#i perhaps should not have done this in the fucking middle of the night but whatever

[stardustedlyra]

you're all wrong about tim and sasha actually! tim is not just a prankster, and sasha is not the braincell friend.

tim's FIRST appearance on the show is him being a fucking nerd about the filing system. he's fully the only normal person in the archives for the entire first season - his coworkers are jonathan "is fully aware the supernatural exists but denies it for as long as possible" sims, martin "brought in a container of supernatural worms in to prove his boss wrong" blackwood, and sasha "went to a graveyard with a random blonde guy she had only seen through weird glass, got stabbed to pull out a worm, and proceeded to brush off said stab wound" james, for fuck's sake! i would argue that he is in fact the one with the braincell for the entirety of season 1.

sasha has the facade of being this reliable, put-together person, but that is Not who she is. this woman is wild! as previously mentioned, she went to a random ass graveyard with a man who she had basically only seen as a weird warped version of himself, and brushed off a stab wound from his knife fingers that she sustained when he pulled a spooky worm out of her. she spends time arguing with jon about the correct pronunciation of calliope. she's kind of implied to be a conspiracy theorist in 162 (and she was RIGHT). she doesn't believe in the concept of the self. sadly she was only in six episodes so i don't have a lot of material to go off of but she was MUCH weirder and more feral than the fandom tends to give her credit for.

for both of them, the fanon reduces them to the facades they present. tim acts the part of the jokester, and sasha acts the part of the competent braincell-haver, but that's not who they are. there's so much more there, and we really need to utilize this more.

#so i thought too hard about the fanon reductions of their characters and went feral #i perhaps should not have done this in the fucking middle of the night but whatever #the gremlin has spoken #tma #the magnus archives #tim stoker #sasha james

[sytoran]

Could I request a Natasha x reader where R and Nat are driving home from a party but their car breaks down so they call someone to come help them fix it and while they’re waiting they fuck outside on the back of the car…strap on pls

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟎𝟏𝟎 — 𝐏𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐂 𝐒𝐄𝐗

kinktober day 010 | milf!natasha x fem!mechanic!reader

natasha's had a completely shit day, and the last straw is when her car breaks down on the way home. the unbelievably sexy mechanic who shows up to fix her car makes it an unforgettable night.

note. i might've changed the plot so R is the mechanic. trust me on that decision.

cont. strap-on use, daddy kink, horniness, hot mechanic stuff

word count. 3435 (yall are getting fed)

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

In her weathered thirties, Natasha had retired as an Avenger and chose a life that had always been nothing more than a distant dream. 

By adopting two beautiful children and becoming a mother, it was almost like she was flipping off the Red Room for what they had done to her. It was an act of justice, a long sought-after victory, throwing away her past but embracing the lessons it had taught her.

However, despite how much the future she carved for herself had changed, one thing hadn’t — and that was the people who had been by her side throughout her journey to normalcy.

Kate, that human embodiment of a golden retriever, was all about ‘bringing the Avengers together, old and new’, and ‘forging stronger bonds in the pursuit of justice’. Hence came the monthly parties that involved the wealth of Bishop Security, too much alcohol, and one too many bad decisions.

For Natasha, the party had spun out of control like a series of unfortunate events: From the raspberry martini Thor had spilled on her, to the ripped dress from a stupid dare from Rocket to climb the fence, and the incredibly awkward seven minutes in heaven with Bruce. 

Right now, the ex-Avenger wanted nothing more than to dive under the warm blankets and close her eyes and shut the world out. Go home to her two bundles of joy. Be engulfed in the warmth of comfort and release. Maybe even let Liho sleep on the bed for once.

She needs to get back home a little faster. Natasha accelerates.

Her eyes are on the road, gripping the steering wheel with a steely frown. The road is dark, the lamps are flickering. There’s a thought lingering in the back of her mind, like an itch that simply wouldn’t go away.

It was embarrassing to admit, but Natasha had done far worse: She was unarguably sexually frustrated. After saving the universe and transitioning into a life of motherhood, she hardly had any time to alleviate her stress in that kind of way.

Today was one of those days, then, where she would once again have to retreat into the confines of her shower and spend a little longer than she should. Or perhaps, dive under the sheets and reach into her bedside table for that plastic purple toy.

Natasha steps on the pedal a little harder. She accelerates again – the engine splutters.

"Fuck, shit, don't do this to me now," she growls, angrily slapping her steering wheel while a frown creases her eyebrows. 

It only takes the car three more streetlamps to absolutely die out on her, coming to a screeching halt, in the dead of the night, in the middle of nowhere. Comically, the sound of something fusing inside her engine follows right after.

Natasha lets the groan of frustration fall freely, forehead hitting the centre of the steering wheel. The resounding sound of the car honking echoes in the emptiness of the place, like a mockery of Natasha’s misfortune.

She climbs out of the car reluctantly, slowly lifting the bonnet open and staring blankly at the mechanical parts before her. 

Natasha was a woman of many capabilities, those of which included being able to assassinate three grown men with a pencil, speak fifteen languages fluently, raise two kids with an attitude more stubborn than hers, save the fucking world, in fact, but fixing cars was not one of them.

Gradually, the car parts in the engine began to look more and more like ancient hieroglyphs that Natasha would spend a lifetime trying to decipher.

She pulls out her cell phone to call someone for assistance, before realizing that basically all of her friends were likely piss-drunk at that stupid party, and would never pick up. (Okay, she also didn’t have a social life other than her ex-comrades in battle, but could you really blame Natasha?)

As the redhead closed her eyes, irritation danced in the darkness of her vision, flickering in specks of white and then burning red. Natasha resigns to her doomed fate.

Calling up the roadside assistance services would mean spending an insanely long amount of time waiting, then having her car towed to the auto-repair shop, henceforth allowing the mechanics there to actually fix up her car, and by the time she retreated into the warmth of her bedroom at home it would very much be far past midnight.

Pulling out her phone with a stately reluctance, Natasha searches up the nearest available mechanic services, dials in the designated number, and begins her wait for comfort and satisfaction.

***

If Natasha previously had any qualms or complaints about waiting for roadside assistance, her mouth was now sealed shut with lock and key. In fact, she would much rather let the mechanic that just arrived assist her in several other ways.

“Sorry for the wait, Ma’am, we were almost about to close shop,” you say, climbing out of the pickup truck then jumping down. 

You flick your hair out of your eyes and send a bright smile to your last client of the day, seemingly oblivious to the effect you had on the woman. “I’m Y/N, happy to be at your service.”

Now, Natasha certainly had her own suspicions that she wasn’t entirely straight, but those queries had been confirmed within a good five seconds.

It was too cliche to be real, almost. Natasha swallows as her eyes rake over your tight-fitting white tank top that showed off the most stunning bodily anatomy she had ever seen, each muscle carved from a meticulous sculptor, dirtied cargo pants hanging loose to reveal the band of a pair of black boxers. 

“Ma’am?” you repeat, lifting up a heavy toolbox with one hand, failing to notice that Natasha’s gaze is glued on to the flexed muscles of your right arm.

“O-oh,” the ex-Avenger mumbles in embarrassment – Oh, Yelena would cackle to see her like this – “Sorry, what was your question?”

You only tilt your head and give her a polite smile. “I was asking what seems to be the issue with your car.” 

Natasha nods vigorously, then walks stiffly towards her car. Her clammy hands struggle to lift the bonnet for a moment, and in a second you’re next to her, single-handedly lifting the cover with a thoughtful smile.

Natasha feels the heat rush to her cheeks and she looks away quickly. She was acting like a lovesick high school girl, for God’s sakes. Get it together, she chides. 

When she looks back up again, you have a wrench in hand, twirling it around. Natasha has her eyes glued to your tattoos and the way your fingers spin the tool.

“I’ll loosen this up a bit, see what we’re dealing with.” You say, fastening the wrench into place. Natasha barely has time to nod her acknowledgement before her breath gets stolen from her again.

The muscle of your forearm ripples like a satisfying wave when you jerk the wrench, and Natasha’s breath gets stolen away by the wind. She watches as your fingers expertly wrap around the tool, your other hand gripping the front of the car, and your next effort has Natasha getting wetter in places she shouldn’t.

“I think this part needs to be oiled,” you say, your even voice hauling Natasha out of her erotic fantasy. You look at your client curiously, innocently gesturing towards the toolbox next to her feet. “Would you be an angel and hand me the oiler?”

Angel.

Natasha’s heart races as she bends down to pick up your toolbox. (Okay, she definitely bends down a little too far, but she feels your eyes glued onto her ass, and she considers that a victory.) When she hands you the toolbox, your fingertips graze over her hand, and Natasha’s breath hitches a little too obviously.

