain to persuade Pepper that this wasn’t what she thought she was. “Nice costume, Pep. I’m sorry. We were told there was a surprise waiting for us for the emotional trauma caused by your genius playboy.”

“Yeah,” Pepper exhaled. She was dressed in what you assumed was an Asgardian dress, and you felt guilty to have ruined her night. “Well, it was a surprise for all of us. I’m sorry on behalf of the idiot playboy.”

Pepper glared at Tony, heels digging into his shoes. He cursed, his frustrations matching hers. “Pepper,” he begged breathlessly. But she was already gone. “I’m getting you two back for this. I swear.”

“No, Tony. We will not send you a copy of our sex tape,” you teased, purposely raising your voice. You swore Tony’s arc reactor was going to malfunction.

“I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING. PEPPER, I SWEAR. SHE’S LYING!!”

And with that, he left, leaving you and Steve hysterically laughing. He kissed you breathlessly, hands holding your face like you were the most precious thing in his life. “Halloween wasn’t that bad.”

“No. I kind of like this house now, too.”

“Me too, dove. I love every place I make happy memories there with you.” And happy memories you continued to make with Tony and Pepper’s squabble long lost in the background.

I'm going to hell for this.

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