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tender-rosiey · 9 months

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“A BIT GENTLER, PLEASE?”

— gojo, nanami, geto, and sukuna feeling their baby kick (f!reader)

GOJO SATORU:

satoru was always all over you, one clingy and affectionate husband.

truthfully, while you would like to say that he is annoying and is making you regret ever getting pregnant, you have to admit that he makes being pregnant a lot easier to endure. his light-hearted way of speaking puts you at easy somehow.

he also made it very obvious that he is excited for the baby, maybe even more than you’re. one of the many ways he shows his enthusiasm is through buying baby clothes and baby equipment and I mean a shit ton of them.

that’s why you’re not surprised when he enters the house with yet another batch of baby clothes, “wifey, I am home!”

you get up and waddle your way to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “what did you get this time?”

“I thought you would never ask,” he smirks before pulling out each and every one of the outfits he got.

you’re sat on the couch with a cup of your favorite warm drink as you listen to his rambles, “first off, I got this really cute blue dress! call it a dad’s instinct but I think she will have my gorgeous eyes,” he grins.

you nod absentmindedly as he continues, “second, I got this yellow jump suit? overalls? dungarees?” he switches his accent in the end and you roll your eyes. he resumes, “eh, I don’t care, but it’s pretty so who cares?”

he puts the clothes aside before kneeling in front you, hand resting on your stomaxh, “right, baby?” he coos, “daddy’s going to get you all the pretty outfits you want!”

you’re about to drift to sleep while your husband busies himself with the baby, but you’re quickly brought back to consciousness when you feel her kick against your stomach.

your husband’s gasp quickly follows after before he presses his ear to your stomach, “can you do that again for me, pretty?”

his other hand moves to hold your own and he guides your hand to his hair, “somehow, this is making me realize just how close she is to finally join us, right, wifey?”

“right, ‘toru,” you smile softly and he quickly starts peppering your face with kisses, murmuring about how his pretty wife is simply irresistible.

NANAMI KENTO:

whenever someone asks you about kento, you can’t find the words to stress just how much of a sweetheart he is. he was always a caring and attentive man.

yet, somehow it amplified after your pregnancy: he helps you rest as much as he can, cooks for you, and gets you all the snacks you would like.

you also remember the first time you told him that your feet hurt, and he ended up massaging it for you. you cried that day.

in summary, he never left you in need of anything, like right now for example.

“y/n, would you like anything else?”

a dopey smile is plastered on your face as you relax further in the cushions, feet propped up on the pillow your sweetheart of a husband got.

he places your favorite snacks right by your side. you cup his face and press a lingering kiss on his cheek, “no, thank you, kento.”

he nods and takes a seat beside you. he takes your hand into his and starts rubbing your hand, “we should start preparing the baby’s room,” he murmurs softly.

you nod, head resting on his shoulder, “you’re right. we need to welcome our little princess well.”

he chuckles and his hand moves to rest on your stomach, “I assembled the crib already so that’s something to be proud of.”

nanami’s arm is wrapped around your shoulder and you snuggle closer into his chest, giggling, “my strong, independent, and reliable husband,” you sigh happily, “whatever will I do without you?”

he half-heartedly rolls his eyes, “flattery is getting you nowhere.”

“but it does!” you laugh and he lightly tickles you. your hand rests on your stomach, alongside his. you smirk, “what do you think, baby? is mommy right?”

to your absolute delight, the little girl kicks against your womb making you squeal and instantly look at your husband, “kento, did you feel that?!”

“…yeah,” his face is one of awe. she kicks once again and nanami can’t help but press a kiss to your stomach, “looks like she is a strong, healthy baby.”

“just like her dad,” you chuckle but stop to think about it for a moment before concern over takes your face.

nanami’s gaze quickly snaps to you, “what’s wrong?”

“if she will be as strong as you then god help my uterus.”

GETO SUGURU:

geto gets a little busy at times, but he does do his best to make time for you.

in addition to that, nanako and mimiko love hanging out with you so it kind of puts him at ease, knowing that you’re accompanied by someone.

today, he was doing some of his usual works in the establishment? shrine? eh whatever.

no fiber of his being expected the girls to burst into the room, grins filling their faces, as they urgently call him, “geto-sama! you have to see what just happened!”

with no hesitation, he abandons the followers and quickly follows the girls. he asks them, voice laced with concern, “is y/n okay? did something happen?”

the girls giggle as they finally near your room. mimiko speak up, “she is okay! but something important really did happen!”

somehow, it sends geto more into panic, because just what happened and why is it so important to the point they had to call him?

after a while, they are finally there, and geto wastes no time in sitting by your side, hands and eyes inspecting your body for an injury.

you giggle, “’calm down, suguru,” you take his hand and guide it to your stomach, “can you feel it?”

“feel it? what do you mean—“ he pauses upon the little kick against his palm. he smiles, actually grins, quietly before looking you in the eyes.

you nod with a smile of your own, while he leans down to kiss your stomach then your hand.

he rests his head against your stomach, “how are you, little buddy?”

geto chuckles softly, “better not cause trouble for your pretty mom,” his eyes lock with yours, “I hate to see her in pain or discomfort.”

you roll your eyes before patting your husband’s head, “you’re quite the charmer, aren’t you?”

“I would rather only charm you, y’know,” he chuckles.

the both of you completely forget about the pair of girls standing at the door way, each snapping a bunch of photos of the moment in front you.

nanako snickers a little before teasing, “that line was a bit cheesy, no?”

he quirks an eyebrow at them and they quickly flee away. with a soft sigh and a gentle chuckle, he goes back to admiring you, hand rubbing circles on your stomach.

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

it’s safe to say that sukuna was surprised with the news of your pregnancy, but he came to terms with it quicker than you expected.

he just had to sit with himself a bit and understand that the ‘brat’ in you was his ‘brat’ as well.

he also found himself staring at your stomach longer than he would like. he started to really think about how life will go on from this point onwards.

he is a feared man, the king of curses, with no weaknesses to ever exploit.

that is until you came into his life. he grew fond of you and the rest is history. right now, though, you’re carrying his child.

after a long day, he finally enters your chambers and finds you fast asleep.

he guesses that carrying a child of his own must be more exhausting than that of a normal man. his feet take him to you and his figure towers over your sleeping form.

he watches your expression contort ever so slightly as you stir, perhaps in seek of your comfort.

he sits by your side and his hand traces your every feature, nails slightly grazing you but never hurting you. finally, it reaches your stomach and he frowns lightly.

he sighs, “just what the hell am I going to do with you?”

he feels a light kick against his palm.

his eyes widen at the movement and his hand involuntary presses against your stomach once more, wanting to feel the kick once again. he narrows his eyes, “what? you think that light kick is fit for the kid of the king of curses?”

as if understanding what he said, the baby delivers one rough and tough kick to your abdomen. you wince and whine at the pain, “sukuna, don’t be mean to the baby…”

“I am not trying to, woman,” he grumbles, “that kid is just short-tempered.”

sukuna is sporting quite the frown but it doesn’t stop his hand from massaging your stomach and you hum in content before sassing him, “oh wow, I wonder where did he get that from.”

you squeak as you feel a pinch to your side. you glare at sukuna who glares at you back before replying, “he got it from one stubborn woman who happens to be mine.”

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airbendertendou · 1 year

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i can’t die! [i’m all in.] ♡ chishiya shuntaro

anon requested : Hi Author! Can you please write (if it's okay) a fanfic about chishiya, Where the reader was chishiya's girlfriend before the borderline, they were supposed to meet in somewhere but the meteorite fell just before they did, and they meet again for the first time in the jack of hearts game? I know this isn't very detailed and I'm so sorry for that ;-; thank you author

song inspo ; coin by iu

synopsis : seeing your arranged boyfriend-of-sorts in the borderland’s is nerve-wracking. especially when he sees you’ve befriended a serial killer.

gender neutral reader, [name] used in place of y/n, platonic!banda - he might b ooc but idc <3, reader wears an oversized cardigan

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

— ♧ ♡ ♢ ♤ —

“Will you get out of my way?” You shove the tall male to the side playfully as you fasten the collar around your neck. Banda’s eyes met yours and you grinned mischievously. “This place remind you of anything?”

“You’re so funny,” he replies blandly. The prison around you is cold and you’re thankful for the cardigan you’ve kept all these weeks. You follow behind Banda as he walks up the stairs, eyes on the floor as you anticipate your newest game. “Jack of Hearts — what are you expecting?”

Thinking the question over briefly, you speak monotonously, “Russian roulette, probably.”

“I wouldn’t be so lucky.”

Eyes are on you both as you walk into the main hallway. A girl in a blue dress catches your attention, then a sweet looking guy in yellow and overalls. Your eyes drop to the floor again as the automated voice goes over the game and the rules. A subtle nudge against your shoulder catches your attention. Banda speaks without moving, “you and me?”

“That’s what I was planning, doofus.”

Your gaze drifts around the room again as people begin to pair up. Banda wanders off, exploring the area you’re locked in indefinitely. A white hood catches your attention, eyes following down their figure until you’re met with analyzing eyes and a familiar smirk. Your lips part, “Chishiya?”

As if he can hear you, the man tilts his head at you before walking off with his chosen group.

Banda has collected a new person to join your duo — the stranger looks you over before grinning shyly. The hair on the back of your neck stands up, distrust crawling up your spine as you smile back. Meeting Banda’s gaze, you knew he was just as wary.

The killer — because that’s what he was in the other world and this one — slinks up next to you slyly. “See anyone you know?”

“Maybe,” you’re looking around once more, observing the way everyone interacts. Inclining your body slightly to the right, your eyes meet Chishiya’s. “Him. We were… together, in the other world. Something our parents agreed on.”

Banda lets out a mischievous snicker before leaning closer to you. “How cute. And he hasn’t come to say hello? Pity.”

You glare his way, wedging your elbow into the right side of his ribcage. The timer goes off then and you scamper over to an empty cell to give your card suit. As you exit your cell, Chishiya is idling in front of you curiously. He sways before speaking, “you know he’s killed people, right?”

“At this point, I haven’t met anyone here who isn’t a murderer.”

The blond hums before his gaze drifts, landing on something over your right shoulder. You know it’s Banda, looming behind you as he usually does. Chishiya looks to you again and speaks before his group comes to collect him. “I look forward to your survival.”

You find yourself in the cafeteria, stuffing snacks into the pockets of your cardigan for later before grabbing a drink and something to eat right then. Banda is sitting against the wall, staring ahead at Chishiya as you sit beside him. A pack of cookies lands in his lap — Banda doesn’t flinch as he peels the snack open and begins to eat it.

“Do you have to stare?” You mumble. Matsushita hadn’t returned from his bathroom break yet and you found relief in his absence. Another chip is placed in your mouth as you glare at Banda — he was still staring Chishiya’s way. “You have a crush on him or somethin’?”

Before he could answer, a body is slammed next to yours. Looking down, you see a man sweating and crying as another looms over him menacingly. Banda slides up beside you, whispering a small, “lie to him.” in the man’s ear. You look away from them and see Chishiya looking at you again, judgment clouding his eyes as you don’t speak up against Banda.

You grumble, “already startin’ shit and we just got here.”

“The game had to start sometime.”

As time passes, players dwindle slowly until the number hastens. There are only six of you left now — Chishiya’s partner couldn’t handle the pressure of the games, it seemed. Banda and Matsushita tell you your symbol — “club.” — before Banda breaks away from your group. You can feel the former’s eyes on you as you take sips from your drink, unnerving every inch of your skin. He interrupts the silence with a brutal curveball. “He’s lying to you, Banda. Your symbol is spade.”

“Why would he lie to me?”

“Maybe he thinks you’re the Jack,” Matsushita grins. Then he shrugs and leans against the wall beside you. “Or maybe he’s the Jack and is just trying to get rid of you. Who knows.”

You hum, tilting your head playfully. Of course you don’t believe him — strangely, you hadn’t doubted Banda since you got here. “What a waste. After we stayed allies for so long, he’d choose to get rid of me now?”

Matsushita’s eyes widen briefly at the new information before he snickers. “What a waste, indeed. Guess he doesn't cherish your friendship after all.”

Walking away from the liar, you find yourself alone in the cafeteria. Well, you thought you were alone — Chishiya announced himself by reaching beside you for a pack of crackers. “Running around without your guard dog now, hm?”

“You can't talk,” you respond. “All alone, lingering around here like a ghost. Spooky.”

Your back is to the shelf of food as Chishiya begins to crowd your space. He hums while pouting his bottom lip, looking everywhere but you. “How’d you end up with Banda anyways? You were on your way to meet me.”

“We made a deal,” you shrug. By the tilt of your voice and raise of your eyebrows, Chishiya knows you’re lying. He stands quietly, taking one step closer to you. “Okay, fine. I threatened him and demanded we team up.”

“Of course you threatened a murderer.” Chishiya lets out a laugh just as the five minute warning echoes around the prison. He tugs on the cardigan you’re wearing, eyes softening at the sight of the worn fabric. “Think this is mine.”

“It might be,” you push off of the shelf and side-step the blond. You catch a glimpse of Chishiya’s symbol and are opening your mouth before you can think. “It’s diamond, by the way. Your suit.”

“Yours is club.” You nod in confirmation and it piques Chishiya’s interest. “Someone tell you different?”

“Matsushita tried to say Banda was lying to me. But, Banda knows better,” you glare. “I’ll break his kneecaps if he tries to kill me.”

Chishiya’s quiet laugh seems to echo in the desolate cell. It’s all you can think about — all you can remember as your fingers dance along the knit cardigan you’re wearing. After this — if you survive this game — you want to go home. You want to go back with Chishiya and watch that movie you were supposed to meet at.

It’s no surprise to see Matsushita being cornered by the three others. He did freak you out — and he tried to get you killed. You eye his frightened expression lifelessly before speaking. “Can we take those snacks downstairs with us? I ran out of food a few days ago.”

— BONUS —

You’re sitting beside Chishiya’s hospital bed as the news begins. Absent-mindedly, you hand him a slice of the fruit you were eating as the news reporter begins to speak. A picture of a convict pops up along with the news story. “...Banda is still missing. We are asking everyone to be cautious and be safe. We’ll have the week’s weather up next.”

“You know…” you narrow your eyes at the picture of the man. Something about him looks familiar — it sends a tingle of awareness through your mind the longer you stare. “I think I could take that guy in a fight.”

Chishiya turns his head to you stiffly, furrowing his eyebrows. “He’s a serial killer, [name].”

You shrug, “I could do it.”

— ♧ ♡ ♢ ♤ — this wasn’t really fluffy or romantic but i wanted to write a goofy n playful reader so <3 might b posting an aib series soon, so keep an eye out for that! forever taglist : @straysugzhpe & @star2fishmeg <<33

airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.

#chishiya x reader #chishiya imagine #shuntaro chishiya #aib x reader #alice in borderland imagine #alice in borderland x reader #aib imagine #chishiya oneshot #chishiya fluff #banda x reader #banda imagine

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two-white-butterflies · 10 months

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jasmine wind | c16

Description: Being in love with an f1 driver was supposed to be easy - but for some reason, your father doesn't like him.

Pairing: charles leclerc/wolff!reader

"Bebe," Charles giggled while staring at your new profile picture. He was only joking when he replied to your tweet - he was pleasantly surprised to see you take it seriously. "It's a cute picture, no?" you narrowed your eyes teasingly while pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Very cute, now I'll have to change my profile into your picture." he chuckled, quickly opening his twitter to change his icon.

You were surprised to be awoken by the sound of your phone ringing. A groan escaped your mouth - slowly adjusting to the artificial light of the lampshade. You reached for your phone - accepting the call without looking at the one calling. "Hello," your voice sounded hoarse from the rude awakening. "Schatz," you heard your father's voice.

A louder sigh escapes your mouth - you already memorized his lines. He'd start off by asking about your wellbeing - then the conversation would drift towards Charles. "How are you?" he inquired in a polite tone, you could hear the coffee pot from the other side of the call.

"I'm fine," you decided to be civil - turning to the other side of the bed where your fiancee was peacefully sleeping. Gods, you didn't even tell your parents that the wedding was happening in a few months.

"Are you eating your vegetables?" Toto asked, taking a sip of his coffee. "Yes," you replied in a whisper. "How's uhh - Charles?" he asked with reluctance, seeing that he was a sore topic. "He's alright, Pa. He's sleeping." you chuckled - closing Charles' mouth before he could turn into a mouth breather.

This was the perfect time to tell him about the wedding.

"There's something that I want to tell you," you take a deep breath - praying to Jesus that he'd approve. Praying that your relationship returns to its old form.

"What is it?"

"Charles and I are getting married - after the race in Monaco." you informed, and he replies with a deep disappointed sigh. "Did he propose to you?" he questioned and you nodded - mind not working properly to understand that he couldn't see you.

Judging by the silence, he knew that Charles did.

"- and he didn't ask for my permission, or your mother's?" Toto began to scold you. A frown formed at the top of your forehead - yes, Charles was wrong for not asking him - but it wasn't like he'd approve. "We're in the 21st Century, I can't believe you're about to start a fight over this." you scoff.

"Bye, Pa - I'll see you after Spa." you hang up.

"I don't want to think about that right now," you continued cooking the fried rice. "He's your father, and he was right. I should apologize." your boyfriend replied - placing his homemade ice cream on the fridge. "No." you responded firmly.

If Charles apologizes now then Toto would believe that he'd be right all the other times. "It could've gone better, but I'm glad that it's over. I gave him an invitation so he's the one to decide whether or not he attends. I don't care." you groan - he wraps his arms around your waist. He could read you like an open book.

Deep inside he could see that you were hurting.

"I'm here for you, alright." he whispered.

He'd know the truth in due time.

(AFTER MONACO, THE DAY OF THE WEDDING)

yn_leclerc: ready for married life.

maid of

29 comments 124,390 likes

Charles_Leclerc: already changed the last name 💗😂 - yn_leclerc: in advance too

ganggangchiken: all the other celebs do lavish weddings but they're the only ones who's driving to court with 5 guests 😭

You couldn't stop the tears that threatened to fall. It just flowed endlessly at the sight of your father. "Did you really think that I'd miss your wedding?" he raised an eyebrow, standing up from the bench right outside the courthouse.

He was clad in blue suit - smiling at you and Charles.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #c16 #f1 social media au #charles leclerc social media au

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dreamingofbucky · 11 months

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IS IT TOO LATE?

Miguel O'Hara x Spider!F!Reader (one shot)

summary: He casted you back to your universe. But now he's back and you don't know why. you thought he hated you for the longest time. But that's furthest from the truth.

tags/content warnings: very much angst. heart strings will be pulled at. consensual smut. p in v. love confessions. soft!miguel. fangs are used for pleasure. begging. size kink. praise, like tons of it. mig and reader healing themselves together.

Word Count: 4.2k (whoops)

author’s note: not beta read. mild midnight miguel thots. more angst though with a very happy ending. idk i was in my feelings lol

You could sense him close to you. You always did, even despite your spider senses.

It was like he’s infected himself into you even years later, unable to get him out of your system.

You were in your kitchen, putting away some dishes when you got the feeling of him being near. It was like a prickle at your neck that grew and grew until every hair on your body rose. You whipped your head around the kitchen and narrowed your eyes to find him. You couldn’t though, he was always good at hiding himself.