By some holy deity’s work, you don’t comment or react to her squeak of surprise, and instead begin oiling up the engine of the car. Natasha flushes a dark red. Your grasp had been calloused, because of course it would be, experienced with handling cars and being rough—

The electricity that had run through her veins from that second of contact was comparable to Thor’s Mjolnir.

You have a little mishap when pouring the oil, the tube sliding in your grasp, and the car oil squirts from the nozzle and onto your front. You chuckle awkwardly, embarrassment tinging the tips of your ears.

Natasha thinks it’s the sweetest sound she’s ever heard, heart fluttering at your awkwardness. Once again, her libido catches up to her, and then Natasha’s eyeing your slick fingers (imagining it was a different type of slick), and the way your dampened shirt clung to your taut muscles.

Maybe you were doing it on purpose, too, facing Natasha as you lift up the hem of your shirt to squeeze out the oil. Her eyes feast on the hint of bare skin she can see, a defined V-line making itself known. 

“You don’t mind me working like this, I suppose?” you ask, a grin on your face. “I may look filthy, but I promise I’m excellent with my hands.”

“Show me, then,” Natasha replies loftily, almost second-nature with how the one-sided smirk creeps on to her face. Her skill of seduction was something that was ingrained into her bloodstream.

When you lay down onto the under-car roller and shift underneath the car to begin fixing it up, Natasha’s gaze darkens several hues and she lets her eyes roam over your body again.

She couldn’t tear her eyes off if she tried. She wanted to rake her nails over your taut muscles, watch them flex and ripple under her touch, hook her fingers in the belt-loop of your pants and tug it down—

—to see the unmistakable bulge on a strap-on in your boxers. Natasha licks her lips, zeroing in on the tantalizing sight. It looked big, even while hidden under the confines of your pants. She would take you so good, down her throat or up her cunt, until either of you orgasmed. 

Natasha gets lost in her thoughts, nearly drooling as she watched you work. Your tank top moved with every thrust of your arm into unscrewing a certain mechanical part, and the grease slid down the veins of your hands. 

The redhead has to sink her teeth into her bottom lip when you spread your legs for a more comfortable position, to stop herself from moaning out load. 

Natasha’s got it down bad, eyes once again on your bulge. Her panties are soaked, already, lewd thoughts flitting through her mind with every passing minute that you’re under there.

On the other hand, you were fighting a very different battle.

You weren’t stupid, no, not on any accounts. (Except for dating that one girlfriend who’d lit your auto-repair shop on fire when you broke up with her. But we don’t talk about past mistakes.) Right now, the woman you were attending to was none other than Natasha Romanoff.

Yes, the woman who had saved the universe. The woman who’d inspired you to say ‘fuck everyone else’ and chase your dreams. The woman on TV you’d spent more than a few nights thinking of, your hand in places you’d rather not specify.

More than that, you were quite sure that this woman, in a ripped dress that fucked your mind in ways it shouldn’t, wanted you to fuck her instead.

It was an uphill battle, your rationality versus your pathetic pretty-girl-want-to-fuck instinct. As you lay under Natasha’s car, working on the mechanical parts up there and getting grease all over your hands, you contemplated the reasons why logic was important.

Number One: Natasha Romanoff was an Avenger. If you pushed yourself onto her, she could very much knock you out before you could say ‘sorry’. As much as you prided yourself on your physique and brute force, you weren’t about to take on an ex-widow in a fight.

You look down for one second, as said woman steps a little closer to you, and you have to swallow to bite back an embarrassing sound. One of her hands was resting on your knee while you worked, and it took every cell of your existence not to start spasming under her touch.

Number Two: It was a violation of workplace guidelines. As much as the pay was shitty, you wouldn’t want to lose your job. You still had rent to pay, and you couldn’t keep hiding from your stick-in-the-ass landlord.

“Oh, that looks dirty,” Natasha comments, tone sultry as her hand creeps up higher on your leg. Your breath catches in your throat, grease staining your white shirt while your eyes quite nearly glaze over. 

I can show you dirty, your brain unhelpfully supplies, and you shake your head in a futile attempt to clear your head. 

Natasha, undetered, leans forward, chest grazing over your torso, the soft flesh of her breasts against your abdomen making your head spin.

Fuck, you just wanted to rip off her pretty dress and— Number Three: You were in public. Having sexual intercourse with your client right here and right now would likely end in a police report for vouyerism. Dingy apartment be gone, for you would be sleeping in a jail cell.

“M’kay, I’m done,” you announce, slapping the underside of the car as a sign of accomplishment. You purposefully slide out from under the car in one swift motion, allowing Natasha’s hand to graze over your muscled thigh.

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight that greeted you when you looked up, though.

There Natasha Romanoff leant over your body, one hand inches away from the bulge in your pants, the other tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She was leaning forward, exposing a cleavage that hung right above your torso, dark eyes surveying you.

Fuck, dark couldn’t even begin to describe it. Natasha’s gaze was like an icy blast and molten lava all at the same time: Her pupils were severely dilated, a spark dancing within it. The deep colours of her eyes were like a kaleidoscope, pulling you in, entrapping you in a haze of lust. 

It was entirely wanton, arousing, filthy. Her ruby-red lips curved into a vulture-like smirk, gaze trailing downwards to your body. Everywhere her eyes rested on lit a path of hellfire. Those sinful hands crept on to your bulge, splaying over your false cock as you exhale shakily.

Number Four: Natasha Romanoff was looking at you like you were a full banquet service, all five courses, free of charge, complimentary champagne included. 

And honestly, was there really anything more important than that?

“Thanks for your help,” Natasha murmmurs, physically climbing onto you as you laid on the under-car roller. “Let me repay that kindness.”

You let out a strangled groan as Natasha pushes herself down onto you and kisses you, her hands sliding under your shirt to scrape at your abdomen. 

Oh, finally.

“Fuck,” you gasp against her eager lips, hands flying to palm at her ass as you deepen the kiss. Your brain hasn’t quite caught up to yet, the only you were registering being the sweet mouth you were exploring and the intoxicating flowery scent of Natasha’s perfume.

Your hand cinches around Natasha’s neck like a vice-grip, your tongue invading the confines of her mouth, the rocking motions of your meeting mouths drawing long gasps and whines from Natasha.

Her hands, on the contrary, are relentless: From the sides of your face to your washboard abdomen, sharp nails marking you as if you’re hers. 

Having relinquished your power for long enough, you grab handfuls of Natasha’s ass and lift her up; You get up, too, a mess of entangled limbs as you throw her over your shoulder, kicking away the roller and moving to the bed of your pickup truck.

Natasha’s left dripping at your display of effortless strength. You hoist the two of you up onto the pickup truck, paradoxically carefully laying her down, and you stall for a moment.

“We’re so gonna get caught,” Natasha whispers with a stupid grin on her face.

She looks up at you with a breathtaking smile, twilight reflecting off her eyes, dancing in the atmosphere that surrounded the two of you. 

The pair of you were completely exposed to the midnight air, in the middle of nowhere, but if anyone were to drive past it would be blatantly obvious what was happening.

You smirk, tugging her dress off with an assured confidence. “Maybe,” you reason, thumbing at one of Natasha’s nipples so she arches off the surface with a breathy gasp. “Or maybe not,” you continue, a big hand sliding under Natasha’s lithe body to undo the clasp of her bra and toss it somewhere.

“Y/N!” Natasha squeaks, as your greedy hands massage the mounds of her breasts. “Did you throw my bra onto the road?”

You hum your approval cheekily, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses from the swell of her breasts and down to her soiled. “Yes, angel. I’ll pick it up later, bring it home with me to jerk off–”

“Oh my god—”

“Yeah, and I’ll— oh fuck, angel, your panties are fucking soaked. Not so innocent, hm?” You question with a dark smile, two fingers running over the outside of her undergarment, arousal sticking to your fingers.

You watch as the older woman before you flushes from head to toe. Strings of slick cling to your thick fingers, and you suck on them as Natasha moans lewdly. 

“I’ll let you taste it later, don’t worry,” you add helpfully, shucking down your own pants and boxers. The strap-on springs out, and Natasha’s drooly lips open to push out a shaky breath of arousal.

“Daddy,” Natasha says, instinctually, at the sight of your gloried muscles and the ivory strap that hung between your legs like it was made to do so.

Your grip on Natasha’s hips bruise, the term nothing new to you but so entirely different when it came from Natasha fucking Romanoff. The sense of pride that washed over you was nothing compared to the carnal desire to fill her up and make her scream your name.

“Oh God!” Natasha wails out, fingernails digging into your forearms as you slide the head of your cock inside her. It wasn’t the longest, but it was girthy, and Natasha’s hole was stretched out as you pushed slowly.

“Not God,” you pant into Natasha’s ear, slapping her ass as she cries out loud. “Daddy, hm?”

“Yes!” Natasha moans, legs wrapping around your huge muscled back as you begin to thrust. Her hands try to interlock behind your back for support, but your shoulderblades are so wide that she can’t even fully wrap her hands around it, and that fact leaves her even hornier than before.

You’ve got Natahsa pinned to the ground under your body, pounding so hard that the whole truck shakes. The grease from your clothes goes all over, slick and sweat coating the two of you, pleasured cries and low grunts emanating from the pickup truck.

The squelching sounds of her pussy are absolutely filthy, as you pound into her spongy spot like your life depended on it. 

“There, please!” Natasha wails, helplessly clinging on to your back as you bring her to a ferocious orgasm. Her legs kick under you, hook around the side of the truck as you jackhammer your hips into her pussy.

“Almost there already, angel?” You ask heatedly, mouth working on marking up her tits. One of your hands had both of Natasha’s wrist above her head, and the other was on her hips for support as you thrusted into her.

Your response comes in an earth-shattering orgasm.

“Daddy!” Natasha moans out, filthy and drenched with desire. Her pleasured cry is so loud that it scares a flock of birds out of a nearby tree, and you flinch violently at the sudden sound of nature’s rustling leaves, like you forgot you were in public.

Natasha breaks out into a laugh at the absurdity of the situation, then moans again when another wave of orgasmic pleasure washes over her. That causes you to join in on the laughter, your cock jostling inside Natasha. She whines again, and you pepper kisses over Natasha’s sweaty forehead with nothing short of amused affection.

And that’s how the two of you end up entangled on the back of your pickup truck like lovesick fools, a mesh of sweaty and slick bodies, sounds of pleasure and laughter scaring away any other creature that might disrupt Natasha’s sought-after comfort and satisfaction.

requests are NOT open... i just received this request all the way back in february, and so here it is haha..... im sorry to that one anon 😭 reblog to save a life xx

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

#sytoran's kinktober 2023 #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #natasha romanoff x reader smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff smut #x reader #natasha x reader smut #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x you #marvel women #gxg smut #wlw smut #marvel smut #bottom natasha romanoff #sub natasha romanoff #top reader #dom reader

[peachesofteal]

Black Sun

Simon Riley masterlist

Simon Riley/female reader 5.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Dark and twisty. Explicit sex, dubious consent, forced breeding/pregnancy kink, praise kink, size difference, creampie. Simon is insane about you. Panty sniffing/stealing. Obsessive behavior. Possessive Simon Riley. Alcohol. Reader is prescribed/taking muscle relaxers. Toxic but I think it's sweet. Angst, comfort, emotional hurt/comfort. Tags are for your health, not mine. Simon never wanted a divorce.

Simon does not consider himself a common criminal.

A war criminal, perhaps. The things he’s done for the 141 would put him behind bar in over fifty countries, and on death row in at least eight. The things he’s seen alone make him eligible for life in a padded room, and that’s if you don’t count the things that have happened to him.

But he’s never stooped to petty crime like this before. Before this mess. Before you asked for a divorce, insisted he move out, demanded time apart.

There’s a first time for everything, he thinks. First time for a lot of things, actually. The first time he actively tried to avoid the divorce paperwork, first time he let his obsession take him this far, first time he indulged in his darkest fantasies, things he wouldn’t even dare whisper about to Price-

The door welcomes him like it always does, squeak gone from the hinges, greased out by his hands in the middle of the night last week, swinging wide so he can silently step across the threshold… into his house. Into yours.

Riley whines in greeting, lowering himself into a play bow, and Simon kneels to pet him, rubbing his between the ears and under the chin just how he likes, before instructing him back to his bed, to keep watch. He’d maul another man who tried to step foot in here, per his training, but his dad- his dad is okay. His dad is allowed.

It’s not that he’s too far gone to recognize the complete dismantlement of your boundaries, it’s that he doesn’t care. The chilling fear of losing you has seeped deep into his bones, fostering the growth of a plan that he knows is not rational, or right.

He knows what he is doing is wrong, but he cannot stop himself.

You are his. His wife. His life, his person, his reason for it all. You’re the sun and the moon and the stars and everything that makes this miserable fucking existence worth living.

He’ll do anything to keep you.

Anything.

So, it doesn’t feel wrong when he stands in the bedroom at the foot of his bed, watching you sleep, twisted up in the blankets, favoring your one side like your shoulder must have been bothering you before you fell asleep. It concerns him, worries him, this lack of improvement regarding your pain, and he wonders if maybe you should be in physical therapy.

It doesn’t feel wrong, when he traces the curve of your ass, perked up in the sheets, as if you’re waiting for him to strip your ratty little sleep shorts down to your knees and shove his cock to your cervix. He wonders if you’d even wake up if he rubbed his nose across the seam of your cunt. You’ve always been a heavy sleeper, through thunder or commotion, you’d stay sweet with your lashes flush against your cheeks, mouth slightly open in a soft snore.

He leans over you in bed, stroking the back of your head with his hand before pressing a featherlight kiss to your temple, something he knows won’t stir you, not with you how deep you’re dreaming, and certainly not with the muscle relaxer in your system.

He is a stealth operator, after all. It’s not like he hasn’t been watching, observing your new routines, the changes to your schedules and habits that have appeared over these last few months. The muscle relaxers, for example, that were prescribed for the strain in your neck and shoulder, that you’ve been taking once an evening for a week and a half, around six thirty. They’re extended release, usually able to keep you mostly pain free through the night, and he’s grateful to your doctor for insisting upon them. For more reasons than one.

He gives you another light kiss before pulling the sheet up around your shoulders, tucking you in how you like. You get cold in the middle of the night, icicle toes usually wandering across the mattress to seek the space between his thighs for warmth, shocking him into a gasp that would elicit a string of sleepy giggles from your mouth. He makes sure you’re comfortable, before slinking onto the second part of his routine.

The bathroom.

Every night, he holds his breath as the medicine cabinet pops open. He hates the anticipation, the fear of what he could discover, dreads the idea of having to start the clock over or worse, swap them for placebo. You never disappoint him though, and he catalogues the perfectly color-coded rows of birth control pills that haven’t been touched in over a month, not since his last op with wicked desire hearting his belly. What a good girl you are.

Before, he would have told you the opposite. He did, tell you the opposite. He told you were good, so good, for taking your pills, for making sure that you were safe for him, that there wouldn’t be any accidents. Guilt would eat at him each time the two of you had the argument, the ‘discussion’, about having a baby, and you would cry with misery staining your cheeks.

 “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.” He tried to tell you, dozens of times, that he didn’t think he’d be good at it, that he wouldn’t like being gone so much, leaving you at home all the time with a baby.

“I love you, Simon. I want to have a baby, with you. My husband. Is that so wrong?” You would cry, and he could feel the weight of his choice breaking you apart, the pressure cracking beneath his skull.

“You… you don’t understand. I- I can’t.” 

It’s not why you asked for a divorce, but it certainly played a part.

Something catches his eye when he turns to leave, a wayward item of clothing hanging haphazardly outside of the hamper.

Your underwear.

He plucks the scrap of blue lace and cotton from the edge and balls it into his fist, bringing it to his nose with a deep inhale. It’s sick, the way he needs you, the way the smell of your dirty panties, the honeyed ambrosia of your musk, makes his mouth water like a juvenile. Before he can change his mind, he shoves them in his pocket. He doesn’t usually take things, too aware of potentially tipping you off, but this; this is something he needs.

“Simon, can we please just… can we please just meet up and at least look at these papers?” It’s early for you to be up, on a Saturday, and he frowns at the screen in contemplation. Before, you’d never be up this early. Before, you would have insisted he stay under the covers with you, would have draped your body over his eagerly to convince him, sweetening him to your side with barely a whisper.

“How many weekends do we even get, anyway? This is your first one home in weeks. Stay in bed with me.” And he would, because of course he would. Because there was no place he’d rather be in those moments, curled up in bed, his nose in your hair, watching the rise and fall of your chest just to be sure it was all real, that it wasn’t some cruel dream that would disappear as soon as he woke up.

“You’ve been home for two weeks and haven’t even looked at them.” He grits his teeth, pressing the hard edge of his phone into his cheek. He can’t be divorced if there’s no signature. But you sound exasperated, stressed, and he’s eager to fix it for you, easily agreeing without too much badgering.

“Alright, sweetheart. Alright. I’ll meet you.”

He cannot believe his luck.