“Miguel?” Your voice drifted throughout your apartment. It fell flat though and a sigh wringed out of your throat once you realized he wasn’t there anymore.

But then your spine stiffened to its own accord and you whipped your head this time toward the hallway. You grabbed the dish towel to dry your hands before you made your way. You weren’t on guard, but you kept the towel on your shoulder just in case. Your spider strength would probably work just fine, but you didn’t know what he’d want.

“Miguel? I know you’re here, somewhere,” you called out again with more tenacity in your voice.

There was a creak in the living room and you increased your pace until you were at the entrance, flicking on the light that flooded the room. He wasn’t hiding. He was in the corner, staring at a photo on top of your fireplace.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, fingers reaching for the towel on your shoulder.

His broad shoulders slumped for a moment before he finally turned. He was in his blue and red suit, the one you knew very well. He looked better than the last time you saw him. His face though, was contorted in an expression you couldn’t read.

“I–uh, I’m not sure why I came,” he finally mumbles.

You take a step forward and tread lightly. It’s been four years, so you really didn’t know why he came. This was his decision anyway, to leave you and keep you at a distance.

“It’s been years,” you remind him. He finally turns completely and his brown eyes gleam red a little and then fade back to the rich color you once loved.

The man you once swore you loved forever, until he didn’t. Your heart tugged at the memories of what you and Miguel had. Attempting to push those thoughts away to keep yourself from spiraling like before, you clear your throat.

He finally replies. “I had to see you.”

No reason. Nothing else. Just those five words.

You take another step forward and he does too.

“You can’t just come here without an explanation,” you pushed. Your irritation was starting to increase and your patience was starting to thin for your ex.

Miguel is quiet as he stays grounded. But your senses heightened when he lifted his hand and turned his wrist toward you. Before you could react in time, a bright orangish red web shot out of his wrist and latched onto your chest. You grunt as he pulls you into him, closing the distance. You grab the string of the web and pull it off your shirt, but it's stuck.

“Miguel,” you bite. A smile curls at his lips before a talon comes out of his pointer finger and he snips the web.

“Sorry,” he breathes.

“You’re here, because?” You press again. Your heart was hammering against your chest and you were hoping he’d tell you what he needed you for.

“Spider Society misses you.”

Oh. You weren’t expecting that.

“I’m sure they do,” you quip.

It wasn’t your choice to leave them. To go back to your universe and live out your days. It was Miguel who pushed you to this point.

You even got engaged two years ago to who you thought you could live the rest of your days with. And then things took a turn. Things didn’t work out. He felt like you were stunted by him in this universe. Although you still did your best to be the Spider-Woman your universe needed, it wasn’t enough.

It was like the action of Miguel casting you out back to your universe made you lose your spark. Made you less of who you were meant to be.

You hate him for it. Well, you did the first year before you started to make a life for yourself here. It didn’t work out, obviously.

The thing was, you never really understood why Miguel did what he did. It was so quick, so sudden, casting you out. You thought you were doing well in Spider Society. You made friends, you aced missions. So what did you do wrong? You even loved him to your best ability.

Was it because you couldn’t put universes first before anyone else in your life? Miguel was so bent up on the idea that sacrifices had to be made when it came to being Spider-Man. Guess that included you.

You were a sacrifice he had to make for a reason you still didn’t know.

“Just wanted to check in, see how you were,” he says in an almost whisper. He drops his gaze to your lips and you gulp. No, you couldn’t feel like this for him. Not anymore.

You lift your hand and press your palm to his chest. He looks at it before his brows furrow. His hand then reaches over and caresses yours. His fingers fiddle with your ring finger.

“Your ring, what happened? Where is it?”

You sigh, attempting to turn on your heel and get away from him but his fingers move to your wrist to keep you there. You knew he’d know about you getting engaged. You got your spider senses alerted whenever he was near the first two years you were gone. You knew he was checking up on you frequently. Until he stopped. He didn’t know the engagement was broken off and you lived alone in that small apartment.

“Miguel, let me go.”

He doesn’t budge, so you press your other palm against his chest for leverage but he doesn’t move an inch. Your emotions are getting heightened from it all and you can feel tears start to spring into your eyes. You feel pathetic.

“What happened?” He repeats, his eyes turning soft and curious.

“Nothing happened. You happy?”

“No–” he shakes his head. “Tell me.”

You sigh, not wanting to fight with him. You had years of it when he started becoming too focused on stopping Spider people from disrupting their canon events. Those fights ended up pushing you both to a point that couldn’t be turned back around.

“Miguel, I’m not in the mood. I’ve had a long day. It’s late.”

“Dime qué pasó,” he almost pleads.

Well, if it made him let you go then you had no other choice. You took a deep breath and stared at him. You needed him to know what he did and how it resulted with you no longer having an engagement ring.

“He left me, Miguel. Does that make you happy? He saw how much I couldn’t handle being so far away from my people. From my friends. From you. He saw how it ruined my life being stuck here. I tried so hard to fake it until I was happy, but he saw through it all. He loved me so much that he let me go. Unlike someone who casted me out–”

“I didn’t cast you out because I didn't love you,” he interrupts with a growl. His face leans closer and your core flutters.

Fuck, your body could still react to him like no time has passed.

“We were young,” you argue. “That wasn’t love, the longer I had time apart to contemplate it. We were simply infatuated, but that wasn’t love.”

“It was for me, sabes esto.”

“No, it wasn’t Miguel,” you bite.

Miguel is silent, dropping his hand. You take a step back, a deep breath leaving your lips. His own shoulders move softly with his breathing. Some of the strands of hair at the top of his head fall over his temple and forehead. You want to so desperately lift a hand and brush them back in place. But that's not something you can do anymore.

You take another step back, finding yourself sitting on your couch. You placed your elbows on your knees and took a deep breath. You heard his footsteps follow and he knelt down, placing a finger under your chin and lifted you enough to see him. To look at his eyes that are yearning for you to speak to him.

“Mira, I lied. They didn’t miss you. I did. I stopped checking in on you to give you space. To move on.”

You scoff. “You can see how well that worked out.” You lift your naked ring finger to make a point.

“I needed to see you one last time.”

This brought you to straighten your spine and look at him with widened eyes. “Last time?”

He nods.

“What do you mean, Miguel?”

He’s silent for a moment. “I’m not going to check in on you ever again. You won’t be bothered by me. I’m taking some space from Spider Society as well. They’re better off anyway.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the revelation. He was going to demote himself from the society he created for us? One of the best places you’ve been able to call home for years. You missed it dearly, you couldn’t deny that.

“You can’t just leave them. They need you.”

Miguel’s eyes cast down and this time it’s you bringing a hand under his chin and lifting enough for him to look at you. You scoot a little closer to him where your knees brush. A fire burns in your belly.

“They don’t. I hurt people. I hurt you. I need space and time before I can come back and delegate again. I took things too far.”

“So you’d rather disappear than try to fix things? Did you ever plan to allow me back to Spider Society?”

He shakes his head. “I thought you’d be content here with him. You seemed so happy.”

You laugh. “That wasn’t happy, Miguel. That was coping.”

His thick brows furrow. “No, you were happy.”

“Are you trying to convince yourself? Are you really trying to control the truth? I wasn’t happy. I thought I could play along with this life to deal with everything. I was in survival mode. It was purely a facade. Imagine being introduced to a safe haven and then being stripped of all access to it and its people. That’s what happened to me. I had no choice but to try to make a life for myself here.”

Miguel is quiet for a moment, pressing his lips into a thin line. His forehead wrinkles as he thinks deeply.

“This would be easier if I hated you.” He finally mutters.

Now you’re the one raising a brow. “Excuse me?”

“Call this an atonement,” he says. “I shouldn’t have done that to you, but I’m not sure bringing you back would fix things. What happened can’t be undone.”

“I never asked for you to fix it. I’ve learned how to make this my home. It was a home before I got my Spider abilities and it could be my home after.”

“But you’re not happy. You just said so yourself,” he counters.

You huff out a breath, exhausted at all of this back and forth. Why was he really here? If he wanted to see you one last time he could’ve done that without making himself known. He could’ve creeped in the shadows to do it.

“What do you want?” The words are sharp and roll off your tongue like venom. His hands raise and rest on your knees. He’s still kneeling and he scoots closer. A hand travels up your thigh and you suck in a breath.

“One last time,” he repeats so softly you almost miss it.

“We already had our one last time,” you say quietly. You remember that last time you felt him near you. That was when you truly thought that was the last time you’d feel him in your universe.

“No, bebita,” he responds gruffly. “I need you one last time.”

His words aren’t registering in your brain.

“You made it very clear you didn’t need me.”

“Will you let me finish?” His eyes connect with yours and your heart thumps loudly against your chest.

“Finish then,” you push.

“It’s easier to hate you because then I could move on. I never did, bebita.” The nickname rolls off his tongue in a way that makes your core flutter and you clench your thighs.

“I–” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Casting you out was the worst thing I did. I couldn’t take it back, my pride wouldn’t let me. I loved you so much, but I couldn’t say it. It was always on the tip of my tongue. You were it for me, bebita. It crushed me even more to see you making a life for yourself here. Finding a partner to be with, that was the worst of it. It took me months to deal with that one. But I couldn’t risk losing you to the things we did for the universes we saved. Pushing you away was the hardest thing to do, but the safest. If I didn’t have you to sacrifice in life or death situations, then that's what I had to do. I couldn’t lose you in those ways, I just couldn’t.”

His confession brings tears to your eyes and you wrap your hands around his neck. You lean in, pressing your forehead against his. You take a deep breath and he does too. Soon, your breathing becomes sync with his.

“You hurt me,” was all you could say.

“I know, bebita, I know. I’m so sorry. I loved you–I love you so much. It felt like the only way I wouldn’t lose you.”

“But you ended up losing me anyway in the process,” you remind him. He nods.

“I lost you anyway. Please forgive me. Or did I come at the wrong time where that’s not possible? Is it too late?”

You contemplate it for a moment. You hurt for so long with his decision, but now you know why. He did it because he loved you so much. It reminded you of your ex-fiance. He broke things off because he loved you and wanted you to find your true happiness. He knew it wasn’t with him as much as he wanted it to be.

Funny how it’s the same concept with Miguel, but not quite. Miguel’s way was harsher and broke you. But he’s here now apologizing and on his knees.

All the feelings of your life with Miguel come back surfacing. The good and the bad. But he was the best thing in your life.

“And what would we do after this? Would you just leave and never see me again? After everything that’s been said?”

He grabs your cheeks and pushes you back a little. His face is pained as he thinks of a response. He leans in, kissing your forehead before kissing your nose and then your cheeks. “I don’t know anymore. Lyla asked me the same thing.”

You smiled softly. “Lyla… I missed her.”

Miguel smiled as well, tears in his eyes. “She misses you everyday. She might be the reason why I came tonight.”

“I’m glad, then,” you say. This brings another smile to his face and your heart warms. Your whole body warms.

“Miguel,” you whisper. He leans in again, pressing his lips to your nose. You inhale his scent for a moment.

“I can’t repair what’s been done.”

“You can’t,” you concede. “But we can take it day by day.”

“Really?” He says with a little happier tone.

You nod. “But you can’t do that again. Don’t push me away. Don’t make me think you hate me. That I was the worst thing in your life.”

A sob pulls through you and tears cascade down your cheeks. Miguel is quick to brush them away with his thumbs. He finally brushes his lips against yours and you stiffen at the movement.

“Can I?” He asks softly.

Instead of answering, you lean in to close the distance. His lips were soft and the memories of kissing him all over filled your senses. Your body still craved him, you just pushed those feelings as down as you could.

He continues to kiss with passion, like a man starved. His tongue presses against your teeth and you part your mouth, allowing him inside. He groans a little at the feeling and a moan escapes your own lips.

“Let me make it up to you, por favor,” he asks, moving his hands to your thighs and running them up until they find your hips. You hitch your breath at the feeling and you nod.

“It won’t make up for all these years, but you can try,” you say with a little spite and a little tease. Something in you wanted him to work for it. You couldn’t just forgive this easily, he had to know how much you hurt all this time.

“I’ll live the rest of my days making it up to you then, bebita,” he kisses you once more before moving his hands from your hips to your backside. He pulls you hard closer to him before you’re straddling your hips. You squeal from the sudden movement and then he rises. He starts to walk as you continue to kiss, as if he mesmerized the layout of your apartment from his check-ins. This brought another flutter to your core and you needed him in more ways than one.

He enters your bedroom and plops you on the bed softly. You shift yourself up to the pillows and he climbs the bed alongside you. Your hands come up to his hair, making their home in his strands as he continues to attack you with kisses. He moves his lips to your neck and you moan loudly, bucking your hips up. He groans from the sounds.

“Bite me,” you plead through breaths.

“Estás seguro?” he asks, lifting his lips from your neck for a brief second. You push his head back down to your bare skin and nod.

“Yes, please, Mig. Bite me like you used to. Fuck me like you used to. Make me whole again,” you plead. You can’t help the tears that come back to your eyes and fall down your cheeks. He doesn’t notice though, which you’re grateful for.

He obliges though, kissing your neck and then you feel something piercing you. His fangs sink into your skin and it feels wet instantly. You moan through it, leaning down to bite his own neck.

“F-fuck,” he moans once his fangs pull out. He lifts his head to look at you and it’s like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. His eyes light up and then turn into a feral thing you were so used to in the past.

Miguel knew how to be gentle with you when he could, but you always noticed the way his eyes would turn red with a primal need to love you until you were thrashing and screaming his name, clenching around him.

You needed him to go that far. You wanted him to.

“Don’t hold back,” you whisper finally.

His eyes search yours before he nods and snakes his hand under your hair and wraps his fingers around the strands until he can pull your neck the other way. He leans in and you feel that pain again as he sinks his fangs into the other side of your neck. Your hips buck up again and you gasp.

“Smell so good, taste so good,” he murmurs. His lips travel lower, kissing your collarbone. He helps you out of your mundane clothes before you’re lying naked in front of him. With a press of his watch on his wrist, his suit pixelates into nothing until he’s there naked over you. You forgot for a moment his suit does that.

“Please, Mig,” you say in deep breaths as you feel his erection pressing against your hip. You reach down blindly, feeling for his cock and then caressing it in up and down motions. He groans through this and curses under his breath, jutting his hips further into your hand.

“Need you,” he pleads.

“You have me,” you assure him.

He lifts himself on his knees which causes your hands to fall from his cock. He then begins to stroke himself and you spread your legs around him. His eyes glance down at your core and your cheeks heat.

“So fucking pretty and wet already for me, bebita. Just like I knew you’d be.”

You just nod as you stay transfixed on him, rubbing his cock before he positioned himself at your entrance. You didn’t care for him to prep you, you needed him now.

“It’s going to hurt, tell me to stop if you–”

“I don’t care,” you cut him off. You made a point by reaching down and grabbing his wrist around his cock and aligning yourself with his tip. You pressed his tip against your fold and you both gasped. You shut your eyes briefly at the wonderful sensation.

He always fucked you so well, that was something you missed. And now he was here, doing just that.

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well. Such a good fucking girl,” he grunts as he presses himself into you, inch by inch.

The pain soared throughout your body with each inch, but you didn’t care. You finally had him again and your cunt clenched around him. He moaned at the movements, but you couldn’t help yourself.

When he finally pressed into you all the way, you both took deep breaths. He leaned in, pressing his palms into the mattress to support himself. He shifted a little, moving inside you and you whined.

“So big,” you gasped.

“You can take it, bebita,” he cooed. “You always did so good for me, you can do it again. Okay?”

You nod, biting your lip as he moved his hips to slowly pull out of you and then he slammed back in, causing you to shift up on the bed from his strength. He curses under his breath again and you whine at the stretch of him. His girth was bigger than you remembered and you swore he was splitting you in half, but you loved it.

“More, more,” you begged and he obliged. He snapped his hips back and forth into you, earning a cry from your lips at each thrust.

“So pretty when you cry for me,” he groans as his hips start to grow sloppy. He was getting closer to his release and you were too.

Your core tightened and your pussy clenched around his cock in a beautiful way.

“So close,” you mumbled through his thrust.

“Come with me, bebita,” he says before leaning down, sinking his fangs into your neck once more. This makes all your sensations come alive and you can’t hold back anymore. Your legs wrap around his waist, causing him to push deeper into you and hitting the best parts.

“I’m going to–” you screamed before you felt everything explode. You saw stars, your body was shaking, and he was holding onto your tightly. He dropped his head into the crevice of your neck and muttered nonsense as he came right after you. Rope after rope of his cum filled you up and you clenched around him even more, milking his cock.

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpered as his hips stuttered and he collapsed over you. “Please don’t do that, not gonna last the night.”

You giggled, keeping your legs wrapped around his waist. You both breathed intensely but you were so fucking happy.

“I love you, bebita,” he finally says, lifting himself to look at you. He wipes a strand of hair that was stuck on your forehead. You grab his face and kiss him. He moans deeply and his cock twitches inside you.

You squirm underneath him. “I love you too, Miguel. Always have, always will.”

He kisses you back with more passion. “You mean it?”

You nod and laugh as he tickles your side. You try to squirm away, but it’s hard with his cock still in you. Your pussy flutters around him again and he groans. “Bebita, that will only make me go for another round.”

“I know,” you confess with a smile.

You had years of catching up to do, anyways. You didn’t plan to leave that bed anytime soon.

Miguel smiled and wrapped his arms around you before flipping you both over. His back plopped on the bed and you were straddling him above, your head laying on his chest.

“You don’t have to ever forgive me,” he whispers, stroking your bare back. “But I hope you give me the time to make it up to you.”

You lift your head, resting your chin on his chest. He cranes his neck to look down at you.

“It’s not too late,” you finally answer and those words were all he needed to hear.

#miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #spider man 2099 #across the spiderverse fanfiction #spiderverse #spiderman #oscar isaac #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction

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gogobootz1 · 5 months

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The Mentor pt. 2

Finnick Odair x Reader

Summary: Your mentoring tasks persist as you and the newly crowned victor tackle a Capitol party- with some help.

part one | part three

"So you’re stealing from me now?”

You jump at the sudden sound of the voice behind you. Luckily, none of your champagne spills.

“Pardon?” You look over your shoulder, only to see a pretty face coming your way.

“Intellectual theft is serious, you know,” Finnick says with faux sincerity, and takes a sip of his own champagne.

You lazily roll your eyes, “Please, one of my cows could have come up with the momma-bear angle.” You pick at your nails again, gaze drifting back to where District Ten’s Capitol escort parades Darla around. Before the group of you had even arrived, she’d forbidden you from sticking by Darla’s side the whole night. Said the president wanted people to get to know her- which made you reluctant to separate from the girl you’d taken under your wing.

You’d settled for watching her like a hawk, prepared to intervene if you recognized any bad apples.

"Blue suits you, by the way," he starts, and you cast him a suspicious sidelong glance. "Much better than brown, or so I'd assume." You prickle with embarrassment, catching the reference to what he'd overheard the other night.

You cross your arms, "Don't be a jerk." The words sound sad rather than snippy- like you intended them to.

"I was trying to compliment you," he insists. "Really, you look quite nice. This is a far cry from your outfit the other night." Your pajamas. They were the closest thing in reach when you were paged to the recording studio during Darla's breakdown. The reminder makes you shift awkwardly, suddenly even more uncomfortable.