You’re nervous. Your hands flitter about, constantly touching the table, the silverware, your sore shoulder, the manilla envelope before finding the stem of your wine glass and tilting it to your lips, swallowing the alcohol over and over without any kind of hesitation. You must not have taken the muscle relaxer. He's well versed in navigating your emotions, calming you into a relaxed state with a few words or a reassuring touch, and he wants to reach out and take your hand in his, soothe you, tell you that everything is alright but… it would serve no purpose for him tonight. Sorry, sweet girl. He sits at the little two top across from you with his arms crossed, watching his lack of interest in the conversation break you down, little by little, until you’re ordering another glass of wine, and then a third, all while he nurses the same glass of bourbon. The alcohol distracts you, strays you from your course, and you eventually stop trying to try talk about that bloody manilla envelope, leaning to one side a little more than the other in your chair. When you order a shot after dinner is over, he doesn’t protest, just watches your tongue follow the seam of the citrus wedge, dabbing along the spongy white fibers before your teeth dig into the flesh of it, lime juice squirting across your tongue.

He loves you drunk. Loves you sober, loves you tired, or grumpy, or smiling. He loves you anyway he can get you, but sometimes, when you’re like this, your smile sweet like sticky toffee, buzzing and humming, it helps him get away from himself, helps him stay present and lost inside you, swept up in you. It makes him think about the honeymoon, your feet buried in the sand, tucked away in secluded cove, no one around for miles. He fucked you on the beach, fucked you in the ocean, fucked you in someone else’s cabana that day, and you giggled the whole time. Pearly pitched music that wrapped in him the strongest feeling of bliss, skin that tasted like brine and sun, your hand in his on the walk back the hotel, peeking under your wide brim hat every few minutes to press his lips to yours.

“Wan’ one?” He shakes his head, but pulls your hand into his, feeling the warmth of your skin. When you don’t pull away, his blood heats, churning through his veins like fire. “Figured.” You sigh, and then flash him a mischievous, coy grin. Cheeky girl. Think you’re so clever. “Want to get out of here?” You croon, and he smiles indulgently behind the mask. “Lead the way.”

You’re giggly, excited when he bends you over the table, the kitchen table where you used to eat together, breakfast for dinner when he’d come home, waffles and bacon at one in the morning.

You don’t protest when he slides your skirt down your hips and over your ass, thumbs spreading you wide to reveal your glistening cunt, twitching and desperate.

“My poor girl, has it been so long?” He coos, relishing in the way you moan with your lips on the wood. He knows it has, knows you haven’t been with anyone since the last time he fucked you, months and months ago, on the night you asked for the divorce. “Shhh. I’m here now, I’m gonna take care of it.”  

“You have to pull out.” You slur, breath hot, fogging against the finish of the table. “Promise.” He grunts something under his breath, nonsense, but you can’t tell the difference, and when he slides inside your scorching cunt, you howl, breath hitching with the stretch.

Bleedin’ Christ. You’re so tight, so wet, soaked enough that it sticks to the curls around the base of his cock. How could he ever give this up? 

“That’s it.” He kisses your shoulder, pressing his chest to your back with his weight, pinning you in place, his hands clamping down around your wrists like shackles. “Squeeze me tight, good girl. Show me-“ Show me how you’re going to hold my come in your tight little pussy once I fill you- comes to mind, but he bites his tongue instead, not willing to tip you off too soon.

To have and to hold. In sickness and in health. For better or worse. 

I promise to love and cherish you. 

Till death does us part.  

Till death. 

“Simooon.” You sing, hips start to push back with him, fucking yourself onto his cock, chasing him, chasing your pleasure, mouth half open with the little pants and whines that are music to his ears. He keeps you pinned, flat against the table, fingers between your legs, stroking your clit, shoving you closer to your orgasm, delightfully pleased by the way your pussy pulses around him.

“Come on.” He urges, big hand between you and the table, pressing against your lower belly, still tapping away at your clit, indulging in the trembling of your legs.

“Fuck- fuck, Si.” You cry, clenching down around him with your orgasm, voice breaking.

“There it is… what a good girl.” He hisses, keeping his pace, pushing deeper and deeper until he’s notching himself nearly inside your womb. It’s overwhelming for you, he knows, but he doesn’t stop swirling his fingers around your clit, zapping electric pulses through body.

“Nngh Si. Too- ooh it’s- it’s too much.” You wail, a tear on your cheek, and he nods, nosing above your ear.

“I know. You’re doing so good for me, so perfect.” It’s whispered with a groan, hands stroking your hip, keeping your steady, in place. “Just need a little more, just- just a little, I’m gonna-“

“What-” You ask, more with it now that you recognize the edge he’s riding, the roughness in his voice clueing you in to where he is, but he sends you back into orbit, pressing your clit and working you in circles. “Oh, oh.” Your hips rock, and he moves with the momentum, fucking into you faster, grunting the truth as he speeds towards the cliff, desperate to drive the car over the edge, eager to change the course of his life, your life, his marriage.

“Take it.” He spits, wide palm spread across your shoulder. Everything in him tightens, fire spreading through his veins, pressure rising in his body like a fucking tea kettle, about to scream out a whistle. He’s going to breed you, fuck you deep with his come and put a baby inside you, give you what you want, what you’ve always said you wanted, the thing that made you cry in the middle of the night when he refused.

Well, he’s going to give it to you now.

“Fuck- here it comes.” You rock again, half lost to the world, eyes glazed over in pleasure, spasming around his cock with your second orgasm. He slams into you, burying deep and you keen, fingers gripping the edge of the table, his hips flush with yours like a lock.

And he’ll throw away the key. 

You blame yourself for the first time.

You blame your nerves. Your lack of self-control. You drank too much, trying to fight the anxiety that was threatening to spill from your mouth by way of your tongue.

  And well, didn’t he just look too fucking good, sitting across from you at dinner. Eyes on your lips. Hand dwarfing the rocks glass. Shoulders broader than a door frame. He put on mass since you saw him last, and you spent half the meal trying not to think about stripping his shirt off so you could inspect for new wounds, new scars, new stretch marks. 

And didn’t he feel so fucking good too, bending you over the kitchen table, sliding into you from behind with almost no prep, hint of pain making you see stars, just the way you like it. Fucking you like the man you married, like the man you fell in love with. Calling you his good girl and making you come all over his cock like a champ. 

You blame him for the second time.

You could blame yourself, for inviting him over- but your intention was clear. Sign the papers. Discuss the house. Be done with it all and close this chapter. Move on with your life, with both your lives.

But he showed up on the wrong day, at the wrong time, with a bottle of your favorite wine, the malbec. The one from your first anniversary, with a large pizza, thin crust with extra cheese (your favorite) and an order of garlic knots.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d eaten or not, figured I’d pick something up, just in case.” He shrugged, and just like that, you were bereft of words, staring at him with nothing coming to mind. Didn’t you say tomorrow? You stood in the door, blinking, Riley whining behind you, already eager to see his dad. “Sweetheart? You feelin’ okay?” His hand was on your arm, warm, thumb rubbing a circle on the inside of your elbow, and even that small amount of contact, that little trickle of concern, sent you into a spiral, muscle relaxer already working its way through your system, slowing your response time, making your brain a little fuzzy. His eyes shimmered in the porchlight, and you nodded, robotically, feet still stuck in the doorway, until he was prompting you to let him inside. “Can I come in then, get this signing business done?” 

You ate pizza and drank a glass of wine (frowned upon considering your medication, but one glass couldn’t kill you, right?) out of regular glassware (a sin, if anyone asked your poor mother) as the manilla envelope sat on the coffee table and practically watched the two of you, oozing with judgement.

You’re supposed to be divorcing. Not cozying up on the god damn couch. Weren’t you the one who told him to find a new place to live? Weren’t you the one who said the two of you wanted different things in life, from it? Weren’t you the one did this, pushed him away, shoved him out the door, told him it was all too little, too late?

But when his fingertips drifted to the top of your spine and then over, like he knew exactly where you were tender, you couldn’t stop yourself from melting into his touch, more and more until he had your back against his chest, strong grip on your shoulder, working your taut muscles with expertise.

His fingers dig deep, groan slipping between your teeth, breathy and low, enough that he’s immediately releasing you.

“Did I hurt you?” 

“N-no.” You shake your head, which only makes you dizzy. Probably shouldn’t have had that glass of wine. “Feels good.” He chuckles, and tucks you closer, head tipping back into his chest, eyes half closed. “Tweaked something in m’shoulder a few weeks ago.” For some reason, you feel the need to explain it, to tell him. “Went for a slide tackle, ended up halfway under the girl. And she was a lot bigger than me.” 

“You still playin’ in that women’s league?” 

“Every Sunday.”

You were so relaxed, so pliable, that you didn’t utter a single protest when he leaned you back on the couch like a doll, pulling your leggings down and off your ankles, sliding your panties away to bury his face in your pussy. You didn’t want to protest, or stop, or get up off the couch, even though, somewhere, in the back of your logical mind, you knew what you were doing was stupid. You knew, that doing this once was mistake, but doing it twice was just downright foolish. It’s just sex though. He can still just sign the papers and go. Who hasn’t had a little runaround with their soon to be ex-husband before the final nail is hammered in the coffin? You’ve never been a saint, after all. 

“Lift your hips.” He taps your side, and you do, letting him slide a throw pillow under them, plumping it under your ass for good measure. “Good girl.” You beam, woozily, and he chuckles, face cracking into something that’s flooded with light, something happy, the face of the man who used to be your husband, used to love you, want a future with you, not just endless rotations around the world with the 141 and a sometimes wife that he sometimes saw. 

“You have to pull out.” There’s backbone to your words, but it’s brittle, and easily breakable. “You didn’t listen last time, and ‘m still mad about it.” 

“I’m sorry, sweet girl.” His lips press against your thigh, and then your knee, trailing up to where he’s got your ankle in his hips. “You just feel like fuckin’ heaven.” You huff. “I will this time, promise.” He rubs your thigh, zinging your skin with a small slap, your yelp teetering off into a moan when he presses knuckle deep into your sopping wet cunt. 

“This doesn’t change anything.” You don’t know why you say it, why you’re so compelled to draw the line in the sand in this moment, when you could have said it any time before hand. Or, even better, had him sign the papers like you originally planned.

“I know.” He shifts you, pulling his occupied fingers free to rearrange your legs, folding your knees back against your chest, the position combined with the pillow under your hips practically tilting you all the way back, the angle enough to make you a little dizzy. Your hand shoots forward to latch onto his forearm for balance, little whimper sneaking away from you, making his brow crease in concern. “I’ve got you.” He whispers against your cheek, lips ghosting over yours, plucking a sweet kiss from your mouth before there’s heat grazing your opening. He keeps a hand on your knee until he’s pushing inside, thrusting in one fell swoop all the way until he can’t go any further, punching your cervix with the head of his cock, swearing behind a tight jaw. It’s a lot of stretch at this angle, deeper, sharper, and you squirm, adjusting to the pressure of him splitting you open. 

“F-fuu-ck.” Your eyes roll back in your head, off somewhere, somewhere not this planet, not this plane of existence where he’s practically in your belly, slick noises bouncing off the walls of your living room, his knees against the pillow, back sloped for enough leverage that he’s practically fucking downwards into you, bent forward with his chest against yours, torso locking you in place, arms around your head like crown. Or a cage. “Si- fuck. It- it hurts.” you babble, gasping into his neck, teeth dangerously close to his shoulder. 

“I know, doin’ so good. Almost there.” You start to melt around him, gentled into it, the patting and cooing and kissing sweetening you soft by the passing second. “Easy love, open up for me.” He pants into your mouth, tongue licking in behind your teeth, invading your senses, your very existence, and it’s so much, too much, but you can’t stop. You let yourself get swept away, mind slipping deeper and deeper every time he thumbs your clit, rubbing a circle around the swollen bud, tapping across it just how you like. “Relax, sweetheart, that’s it.” He keeps bringing you closer and closer to coming, playing your body like only a husband could, plucking the strings that make the sweetest melodies, chords vibrating together until you’re clenching down on his cock, spine curling forward, everything inside of you exploding with a blinding, fiery orgasm that has you crying his name, body shaking underneath him with aftershocks. “You’ve been such a good girl for me.” He murmurs into your sweat-soaked temple, cock sliding out just to push all the way deep again, hips grinding against your ass in a circle. “Haven’t you, sweet girl?” You nod, because yes, of course. You’re always good. 

“Yeeah.” You squeak, vowels heavy, eyes heavy, head heavy, everything too thick underneath the weight of your orgasm, his cock lodged inside you, the muscle relaxer mixed with the Malbec, the chagrined manilla envelope sitting on the table, a mere two feet from your prone body. 

“I know. I know you have.” The muscles in his arm flex, tendons in his neck becoming more defined, and his movements stutter, fucking you in a frantic, desperate way, wild with some sort of chaotic need. “I’m gonna give you a gift for it. For being so good.” 

“You- you-“ You mean to say you what? What do you mean? What are you talking about? But you can’t get any of it out, only able to watch him through half shuttered eyes, admiring the slope of his jaw, the white of the scar on his chin, the drip of sweat in his clavicle. 

“I love you.” A big hand holds your hip upwards, steady, pinning you to the pillow, pace turning hungry, unrelenting, his forehead pressed to yours as he bottoms out, trying to fuck you as deep as possible, to consume you, to drown in you, shoving you further and further up the couch. It’s erratic, and insane, and so- so Simon, that the tears dripping down your cheeks feel normal, everything feels right in your hazy, fucked out brain. “I love you.” He tells you again, and his jaw clicks in your ear. “I love- fuck, fuck, I’m coming.”

You should have protested. You should have reminded him of his promise. Should have said no, remember, you did this last time. We talked about this. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Couldn’t even get your mouth to work right, too spun out on him, on yourself, on floating on a cloud, high above your life, like choices didn’t have consequences. You were blissed out on your own bad decisions, sleepy in the cocoon of an alternate universe with your hips tilted on a pillow, where your husband was still your husband, and not some absent ghost.  

You didn’t even protest when he gathered you together in his arms and carried you upstairs. Didn’t mind that he got one of your make up wipes from the bathroom and cleaned your face, tucked you in, and kissed you goodnight.

You didn’t mind any of it, until you woke up the next morning and faced that manilla envelope.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because in a weeks’, two weeks’ time, he’d be somewhere on the other side of the planet, or hemisphere, or country, somewhere classified, doing god knows what. He’d be gone, and you’d be here, just like always. Just like old times. The sex didn’t matter. It meant nothing. You hardly remembered most it, just clips here and there, the taste of his mouth, the feeling of being so full of him. It didn’t matter, and you repeated those three words in the mirror, four, five times in the morning, intentionally not looking at the gleam of your rings, the wedding band and engagement ring, a fated pair… all alone.

Besides, you could always mail the paperwork. Address it to John. He’d make sure it gets taken care of.

You cringed when you thought about the note you’d have to enclose, the awful acknowledgement of your ineptitude- “Hi John, sorry, but could you have Simon sign these when you get a chance?”

And then, everything changed.

“LT!” Soap shouts over the din of the common room, jerking his head towards the office at the end of the hall. “Price needs ye.”

Price is standing behind his desk, arms across his chest when Simon pushes the door open. His lips quirk, head shaking with a sigh. “You have a phone call.” He motions to the landline, one of the only phones in this entire building, currently off the hook, open line waiting in the air. A phone call? “I’ll give you some privacy.”

When the door shuts, and he’s alone with the phone in his hand, he takes a deep breath, and puts it to his ear. “Hello?” His thumb strokes the silicone wedding band on his ring finger, rubbing it in a circle as he waits for a response. This number is for family members and emergencies, real serious shit, and he’s not-

“Simon?” It’s you. It’s your voice on the other end of the line, wet with tears. His heart stops in his chest, lungs frozen in place, anxiety curling in the pit of his stomach. Your crying always puts him on edge, and it’s worse, with him here, and you alone, everything hanging on the precipice. “Simon? Are you there?”

“I’m here. What’s wrong?” He closes his eyes. Say it. Please. Fucking hell. Please.

“I- I need, I have to tell you something.” You’re still crying, hiccupping with distress, and he wishes desperately that he was there with you, holding you, telling you everything going to be okay to your face, instead of over the phone.

“What is it sweetheart?” He tries to encourage, relaxing back into the chair when you take a deep breath. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I’m pregnant.” His palm covers the receiver immediately, just in case, and he thumps the top of Price’s desk with his fist, stupid grin stretching his face wide.

“You’re what?” He feigns shock, confusion. “Did you say… you’re pregnant?”

“Yes.” You blubber.

“I thought you were on the pill, sweet girl. I wouldn’t have-“

“I told you to pull out! And I was b-but I stopped taking it, like two months ago. I forgot and after the first time when you were home, after the restaurant I thought, oh well, I had only been off the pill for a month, less than, after being on it for like fifteen years!” You practically shriek in his ear, a mix of sob and hysteria, trying to suck air into your lungs before continuing. “Getting pregnant after being on it for so long just doesn’t happen. It’s almost impossible! So, I d-didn’t worry about it. And then the second time was only like, two nights after that night and I just thought- I thought everything would be fine! I’m s-s-sorry, I’m so sorry.” You’re babbling, gasping, and he rubs his neck.

“Alright, alright. Hey, hey listen,” you’re still crying, voice cracking over the line and his heart breaks for you, guilt swamping him over you being alone. This was not the plan. He was supposed to be home for this part, to be there for you, if it took. “Sweetheart, breathe. You need to breathe.” You struggle through a few deep breaths, nearly wheezing, and he winces each time. It can't be good for you, or the baby, to be stressed like this. “Good girl, that’s it. Nice an’ slow. Good.”