"How kind of you," you say flatly, smoothing the non-existent wrinkles of the dress your stylist had placed you in. At least this interaction is slightly less mortifying than the one, or two you suppose, you had with him the other night.

Finnick doesn't respond, and you don't bother looking at his face to gauge his reaction. Instead, you find Darla in the crowd and start picking at the skin around your nails again. She seems okay for now, but it doesn't do much to ease your worry.

”You seem nervous,” Finnick says, without his former mirth. You startle again, assuming he'd walked away.

“Do I?” You briefly let your gaze flick up to him, eyes wide, before turning right back to your task.

“Well, at the rate you’re going, your hands will be bone within the hour,” he lightly grabs your wrist, drawing your attention to the blood (both fresh and dried) that sits on your cuticles. "Have you been at this all night?"

“Thanks for your concern,” you snatch your hand back, trying to shield it from his gaze. It takes you a second to spot Darla again, and when you do your shoulders drop in relief.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he doubles down.

“Did you ask one?” You bite back.

“What are you nervous about?” He asks.

You turn fully toward him, “What do you think?” You extend an arm out, gesturing to where Darla is.

Finnick follows your gesture to spot Darla being dragged around. He huffs, "She'll be alright, you know. Like us."

"Speak for yourself," you laugh, but it's a hollow sound.

His face falls, "You know what I mean."

"I do, but I don't like it," you snap sourly. Closing your eyes, you take a deep, albeit shaky, breath. When you open them, you face the front again. "The way I feel all the time," you shake your head slowly, "I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Let alone Darla, so if I can- if I can just keep her close enough, I can spare her from some of this."

He quietly says your name, almost like a warning.

"No!" You cut him off, "No, I know how I sound. I can do it." The look in his eye says he's not buying it, but you double down, "I have to. I have to... try." Your voice breaks a little, but there's no time to be embarrassed over it when a different voice calls out your name.

Finnick watches as you pull yourself together. The change is visible. It's almost like you're a new person, the one the Capitol adores. Sweet and pristine, bloody hands hidden neatly behind your back.

"I wanted to thank you for coming in this week. The kids love your visits," the middle-aged woman says, smiling at you. Her attire is far less ostentatious than her fellow partygoers, but she's clearly Capitol-born and bred. Her gaze shifts to Finnick, and he stiffens, recognizing the look in her eye.

It seems you notice it, too, as you're quick to intervene. "It's my pleasure, Mrs. Montgomery," he almost cringes when he recognizes the name you call her. "If I could, I'd come often enough that they'd be sick of me." You're good at this, though, he notes, grateful for being off the hot seat. Quick and clever, just like in your games.

"Impossible!" The Capitolite laughs, "In fact, they're already asking me when you'll be back. When are you free?"

While your facade is impressive, it's not perfect. He sees you tense before replying, pleasant as ever, "I'm actually heading home soon, but I'll let you know when I'm back." It's enough to appease Mrs. Montgomery, at least. She eyes the buffet table.

"Please do! I'll see you soon, love," she waves as she walks away. You wave back, picture-perfect smile lighting up your features.

It drops as soon as she turns, and he does his best not to laugh at the contrast. "If that's who I think it is, I hate her husband," Finnick tells you.

You echo the sentiment with a scoff, "Me too."

"I thought you were sweet to everyone but me," he turns toward you in surprise, and you shrug. "Here I was thinking I was special," he shakes his head in faux sadness.

A small grin emerges on your face at his antics, though it's clear you're trying to hide it. He spots it, however, and smiles a bit, basking in his victory. Suddenly, your poorly concealed grin drops, and he follows your gaze to see who stole the humorous moment you'd been sharing.

Darla, of course, but someone else is with her. A large man, probably a few inches taller than Finnick, towers over the sixteen-year-old. She looks terribly uncomfortable, and the District Ten escort is missing from her side. When his eyes flick back to you, he finds your expression mirrors Darla's. It's worse, even, and far worse than when Mrs. Montgomery came around.

You turn to face him, eyes wet and blown with fear. He's never seen you look so vulnerable, not on TV and not in your limited interactions. You looked worried the other night, sure, but this is different. This is a look of terror.

"Dance with her," you practically beg, suddenly grabbing his forearm. Your voice trembles, "Please. They'll- I can't take her away. Please just go dance with her." Tears threaten to spill over, and you get more upset as you go on.

Finnick's reluctant to leave you so distraught, but he's sure that whisking Darla away from whoever this is is the only way to assuage your worry. "Of course," he nods, ducking his head a bit to be on eye level with you. His hand covers yours, subtly removing himself from your grasp so he can attend to your request. "Keep an eye on us, okay? It'll be fine."

He holds your gaze for a bit as he departs, but he can feel your eyes on him even after that. Quickly, he comes upon Darla and the large man that you apparently know and abhor enough to ask him this favor. He spews some of the charming bullshit everyone in the city eats right up and steals Darla away without issue.

Finnick looks back to where he left you as he leads her onto the dancefloor, hoping that seeing Darla safe will ease your panic. He's caught in the act, though, "Sent by my guardian angel, then?" The teenager asks him, pulling his attention back to the dance floor.

"How'd you know?" His eyebrows knit together, and the girl laughs.

"She's been watching me from the same spot all night. It's kind of creepy," she jokes.

"I think she's just worried," Finnick says defensively.

"I think if she stays there for much longer, they'll install her as a statue," Darla quips. It's funny, but he fails to chuckle since he wouldn't put it past the people here. She sort of cringes, realizing the joke didn't land. "I'm really grateful for her, don't get me wrong," Darla tries, "it's just- sometimes I wonder about her."

"How so?"

Darla inhales, "I don't know. She disappears and just seems... different when she comes back. And I swear she lies about where she goes since there's never any press coverage, but cameras constantly follow her." His face falls as Darla goes on, "Sometimes when she sees random people, she instantly clams up."

It's a little too familiar to him. Paired with your reaction to both his comment about Mr. Montgomery and seeing that man with Darla, he's starting to understand. Maybe he has more in common with you than he'd originally thought.

"Finnick?" Darla says, and he realizes he's left her in silence for too long.

"I was gonna say I wonder about her too, but I was thinking more- favorite food, favorite color," he tries to lighten the mood.

Darla looks pleased as punch, "Well when it comes to you, I have her pinned."

"Yeah?" Finnick asks, amused.

"Yeah," Darla nods, "she’s clearly head over heels for you.”

His eyes nearly bug out of his head, “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, no, she’s totally in love with you,” she reaffirms.

“Are we thinking of the same person?” He asks, extremely skeptical.

“Yes!” Darla insists, lightly slapping the side of his head.

“Well, it just seems like she doesn’t like me,” he defends himself.

“You make her nervous,” Darla affirms. “She’d make a fool of herself if she wasn’t being rude. She told me the other night, this is a quote by the way, 'he's so gorgeous, I can't say anything to his face.'"

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” she pops the P.

“I struggle to believe that Capitol’s loveliest victor won’t talk to me because she thinks I’m pretty,” he scoffs.

“It’s more than that,” Darla chides, “she thinks you’re too good for her, so before you can reject her, she tries to beat you to the punch.”

“And when exactly did she tell you all this?” He asks skeptically.

“Oh, we had a sleepover the other night and got super drunk. Boy, was she an open vault,” Darla laughs, but it's clear to him you'd kept some secrets to yourself.

“And you don’t feel bad telling me?” He inquires skeptically.

“Please, I’m helping her help herself.” She scoffs, “She’d pine over you until her dying day without ever saying a word.”

“Whatever you say, kiddo,” he says. Finnick's not sure how reliable a source the teenager is, so he decides to refocus on his original goal. "I meant to ask if you were ok, by the way. You know that guy?”

Darla’s face sours. “No clue. But let’s just say I was glad for the interruption.”

He raises a brow, hoping she’ll elaborate.

“I felt like he was … looking at me,” she huffs. “Like, trying to see below the dress.” Finnick's jaw clenches at that. He knows the type. He deals with the type. And now he's almost certain you do too, hence your big reaction.

"Well, if he bothers you again, just come find me. I'm quite comfortable on the dance floor," he tells her as the song comes to an end.

Darla pats his bicep, "Thanks, but you should really be getting comfortable with someone else." She nods her toward where you'd been standing. "The bar will take good care of me." She only gets a few paces before he calls out after her.

“Hey!” She turns to catch his words. “Moderation,” he points at her, emphasizing the word.

She smirks, “Yeah, yeah, whatever, Dad.” A smile twitches at his lip, and he shakes his head as he turns to find you.

When Finnick finally circles back to where he'd left you, you're nowhere in sight. He sighs, disappointed, though he can't quite blame you when you've revealed more about yourself tonight than you probably intended.

He wonders if you've left the party or just found a better observation spot, but either way, something tells him you don't want to be found right now. He remembers something you said earlier about shielding Darla. You seem to be doing alright so far, but he's suddenly wondering how far you'll go.

———————————————————

Once again- super unedited. I'm just having fun on my holiday break at this point. I feel like this leaned kinda sad? So... sorry for that. <3

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #finnick x reader #hunger games fanfiction #hunger games #the hunger games

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svgvru · 5 months

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑?

creds to @y-yearning : PUSSYHAVER OLDER DILFIE GOJO ND MID-TWENTIES OR TWENTIES READER FUCKING GOJO REFUCKINGBLOG OPPELASLELEKJBRHFVG I NEED IT.

YOU ALWAYS ADORED YOUR NEIGHBOR. satoru gojo was a sweet man, albeit one with a shit ton of personality. he was much older than you, you estimate around double your age, but he didn't look old, at least from your yard. in fact, he was quite musclar, the white stuble on on his jaw, and the small streaks of grey in his hair were the only indicators of his age. but when you first came into the neighborhood, fresh out of college and a newer home owner, he showed you the ropes. he really was nice, and prettier upfront.

satoru gojo also had kids. he a husband of his own, seemingly settled down and happy. although, that wasn't exactly true. you had no way of knowing, but satoru's arranged marriage wasn't exactly a thing he was happy about.

but when the adorable smile of yours was directed his way in the mornings, he couldn't help but be just a little happier.

this older neighbor of yours give you tips to keep your lawn neat, listen to your random array of hobbies--he'd even indulge in them so you were lonely, he'd happily accept whatever sweets you'd get him, and he'd listen to all of your problems. he spent more bonding time with his younger neighbor, than with his husband.

one problem he listened to in particular, was money. as someone built from old money he has plently.

"why don't you come babysit for my kids? me and my husband are going out this weekend, we could use someone to watch them." once he stated his price you immediately nodded, eager to receive such a large amount of money per hour. plus, you had never been inside of his house, you wondered what his style was. "gladly!"

and when the day came, you were quite nervous. they were going to be out pretty late, so you brought clothes to sleep in and any necessities you needed.

satoru opened the door with his warm dimpled smile when you knocked. "glad to see you! and welcome to my home," he stepped back and allowed you through the door. you looked in awe as your eyes scanned the interior. the house looks bigger on the inside, and it was beautifully furnished. "your house is beautiful, i don't want to step inside," you chuckle lightly, feeling as if you might ruin the rich air of it if you fully stepped inside. satoru laughs, "c'mon."

when you step inside, he closes the door before calling two names. you see two little kids run towards him. the bigger one, likely around five, seemed to have a lot of energy. "this is saori," satoru puts his hand on her head. she had long straight white hair with a few black streaks in them.

"this is five-year-old i warned you about," satoru starts, the girl interrupts him with a frown, "hey!" satoru chuckles, "she has a lot of energy."

the smaller kid trotts up to him. "this is shiro," satoru picks up the kid, holding him gently in his arms. the kid looks exactly like him, bright blue eyes, dimpled smile, and fluffy white hair alike. "this is the three-year-old. he's a lot calmer than saori."

the kids looked pretty nice, it didn't seem like you were going to have any problems. satoru explains the rules, telling you their schedules and anything else. "come on, suguru! i'm ready to go!" a man with straight black hair walks down stairs dressed in a matching suit with satoru. "i'm here, damn."

they soon leave, satoru waving goodbye, and now you're left with the kids.

"let's have a good afternoon, yeah?"

you yawned and checked the clock, nestled comfortably on the couch. it was pretty late, and the kids had been gone to sleep. your eyes drifted shut, only opening when you hear the large slam of the front door. you shoot up, looking worried before you realize it's satoru. yet, he looks visibly pissed off. "wha- oh. you could've slept in the guest room y'know," satoru mumbles, carding his hand through his hair. he visibly relaxes when he sees you aswell.

"what's wrong? if you don't mind me asking," you ask him, tilting your head. you slowly get up off of the couch and walk towards him.

"just a fight, nothing to worry about," satoru pinches the bridge of his nose. "you look pretty upset, i think is something to worry about . . . just a little." your hand gently grabs his wrist, pulling his hand away from his face. and even in the darkness of the room, you could tell his eyes were watering.

it felt wrong how close you were, but you couldn't let him be so sad. his smile was one of the things you loved most about him, you hated when you saw it disappear.

when your hand cupped his cheek, you felt as if you crossed a line, but it also felt so right. "gojo—" his lips smash against yours, interrupting your words. it was wrong, but you couldn't help but kiss him back, parting your lips and entangling your tongue with his. "satoru," he whispers, sepreating your lips only to put them back to together. "call me satoru."

the man is taller than you, his arms wrap around your neck as you kiss, feet drifting closer and closer to the couch.

"mm, fuck--" he whispers into your lips, falling back on the comfortable cushion of the couch, pulling you down on top of him. it was adorable how desprate he was, perhaps something was really wrong with his marriage. but that was a thought for after this. your current thoughts are consumed by the older man below you.

satoru whimpers, diamond eyes glossy as he looks up at you. fuck--he sounded sweet. and he looked the part too.

his thigh rubs at your growing buldge, the look in his eyes full of desire. "goj- satoru, are you sure-" satoru's trembling lip interrupts you, "please." please? you never thought he was the type to plead. you nod, "okay."

your hands messily undress him, tearing off his suit until you get to his boxers with confusion. "oh! i- i forgot to tell you," satoru chews on his bottom lip, hands covering the large damp spot on his boxers. although his face turns red when he sees the glint in your eyes. "is- is that fine?" your eyes flicker to his, almost angry he would assume you wouldn't think it was fine.

slipping off his boxers, your mouth watering at the sight. satoru gojo's pussy puffy and hairy, in your face.

your face dips between his legs, your lips mouthing at his pussy. you spread his pussy with your thumbs, licking and sucking at him. "a-ah!" satoru whines, legs twitching as you make out with his cunt. "oh fuck! you're so good, so much--fuck!" his eyes roll and cross, hands entangled in your hair. "oh! 'm cumming! 'm cumming!"

his legs clamp around your head as he squirts in your face. your neighbor, just squirted in your face.

you lift your head from your legs, panting and licking your lips. satoru's eyes flutter, looking up at you with a shaky smile. sitting up, you smile at his throbbing clit. "didn't know you could-" satoru yelps when you lift up his lower half to your face. your lips attach to his clit, sucking and licking on his pink clit. satoru laughs, "you're so energetic! that because your young?"

your eyes look down and lock with his. "i just like your body," you mumble into his pussy, "so good."

satoru whines as you eat him out. "gunna squirt in m'face again?" you whisper, closing your eyes at his taste. satoru doesn't answer, although you can guess why his legs shut around your head again. strings of moans and your name leaves his lips. "pleasepleasepleeease," he whispers.

his legs tremble as he squirts with a yell again. satoru's legs fall slack in your hold before you set his lower half down. satoru looks up at you with low eyes, seeing his release all over your lips and chin.

"need you do that again. just on m'cock this time," you whisper pushing down your grey sweats, staring down at him with lustful eyes. satoru smiles, spreading his glistening thighs for you.

all thoughts or awareness of anything else are thrown from his head when his eyes lock onto your cock, when he fills the tip push between his puffy and red folds, when you sink into him and fill him to the brim. fuck- you're bigger than suguru. "mmph! f-fu . . . hah," satoru swallows when your cock stretches his cunt perfectly, like you were made for him.

you lean down, pushing his flexing thighs with you. his calves rest on your shoulders and you interwine his fingers with yours, holding them above his head.

"f-fuck! you feel s'good," you moan, focusing on the wet sound of his cunt taking your cock. and clearly the squelching and the wet skin slapping was turning him on as his walls squeeze you as if not wanting to leave. you lean and press your lips to his, smiling at how his eyes were unfocused and cross. your tongues messily tangible, saliva dripping down the corner of his lips.

"ngh—! a-ah . . . AHnNg!" no thoughts were in the older man's head when he felt your cum shoot into him, the warmth making him smile as he milks your cock, cumming himself.

his awareness and judgement had long been thrown into the dark depths of his mind. him nor you even noticed suguru watching you with a boner straining at his pants. then again, how could he focus? his pussy felt a bit too good, better than he's felt in a while simply because of work interference.

saori always wanted a little sister.

𝗗𝗢𝗡'𝗧 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗪𝗔𝗡𝗧 𝗧𝗢 𝗕𝗘 𝗔𝗡 𝗘𝗠𝗣𝗟𝗢𝗬𝗘𝗘? JOIN?

current employees: @pulpbeing @flimsyichigo @honeybleed @icaruien @banquetlord @whiteholesun

<3 this is took me 4ever, but i've going thru a writer's block, i feel proud of myself lol. i don't know if anyone is going to like this, but this is what popped in my head. y'all have also thoroughly convinced me that satoru is a squirter... btw i was thinking about this image while making this. don't even ask where i got it from :D

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starkidmunson · 1 month

Text

glitter & crimson

Time passes in ways Eddie doesn’t fully understand, in the aftermath of Steve’s injury.

A few days are spent lounging around the hotel room with Steve drifting in and out of sleep, for the most part. Then they graduate to small day trips. Squeeze in some touristy shit; museums and landmarks not too far from the hotel, in case Steve gets a migraine or starts feeling nauseous.

Day 6 features a follow-up at the hospital, where Steve is told the bandage is no longer necessary to cover the worst of the injury, surgery won’t be necessary, and he’s clear to fly home or wherever else he wants to go. Which means Eddie is also free to leave LA, but he’s already stuck it out this long, so he decides to continue to follow Steve’s lead and spend another day.

He gets a call from Steve before he leaves his hotel room on Day 7, informing him that Max is leading a trip to the beach before they leave California again. Steve insists it’s the least he can do since Lucas flew out to spend the last few days with her, so she could stick around until Steve was clear to travel again.

And that’s how Eddie finds himself wearing lavender board shorts from the surf shop that looked the least like a tourist trap, dousing himself with an entire bottle of the highest SPF he can find before stepping out of the store. His black ripped jeans and the Judas Priest shirt he’d worn, not anticipating a trip to the beach, are folded into the bottom of a large tote Robin is carrying with ease, as she picks out towels for everyone to lounge on. She catches sight of him and raises an eyebrow, but he holds his hand up to stop any commentary.

“Black is just going to make me burn even more than I’m already going to burn, and the blue pair I liked were the wrong size, so lavender it is.” He defends, but she just shrugs at him, keeps smiling and walks over to pay for the towels and her bathing suit.

Behind Eddie, Lucas clears his throat. He spins to find Steve, blushing and glaring at Lucas, who’s grinning.

“What? Don’t tell me I need to defend the trunks to you guys, too. I thought you’d be on my side.” He whines.

“Oh, I don’t think Steve has any issue with your shorts. Or lack of a top.” Lucas teases, then laughs as Steve swings a soft punch into his shoulder.

“I just…” Steve trails off, turning his attention back to Eddie and Eddie can see the heat rise from Steve’s cheeks up to the tips of his ears, coloring him a soft shade of pink. “I didn’t realize how many tattoos you actually have, I guess.” He eventually settles on, before immediately occupying himself with finding sunscreen.

Eddie lets it slide, and they all pay for what they need, before crossing the street and trekking toward the water. Max is the first to toss her shorts and sandals into a pile, running toward the ocean and diving into the first wave she encounters. Lucas is just a step behind her, and he’s quick to catch her waist and throw the two of them back into the water just as she’s resurfacing.

Robin shoves a rented umbrella into the sand and Eddie helps expand it, as Steve lays out his towel so his face is covered by the umbrella’s shade, but his torso down is exposed to the sun. Eddie, on the other hand, huddles up so most of his body is concealed by the umbrella.

“Oh shit, dude, I didn’t even think to ask. Are you worried about getting seen out here or something?” Steve asks, and Eddie frowns. It takes a moment before he realizes it probably seems like he’s hiding from any potential paparazzi.

“I get bothered so little by media that I hadn’t even thought about that if I’m being honest.” Eddie shakes his head but smiles at how thoughtful Steve is. “I’m just a little too pasty to trust the sun on a cloudy day, so direct exposure like this always makes me nervous. But I like laying in the sand and I’m happy you wanted me to tag along. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” he assures Steve, who smiles at him until Robin mocks a gagging noise and makes them both blush and look away from one another.

The salt air and crescendo of waves and bellowing laughter kick up a surprising amount of inspiration for Eddie, and he fishes his phone out of Robin’s bag, typing away while she and Steve sunbathe.

He’s so caught up in the piece he’s working out that he doesn’t realize anyone has spoken to him until Steve’s pressing a hand to his knee, looking a little concerned.

“What? Sorry, I got an idea and I had to get it out before I forgot about it.” He mumbles, typing out his final thoughts before giving Steve his full attention.

“We’re going to return the umbrella and grab food before heading back to the hotel to pack up, if you’re hungry?” Steve asks, smiling at Eddie. He looks back at his phone to realize their hour with the rented umbrella is nearly up, so he nods and helps clean up the space they’d taken over, before they find a beachfront restaurant that doesn’t mind that none of the guys are wearing shirts, or that Max’s hair is still dripping wet, leaving a trail behind her as they move to their seats.

Once they’ve eaten, they go back to the hotel. Eddie asks if he can shower to get the sand out of his hair before he changes back into the clothes he’d had on pre-trip to the beach. When he re-enters the room, almost everything is packed up and Robin is on the balcony, talking on the phone.

“Nancy called,” Steve explains from the sofa, as Eddie flops beside him, towel-drying his hair gently. He hadn’t bothered to put his shirt on yet, not wanting his hair to make it all wet while it air dries. “Did they hurt?”

“Hm?” Eddie’s confused instantly, looking at Steve before realizing he’s eyeing the tattoos across his chest. “Some of ‘em more than others, yeah. But it’s a good kind of hurt.” Eddie explains, and Steve frowns, but that’s okay because Eddie knows not everyone gets what he means whenever he explains the tattooing experience like that. “It’s… kinda like if you have itchy sunburn and you accidentally scratch it? It feels good to have scratched it, but it also hurts.” When Steve still looks confused, it’s Eddie’s turn to frown. He looks over Steve’s exposed arms and takes in the soft golden color they’ve turned and his eyes narrow. “Do not tell me you’re one of those genetic anomalies that doesn’t sunburn and always has a perfect tan, Stevie.”

Now Steve is grinning, throwing a shrug in Eddie’s direction. “Blame it on the 8 years of swim club during the summer off-season.” Steve laughs as an explanation, and Eddie instantly wants to know more about everything Steve has ever done in his life, but doesn’t know where to draw the line at how much is too much to ask to know, so he ultimately doesn’t ask for any further information. Which is fine, because Steve is leaning closer and taking hold of his left forearm, twisting it and tracing a finger along a snake that wraps around his skin. “Do they have meanings?”

“Some of them, yeah. Some of them I just got because I liked how they look.” Eddie admits, watching Steve’s fingers trace along the delicate lines of the snake. “That one’s got its mouth open like it’s hissing and about to bite.” Eddie considers what comes next, and decides to just lay it all out on the table. Steve had been open and honest with him, Eddie could return the favor. “Snakes are supposed to be a symbol of inner strength and perseverance, and they look sick. I got it after my first stint in rehab.”

Steve doesn’t falter, doesn’t even blink, and if Eddie didn’t know better, he would think Steve had already known about his trips to rehab before he’d said anything. Instead, he moves on to trace a blackout band around Eddie’s bicep. “Do any of them have stories you want to share? You don’t have to if it’s too personal.”

He’s stunned to silence for a moment, something that doesn’t often happen to Eddie. But he’s so used to everyone pressing to hear more about rehab and addiction and recovery that his brain physically needs a moment to catch up to Steve. “Oh. Uh. I mean, the one you’re touching doesn’t have a meaning or story, I just liked how it looks.” Eddie thinks for a moment, then, before he holds out the inside of his right forearm. “This one is a puppet master. Master of Puppets is my favorite Metallica song, and when I learned to play it is when I realized that music could actually be a career path for me.” They run through a few other tattoos; the Wyvern, the spider, the “you bow to no one” in elvish down his spine. While still working up the courage to tell Steve more, he switches his approach. “Do you have any tattoos? Or have you ever wanted any?”

“I’ve never thought about it in a serious way, because I’m not sure I’d like having something on me permanently like that.” Steve shrugs, flipping his arm over to point at his right wrist. “The few times I’ve thought about it, it’s been like. A robin, here. The Roman numerals for 94 somewhere. That kind of stuff.”

Eddie smiles softly, nods. “It’s adorable that you’d want one for Robin.” He teases and lets the moment breathe for a moment before he circles back to the tattoo of the snake. “I’m not ashamed of my story, or my history, but we hadn’t really talked about, you know. That aspect of things, yet. But, I mean. I made terrible choices when I was younger, and I got in over my head with drugs harder than I realized. And it’s happened more than once. And I’m not naive enough to think I’m magically cured because drugs haven’t raised an issue for me over the last few years. But I’ve been mostly sober for almost 4 years.”

“Mostly?” Steve asks, concern clear in how softly he speaks, and Eddie can’t help but grin and shrug a little.

“Still some weed sometimes. Still drink beer sometimes. Both in moderation, not anything out of control. It, uh, probably sounds weird but those weren’t substances I had issues with, so I don’t… I don’t really think about drinking or smoking as cheating, but I know some programs would call it that way.” He shrugs, and Steve nods, processing the information.

“Well, thanks for sharing that with me. I know it’s probably not easy to talk about, but. I learned a few new things about you today.” He offers with a little smile, and Eddie nods back. They slip back into silence, until Robin slips back into the room, looking between the two of them expectantly.

“Did you ask him?” She asks, and when Eddie turns his attention to Steve, he flushes.

“No, I uh…” He trails off, picking at a fingernail before looking up at Eddie, then back down at his hands. “We’re flying back to Chicago tomorrow, and we were wondering if you had your plans set for heading back to Nashville?”

“Oh, yeah. When you guys initially said you’d be leaving tomorrow, I booked a flight home for tomorrow afternoon.” He says and watches Steve’s lack of reaction. Wonders if he should have asked about joining them in Chicago until Steve gives an awkward smile.

“Right, that makes sense.” He nods. “Well, we can all head to the airport together, at least?”