“I'm sorry. I don’t know what to do, but-” You whisper, like you’re telling a secret, and he closes his eyes, imagining you pacing in the kitchen, hand in your hair, on your hip, anxious. He knows you. Knows you better than he knows himself, anyone. Soap, even. He knows, the reason why you’re saying sorry over and over, isn’t because you’re apologizing for getting pregnant, the two of you did that together. Or rather, he did it. 

It’s because of what’s coming next.

“I do know that I… I want this baby, Simon. I know you… you don’t want this. That you’ve never wanted it, and that’s okay. I can do this, alone. We’ll still get divor-“

“Stop.” He doesn’t enjoy cutting you off, but he needs to put an end to this talk, this idea that still seems to have a hold on you. “Look, I’ll… I’ll come home. We can talk and, figure out what we’re going to do, okay? You’re not alone sweet girl. I’ll be there.” You’re silent for a moment, a moment that feels too long.

“Okay. You promise?”

I promise to love and cherish you.

Till death does us part.

Till death.

“I promise.”

#peaches writes #black sun #simon riley #simon riley x reader #🥞 anon #🌵 anon #tw forced pregnancy #tw dark and twisty #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #tw forced breeding #cod x reader #cod mw2 #female reader #simon riley x female reader #Black Sun by Death Cab

[prettybean]

THEY CAUGHT YOU MASTURBATING (COD +18)

* fuck, I should really write car sex with Keegan

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE

Ghost

After a tiring day at work, you entered your room and finally found comfort by lying down on your bed. As you settled in, your hand slides down between your legs, feeling the stress gradually melt away. Soft moans escaped your lips until suddenly, you heard someone clear their throat.

Simon's voice broke the silence, “Is this what you do when you're not at work?”.

Filled with anger, you couldn't help but scream at him: “Fucking bastard”.

“Close the door next time.” He told you in response, before nonchalantly walking away.

Soap

"Hey-". He enters your room without bothering to knock, finding you in a compromising position, desperately trying to come thanks to your fingers. You noticed him, covering yourself as quickly as you could with a blanket.

"I'm sorry-". You see his face turn bright red, especially after hearing your laugh. You find him cute, so you decided to try and see how far he would go, pushing his limits: "What? Do you like what you see?" At your challenging words, he leaves the room almost running, tripping over his own feet down the hall.

Price

He has no respect for your privacy. He barges into the bathroom while you're changing, enters your room while you're asleep, and even catches you in the act of pleasuring yourself.

You've become desensitized to it all and continue to masturbate without batting an eye. He loves watching you with a smirk, sitting at a distance, and encourages you with praises.

"Keep it up, babe. You're doing great. Go deeper with those fingers. I'm so proud of you."

Gaz

You've been close friends for what feels like an eternity, perhaps even longer than you can remember. Throughout the years, he has witnessed you in every conceivable scenario... except for this one. Without warning, he barged into your office, catching you in the act of pleasuring yourself with a vibrator.

Unaware of his presence, you continued. You were oblivious to his presence, so he quietly shut the door, allowing you to continue uninterrupted. He stood glued to the door, with one ear pressed against it. He covertly savored your moans and the vibration of the sex toy, peering through the keyhole with one hand between his legs

Alejandro

“Mi amor, have you seen my shirt?”. He said walking into your room, seeing you with his shirt on masturbating.“Fuck, you're really having fun,” he laughed, seeing how you immediately closed your legs trying to hide yourself with the hands.

“Don't hide, love, I love seeing how desperate you are.” Alejandro teased you, spreading your legs forcefully, putting his face in between.

“Leave it to me, okay?”. You nodded, feeling his tongue begin to pleasure you. “If my shirt isn't wet when I'm done, I'll punish you.”

Graves

There were no secrets between the two of you. You pleasured yourself quietly, without any fear of being caught. However, it bothered him. He despised the fact that you were enjoying yourself without him, which only made you want to do it more intentionally. Most of the time, he would catch you with two fingers inside, moaning his name loudly. "How many times do I have to tell you to do it in front of me?" he says sternly, as he removes your hand from between your legs and replaces it with his own.

"Come on, baby, be a good girl/boy and give me another one. Only I can touch you, got it?"

You adored his fingers; they always reached deeper than yours and drove you wild.

König

You were always busy, your phone never stopped ringing: whether it was for work or personal matters. The only time you could truly relax was at night.

You placed a pillow in the middle of the bed and slowly rode it, relishing in the sensation of the fabric against your sex. Just as you were about to climax, the phone rang. You answered it out of habit, and your boyfriend König's voice made you moan even louder.

"What are you doing, you naughty girl/boy?" he teased. “N-nothing”. You heard him laugh.

"Keep going," he instructed, "I'll stay on the line until you finish”.

Keegan

Keegan gave you a ride home like he always did after every date. However, today was a bit different. The man sitting next to you looked even more attractive in the evening, which got you incredibly excited. You didn't want to distract him, he wasn’t a good driver, so you discreetly squeezed your legs together, trying to alleviate the discomfort in between.

As your panties started to get wet, you subtly opened them and ran a hand over your own inner thigh. "You alright?" He asked, noticing your flustered state. "Yeah, I'm just feeling hot," you replied, avoiding eye contact.

"Are you sure? I bet that's the issue, you naughty little thing," he said with a satisfied smile, slowly sliding his hand between your legs.

———

car sex with Keegan here

#cod x reader #cod #cod keegan #ghost smut #ghost x reader #konig smut #simon ghost riley #keegan smut #konig x reader #soap cod #soap smut #soap x reader #graves smut #graves #john price smut #price smut #price x reader #gaz x reader #gaz smut #alejandro x reader #alejandro smut

[ashthemadwriter-archived]

So, I don't know where the hell this came from but I did something.

TW: NSFW content, Friends with benefits, Unstablished relationship, Vaginal penetration

Needy, needy boys.

He's always been taken for a playboy. He comes over in the middle of the night, gets what he wants and then you'll never hear of him...

...until he's in the mood again. Then he comes back with a straight face like nothing happened, everything's fine and he's not treating you like some kind of doll he only plays with whenever he feels like it. And you're stupid, so fucking stupid as your arms are always open, welcoming him into your little corner of solitude.

But after a while, something happens. His smiles are more genuine, his embrace feels warmer than before and most importantly, when you wake up in the morning he's there, already up, staring at your face with a somewhat unknown look.

Then he's gone again. His absence lasts longer than usual. You don't know if you should text him. Would you come off as clingy? This is probably a bad idea. If he wanted to hear from you he would have at least given you a ring. Are you done? Is he abandoning you for someone else? Someone prettier, with bigger eyes and a smaller waist... Doubts and insecurities fill your head, days turn Into months, hope gets lost in your sleepless nights until that night, that one night that makes you feel everything and nothing at the same time.

After receiving that one text "I'm outside", you run to the door to see if you aren't dreaming and this isn't just a figment of your imagination, and there he is, standing in front of you, looking all different. Good different or bad? You can't really tell, and you know what? You don't feel like putting much thought to it either.

He slams his lips onto yours, your clothes are taken, torn apart laying on the floor, you somehow find your way into the shower, the cold water makes you gasp and cling onto him even more. You're soaked under the water but you don't feel clean, body tainted with lust and desire.

Things are happening fast but it's not the same anymore. There's no mind games this time cause he's so needy and been dying out of starvation. Instead of his teeth sinking in your skin it's his kisses, penetrating your flesh, your blood, your soul. He's kissing your soul and you're holding him with a deathly grip, never having enough. Nobody talks. It's just meaningless sinful sounds and kisses, kisses, kisses. He's so needily passionate and it's beautiful; making you feel whole, significant. His lips trap your bottom one and suck it in. He's breathing loudly, you've been kissing for quite a while now but every time you try to part he doesn't let you. It's like he wants to die, drown in your kisses, or perhaps he finds them more addicting than oxygen.

It won't be long till you feel your release approaching and he feels it just as precisely as you, you've literally become one now and he knows your body like the back of his hand. He puts his skills into use and thrusts rapidly, taking his frustration out on your cunt and you're fine with it. He's been deeper than this before but it's never felt this intimate. All his actions are rushed and you know he's not going somewhere; he's just suddenly so needy and you adore it already.

You're shaking, he's shaking and with another thrust, you're gone. Your body is still caged in his strong arms, but your soul has fallen into the land of euphoria. Everything feels numb, the water that's now marking your skin red, the pain in your back, your chest, your heart. It's just him, him and you're in love, glad that he's in love too. You scream as he keeps thrusting through your orgasm and he moans in your mouth, loudly. It's needy, so needy, but so stunning that you can't complain.