“Yeah, sure.” Eddie agrees, turning to look at Robin in the hopes of finding an explanation, but she turns away to take her turn in the shower, leaving Steve and Eddie together on the sofa.

~~~

Gareth picks Eddie up from the airport once he’s touched down in Nashville, and they head back to his house. Eddie throws himself into the comfort of his sofa, huddling up to a pillow with the intention of taking a nap, but his phone buzzes in his pocket. When he fishes it out, he smiles.

Stevie: Dustin has taken over the apartment, but we’re home. Hope you got home safe, too.

“Why are you smiling?” Gareth asks as Eddie is typing out his response.

“I’m not smiling,” Eddie responds instantly, schooling his expression and shoving his phone back in his pocket.

“Oh, so Steve texted you,” Gareth says, matter-of-factly, before scrolling on his own phone. “Want to order food? I’m hungry and you don’t have anything edible.”

“Why do you assume Steve texted me?” Eddie asks, frowning and sitting up straighter.

Gareth raises his eyebrow and glances over his phone at Eddie before he sighs. “Because you were making that face you’ve been making for the last month every time you text him, and you just got home from a week with him, so obviously he’s texting you again. Your turn to answer; food?”

Eddie stares at Gareth for a moment, watches as he turns his phone around to face Eddie, showing off the Uber Eats screen, before he scoffs and takes the phone to place his order. Before he hands it back to Gareth, though, he holds it just out of his reach. “What face am I making?”

“C’mon, Eddie, don’t play dumb.” Gareth laughs, but Eddie frowns deeper. Gareth frowns back, then. “You really haven’t put it together?”

“Put what together?” Eddie asks, finally handing Gareth his phone back. Gareth takes it, but doesn’t look away from Eddie until he answers.

“Dude, you’re in love with him.” He says, like it’s obvious, before going about placing his own order.

Eddie thinks for a moment. He knows he has feelings for Steve; finds him attractive and interesting and definitely wants to see if something is there. But to know that his friends can see through him puts him on edge, makes him defensive. “I’m not in love with him, we’re just friends.”

“Eddie,” Gareth laughs before he sees the serious look on Eddie’s face and he sighs. “Look, man. I’m not trying to start a fight or make you spiral or anything. I’m just saying. You leaned into a TikTok trend for him, voluntarily learned about the sport he plays, helped nurse him back to health after he got hurt and spent an extra week in LA to be with him longer. And now you’re texting him, again, like you did after we left Chicago. There’s something there, whether you want to admit it or not. Maybe it’s not love yet, but that’s where it’s heading.”

Silence settles over them, just the sound of Gareth’s short nails tapping against the screen of his phone, for a long moment. Eddie processes what he’s said, thinks it over, before flipping back to the text messages from Steve. He reads the words over and over before he decides on an answer.

Eddie: Glad you’re home safe. Miss you already.

He doesn’t have to wait long for a response, as Steve answers no more than two minutes later.

Steve: I miss you already, too, Eds.

Eddie considers responding but decides to tuck the phone back into his pocket instead. He drums his fingers against his knee, settling into a melody before he nudges Gareth’s leg with his foot.

“Wanna help me set up the studio downstairs while we wait for the food?”

Gareth meets his look, raising an eyebrow. “Inspiration strikes over Steve Harrington?”

“I’ve got, like, four different ideas I started fleshing out in LA without instruments,” Eddie answers instead and ignores the smug look on Gareth’s face as they stand and make their way to the basement Eddie converted into a recording studio to get it ready while their food is delivered.

#glitter & crimson #hockey player!steve harrington #rockstar!eddie munson #steddie au #gareth #corroded coffin #lumax #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #robin buckley #steve harrington #eddie munson #starkidmunson writes #tw: mention of addiction #tw: mention of rehab #if there's anything in here anyone ever thinks i should tag #just tell me pls #thanks for reading!

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50cal-fullauto-astarion · 10 months

Text

hot in sarajevo i

[ part two ]

könig x f!reader operator (no use of "y/n") / 4k words / NSFW

cw: assassination, dubcon (not really bc reader is into it and consents, but better safe than sorry bc ymmv), unsanitary conditions, rough sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, fingering, creampie, brief mention of burn injuries, pre-established relationship a.n.: no excuse for this, indulged a brain worm on my day off bc i wanted to write something nasty. enjoy!

It’s been a blistering, miserable six hours out in the hills outside Sarajevo proper. The height of summer, surrounded by dead-brown grass blown about sadly in the weak breeze. You cook in your ghillie suit, knowing it could very well be another six hours under this heat with zero shade, just waiting on your target. Sweating. Searching. Souring.

König is your spotter, and he’s already not pleased with the fact. He’d much rather be the one wrapped around the Steyr HS .50, instead relegated to the seemingly miserable role of binocular jockey. But the fact is, he’s better at recon, and you can stay planted in one place without moving even when your lower body burns with numbness.

“I’m hard,” he announces in his way—no preamble, no fanfare, moderate expectation.

“Christ,” you snort, pulling away from the scope only enough to throw a glance at him. He’s still pressed against the oculars, jaw working on sunflower seeds because they can’t smoke without setting the tinderbox field around them on fire. Otherwise, you can barely see the shape of him in his own ghillie suit among the grass. “Clench your legs and your torso, or hump the fucking dirt.”

“Not going to get the job done,” he laughs darkly, dumping back another mouthful of seeds. You can hear them crack between his molars as he bites down hard.

He’s going to be a fucking handful after this.

Going back to your scope, watching the highway, you promise him, “If you’re good helping me with this assassination, we can play when we’re done.”

Another hard bite, another gravelly laugh. Sing-song, he warns you, “Better hope he drives by so-oooh-oon, Schatzi.”

“Always nice to get a visit from mean-König,” you hum back, trying for unaffected, even as your cunt floods and clenches around nothing.

It’s just hitting golden hour when the target finally deigns to bomb past your scope in a civilian vehicle trussed up in subtle armor. You and König slot right into the predator drift, bodies left behind to fall into the hunt. Working like extensions of one body, he confirms a PID, and throws calculations your way, sharp and sleek, and your blood turns into straight adrenaline, pupils dilated to pitch black.

You work like the sword of god, lining up your crosshairs, allowing for lead, allowing for wind and elevation, and when you exhale and give the trigger what it wants, the sky cracks in half with a sonic boom, big gun bucking brutal against your shoulder. With one shot you take out the target and driver, vehicle careening off the road.

König’s low, restrained laugh blends into yours, your teeth chattering under your face covering. Two more shots cut the blood-and-gold colored sky, killing the remaining passengers, and something vile in you shrieks with delight when one of them staggers around without a head a few steps before falling backwards stiff as a board.

Your eyes catch his as you throw the safety, pulling the massive rifle into your arms to flee the scene, and he looks blood-poisoned with arousal. The normal blue-gray of his eyes are gone, sore, unblinking pink sclera around inkwell pools of black. His back heaves with his breathing, body rigid and clenched, hips grinding against the ground. He is going to fucking tear you apart and eat the pieces. Saturn Devouring His Son, König Devouring His Lover.

Without a word, you both force your bodies around in the tall, dead grass, ghillie suits blending your belly-drag crawl to the treeline.

There’s a five mile hike between your abandoned perch and the exfil vehicle, following back the steps you took this morning, with a staging site in the middle of it. Small clearing, deep enough that no one could stumble across it, a temporary home for your rifle’s case and minimal necessary equipment.

The moment you’re both upright in the treeline, König’s got a vicious hand under your camo, gripping your belt, dragging you close and up, forcing you on unbalanced tiptoes. “You’re going to fucking give it to me,” he demands.

You turn it around, snatching a hand under his hood, gun sagging in your arms. Your fist wraps around the jaw strap of his helmet, knuckles pressing into his jugular–his pulse is fucking racing, booming, screaming through his veins–and your teeth are shards of glass as you command him, “Fucking heel. You’re not being a good boy.”

That makes him pant, almost reeling, eyes blinking out of sorts, pulling you closer, almost against him.

“That is not how it’s going to work today,” he says, slow and damning. Turns your blood into lava, thick and slow and lethal pumping through your heart as it fights for its life. He pulls the rifle from your hand, and it weighs nothing to him. Nearly looks like he’s got more to say, and he’s trying to figure out how to word it, but his brain is too clouded with lust to put it in the right order.

Hefts the gun over his shoulder like a bat, and shoves you back by the pelvis, releasing you. Time to go, the moves say, leaving you no dignified way to hold onto the authority that’s slipped through your fingers.

You know he’s burning frustration, anger, and resentment as fuel for this mood. You were the designated sniper, he was a lowly spotter. In his mind, that position belonged to him, and you took it. It didn’t matter that you were the superior choice, that he was invaluable to the kill.

No. Not at all. You stole from him, and he’s taking something in return.

If you weren’t thinking solely with your pussy, you would admit that it would probably be wise to exercise caution with him at the moment. But you’re not. You’re going to get your brains fucked out and painted on a tree.

At the staging area, scant gold light is cutting through the trees as the sun lumbers its way to setting, and the woods are humid and dense. Your boots crush fallen beech nut pods and pine needles. Could almost be Thoreauvian, if there was a lake, or not a gun big enough to kill god in the arms of a sexually frustrated Austrian maniac.

König is fast and quiet, ripping the mag out of the gun, emptying the chamber, dropping the gun on its case. You’d seen him piece apart a pistol to base components in ten seconds many times, he’s making himself take time with the rifle, leaving it barely touched.

You’ve got enough time to just prepare for him to grab you around the middle so you aren’t thrown off balance, leaning into his momentum as he hauls you to an enormous beech tree, his back sliding down the trunk. Keeps you pinned in his lap, laughing harsh and ugly as you deal with your belt, button, and zipper, “Good girl–good fucking girl. Know what I’m going for.”

“You’re easy to predict,” you bullshit him with a sharp edge. He’s going to get his way, and you’re going to deliver unto him whatever the fuck he pleases, but you’re going to keep your teeth through it. “Could’ve taken the suits off, could’ve really given you a show.”

“Cute that you think I’m in a rush. You’re in the suit on purpose,” he grates, thrusting against your ass, forcing you open with your legs over his knees. “Keep being mouthy. Only fucks me up worse.”

“Stiff breeze gets you fucked up,” you snort, but when he hooks his gloved thumb in your zipper, you lift your hips to help him pull your pants down your thighs. Leaves you exposed, drenched in sweat, and wet in his lap. “Goddamned freak.”

He bypasses the true and mutually reflective accusation completely, grinding the forehead of his helmet against the back of yours. Still looking for affectionate closeness, even when he’s out for blood. “Can smell you, good god,” he growls, sliding his huge hand into your underwear, grabbing your sex in ownership. “You and the military issue drawers–typical. Been a while since I fucked you in gear. Still wearing the boxers because you wish you were hanging dick, or is it just to match the attitude?”

“Commissary ran out of crotchless combat thongs. Waiting on a restock.” The rough fabric of his gloved middle finger splits your lips, teasing your hole, and for a flashfire second you think he’d better not give you a UTI with those dirty fucking things, before it burns straight out of your head.

“Better luck next time,” he taunts, jaw tight. You can hear the wolf-fanged smirk in his tone. “Start going commando. Make it easier.”

“Maybe there isn’t a next time,” you volley back, “best you make the most of this.”

“There’s always a next time. No one else could fuck you like me. Little whore you are, you’d get bored.”

He blots all the thought out in your head, adding his ring finger to the mix, pushing both huge digits into your starving cunt. Rips a bark right out of you, arching off his chest and pushing against his hips for leverage, trying automatically to fuck down on them even as the pain of the fabric feels like it’s rasping your insides. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you gasp, going hot-cold-and-blind all at once, nipples pulling tight under your gear.

He throws a heavy arm around your stomach, pulling you back down, merciful or mindful enough to know he needs to go slow, or this isn’t going to go anywhere except the infirmary. “Take it, Liebes, swallow them down with that pretty cunt,” he commands, his English as sharp and scraping as scythe blades felling harvest in wide, practiced strokes, “I’m not even close to done.”

You can already feel his fat cock straining against his pants, even through all the layers between you, and you rut back against it, at least trying to get some torture of your own added in. That just makes him stupid and animalistic, pushing his chin over your shoulder, trying to butt into your jaw. He wants to bite your lips, but there are too many impediments blocking the way.

His fingers squelch down to the last knuckle, your pussy spasming around them, soaking the fabric. He’s a pervert to such a degree that you know he’s going to leave them unwashed, and he’s going to wear and suck on them while he beats off when you’re not there until there’s no flavor left.

For now, he’s slow, rocking them into you in a curve, his sense of touch dampened as he searches out your g-spot. The exploration makes you feel filthy, and just a little humiliated. Used. Faceless and disrespected. It’s so opposed to his usual dogmatic worship, fresh and frightening.

He gives a little something extra, grinding the heel of his hand over your clit, telling you to use it. You do, finally feeling something physically pleasurable, even though it’s too dull and not nearly enough.

König is segmented; you’ve known that for as long as you’ve known him. Don’t know if he did it to himself, or if it was an after-affect of all the bad shit he didn’t die from. He’d let you in on enough to know that his best days are numb neutrality and boredom intercut with adrenalized high-chasing. His worst days are lost dogs and veils of blood floating through his mouth.

He almost clicks over from one facet to another when you push against his arm, hissing through your teeth as a stitch on his glove catches a fold in you. For a microsecond, lover-König surfaces, shifting you around against his body, repositioning his fingers so you aren’t hurting too badly, and then he’s gone again.

With a rough hand, he shoves the tan boxer-briefs down your thighs, and bucks your ass off his pelvis, going to release his cock.

You push your shoulders back against his chest, plate carrier digging into your shoulderblades. “Only two fingers, aren’t you acting like a fucking prince today.”

“You’re lucky you got that much,” he snaps back, groaning when his cock springs free of his trappings, and he strokes it beneath you. Monster fucking thing it is, long enough you can see the swollen, leaking head between your legs, even as you’re still hovering. There’s no give in the skin, and the head is a needy red with arousal, completely slipped from his foreskin. “Put it in.”

You ignore his order, writhing against him, your discomfort only ramping up your arousal. It’s nightmarish how badly you actually want his cock fed into you, desperate to have anything to fill the void his fingers left in you, and, shit, it would be so much sweeter and smoother than the gloves. Hot and throbbing, his precum mixing with your slick–it’s going to be so loud.

“It’s your dick, you figure it out,” you hiss, wrestling your shoulders up just enough to piss him off. His other arm moves up to your ribs, slamming you back down against him.

“Nein,” he seethes, as close to your throat as he can get, and you hear him suck back spit. Wonder if you busted his lip on the way down. Trained himself too hard not to do that otherwise, because of the harelip he’s hiding under the hood. “I said put it in, Schatzi.”

His laugh is airier this time, when you cuss him and comply, thinned out with need. He shudders into you as you brush your fingers over the length–teasing bulging veins and hot, thin skin–trying to scoop him up. He squeezes you tighter, letting out a furnace-bellow breath, as you tease the head through your wet folds, stupid fly-by-night sex-trigonometry screeching through your head as you find the angle you both need to get him in. He drops his free hand on your thigh, pulling you further open, giving himself a handle to hold.

As soon as his big cockhead plugs your hole and seals a seal with the wet, you fly to grip both his wrists, nerves on high alert. For good cause, as well, because instantly, he starts fucking up into you with harsh thrusts, constricting all around you with bruising force.

The sheer mass of him is over-fucking-whelming, and white spots crackle in your vision as you pant, trying desperately to relax and accept him into your body. Usually–when he’s sweeter and taking his time with you, not punishing you for a perceived slight like he is now–he is slower, considerate, almost hesitant until you dig your spurs into his sides, demanding he cut loose.

This time he’s forcing you to ride him, emptying and filling you in deeper and deeper strokes, forcing you to take his cock. Somehow it still feels right, just being full of him, aching with it, pussy hungrily sucking him in, wanting more and more and more.

But, god dammit, you can’t just let him get away with this. You fuck back down against him, trying to meet his rhythm with the little movement he affords your bound body, the sound of his boots grinding for purchase in the substrate, your combined dead-sprint breathing, and his balls slapping wet against your ass breaking the utter still-life quiet of the woods.

“Insertion specialist,” you bite, throwing your head back against his shoulder to belt out your whimpering laughter, and, oh, that burns him.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he snarls, his helpless thrusting turning focused, dragging you down in hard thrusts, hitting your cervix with every deep, powerful stroke. It knocks the wind out of you, and you’re left speechless, probably what he wanted.

It puts you in a trance state, your eyes unfocused looking up at the canopy as he uses you. A wet, liquid-gold heat starts building pressure behind your pelvis, and a frantic harebrained thought tells you that you have to piss. It only gets worse when he drops his hand back between your legs, putting a finger on either side of your clit, his intent clear.

“Wait,” you wheeze, barely surfacing the trance, rolling your eyes wildly toward him, finding his focus is between your legs. “Wait, König, I–”

“Just fucking take it,” he cuts you off, and it’s not entirely cruel. He’s forcing an orgasm on you, maybe the thought crawled up out of the part of his heart where his empathy lives, the part he hides until his real-boy-skin-suit has fallen away in tatters. You know what’s underneath. You love him for what he is.

You squirt when you come, pouring down his cock, soaking your thighs. Your cunt tries to push him out, but he belligerently stays buried, riding it out with you, and he whimpers as you spasm and ripple around him, biting your shoulder through his mask and the gaiter beneath it. It’s a dull pressure, and you wish it was sharper.

“Oh my god,” you keen, trying to turn and hide your face, trying to draw your legs back together as wave after wave of pleasure rock your body, your stomach turning in benign shame. König praises you, “Good, good, good, good,” his words falling away into a German blur that you have a hard time translating.

“Arch your back, curl up,” he tells you in his native language, his command voice withering, getting lost as he gets closer. He’s gotten fatter in your swollen cunt, and he throbs against your walls. His balls are pulled up so tight, you can feel them against your lips on the upstroke.

All you can do is listen, lifting off of him and curving like you’re living through an exorcism.

Doesn’t that make him lose his goddamned mind. Moans like a shocked virgin getting his first piece of pussy, in tandem with the cry you release, sliding in at a new angle. He can’t even help himself, he’s just stupid with pleasure, chasing it. All the bite and venom he had floods out of him, and he’s just a panting, greedy, whimpering mess, holding on to you because he needs an anchor, because he needs you.

He pushes up onto the balls of his feet, leaving the tree completely, forcing you back against him in the cage of his body. Your legs slide open over his thighs, and you’re dependent on him to keep from falling face-first in the forest floor and eating shit. He keeps you up, clutching to you, fucking you with short, fast thrusts, the soaking wet sounds of his cock demanding everything your cunt can deliver obscene, carnal.

Your idiot hand grabs for his hood as it hangs over your shoulder, spilling dumb swears and nonsense, “Fuck–oh, fucking–god dammit, König, you’re. I can’t,” that he meets with simple begging, “Bitte, bitte, Schatzi, bitte, Ich brauche, bitte, Ich brauche–”

His form staggers, and he takes a knee, locking up tight, letting out a thin, high-pitched cry of shock as he cums, flooding you completely in big jets. The pressure is uncomfortable and delirious, but you try to tighten around him, hold as much as you can.

Both of your heads ring in the immediate aftermath. You can suddenly tell that both of you reek, the scent of twelve-hours worth of stakeout body odor mixing with musk, sex, and cum. You can tell by how his mouth sounds as he pants and tries to collect himself and work through his intense but inescapable post-nut shame that he’s dehydrated. You are, too, your head pounding. And, just because you know him, and you know how you work as a team, you don’t need to look at either of set of your shaking hands to know both of your blood sugar is utterly fucked.

Slowly, he lumbers back up against the tree, his touch turning softer. You flop back against him, winching when his cock slips out of you, hanging glistening and messy between his legs. He buries himself in the crook of your neck, trying to steady his breathing. His arms come up again–not to pin you in place, but to hug and hold you. You pat the scant sliver of bare skin between his gloves and the cuff of the ghillie suit.

Only occurs to you right now how stupid you two must’ve looked. Like a monkey fucking a football. Or maybe two bushes getting battered around in a storm. You snort a weary laugh, and he shakes his head, nosing deeper. He’s asking for quiet. You give it, letting your eyes slip closed as his cum drips out of you.

A few minutes later, he stirs, kneading your sides with his fingers. Mean-König has fucked off, you can already tell. It’s not KorTac-König, either, the one that’s nasty and loud and abrasive. This is just König. The slice of him that you know the first and last name of. The one that takes you on dates, and to go grocery shopping at Lidl–who lets you kiss his harelipped mouth, who lets you moisturize and massage the gummy wads of keloid burn scars eating up the left side of his face and neck, from when he was burnt by boiling sugar as a child, when they feel tight and miserable.

For convenience, and knowing you’re both going to seek it out, you unclip your helmet straps, letting them tumble off your heads. Further, you reach back and pull the hood off over his head, dropping it over your thigh, and pull your mask down as he pulls down his gaiter.

He helps you shift enough that you’re lying on your side over him, wet, soft cock pressing into your naked thigh. He sighs when you kiss him, light, quick, over and over, never really leaving his lips. He’ll be needy for the rest of the night.

His pupils are slowly going back down to a normal size, and the blue is coming back, all puppy-eyed and wet as he presses your foreheads together. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I had fun.”

“I shouldn’t have been that rough. Or mean.”

You shrug. “You know I thought it was hot.” You give him simple facts, easy to chew and swallow while his teeth are hurting from his harshness. You think he’d probably ask you to pull them so he couldn’t do something like it again in the future, but that is simply not in his nature. Fanged, or not, his moods will come and go.

His hands tremble, going to his thighs, and he digs up a zippo and a pack of cigarettes, pressing them into you. “Could you light some for us, please.”

You do, giving him another kiss before you break to try to attend your given task. He helps stabilize your hands, and you end up with lit menthols, popping one between his lips. He inhales deeply, shuddering as he relaxes a physical notch.

You heavily pet his face, traveling his bone structure, and then down his neck. Start to focus on his chest and shoulders, because it will help him down the easiest. Even though he took charge today, you still readily slot into the process of leading aftercare, truncated as it is by being in the field. Almost literally.

“Think you’ll be up for more later?” you ask, digging your fingers into the spot behind his ear that always makes him lax. “Safehouse would let us take our time.”

He makes a grumbling noise, touching your noses together. “Want to love you. Not fuck.”

“Yeah, no. I couldn’t take another fuck tonight,” you snort in agreement, and, finally, he snorts back. “We need to get moving. Sun’s going down, and we need to report.”

He gathers you up for a final, lingering, sloppy kiss before he unwinds from you, knowing that you’re right. And, besides, there’s a safehouse looming on the horizon.

#konig #könig #call of duty #cod mw2 #mw2 #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig x reader #konig smut #my work #ngl i just wrote my oc in second person pov so like sorry but honestly not that sorry lmfao everyone still gets to eat #but there's no use of names or nationality markers it reads pure reader

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skzdarlings · 1 year

Text

part i: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the next decade.

Companion series to my sharing the bed one-shot. Follows the relationship between reader&felix from beginning to end. It will be a multi-part series.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: eventual smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending.

One of your father’s disgruntled bodyguards shoves you for walking too slowly. You have enough tenacity to glare at him when you stumble, but even at fourteen years old you are smart enough refrain from retaliation. You know your father will not take your side as you are already in trouble for sneaking out last night. You met with some school friends and attended a house party like a normal fourteen year old, a punishable offence because your life is anything but normal.

You just hope this punishment is a physical one. A few smacks might sting but you’ll get over it, whereas you don’t want to lose your already limited phone or computer privileges.

You walk into your father’s office with the expectation you will be alone, so you stop short when you see the back of a stranger’s head.

Your father’s guests are usually suited old men or pretty young women, not a beanie-wearing teenage boy. He’s kicking his legs like he’s in an ice cream parlour and not in a chair across from one of the most powerful men in the country. Your father is behind his desk, hands steepled and attention determinedly fixed on you. Punishment time is the only time his attention is so rapt.

The door closes behind you, the guard outside slamming it shut. The boy in the chair looks over his shoulder at you. He has a soft face, much too soft for a place like this, his cheeks sweetly freckled and mouth like a pretty pink bow. He has dark eyes, his eyebrows the same shade of dark brown. His hair has been dyed a strawberry blonde, bangs sweeping out from under the beanie. He has to flick them out of his eyes as he looks you over.

You stare at him. A change in routine does not bode well for you and this is a massive change.

The boy just smiles. It is disarming in its sweetness and it petrifies you. You know how to behave when an ugly brute glares at you but a pretty boy smiling is unnerving.

Your father clears his throat. You and the boy both look his way, the boy dropping his gaze in a subservient way while you glare.

“Daughter,” your father says coolly. He gestures to the free chair beside the boy.

Some days, when you are feeling especially petulant or when your father is distracted with his phone even while meting out punishment, you will stomp your foot and refuse him. Maybe it is your stunned bemusement, but today you oblige without argument.

Your gaze drifts to the boy as you approach your seat. The boy does not look at you.

He looks like a normal teenage boy, wearing a hoodie under a flannel and blue jeans ripped at the knee, but you know better. There is always a flaw and this one is immediately jarring: his shoes are army regulation boots, the same as your father’s guards, albeit smaller. You have no idea why he would need them. He looks about your age and is a slender, delicate thing.

“Sit,” your father says. You realize you have standing there, staring. You look at your father and obey, sinking into the other chair. “Good.” Your father folds his hands on his desk. “My loving daughter,” he says dryly, “It has occurred to me that your present circumstances are not the most conducive to your development and well-being.”

You cannot help but scoff. Talk about understatement of the century.

The security teams? The constant surveillance? The knowledge that your wealthy father has accrued so many enemies that you can barely step outside without feeling threatened?

The fact you desperately want something bad to happen, because at least it would be different than the bad in here?

Your father just frowns.

“Don’t test my patience,” he says. “Especially as I have constructed a compromise according to your whims, young lady.”

Your brow furrows. You have no idea where this is going but you know you won’t like it, because you never like it.

“I only want what’s best for you,” your father says. “You’re my daughter, after all. My only child and my only heir. I want you protected but I want you capable, and you can’t be expected to thrive with the company of my men constantly surrounding you.”

Your heart kicks up with hope even while your brain knows better. Your father is not a generous man and he is clever with his words. There is a reason he has reached the heights he has reached. No one is better than your father and your father settles for no less than the best in turn.

You are an agonizing disappointment, but you lash out because you would be a disappointment regardless. Your father does not want a human daughter but a plastic doll that he can lock away until it has use, at which point he expects unending gratitude for your very existence.

This might sound like a concession of freedom but you know him better than that. The vice is tightening, not loosening. You will never be free.

“I have a gift for you,” your father says. “This is Felix.”

You and the boy, Felix, look at each other. Felix smiles again. He has the audacity to wave at you, a little salute and cutesy tip of the head.

Your nostrils flare with a sharp intake of breath. You look at your father.

“What is this?” you ask, so much wrong with this scenario that you don’t know where to start.

Your father smiles for the first time since you walked in the room. He needs to be in the position of highest power and that is obtained through making everyone else small. The more visibly uncomfortable you are, the more at ease he feels. He slouches comfortably in his big chair as he stares you down. You feel trapped in the little seat across his desk.

“This,” your father says, “is your new bodyguard.”

You look at Felix again. He is once more looking at your father like an obedient little puppy. It’s for the best as you are certain your expression is betraying every single thought. You are angry, confused, frightened. The confusion worsens your other emotions.

“Bodyguard,” you repeat. “He looks like he’s twelve.”

“I’m fourteen,” Felix says, startling you with a deep voice that does not remotely match his face. The rounder sounds are accented with an Australian twang. “Same as you.”

You look at each other again. You hide your confusion under a piercing glare. Felix draws his mouth into a flat line, not quite smiling, not quite frowning. He taps his fingers on the arm of the chair, a mismatched rhythm, some song only he can hear. His leg bounces.

You look at your father.

“Fourteen,” you say. “And short. And skinny. Look at him! I could throw him out a window!”

“You could try,” your father says, drole. “You wouldn’t succeed. Oh, hush.” He swipes a hand through the air when you open your mouth to speak again. “Felix is more than competent, believe me.”

Your father would not hire a second rate bodyguard, but there is simply no way this Felix kid is good for anything. You just can’t believe it. This is a test of some kind, maybe a mind game.

Your hackles are up and they won’t come down. Felix flicks some hair out of his eyes and the motion makes you jump. He doesn’t comment. He clears his throat and sits a little straighter, looking like every goody-two-shoes keener you ever gave a sneer.

“You will no longer require a full security detail,” your father says. “Not at home or at school. No where, barring certain occasions under my discretion.”

This has your heart racing again. Currently, your father has guards posted in several places around your school. No one but the school administrators know they are for you, but that doesn’t matter because you know. You know they are not general security, that they are specifically watching your every move. If you skip a meal or eat too much, they know. If you talk to one person and not another, they know. If you forget to do homework or flunk a test, they know. If you put on more make-up or roll up your skirt, they know. If you fall, if you laugh, if you flirt, if you breathe a little too hard, they know, and they report it all back to your father.

It doesn’t end there. They keep you on a schedule for your “protection” and if you stray from that agenda, they are on you. That means no chatting too long after class, no extended bathroom breaks, no stopping to smell a fucking flower. In the car, out the car, through the doors, at your seat, at your locker, upstairs, downstairs, fuck, fuck, fuck. How you’ve lasted this long, not even you know.

You spend all day suffocating under the extension of your father’s eyes, then you return home, flanked by bodyguards, only to be stuck with supervision until you are finally permitted to go to bed. Naturally, this is the easiest time to escape so you are in the habit of breaking out at night. You’re good at it too. Most nights you move without any detection, having memorized all the chinks in the mansion’s high-tech security armor. Last night was the result of some bad luck.

Now you are here, your heart racing, your breath catching.

It must be a trick. You look at Felix then your father, trying to hide your eagerness and your suspicion.

“In exchange, you will have Felix,” your father says. “He will attend school with you as a classmate. He is in all your classes and extra-curriculars. You are to keep him with you at all times of day. He will accompany you everywhere at all times of day.” Your father leans in. “Do you understand that? At all times of day.”

It does not sound too different from the security team other than the obvious fact there is only one of Felix. Even if Felix is the most skilled bodyguard in the world, he is still just one person. It seems too good to be true so it must be. Your father is waiting until you are comfortable so he can rip the rug out from under you, to put you in your place, which is flat on your back like a stupid, helpless, needy baby.

You will not give him the satisfaction. Curtly, you say, “I understand.”

“Good,” your father says. “I’m having a new bed installed in your bedroom as we speak. It should be ample space for two people without your privacy being overly encroached. When you get home, you will clear a space for Felix to move his things into your room.”

Despite your effort to remain neutral, obvious surprise blinks across your face.

“Wait, what?” you ask, darting forward in your seat. “What are you talking about?”

Your father tips his head as if perplexed with your outburst.

“Did you think you were getting away with something?” he asks. “Constantly sneaking out at night, evading my men. Do you know every time you pull a childish stunt like that, it endangers me and my business just as much as you?”

Your anger bubbles to the surface as quickly as his, cold laughter punching out of you as you say, “Oh! Your business! Of fucking course!”

“Don’t use vulgar language with me, child!”

“Don’t call me a child!” you snap back with as much fervour. “I’m fourteen years old! I’m not a little kid and I don’t need some other idiot kid babysitting me! I don’t need anyone fucking watching me!”

Felix is sitting ramrod straight, his eyes flicking back and forth between you and your father. He says nothing. He just sniffs and scratches a little circle on the exposed skin of his knee.

“You are my daughter, this is my house, and I will do with both as I please,” your father says.

“Then maybe I don’t want to be in this house!” you shout.

“You want to leave?” your father asks. He smacks a vicious hand down on his desk, rattling his computer. “Go ahead. Pick yourself up and walk out that door. Where are you going to go from here? You have no money and no skills and no protection. See how long it takes someone to pick you up off the street. You don’t want to be my daughter? You want me to ignore you when they put a gun to your head? The least they will do is kill you, you stupid little thing. But go on, since you’re so wise and brave and all grown-up. Walk out that door. I dare you.”

You sit on the very edge of your seat, your hands balled into fists. You long to swing them at his smug face but you can only sit there, vibrating with rage.

“Do you have something more to say?” your father asks.

You kick his desk, the adrenaline forcing it out of you. He smacks a mug and it smashes on the floor. Felix still does not react, though his gaze does linger on the broken mug.

“What about him!” you shriek, pointing at Felix. It draws his attention back to you, his eyebrow lifting at your pointed finger. “You’re going to leave me alone with a boy? In bed?” You imbue this exclamation with all the suggestive horror you can. “I can’t share a room with a boy! What if he’s a pervert! What if he takes pictures of me! What if he rapes me! You really trust some random boy to be alone with me?!”

The silence that follows is somehow more shrill than the yelling. Your father stares at you, resolutely focussed with such a cold glare that you shiver.

Felix shuffles in his seat. His mouth opens and he looks contemplative, weighing his words, but your father speaks before he can.

“Felix,” he says, “put your hand on the desk.”

Felix delays only seconds, more surprised by the order than reluctant. He obediently rests his hand on the desk, palm facing up.

Without looking away from you, your father grabs that hand and flips it over. Felix jerks, his feet planting, but he manages to restrain whatever instinct rattled him. He looks at his hand, at where your father pins it to the wood.

You look there too, fuming, then you look at your father. He is still glaring at you, even when he reaches into his desk. Your brow furrows when he retrieves an enveloper opener, a sleek little knife, shiny and sharp. He smacks it onto the table beside Felix’s hand. It makes you jump.

Felix just looks at the knife, tipping his head as if only mildly curious.

“Felix,” your father says. “Pick up that knife.” He leans back in his desk chair and crosses his arms, his expression bland and uncaring as he looks at you. You shake less from fury than fear, looking from your father to Felix.

Felix picks up the knife with his free hand. He looks at it, his expression revealing nothing.

“Thank you,” your father says.

He has not looked away from you even once, asserting his knowledge that Felix will obey without his supervision. You try to be as steadfast as him. You act like you couldn’t care less about the unknown boy and his freckles and beanie. This is between you and your father. You glare just as fiercely.

“Now, Felix,” your father says, “I am going to count down from three, then you are going to drive that knife into your hand. All the way through to the desk. I trust you know the spot that will do the least lasting damage.”

Your gaze whips from your father to Felix, staring at him wide-eyed as the stupid boy doesn’t even flinch. He just turns the knife over. His brow briefly pinches as he rests the tip of the knife against a soft spot on the back of his hand.

Your horrified brain is already several paces ahead, picturing his bloodied hand pinned to the wooden desk. You taste bile and it is only partially for the gore. The rest is for the fact Felix does nothing more than blink at his hand.

“Three,” your father says. “Two.”

You scream, “Stop!” at the same your father says, “One.”

You tackle Felix. The adrenaline flies out of you the same as that kick. The knife clatters to the desk and both your chairs fly out from under you.

Felix is fast. He flips you around so he takes the brunt of the fall, your head pillowing on his stomach when you land in a tangled heap on the floor. His beanie falls off when his head hits the ground. He barely winces, looking down at you.

You stare back at him, breathing hard.

“Are you fucking insane?” you ask. Tears fill your eyes, much to your horror. You try to suck them in because there is nothing you hate more than crying in front of your father. You don’t even know what is prompting the tears. Maybe it’s the forced recollection of how thoroughly his guards have invaded your life, the revelation that you will be forced to share every living moment with another intruder, or the fact he almost maimed a fourteen year old boy just to make a point.

Or, maybe, the fact you fell for it like you always do. Just a stupid little girl, high in her emotions, vulnerable and weak and in need of intervention.

You push away from Felix, directing all your emotions at him.

“You’re a fucking lunatic,” you say, spitting when you talk. “What did you think you were doing? Freak. Do you think you’re brave? You’re an idiot.”

Felix props himself up on his elbows, just staring back at you. His gaze flicks up when your father stands. That awful man circles the desk to look down at you.

You refuse to look up. You wipe your arm under your nose. Tears blur your vision.

“Felix,” your father says, “there is a car waiting outside. Take my daughter home. She is not to leave the house tonight.”

You wrench your arm away when Felix tries to help you up. He says nothing to your glare but at least he’s smart enough not to smile again. He gets up and dusts off his pants, then retrieves his beanie. You clamber to your feet and march toward the door without looking back or waiting. Only when your hand is on the doorknob does your father call your name.

You freeze, wanting so badly to ignore him and storm outside, but once the coldness settles in your veins you cannot move.

“Come here,” your father says. As if under a spell, you can only move when he demands it. You turn, facing him as he approaches. You hold still, your eyes full of tears and fists curled at your side.

Your father walks up and swiftly strikes you across the face. Tears spill over and you grab your cheek, heaving with frightened breath as your useless new bodyguard just stands there and watches.

Your father sighs.

“You’ll learn,” he says. “One way or another. If I have to chip at you with an axe until you take my shape, I’ll do it. You’ll thank me one day. Felix. Take her home. Now.”

You let Felix take your arm and guide you out of the room, too drained to fight him.

You refuse to be accommodating. If you’re unhappy then you will make Felix unhappy too, and if Felix is unhappy then maybe he will leave. Then your father will be unhappy and you finally won’t be.

You glare at the massive new bed taking up space in your room. It is still a big room otherwise, with plenty of space for two people, but your things are spread out everywhere and you have no intention of moving them. Instead, you empty out a single bedside drawer and point to it.

“There,” you say. “That’s yours.”

Felix is standing in the bedroom doorway wearing a backpack. He looks around the room, not sneering at its lacey, ivory princess-ness but not looking too enamoured either. He is passive as ever, quietly receiving his surroundings. He closes the door behind himself and shrugs the backpack down to the crease of his elbow.

“Kk,” he says. He puts his backpack on the floor by the bed then takes off his beanie and puts it in the drawer. He sits on the edge of the bed, hands folded in his lap. He stares at the wall.

What a weirdo.

You stare at him until he looks at you, then you scoff and roll your eyes. You dump your things on your desk and stalk over to your private bathroom door.

“Can I go pee without your supervision, or do you need to hold my hand?” you ask sarcastically.

“I don’t need to,” Felix says, “but, uhhh, I guess I can if you need help. But if you have a problem with doing it by yourself then we should probably take you to a doctor. I know first aid but I can’t really help with incontinence or like the opposite. Lol.”

He says the word lol out loud, a single grating syllable. You do not dignify his weird humour with a response. You stomp into your bathroom and slam the door shut.

There are bars on the bathroom window now. You grab the nearest bottle of soap and chuck it there, furious when tears spring back to your eyes. You feel violated even in your privacy, glaring at those bars as you shower and wash away the day.

You look at your reflection in the mirror, touching where your cheek feels tender from your father’s strike. He usually doesn’t hit your face or anywhere someone could see swelling or a cut. You suppose today’s slap was more personal than strategic.

You put on a thick sweatshirt and sweatpants. When you step back into your room, the weirdo is standing at the window with his hands behind his back. He is wearing just his ripped jeans and a t-shirt, plus those ugly army boots. He looks at you when you open the door, giving you a brief assessing stare before he smiles.

It would disarm someone more naïve. You just glare.

“Where are your things?” you ask.

He tips his head like an inquisitive cat. “Huh?” he asks.

“Your things,” you say venomously. “Aren’t you moving them in here?”

“Uh, I did,” he says. He turns and points to his side of the bed. “You gave me a drawer, remember?”

This kid unpacked a beanie.

Maybe it’s a good sign he isn’t fully moving in. Maybe this whole charade is just your father threatening you. He will torture you with this invader until he thinks you have learned a lesson, then things will go back to normal. Felix probably isn’t even a proper bodyguard, and how could he be? A skinny, pretty fourteen year old boy? He’s probably an actor or model or something.

You give him a derisive smirk and shove past him. He just shrugs and approaches the bathroom door, pausing before entering. He looks back at you.

“Don’t go anywhere, yeah?” he says, then walks into the bathroom and closes the door.

You exhale sharply. You had no intention of going anywhere, honestly too exhausted to do anything but putter around on the computer, but fuck this kid. He’s your father’s paid actor or some other nonsense, so who does he think he is to give you any orders?

You storm out of the room with the intention of marching around outside, but you stumble when you enter the upstairs corridor.

The huge house is eery in its silence. You shudder as you look around.

Even when your father is not home, the security team is here. Someone is always awake, at least one person keeping guard in the corridor, the rest of them scattered in the house and guest house. But they’re gone. They’re all genuinely gone. And because it is late evening, all the housekeepers and cleaners are gone too. You have not been in a house this empty your entire life. It feels uncanny, ghostly even. It completely halts your half-baked plan to leave, not that you planned on going much further than the pool-house.

You stand still, suspended in the unfamiliar emptiness.

“Whatcha doin’?” Felix’s freaky deep voice is suddenly right beside you. You jump away from with a startled squeak. He just stands there, his mouth in that stupid flat line, his shaggy blonde hair bouncing when he tips his head.

“Nothing,” you snap, annoyed that he scared you. “I’m just going to the kitchen for a snack. Is that against the fucking law now?”

“It’s not really healthy to eat this late at night,” Felix says, “but it’s not illegal. That would be weird.”

“I hate you,” you say. His even temperament has been driving you insane, so it is satisfying to see a flicker of genuine surprise on his face. “Just leave me alone.”

“Sorry,” he says, recovering quickly. His voice is steady. “Can’t do that. Sort of my job, you know?”

You roll your eyes then turn and stomp all the way down the stairs. Felix trails behind you without protest, not making much noise despite the boots but he is impossible to ignore regardless.

You go to the kitchen and open the fridge. You aren’t hungry but you feel like you have to eat something now just to prove a point.

Felix ambles up to the counter and perches himself on a stool. You look over your shoulder at him. He waves.

“I’m not making you anything,” you snap.

“That’s fine.” He folds his hand on the counter. “I’m not hungry. Thank you.”

You reach into the fridge and grab an eggplant out of the produce drawer. It is a ridiculous response, but you decide to out-weird the weirdo, making eye contact as you bite in the raw eggplant. You try to hide your displeasure, chewing the thick vegetable slowly. Felix tips his head very far then straightens. His eyes narrow.

“I’m pretty sure that’s toxic,” he says.

You stop chewing.

“Yeah,” he says. “Eggplant, yeah. I think when it’s raw it’s like not good for you or something? I think there’s like a chemical in it. Maybe it’s only if you eat a lot of it, uhhh, I don’t know. Just in case, I wouldn’t eat it like that if I were you.”

You stare at him with a chunk of raw eggplant still on your tongue. He could be bluffing. He could be playing mind games. He could be telling the truth, since he delivered each sentence so uncertainly. Maybe he’s just bad at mind games. You’re good at them. You’ve been playing them since you were a child, so you just stare him down, swallow the eggplant, then take another bite.

His brow furrows. You are pretty sure your displeasure is a little more obvious now, your mouth partially open as you chew. Felix did not balk at stabbing his own hand but he looks very scandalized right now. You consider it a success.

“Stop it,” Felix says.

You take another bite, ripping into it with a ferocious tear.

“What are you doing?” he asks. “What? Are you trying to commit suicide by eggplant?”

You just shrug, chewing with your mouth wide open now. His stool scrapes the ground and you brace yourself, shuffling in the opposite direction when he circles the kitchen island.

“Spit it out,” he says.

“No,” you say, spitting eggplant as you say it. You very nearly choke.

“Seriously,” Felix says. “This isn’t funny.”

You chew obnoxiously big in his direction and he pounces, smoothly intercepting your escape. He cages you in against the counter, blocking you when you try to move. You drop the rest of the eggplant and push at him, dribbling mushy vegetable and cursing through your mouthful.

“Spit. It. Out,” he says, putting his hand under your mouth like a mother to a baby. You shove that hand away, then try to shove his face away. He clearly doesn’t want to get too physical with you, but eventually he grabs your chin and holds you still, your face pinched in his hand. You stare at him, breathing hard through your nose. “Stop it,” he says.

The house is empty. The house is genuinely, seriously, completely empty. Your father trusts Felix that much.

Who is this fucking kid?

You spit the eggplant at him. It spatters on his shirt and wins you an eye roll. It’s the first expression from him to make you smile.

“Bed time,” he says, stepping back to brush the mess off his shirt.

You cross your arms and lean against the counter. “No,” you say.

“No?” he asks. His deep voice fractures with a higher-pitched sound of surprise. “Why not?”

Because you hate your father and everything he puts you through. Because petty victories are your only victories. Because there is something seriously wrong with Felix if this is his life situation, and there is something seriously wrong with you for the same reason.

So you shrug. “Make me,” you say.

There is a beat of silence.

Then the world is upside down because Felix picks you up and slings you over his shoulder. You cry out, slapping his back as he marches to the stairs. Where is he even hiding this strength?

“Put me down!” You pound on his backside while he carries you up the stairs. “When my father hears about this—”

He puts you down on the landing, swinging up a step to afford him an extra foot of height over you. He holds your wrist in his hand and looks at you very seriously.

“What?” he asks. “When he hears about me doing my job?”

You try to tug your hand back but Felix holds it tight.

“Are you serious right now?” you ask. You continue to squirm your hand in his grip. “Who the fuck are you? What do you even get out of this?”

“What do you get out of this - this - everything?” he asks.

“I get my life,” you snap. “In pieces and only for a little bit, but mine.”

“Me too,” he says.

A breathless silence follows. You realize you are holding his hand, having twisted and turned so much that he clasped your fingers with his. You both look there then at each other. You abruptly let go.

“Can we go to bed?” Felix asks, softening his voice. “Please.”

Your lower lip wobbles. You look at the stain on his shirt. You think about his hand on that desk.

“And what about my other question?” you ask.

He tips his head again, but his expression is no longer neutral. He wears his confusion openly, briefly but substantially.

“What?” he asks.

“My other question,” you say, blinking back your tears. “Who are you?”

“You tell me first,” he says. “Who are you?”

It’s easier to fight and scream than plainly express yourself. No one ever listens, so you are not practiced. You have Felix’s undivided attention but it suddenly feels like too much. You do not have it in you to glare anymore. You meet his pained gaze with your own and join him on the next step.

“I’m tired,” you say. “Let’s go to bed.”

He goes to check the security system while you get ready for bed. You are already nestled under the covers, shivering despite the thick layers because the house sounds so quiet and you are honestly scared. You jump when the door opens and Felix enters, your eyes meeting in the dim light. He looks away first, going about his own routine. You turn your back to him.

The bed is big but you still feel it dip when he gets inside. You look over your shoulder. He is laying on his back with his eyes closed. He is clearly still awake but the semblance of sleep accentuates the natural innocence of his face. You have seen the flicker of a few deeper emotions, none of them childish, but he looks his age while laying there.

His eyes open. He glances at you. You wonder what you look like to him.

“Good night,” he says, shattering the terrifying silence.

You don’t argue it. You just nod then turn away, closing your eyes, letting the sound of his breathing lull you to sleep faster than usual.

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #bodyguard au

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ramp-it-up · 8 months

Text

Greater

Pairing: Pilot!Steve Rogers x Publicist! Reader

Word count:~3K

Summary: You let Steve know how you felt about him leaving you hanging.

This is part two to Great.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY Minors, DNI. Enemies to Lovers, and there was only one bed, angst, secrets, sexual frustration,allusion to dildos, Captain/Sir kink, praise/degradation kink, tight t-shirt and grey sweats on Steve, dirty talk, graphic sloppy oral, make receiving, face slapping. Not Beta’d. All errors are on me.

Notice: I no longer operate a taglist. Follow @rampitupandread to be notified when I post.

DO NOT COPY, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE MY WORK.

———-

Steve knew he should have avoided you when he came through the hotel lobby after his run to go back up to the room, but you eating breakfast solo on the terrace made him feel some kind of way. He watched as you gazed out over the Gulf of Genoa, feeling like a heel for leaving you in bed alone, but if he had stayed, you two would still be there.

Having you the way he did last night did not help his heart problem right now. You were taking up too much space in it, and he was afraid that the feeling wasn’t reciprocated. It couldn’t be. It was too soon for you. He’d fallen for you the moment he first saw you, and you didn’t even know when that was.

Your sister Aria, as clueless as she was, told your story: you hadn’t been with a man in a long time. Last night was just dumb luck for Steve, and physical need for you.

Being forced to stay in a space with such close quarters presented him the opportunity to get close to you, but it was disconcerting. He didn’t expect to be able to touch and kiss your most intimate places last night, but giving you pleasure was everything he’d dreamed of and more.

After putting you right to sleep, Steve felt a sense of accomplishment. But as he held you, he felt like a fraud, and soon escaped to go for a run on the beach to clear his head and calm his body.

Steve wanted nothing more than to give you more of the physical, which you clearly wanted. But what you needed was the truth. What he needed was your heart.

He looked down at his watch when he got a notification that Bucky had texted and planned to escape to the room, but when he looked back up, he was caught.

——

After you awoke in bed alone, you got out of bed and showered, frustrated. And why wouldn't you be?

Steve gave you the best head of your life last night, didn’t let you return the favor, and then ghosted you. You looked in the mirror and tried to figure out if your pussy was broken or something.

At least Jake appreciated it.

You nodded as you tried to convince yourself that a hunk of latex was sentient.

Aria texted you that she and Topher were staying in their suite today, and to reschedule the yacht ride. Your troubles were forgotten as you once again tried to move heaven and earth for your darling little superstar sister.

Aria’s change of plans, despite being a pain in the ass, was a definite plus. You could spend the day exploring this beautiful town on your own.

You sat on the terrace solo, after trying in vain to obtain another room in the sold out resort. You were torn between pettiness and being a simp for Steve Rogers. The sound of the ocean sent your mind drifting back to the night before, how good Steve’s hands and mouth felt on you. You shivered, and you felt the hair raise on the back of your neck.

You looked around, and finally, behind you, to catch Steve’s eyes, as blue as the Gulf, watching you. You gulped, and before you could stop yourself, waved him over. You saw him blanch, hesitate, but come over. You frowned.

He clearly couldn’t stand you, but you were going to set the record straight.

You weren't going to spend this whole week on pins and needles with him.

No way.

—--

Steve approached you hesitantly, squaring his shoulders to combat his nerves. He stood before you in military posture, hands behind his back. When you looked him up and down and raised your eyebrow, almost ready for anything, he couldn’t help the smile that began to form on his face.

You were trouble.

You watched Steve approach and your stomach did a somersault. Damn, he was fine. The sweat at the collar of his t-shirt, which was hanging on to his torso for dear life, was some kind of powerful magic. Your panties were about as damp. And when he stopped in front of you, perfect posture, cock so close, well, it took serious willpower to not get down on your knees in front of all these people.

You looked up at his sexy smirk. Damn him. You needed to know what was up.

“Morning, y/n. Did you sleep well?”

You crossed your legs, making his eyes follow the motion, and it was then that he gulped, fantasizing about reaching down and grabbing you up to take you back to bed.

“I slept very well, Steve, but did not wake up that way? Please, sit down. We need to talk.”

The words tumbled out before you had a chance to think, and you frowned.

Steve watched your face as he took a seat. You were not happy. And it was never a good thing when someone said that phrase. He had a feeling he knew exactly the way this conversation was going to go.

“I know what you are going to say, last night was a mistake. And I agree with you.”

“Oh?”

You exhaled as you sat back in your seat. That is not what you were going to say at all, but you were glad that Steve was coming out with what he really felt.

“We were caught up in the moment, jet lag, emotional…and I… I took advantage of that. I’m sorry.”

Steve looked up at the waiter who’d appeared and ordered water. You sipped your mimosa as you watched him, the red creeping up from his neck to his face, his cheeks flushed.

He was being genuine.

And sweet.

Being in the entertainment industry as long as you had, you learned to read people quickly.

“Taking advantage of me would entail making me suck your cock like I wanted to, Captain Rogers. Not you eating me out like a pro. I feel like I took advantage of you?”

Steve’s eyes got wide as he gulped down his water. He coughed.

You watched that tongue dart out and lick those ruby red lips after he caught his breath. Whew, that side smile. You began to take this as a challenge. Steve’s words didn’t match his actions right now, and you were determined to find out why.

His deep voice gave you a clue.

“‘D’you like that?”

The way Steve was looking at you right now was everything. You smiled and leaned forward, noticing how his eyes went to your cleavage. The way his pupils were blown told you more.

You were beginning to change your mind about how Steve Rogers felt about you. He at least wanted your body. You had power.

“Yes, Captain.”

Steve almost moaned. The way you looked, your sultry tone, the fact that you said ‘making you suck his cock.’ He cleared his throat as your words raced around his brain. ‘…like you wanted to…, Captain…’

Fuck, he was screwed.

He straightened up.

“I mean… that wasn’t cool…”

You straightened up as well, jutting your breasts out as if an invitation. Steve shifted in his seat. You were making things hard for him.

“No. No it wasn’t…”

You pouted, thinking of the way he left you hanging.

“Fix that face, y/n.”

Holy hell. That command. He did want you to hit the ground right there. But you had to push back.

“Hmmmm. I guess I’m supposed to say, ‘Yes, Sir,’ Or you’ll spank me like you promised…”

You smiled at him mischievously.

You were such a brat. You had to be stopped. Before he lost control again.

“I didn’t promise that, y/n…”

Steve’s voice was broken and he licked his lips before taking another drink of water.

“Oh? I thought you said that?”

You twirled your finger around the rim of your glass and then dipped two into your drink, placing them into your mouth and slowly pulling them out of those lips. Steve licked his in response

Steve knew what you were doing, but it was long past time to turn back now. Blood was rapidly leading his brain. He grunted unconsciously, determined to stay in control.

“I’m not doing this with you. I need to take a shower.”

Steve got up and stalked toward the elevators, and you sat, steaming, in your seat. You were shaking with emotion. You realized the true source of your frustration. You wanted Steve, you were sharing a room, and you were in a beautiful setting. You didn’t have to be a love match, but why not go for it?

You called the waiter over and asked him to charge your breakfast to the account.