When you come down from your high, he finally parts away. You're both panting and desperate for air but there's something miraculously. You look at each other and he's eyes are talking, it's proof that he wants, you needs you, can't get by without you. Looking at this messed up man under the cruel whips of hot water, you find yourself in love. Ah what a beautiful feeling it is, to be able to love and to feel loved. He's with you now, you won't be waiting for him anymore, he'll always be here, that's what you're thinking.

But the next morning he's gone, and this time for good; because you made him feel something,

That he doesn't deserve you.

DAZAI, Ranpo, NIKOLAI, OIKAWA, IWAIZUMI, Kuroo, SUNA, Osamu, Shinazugawa, UZUI, GOJO, Fushiguro, Geto, EREN, MELLO, Vanitas

#dazai x reader #ranpo x reader #nikolai x reader #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi x reader #osamu x reader #kuroo x reader #suna x reader #shinazugawa x reader #uzui x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #fushiguro x reader #eren x reader #mello x reader #vanitas x reader #dazai smut #ranpo smut #nikolai smut #oikawa smut #iwaizumi smut #kuroo smut #suna smut #osamu smut #Shinazugawa smut #uzui smut #gojo smut #geto smut #fushiguro smut #eren smut

[miraclewoozi]

hi j!! congratulations on 500!! can’t think of anyone who deserves it more than you :) hope you’re having a lovely day! just wanted to send in a request:

❛ don’t be a stranger, okay? ❜ from the fluff list with woozi?

it’s no pressure though! thank you so much <33 mwah

LEE JIHOON, YOUR EMOTIONAL SUPPORT I.T GUY. - l.jh

pair : jihoon x gn!reader prompt : “ don’t be a stranger, okay? ” wc : 2.3k heads up : coworker!jihoon. fluff. kinda silly.  notes : HI BESTIE thank u sm for sending this in!!!! i hope you like it.<3 notes 2.0 : everyone deserves an emotional support IT guy, in my unprofessional opinion. i also think that 100% of those should be woozi.

You knew Jihoon was leaving. You’ve had a lot of time to prepare for this: he told you before he even handed in his resignation that he had accepted a job offer elsewhere. But despite trying everything in your power (including, but not limited to, bribery, begging and three whole days of the cold shoulder), his decision didn’t change. When you gave him a full lecture about abandonment and betrayal, and the fact that nobody else in your work’s IT department comes close to solving some of the shit that happens with your computer…

He had the audacity to fucking laugh. 

In your moment of desperation. Your hour of need. Practically begging on your knees (all right, he was stood next to your desk while you were looking up at him from your office chair) for him not to leave you high and dry like this, he patted you on the shoulder and chuckled as he told you that you’d be fine. As if this wasn’t actually, literally, the end of the world. 

Asshole. 

And okay, whatever, maybe Jihoon isn’t ‘just’ the only person on the tech team who understands that you’ve been followed by a curse when it comes to computers since you were in middle school. Maybe he isn’t just so good at his job that him leaving has the potential to ruin your ability to do yours.

Maybe... it’s a little bit deeper than that.

You first met nearly five years ago, when he was brand new. In his first week, he came stumbling into your office, bleary eyed and coffee in hand, at 8:15 on a Monday morning to try and ‘fix’ your PC. After about 6 seconds of fumbling, your screens came to life and he flushed as he told you that a cable on one of your monitors had just come loose. Ever since, you’ve been totally taken with him: with his frowny concentrating face, his pretty, nimble fingers, his quietly delivered jokes. The way he always goes pink when the older ladies in your office coo over him and how he splutters when they tease you for practically being work-married, by now.

Not least because he’s a very nice guy, and you find him so easy to talk to, and now? Now he's leaving you. 

The guy who brings you snacks on days you have to work through your lunch breaks. The guy who comes by just to make sure you’re not about to dive out of a second floor window on a Wednesday afternoon. One of the special few people you choose to hang out with outside of work. He’s the man who meets you for coffee some weekends and lets you complain about the fact that the next closest person in your department to you in age could still be your mother, while he complains to you about bossy executives who escalate their IT jobs to a ‘critical incident’ after just five minutes. Jihoon is the guy who has brought you a silly gift to decorate your desk with every birthday and Christmas since you met. The guy who picks you up (with breakfast) when your car is in the shop getting work done. 

He even pretended to be your boyfriend one year when Johnny from accounting started to make moves on you during the annual Christmas function. (Perhaps him posessively keeping a hand on your thigh every minute you were sat down next to each other made it the best night of your life.)

All this to say… he gets you. He always has. Your weird little friendship with him works, and even though you still get butterflies every time you see him, you’ve never felt so comfortable with a colleague before. You can ignore your little crush when you start thinking about your devastation over him being gone soon. Your feelings have no part to play in Jihoon being someone you trust, someone who helps you immeasurably: someone who makes your working life a little more bearable. 

What on Earth are you going to do without him?

His last day has rolled around faster than you know what to do with, and at 3:30 on Friday afternoon, like clockwork, his head appears around your office door. An apologetic smile replaces the cheeky one he usually wears when he shows up, and you narrow your eyes at him before telling him to go away.

“Charming as ever,” he laughs, sliding into your office anyway and making a beeline for you, waving at the people who glance up and greet him. He leans against your desk and you sit back finally, crossing your arms. 

“I’m busy,” you lie, frowning at your screen. You finished everything you needed to do about ten minutes ago, but you’re not about to let him — or anyone, for that matter — know so. You’ve worked hard to master the art of looking occupied and you’re deploying every tactic you know: there’s no way you’re going to get five more projects added to your to-do list this close to home-time. “Traitor.”

“Last thing on a Friday? Like hell you are,” Jihoon chuckles, leaning down and looking at your screen too, speaking quietly enough to ensure no one around you can to hear him. 

“Blow my cover and I’ll slash your tyres,” you playfully threaten under your breath. “I’ve already rejected a meeting request this afternoon.”

“Well, aren’t you a team player,” he quips, rolling his eyes before he sits back upright and says louder, “I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to drop this off.”

He places a small brown bag on top of a neatly stacked pile of paperwork on the left hand side of your desk and gestures for you to look inside. When you do, you know your attempt at a stoic gaze starts to soften and you look up at him again with a saddened pout. 

“Hey,” you say quietly. “You can’t do this to me, I’m fragile enough already.”

It’s just a muffin, for crying out loud. He’s been bringing you these from the bakery across the street every week, for as many weeks as you can remember. But something about him doing it on his last day makes your heart beat out a funny little pattern and you bite the inside of your lip as he shakes his head. 

His hair is tied low today with a few pieces left out to frame his face: it softens him, giving him a bit of a curtain to hide behind, but you can still see his cheeks flush as he glances away from you. You slip your hand into the bag and pull the muffin out, setting it on your desk and peeling the paper back. 

“I’m really gonna miss you,” Jihoon says, momentarily stopping you as you rummage through your desk drawer for the cutlery set you keep wrapped up in there. You just wanted a knife so you could cut it in two. You just wanted to share this last little treat with him.

There are a million ways you could respond. Last-ditch attempts at telling him to retract his notice to leave. Advise that it’s his own fault. Pretend like you’re not going to be miserable here without him. To name but a few. 

But the fact that he’s picked up, and started to play with, the little fidget cube you keep by your pen holder for particularly boring Teams calls tells you that he isn’t saying it in the way he does when you’re taking a week off to go on vacation.

His thumbs rhythmically play with the little clicking buttons on one side and you pull the blunt knife free from the plastic bag hidden beneath your favourite notebook. Instead of teasing him, you cut the muffin equally and pick up one piece, holding it out to him.

“I’m gonna miss you too.”

He eyes you to make sure you’re certain before he takes the slice out of your hand and holds it in his fingers. You pick up the other piece and extend it towards him, bumping the two halves together in a mock ‘cheers’ for the time you’ve spent together. 

You take bites from the muffin in unison and you know the zesty lemon flavour spills onto his tongue at the same time as it does yours. Soft hums come from the both of you and Jihoon tilts his head back for emphasis, too, sighing contentedly after he swallows. 

“Don’t be a stranger, okay?” You ask of him, laying the paper bag down flat and putting your own piece on top of it. “I mean it. You better not forget about me.”

“As if I ever could,” he says.

“You might, if there’s someone at your new job more pitiful than I am,” you counter. “You’ll have a replacement ‘me’ quicker than you can blink.”

Jihoon laughs, setting what’s left of his half of the muffin down too and dusting the crumbs off his fingers into the trash can at your side. 

“Trust me,” he starts, folding his arms. The subtle flex of his muscle makes the shirt he’s wearing tighten around his biceps and you glance down at them, at how his sleeves are pushed up to the elbows and his long, delicate fingers lay over the neatly folded cotton. “My eyes are up here. Trust me — I don’t want a 'replacement you'.”