~~~~~~~

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Steve wanted to pry them open to run back out to you. But space was the best answer right now. You were amping him up to do something reckless, something that would be irreversible. It was best that he kept his distance.

He entered the room and took off his shirt, going to the bathroom to turn on the water. He shook his head as he thought of you. You were such a menace.

When he turned around, there you were.

The look on Steve’s face was a little scary. You didn’t know if he was angry… or something else.

“....I need to get my…” Your eyes searched the bathroom. “...my lipgloss…”

You walked closer to him then turned toward the vanity and picked up a tube of your Glossbomb, leaning over toward the mirror, smearing a slick shiny across those lips.

Steve’s resolve began to crumble as he inhaled your scent and watched your lips shine. Your words came back to him. He wanted that mouth of yours.

You turned around.

“You didn’t answer my question, Captain.”

“What question was that, Doll?”

Steve moved closer to you, backing you up against the vanity. Your heart beat faster, but you pressed on.

“About the spanking…”

You felt dumb, but in a good way as Steve stared at you, seeing right through you. And then he smirked. He looked you up and down as he leaned forward and caged you in, hands on either side of you on the sink. Steam filled the room and came out of your ears.

“What I said was that I wanted to spank you when you were giving me attitude on the plane. Seems that was warranted. You don’t know when to stop.”

Steve’s voice broke as his breath fanned across your face. His mouth was so, so close to yours.

You sighed, and pouted again.

“I never stop, Captain. So does that make me a bad girl? I thought I was a good girl? It’s what you said last night.”

“I said that was a mistake.”

“What happened last night was a mistake, or saying that I’m a good girl?”

You were quick to reply as you cocked your head at him.

“Y’know, I wasn’t going to say that it was a mistake earlier. You put words in my mouth. That’s not what I want there…”

Steve slid his hand up your arm to your throat, and closed his fingers around it. It was nothing, almost, but enough to show you his power. You whimpered in his grip.

“You are maddening, you know that? You should leave well enough alone…”

You looked him in the eyes. You felt his hard cock against your stomach, even felt it jump as he searched your face and settled on your lips. You decided to try it.

“Let me go, and I’ll leave it alone… Don’t, and well, you can teach me how to be good again…”

Steve’s mind said to let you go, but it was his cock and his heart that made him do what he did next.

He whispered as he moved toward you, brushing the line of your jaw with his fingers. Your head was reeling from the sexy tone as you realized that he’d said, “Teach you a lesson…”

His lips slammed into yours, and his hands roamed your body, laying claim to what he wanted. You moaned as his tongue decimated you, letting him take what he wanted. When you separated, he asked you a question.

“What do you want in your mouth, y/n?”

“I want your cock in my mouth, Captain.”

“That sounds… “

Steve rested his forehead against yours. Your words gave him the image, and he couldn't resist. He cleared his throat again, then his blue eyes captured yours. Steel.

“Go sit on the edge of the bed…”

“Yes, Sir.”

The way he clenched his jaw had your pussy doing the same as you practically skipped to the next room and did as you were told. He was standing right in front of you again, running his palm down his hardness outside of his sweats. Your heart beat with anticipation.

You whined when he reached inside his sweats and pulled it out. It looked so big, so hard, the peach mushroom tip weeping and pretty, but big. You looked up at him with wide eyes.

The way you suddenly looked scared made Steve get even harder.

“You sure this is what you want?”

He was stroking his cock, and using his thumb to lubricate himself. He was restraining himself from touching you, but you didn’t know that, all that you saw was the sexy veins bulging down his arms as he jacked it in front of you.

“Y-yes…”

You reached for it and Steve moved closer, moaning when your small, cool hand closed around his hot throbbing staff. When you started pumping him was when his head started swimming.

“God, Doll…”

Your mouth fell open, those glossy lips a magnet for his cock. He didn’t know if you were leaning towards him, or if he were moving closer to you, but none of that mattered when your lips and tongue made contact.

He hissed at the sensation.

“SSsssss, y/n,”

He looked down at you as you stared up at him. You were entranced, his smell of musk and sweat was intoxicating.

“Those eyes. That mouth. Open. Wider.”

He had a grip on your chin, firmly pulling your jaw down to accommodate him.

As you kept eye contact, you saw a ferality that made you shiver. You wanted that look on you forever. You tried to unhinge your jaw as Steve slid his smooth cock inside your mouth.

He stopped once your mouth was full, but you continued, allowing his access to your throat.

“Ohhhhh. So goood...”

Steve pulled out of your mouth and stuck two fingers in, watching as you licked and sucked them, pumping his wet cock with your hand.

“That mouth. You’re not giving me any sass now, are you?”

He held your chin again and looked you in the eye, lighty slapping your jaw.

You gasped, then smiled and shook your head as you eagerly sucked along the side of his dick.

“No, Sir,” you replied, your mouth full of Steve.

You stuck your tongue out and deep throated him bobbing slowly as you pumped him with your hand.

“Go ahead. Get sloppy with it.”

You spit on his dick as you went to town, going faster when Steve gathered your hair in his hand and moved you at his preferred pace.

“Look at me when you do that.”

Your eyes snapped to his, thighs clenching at his tone.

“Look at you. Are you a slut for this cock already?”

You pulled off with a plop to spit again.

“Yes, Captain.”

And you started glugging him, moving your hand and making Steve’s knees weak.

“Holy Fuck, that’s good. Yessss.”

You smiled at the praise and started jacking him against your outstretched tongue.

“Yes, yes, yessss. Suck the tip again. That fucking mouth.”

You did as you were told, taking him inside and jacking what didn’t fit.

Steve started moaning and pulled your hair so that you looked up at him.

“Stop if you don’t want my cum in your mouth.”

You jacked him even faster.

“I want it, Captain..”

You slapped his cock against your lips and then resumed sucking as Steve grunted and buried his fingers in your hair.

“So… fucking… good… good girl…fuckkk! I’m cumming. Dirty girl. That mouth is so damn good.”

Steve was full of contradictory praise as he held his balls and you jacked his cock fast, allowing your mouth to make the most pornographic sounds around him.

“Oh! Oh shit ohshit oooooh oooohh shitttttt!”

You slowed down when you felt the first spurt against your tongue and you let it fall out of your mouth. Steve was hypnotized as he took his cock and pumped it into your mouth as you swallowed.

“What a dirty little girl. Good girl gone bad. You love this, don’t you?”

You nodded as you swallowed, your eyes tearing as the cum squirted into your throat.

“Fuuuuuucckkkk.”

Steve was profane as he watched you swallow it all and clean him up.

“That was amazing, Doll. Thank you.”

He reached down and traced your swollen lips with his thumb. He knew what you wanted, what you needed next. But there was really no turning back from that.

“I think we’re even now. I’m going to go take that shower.”

Steve turned and went back into the bathroom, leaving you to wonder which was greater, your need or your pride.

———

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#ask dj #steve rogers #steve rogers au #pilot! steve rogers #pilot! steve #pilot! steve rogers x publicist reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x black reader #steve rogers smut #chris evans #chris evans imagine #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans smut #chris evans x black reader

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yellowjestertfs · 2 months

Text

The Billionaires secret

“Hi there. Find what what you were looking for?” I ask in my customary upbeat yet soul-dead customer service voice.

“I think so. Going to give this one a try.” She says handing me a copy of a book called The Billionaire’s Secret from the romance section. I can see why she picked it, on the cover a man in a suit lay on a bed with the buttons of his dress shirt undone showing off his impressive six-pack and strong hairless chest. Brownish red eyes smolder seductively outwards from a masculine face. High cheekbones, soft lips, and a wide square jaw adorned with black stubble that connects to a short-styled head of black hair.

“I’m Bridget by the way,” she says, obviously a bit embarrassed to see me eying up the cover. “Oh, and this is Dan.” She says gesturing at the man standing a few paces away, engrossed by some mobile game on his phone.

“Nice to meet you, Bridget.” I scan the book. “That will be $17,” I say.

She glances over at Dan, he doesn't seem to notice so she retrieves her credit card from her purse and taps it against the machine. “I don’t know why I expected him to offer.” She tells me in a conspiratorial whisper “He’s broke. I mean not that it matters to me, but it would just be nice to date a wealthy man or one who at least pays attention to me.”

Customers often confided in me. I wish I could say it is because of my open honest face or charismatic demeanor but it probably had more to do with a book I once ate about a bartender people told all their secrets to.

I look around. There are a few consumers browsing the book shelves and my manager is sitting at his desk in the back, no one close enough to notice. Bridget seems sweet, too sweet to be with a man like Dan. Poor girl just wants to escape with some fiction, so why not indulge her a little.

“Did you get a chance to check out our books on sale?” I ask Bridget diverting her attention away. She looks over at the shelf I pointed at giving me enough time to crack my knuckles, take a deep breath, and begin.

I place my hands over the cover of the book and it springs open, the pages start to turn themselves slow at first then speed up. Words start to flow from the book as the pages flip past. The letters lift from the page like a sticker being peeled, floating into the air to spin around me. They form a cyclone of black ink as the pages that flip by are left blank.

I feel the lines as they flow off the paper. The first line reads. “Kustav tower is 400 stories tall, rumor has it, it’s smaller than Dane Kustav’s dick.”

I directed the words towards Bridget’s boyfriend. The ink splashes into him, absorbing into his gray hoodie but leaving no mark. None except for the fact that his basketball shorts start to thrash like a wild animal is trapped inside. Dan didn't look up from his phone even as his dick doubled and then tripled in size to match the one described in the book Billionaires Secrets.

I tried to be sparing with my abilities. Fiction is great so long as it stays fiction, otherwise you have evil robots or sparkly vampires running around. Still, every once in a while my heroic urges will take over and I am called to help someone with my power to bring words to life. Bridget is one of those people.

More words flowed off the page. “Dane Kustav is well dressed at all times. One would be hard-pressed to ever see Dane not in a suit. If one did see him without a suit, it would be in the bedroom where they would be very, very hard pressed indeed.”

The words spin around me once then drift over to Dan again on an invisible wind. This time his clothes were affected by the words. His grey hoodie which he wore with the hood up, melted off his body, the threads unwinding then rebinding themselves into a far higher quality dress shirt and black jacket complete with a blue tie. His shorts became black dress pants and his sneakers a pair of brown loafers. The outline of his much larger dick was clear in his new tighter pants. A few seconds passed with no changes then, slowly his tie undid itself and each of the buttons on his dress shirt opened so that he was sporting a matching look to that of the man on the cover of the book. Unlike the cover, however, Dan lacked the chiseled face or body to pull off the open shirt. His slight gut and saggy, hairy chest made the outfit look awkward rather than sexy.

Bridget looked up from the sale rack and glanced at her half-nude boyfriend with a chagrined glance. In her mind, he was always dressed in the finest clothes even if he still acted like a man-child.

“Dane Kustav towered over everyone be that in stature or in business.”

I directed the words into him. Dan shot upwards, his modest 5’10” frame becoming a proud 6’3”, clothes growing to match. And though it wasn’t visible Dan’s head was also filled with business smarts he had lacked before. The game on his phone shifted from Fruit Ninja to Hey Day.

The pages continue to flip, their words leaving the page to float in the air under my command.

“Dane Kustav's muscles were like that of a brass statue, smooth, hard, and golden. Each curve could only have been sculpted by the hands of an artist for nature could never make anybody so perfect.”

I look over at Dan’s soft pudgy body. Not the words I would use to describe him, at least not yet. I float the sentence to him.

Instantly Dan’s belly flattens. One by one his abs pop into being as if pushed out from the inside like one of those pop-it toys. His man boobs visibly transmute from fat to muscle, perking up and then growing into a strong chest like that of the man on the cover of the book. Inside the sleeves of his dress shirt, his arms thicken into a pair of round vascular biceps while his legs below do the same. A tan, like oil spreading over water seeps across his body until his exposed muscles really looked like sculpture bronze turned to life. The few hairs that had looked sloppy before now lent his body a rugged masculinity.

Bridget looks at her boyfriend with a new lust. Her hands start to roam his abs and chest but Dan, still on his phone, only bats them away.

Man-child indeed, a man in the body, a child in the face and the personality. I divert my attention back to the flipping pages looking for words I could use to fix that. The book is reaching the end, and the main character, assistant to the billionaire, has finally seduced her boss in a very steamy scene. High-class writing it is not, but at least it gives me plenty to work with.

“I ran my hand down his sharp square jaw.”

I throw the words at him. The shape of his face shifts to be more masculine.

“He looked at me through squinted sexy amber eyes.”

His eyes shift from a pale blue to an amber so rich it almost looked red. He finally looks up from his phone and deep into Bridget's eyes. She returns the stare with a smile.

“He brought my hand up to his cheek, I felt each bristle of his short sharp stubble.”

Dan moves Bridget's fingers up to his face which is now covered in a sexy two days' worth of growth.

“Then he kissed me with his soft sensual lips hard enough to make me weak in the knees.”

The words flow off the page and into him. His lips grow pillowy and pink and interlocked with Bridget’s. He wraps his muscular arms around her, keeping her steady as she collapses into him.

“I warp my fingers into his jet-black quaffed hair as I prepare for him to take me.”

His hair gains a stylish cut and is dark as pitch, body hair and stubble do the same. Bridget greedily runs her hand through his new dark dew.

“He smelled like sports deodorant, woody cologne, and sex. I wanted nothing more than this man to take me.”

The bookstore fills with his scent. I am surprised to find myself turned on by the whole thing. I have reached the end of the book, the final page.

“It was then that I learned the billionaire's secret.”

This was the good stuff. I leech the words off the page and send them to Dan, or rather now, Dane.

“His secret wasn’t that he was hot, or rich, or could make any girl swoon.”

Their kiss intensifies. Dane started to undo Bridget's blouse.

“No, the billionaire's secret was.”

Suddenly Dane pulls away.

“The billionaire was gay.”

“Sorry Bridget,” Dane says taking a few steps back and looking at her with sudden realization. “I don’t think I can do this.”

His eyes wander over to lock onto mine, rich amber orbs seeming to really take me in. He winks. “You thought, I think that could work. What are you doing after this?” He asks smoothly “Want to go get coffee in Paris on my jet? My treat.”

#male tf #male transformation #musclegrowth #straight to gay #tf

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itsmealaiah · 4 months

Text

In the back of hot topic

From my poll a couple days ago ❤️❤️ 🫶

Tags/ warnings: public smut, dressing room quickie, p in v, orgasm denial, begging, slight cursing and fingering, slut-shaming, use of the word wh0re.

MDNI ⚠️

Your POV:

"Hey tom what do you think of this top?" I asked, opening the door to get his opinion. It was a little midriff which exposed part of my stomach, light blue coloring, and was accompanied with spaghetti straps. He looked up at me, swiping his tongue over his lip ring, which drove me a little insane.

"I think it looks gorgeous on you schatzi, everything always does" He smirked, nearing closer to me, shutting the dressing room door behind us. "Great! Do you think I should buy it?" I questioned, turning to face the mirror. "You don't have to buy anything liebe, I got you" He kissed the exposed part of my shoulder, goosebumps marking my skin.

His arms wrapped around the bare section of my stomach, lips finding a spot on my neck to leave marks. "Tom, not now, we're in the back of a store" I shook my head, shooing him away and grabbing another top to try on. "Aw c'mon" He pouted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No" I responded, sliding the shirt over my head, revealing my lacy bra. "You're killing me over here love" He sat down on the small bench they placed in here, eyes devouring me right up. I smiled, putting the small top in my hands on. It was more detailed, but more revealing, lining right under my breasts.

"That looks good" He mumbled, still a hint of anger in his tone. "Don't be like that, this is supposed to be a nice shopping trip for us," I grabbed his chin, forcing his eyes to meet my own. He scoffed and pursed his lips. "I just don't want to have sex in a dressing room where literally anyone and everyone could hear us" I exclaimed, taking off the top once again.

He got up, cupping my mouth with his hand, both of us looking into the mirror. My eyes were a little bit wide, slightly shell-shocked. His hands made quick work at my skirt, tearing it down along with my underwear, and when he was finished, he unbuckled his belt, tugging down his baggy jeans.

The tent in his boxers was huge, and I gulped. His hand was still covering my mouth, small breaths leaving my lips. "Then be quiet for me, okay love?" He asked, eyes showing a bit of sympathy. I nodded, and his shirt was thrown across the floor, his boxers following suit soon after. He held onto my hips, guiding himself in, and I gasped, his hand coming up to cover my lips again.

"What did I say? Be quiet" He smacked my ass, not too rough, but hard enough to leave a small mark. I obliged silently, my eyes drifting up to the mirror once again. My face was contorted from the intense waves of pleasure tom was causing with each thrust, my body rocking at every one.

"So fucking good for me you little slut" He groaned lowly, and I whimpered into his hand. "You better stay quiet or you're not going to cum" He promised, looking at my reflection. My breasts were bouncing around, his large, veiny hand making sure not a single moan, whimper, or whine could be heard.

"Doing so well for me you whore" He growled, fingers teasing my slick, rubbing circles on the flesh. I winced, eyes shutting momentarily, as I grew closer to the edge. "Gonna cu-cum" my voice muffled through his hand, and he stopped thrusting. I whined, angered by this sudden move.

He sensed this, turning me to face him, throwing me up against the mirror, my back hitting the glass so hard it could've shattered, but I didn't care. I just needed him. He began to pound in and out of my hole, his head nearly thrown back at the heightening sensation of pure, unadulterated pleasure. I moaned, and he shot a glare at me.

"Fine." He huffed, still pressing me up against the smudged glass. "Guess you're not cumming then" I scoffed angrily as his hands were wrapped around my waist. "That's not fair" I protested, and he laughed. "Oh yeah?" He held back a chuckle. "How so?" I thought for a moment, and then answered smugly. "I'm bound to make some noise, you would too"

He flicked his lip ring, and then whispered in my ear "How would you know?" My face flushed to a light shade of pink as his hot breath lingered. "Exactly" He said, before thrusting once again. I gasped, my head falling backward as his lips sucked on one of my breasts, lapping at the areole.

"Ah- tom, too much!" I whimpered, the pleasure he was causing was going straight to my head, and caused me not to think straight. Tiny little noises kept leaving my throat as I was rocked up and down by tom. "You can take it you slut, you always do" He growled once again, bottoming out. My face twisted, eyebrows furrowing as he kept sliding nearly all the way back out, and then back in at such a rough pace I might not be able to walk out of this damn store.

"Good little whore, taking my fat cock so well" He grunted, fingers rubbing harshly. I cried out as I came, my juices coating tom's length as he finished inside me. "God you're so good for me" He captured my lips in a rough kiss, attacking the soft skin. I moaned into his mouth, and he smirked against me. He helped me down, putting my clothes back on my shaking frame and dressed himself as well, drying up the mess we had made.

"You don't have to buy me anything from here tom, I don't really like most of what I have in here anyways." I reassured him, but he shook his head. "No" He said, grabbing the small tops. "Think of it as a small thank you, and as a debt. You can repay me when we get home" He grinned wickedly, leading me out of the dressing room.

a/n: hopefully this was good, sorry if it's short 😥

#tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz imagines #tom kaulitz #tokio hotel x you #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel #tom kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz x y/n #tom kaulitz x you #itsmealaiah

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georgiapeach30513 · 2 months

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Steve Rogers x me 🙋‍♀️ number 32 or 50 please

Oh!! I love this one so much, but...just don't hate me with this.

There Goes My Life

Summary: just one last time

Pairings: Steve Rogers X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, PIV sex, a smidge of dirty talk, creampie, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 1.2K

Series Masterlist

He sighs as his blue eyes peer at your sleeping form. You never listened. It was too easy for him to get in through your window, and just gaze at you while you sleep. He warned you that there was a target on your back. Especially the moment you left SHIELD. It just didn’t seem right anymore. Not without Steve, and not knowing what you now know.

You look peaceful, which is more than what he can say for himself. Your windows seem smaller now, or maybe it was just because he felt he could never get too close to you. The picture of the two of you still sits beside your bed, and he feels an ache in his chest as you cling to his pillow. By now his scent would have worn off considering how you had your face buried into it.

“Cap, you have a short window. I’ll buy you some more time. Enjoy your girl.”

“Thanks, Sam,” he whispers, leaning over to remove his boots. If he didn’t have this need to hold you and enjoy you while he could, he would tell you how stupid it was to leave your window unlocked. But he also knew why.

You are also painfully aware that Steve had someone watch your place. Everything changed in such a short time. You didn’t think he would be coming back, much less as often as he did.

Removing his suit, he lets the mess of what was Captain America drift into your floor. Fully naked, and for a reason, he lifts the blanket on his side, and slides in. His eyes rake over your beautiful sleeping face. There wasn’t enough time for him to just watch you, but he did it all the same. He missed you so much it hurt. So much that he couldn’t even focus on the task at hand because he was waiting on you to tell him what to do. But this isn’t SHIELD, and you no longer were in his ear.

Your full lashes flutter with his warm breath. Your body sidles up to his even more. He’s so proud of you, even in your sleep you knew it was him. He reaches to pull the pillow from your grasp, wanting you to use him instead when your sleepy eyes blink away the clouds from your vision.

“Steve?”

“Shh,” he whispers, his nose pressing up against yours. Every moment with him is bittersweet because you know he’ll be off somewhere else before you wake up again. Leaving you feeling like everything was only a figment of your imagination.

Your lashes flutter close as you absorb his warmth. His breath. And when his lips press against your trembling ones. “Sugar,” he pleads, but you don’t want to waste time. Each time he visited you felt like it would be the last time, and that killed you inside. “Stop.”

“Steve, just take me. Make me forget that you won’t be here in the morning.”

“You make me feel like the biggest asshole.”

“Language, Captain,” he chuckles on your lips. Hoisting his body to hover over yours. His legs positioned in between your own, and he slides his apart as he sinks lower over you. His silky steel cock, lays over your bare mound, and you shutter at the feeling.

“I really hate that you were privy to that moment.”

“Why’s that?” You tease as he grips his length in one hand and runs it through your slick.

“Because every time I growl out filth in your ears, I want them to be your words only. Because even though you hold your head up high, and you look so regal walking into SHIELD, you’re my dirty little slut.”

“Your dirty little slut wishes that you would just fuck her…ahh,” you gulp as his thick veiny member plunges into your depths. Fully sheathing himself into your wet heat, and his weight settles on yours. It is the best kind of smothering. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you so much,” he grunts as his hips piston in and out of your walls. Pushing and pulling into every bit of you. Molding the two of you together again, and you hope that this was the normal. That you didn’t have to wait months until you got to feel him again. That this was a bad dream, and Steve wasn’t an enemy of the country.

You focus on the way his body cages around yours and how the two of you had so many beautiful plans. Feel only the way his thicker body made you feel so small. The tickle of his beard as he nips along your neck. You swear every part of him got thicker. And it made you more needy for him.

You took every bit of his hard and deep thrusts because your body was made for him. Nobody pulled out the sounds from your lips. There was nobody else you trusted the way you trusted him. In a different world you and Steve would have already been married, and have a baby on the way. He would have given up this fight with the Avengers just to live a normal life.

But those dreams weren’t reality. Now it was a dream that the man you love was becoming so feral with the limited time he had with you. His hands slam on the headboard above you, and his hips stab into you with so much force you start to see stars. This is how he always ended things. He wanted to make sure you almost passed out with pleasure and pressure.

His thrusts make the picture frames rattle on the walls. Your hands cling to his wide hips as you feel yourself start to go blank. Damn this beautiful man. He couldn’t even bear to say goodbye. The solution was to fuck you stupid. Fuck him.

You try and hold on. See the image of Steve gritting his teeth as he forces his orgasm away. Waiting on you to succumb to your exhaustion. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as your walls clench down tight around his cock, and he gets a few more ruts into you before ribbons of hot thick cum fill your belly up.

He stutters his movement as he watches your head lull to the side, and he hates himself for doing this. Hates having to be so careful. There is nothing he wants more than to bask in your silky walls all day. He pulls himself out of you, and smiles when you sleepily whimper at the loss of him.

Giving himself just a moment to stare at your gaping cunt leaking of him. “Captain, it’s time. We gotta be careful.”

He leaves you laying there, but covers you back up. Leaving behind the scent of him on your sheets, and the regret that things aren’t different. This had to be the last time. He was putting you into too much danger. Slowly he’d call the eye from watching you. He’d let you go because that’s how much he loved you.

“I’m always careful,” he says, slipping back into his suit.

But this time — he wasn’t…..

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @floral-recs @pandaxnienke @harrysthiccthighss @donutloverxo @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bambamwolf87

#there goes my life #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x fem!reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fics #nomad!steve

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grandlinedreams · 7 months

Text

Two weeks. Fourteen days, three hundred and thirty-six hours since the Polar Tang last surfaced.

Not that you're counting, or anything. You love your crew, you do ㅡ but there's only so much of inky black portholes and crewmate shenanigans (read: Penguin and Shachi) that you can take before it becomes too much to handle.

But you've finally surfaced, Polar Tang bobbing contentedly at the dock of an island that, for all intents and purposes, is beyond peaceful. Those grow rarer and rarer it seems (an unfortunate setback when you have a bounty on your head), and you're glad that your crewmates are just as excited as you are to get some non-submersible based peace.

Sighing contentedly, you lean against the railing of the deck, head tipped skyward. The breeze is nice ㅡ with your boiler suit peeled down to tie around your waist and leaving you in the black tank top beneath, there's quiet enjoyment to be had of air that hasn't been recycled and scrubbed clean.

"Not going to go run around with everyone else?"

The question comes from behind you, footsteps familiar enough that you don't need to turn around. Hooking your fingers around the railing, you lean back, tipping your head further to look at Law. "I don't think that Bepo, Shachi and Penguin constitute as 'everyone else'."

"Don't lean like that, you'll fall." A hand cups the back of your head, pushing you to correct your stance.

"You won't patch me up if I get hurt?" Your eyes lock with gold.

"When it's your own fault? No." The linger of Law's hand against the nape of your neck says otherwise, and a soft smile tugs at your lips as you take in his appearance. It's unchanged from his usual besides the absence of Kikoku, his sleeves rolled up to expose his tattoos.

"How tragic," you lament, grinning when you catch the slow eyeroll from the man beside you before your attention shifts back to the sky above. The sun set hours ago, tugging a blanket of midnight blue to replace the sun, scattered with silver pinprick stars. "Aren't they beautiful?"

Law follows your line of vision, the gleam of stars winking down. "I suppose so."

You snort. "Wow, what a romantic. No surprise you swept me off my feet with that kind of attitude." Your tone is light and teasing, meeting his flat look with one of amusement. Stepping closer, you ignore the reflexive tensing of his body as you lean against him. It's a little risky, pushing for affection beyond the closed door of his room ㅡ but when all he does is look away and give a sharp tug to his hat to shadow the blush of his cheeks, you know you've won. "Think they'll ever figure it out?"

They, of course, being the rest of the Heart Pirates ㅡ and Law snorts, this time truly amused. "The way things have gone so far? I doubt it."

"True," you say, leaning forward to rest against the railing once more, your gaze drawn back to the sky. "I think Bepo at least suspects something."

Law's hand drifts along your bare shoulders, fingers curling to tug you back towards him, and you smile to yourself as you let him. "If he does, he won't say anything." He pauses. "Do you want them to know?"

You debate for a moment, relishing the warmth of his palm against your shoulder, the fact that you're privvy to this softer, more vulnerable side of your usually intimidating boyfriend.

"Nah," you answer at last. "Think I'd like to keep this with you all to myself for a little longer." His fingers squeeze, and you don't have to look up to know he's smiling.

"Me too."

#ㅡmine.#one piece x reader #one piece scenario #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #–ml: law.

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truly-neutral-art · 6 days

Text

Din/Luke Pacific Rim AU pt.2

Pt.1 | Pt.3

Another addition to this AU because It's been living in my head rent free for ages. I can't do a Pacific Rim AU without recreating the iconic Kwoon scene. Also, I was too lazy to draw backgrounds so I just stole them from the movie ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Under the cut is a teaser of the fic I'm trying to write. It's a first draft, so there's probably some mistakes. Also, I'm still kind of in Screen Writing mode from school, so please don't mind if there's not a lot of internal character narration.

“Four points to two,” Luke calls after the final candidate falls. His emotions are carefully masked on his face but Din can see how tense he is.

“We’re wasting time, Marshal. He’s barely compatible with any of them, this isn’t going to work,” Luke says.

“What do you suggest?” The Marshal raises a brow.

“Put me in charge, I’m drift compatible with several cadets. We don’t need him.” Luke gestures towards Din. The look on his face makes Din’s blood boil. Contempt. What did he ever do to Luke to earn this?

“What’s your problem, Skywalker?” Din stomps towards the edge of the mat.

“I’ve already told you, I don’t think you're the right man for the job,” Luke replies. He’s now turned squarely towards Din, his face back to that eerie calm. It sends a shiver down Din’s spine.

“No, there’s more. You’ve got a problem with me.” Din steps closer, trying to ignore the piercing blue of Luke’s eyes.

“Enough! both of you.” Marshal Skywalker turns to them both.

“If you think you’re so much better, then let’s go.” Din points his bō at Luke. “If you win, you can pilot the Crest. If I win, you back off.” Din holds Luke's gaze, projecting his challenge.

“Neither of you are in the position to make that decision,” Anakin states, breaking the spell.

“What? Think your own blood isn’t good enough to beat me?” Din didn’t know Marshal Skywalker that well, but from what he did know, the man was prideful. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest move, but it got him what he wanted.

The Martial turned towards Luke, earning his attention. No words were exchanged between them, the Martial simply gave a nod. A brief look of satisfaction washed over Luke’s face. Din turned towards the mat to prepare for the fight before Luke’s eyes turned back to him.

Luke stepped to the edge of the mat, shoes and outer shirt removed. He bowed at the waist before stepping forward. He was in a simple black tank top and the standard cargo pants. It was the first time Din had seen any of his skin exposed beyond his face. His arms and neck were covered in pale, lightning-like scars that looked like they extended beyond what Din could see. He wasn’t sure what to make of them. He knew almost nothing about Luke when he really thought about it. Only what he heard from the news from the past four years.

He had to admit, it made him earn a little more respect for the kid. At first he’d seemed like a petulant child who was getting his favorite toy taken away, but now, Din wasn’t as sure that was the case. He had no more time to think on it as he and Luke passed each other on the mat, walking to opposite sides, then turning to face each other.

In the blink of an eye Luke swung his bō with the finesse of a warrior. He moved forward before stopping in the middle of the mat as he pulled his bō up in defense. Din followed suit, taking on a more aggressive starting position. He could tell Luke was analyzing him, eyes flitting around to every point of his body. Din took the opportunity to attack. In one swift moment he had his bō mimicking a strike at Luke’s skull.

“One, Zero.” The words had barely left his mouth before Luke made a counter attack. In a flash Luke had reversed their positions with a satisfied smirk.

Without wasting any more time the two began to fight again in an explosion of movement. The people in the kwoon reacted to them, but Din’s focus narrowed in until it was only them in the room. He watched Luke’s movements carefully, anticipating and blocking every attack that came and returning his own. He picked up on a franticness in Lukes’s movements and took advantage, landing an attack on his ribs.

“You’re too eager, you’re projecting your moves,” Din commented as they reset.

“I don’t need your advice.” Despite his words, Luke waited, ready for Din’s next move.

Luke swiftly blocked everything Din threw at him and pushed back even harder. In the next moment Luke attacked with a flurry of blows, catching Din off guard. He was stronger than he looked.

“Two, two.” Luke had once again evened the score.

There was barely a pause before they were at it again. This bout lasted longer than the others, both having picked up on each other’s gambit. They danced around each other, the only sound in Din’s ears were the clacking of their bō staffs and their heavy breathing. Neither was holding back.

In a blur of motion Luke darted towards Din’s legs, throwing him off balance. Din rolled out of the throw but as he lifted his head he was met with Luke’s bō to his throat. Luke's eyes were no less intense this close.

“Two, Three.” Luke stepped back into a ready position. “Better watch out, Djarin.” There was a satisfied smirk on his face. He was winning. Din wouldn’t give up that easily.

He pulled out every trick he had, but Luke seemed to always be a step ahead. He was too fast, almost as if he could read Din’s mind. From the outside it would almost look like this was rehearsed. In the end, it was Din’s weight advantage that won him the point. He moved in close and pinned Luke's arm before throwing him down to the mat. The blond hit the ground on his back, breath escaping his lungs from the impact.

Din almost went to help him up but Luke threw his legs backwards into a handstand before standing back up. He barely looked affected, the only sign of fatigue on him was the sweat on his forehead that matted down his blond hair.

“Three, Three,” Din called. “And there’s no need to show off.”

The next point would declare a winner. There was a smile on Luke’s face, different from the ones before. This one was more open, leaving Din feeling dizzy instead of insulted.

Din tried to understand it but there was no more time to ponder as Luke set on his next attacks. He was more aggressive than he’d been the rest of the fight but Din pushed back, not without some difficulty. Luke danced around Din with a frightening agility. The only thing that kept Din in the fight for so long were his reflexes. He knew he had to end this fight soon or Luke would eventually wear him down.

In a decisive move Din attacked at Luke’s head, trading off his defense for offense. He had Luke on the move, nearly pushing him off the mat. However, before he could land a finishing blow Luke darted to the side, slipping his leg between Din’s and toppling him to the floor. When Din processed what happened, he was pinned under Luke’s hips on his chest and his bō at his neck.

Cheers erupted from the gathered crowd, but Din’s view had narrowed into Luke as he stood up. Din stayed on the ground, still a bit stunned from the end of the fight. He wasn’t really sure how to feel about its outcome. But one thing was for certain, he and Luke were drift compatible. Very drift compatible.

Din was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t even realize Luke was reaching down to him until his hand was in his face. He took it and allowed Luke to help him to his feet.

“You felt it too, didn’t you?” Luke asked.

“Yeah.”

#dinluke #star wars #luke skywalker #din djarin #art #dinluke fanart #fanfic #fanfiction #pacific rim au #dinluke au #tru's dinluke pacific rim au

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