You know your eyes go wide as he calls you up for staring and you look at his face immediately, at the coy smile he’s wearing, at the way the tips of his ears — just visible through the way his hair separates — are dusted pink. You just nod. He takes another bite, savours, and swallows it before talking again.

“So, I actually… kind of lied? There’s another reason I came down here, uh—”

You know this catches the attention of your office’s resident blabbermouth by the way her eyebrows pick up from a few desks in front of you and you tap his hip with the back of your hand, darting your eyes towards the door quickly to hush him. Jihoon catches your drift, nods, and stands up; you lock your computer and lead him out. When you’re in the hallway, door secured (and checked) behind you, he turns to face you again, leaning one shoulder against the wall.

“Okay. Shoot.”

“Okay,” Jihoon nods, tilting his head forwards for a second to gather his thoughts before he shakes his hair out of his eyes and looks back up at you. “I-… I know HR have this whole thing about, like… internal… relationships, and- and stuff? So I didn’t ever… you know—”

You hold your breath, clasping your hands behind you in the hopes he doesn’t see how they start twitching. His own, you realise, are deep in the pockets of his slacks. For the same reason?

“I wanted to. Trust me. For— shit, for so long, but I didn’t know if you’d go for it, and I really didn’t want to have, like… anyway — uh-…”

The blush that was formerly only given away by its presence on his ears has migrated to his cheeks now, and is starting to spread dangerously towards his temples and down his neck. He keeps glancing everywhere around your head, as if he’s chasing pixies in the air with his eyes. It's adorable, but...

“And… I guess what I wanted to say, is—”

“Yes,” you say before he can finish. He’s never been the most outgoing but you’ve still never seen Jihoon fall over his words like this before; you’re starting to feel agonised by how long it’s taking him to get to the point. 

(Especially when said point is what you’ve been waiting a small lifetime for.)

“I didn’t even ask—”

“You didn’t have to,” you laugh. He breaks into a chuckle as well. His shoulders relax. He exhales through his pretty, pursed lips. 

“Are you busy tomorrow night?” He asks, finally, thumb tapping against his forearm. 

“Free as a bird, actually.”

“I’ll pick you up at 7?” 

“I’ll be waiting.”

He lifts one hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose, still laughing, screwing up his eyes and his nose in a way that makes him look entirely too kissable. You have to forcibly remind yourself that there’s nothing you can do about that right now, though, that someone could walk through that door any second and technically, he still works here until 5:30pm today.

Tomorrow night? Well. That’ll be a different story.

“I’ll let you go back to clicking through your emails,” he says then, pushing off from the wall. “Text me later?”

“Keep your voice down,” you grin, settling your hand back on the doorknob. “Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Jihoon bites his bottom lip as he nods and starts to back away, ultimately beginning on the walk back to his own department. You, however, need to let yourself calm down before you can so much as think about going back into your office: you fan your face with your hands and take a couple of deep breaths first, and only when you’re sure that there are no visible signs of glee left on your face do you re-enter, walking as nonchalantly to your desk as you can and pretending like every middle-aged, bespectacled set of eyes aren’t waiting for you to spill the gossip. 

You don’t need to spill anything, though. Pressed to the bottom of your keyboard, clear as day, — he must have done this as soon as you stood up — is a bright yellow Post-It. His immediately recognisable — but almost illegible — handwriting in the thick, black felt-tipped pens he always uses decorates the note, accompanied by a signature smiley face in the top corner. 

The ink is dry. The paper is a little curled. He wrote this before he came to find you, the giddy voice in your brain tells you. The words he’s written down only heighten that feeling. 

He gets you. He always has.

Don’t be a stranger, okay? Miss you already. - J.

thank u so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed it! as always, likes, reblogs, comments & feedback are so so appreciated.&lt;3

#💌 - mailbox. #newoozi #j writes. #*my fic. #mw500party! #woozi fluff #woozi fic #woozi x reader #lee jihoon fluff #lee jihoon fic #lee jihoon x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen fic #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #*

[tsukimefuku]

unwell ❖ nanami kento

summary: you had a terrible day, but at least, you’ve got a helping hand.

cw: soft nanami x reader, implied past higuruma x reader, reader is having a mental breakdown but in a kind of funny way, hurt and comfort, a lot of fluff, i want this man to pat my hair dry as i have a meltdown and drink wine straight from a bottle.

wc: 1.1k

notes etc.: the inspo song is in the title, unwell (matchbox twenty). i will reuse this scene in another fic with another turn of events.

❖ collection of stories: "jujutsu partners au" → masterlist

❖ hold me in your clarity ❖

As Nanami closed the door while entering your apartment holding groceries, he heard the water in the bathroom being turned on. Figuring you must be taking a shower, he calmly went in the to leave the bags over the counter and began to make his way into the bedroom to see if you had left plates or anything of the sort. However, upon walking by the bathroom, Nanami realized the door was open, stepping back immediately.

You didn't fail to notice that out of your peripheral vision.

"It's okay, I'm fully clothed," you yelled through the thundering water, while you held your second bottle of wine of the night a little outside from the water's range.

"... What?"

You sighed.

"You can come in, Kento."

He stepped inside the bathroom to witness a rather… unexpected scene. You still had the usual clothes you wore for missions on, and was barefoot inside the shower, while holding a bottle of wine. 

"Did you know the first time I encountered Hiromi, he was fully clothed inside a bathtub?" you asked Nanami, while still looking straight ahead to the wall in front of you.

He seemed slightly worried under his collected expression.

"I didn't."

"Yeah…" you ensued, taking a gulp of wine, "he had a suit on. I mean, it seemed fun, but maybe it just looked that way because he was in a bathtub. Taking a shower with your clothes on is just… sad."

He knew you enough to realize something must've happened for you to be in that state, but wondered if this would be the best moment to probe at it. 

You gave him no options, though.

"Three people died on my mission today. And another yesterday. I… I just need one win, you know? To have at least one single thing in my life that isn’t buried in deep shit."

You were clearly in the middle of an astrological hell, getting thrown around like a penny inside a washing machine. Every little damn thing in your life was going wrong ever since Higuruma left Tokyo, and you were doing your best to keep your sanity as intact as it could be.

Even if it meant trying weird shit like this.

"I see," Nanami replied, not having much to say beyond that. He knew the hardships that came with this life, and thought that maybe having a little mental breakdown taking a shower fully clothed was one of the most harmless things you could do right now.

However, it was also cold, and you would for a fact catch a cold if you kept going.

He walked towards the shower, and you wondered what exactly he was about to do. Opening it, he turned off the water, while pulling the towel from its support.

"Hey!" you protested.

"Come, you need to dry yourself," he noted, offering a hand to help you out.

With a pout, you walked outside and sat on the sink, still mindlessly holding onto your bottle.

He enveloped you in the towel he had pulled, and grabbed another nearby to pat your hair as dry as possible.

"You should avoid leaving the bathroom right now, you're drenched," he said, no chide intended.

You scoffed.

"Yeah, perhaps."

"I can get some clothes for you to change, if you'd like."

Reluctantly, you nodded.

"Later."

He acquiesced, and kept patting your hair dry.

"Nanami, how do you not go crazy with this fucking job? How are you so stable?" you inquired, taking another gulp of wine and looking at him, "I need some encouragement words."

He pondered for a moment before sighing.

"I don't have any. It's a hard and most times unrewarding work that needs to be done."

You grunted.

"Guess you're right. We just hold the string of sanity for dear life and hope it doesn't snap, right?"

He nodded softly.

"You could say that."

"What a nightmare," you replied, taking another sip, "I want to talk about something else, this is depressing me even further, let's chat."

Nanami sighed, yet again, now chiding, "you should get dry, eat something and rest."

"Oh, we can talk about anything, come on!" you encouraged, half in jest, "I'm a bottle and a half in, won't remember a thing tomorrow."

"That's even more of a reason for you to sleep. I'll leave some food for you in your fridge."

You were both silent for a little while until you began speaking again.

"Do you know what this is remembering me of? You patting my head down with a towel? That night."

"What night?" he asked.

"Our night, Kento. The one you so tenderly referred to as 'the events of' on the note you left me before leaving the next morning for a mission." 

You said tenderly in the mockiest voice he'd ever heard.

"... Oh."

Nanami's body had noticeably stiffened up, and you could swear he was slightly blushing.

"Yeah, not one of your greatest moments. I mean, the note. Not the night. The night was great. Amazing, really."

Nanami cleared his throat, feeling deeply embarrassed, to say the least.

"I apologize."

"No worries, I forgave you, remember?" you replied, chuckling softly. 'The events of last night', Jesus… "So… You already told me why you pushed me away, but did we have a shot at it?"

And he had told you how he was frightened of the losses the both of you could endure if you had in fact entered a relationship, how it reminded him of his past losses, past failures and the whole story.

But you never got to discuss the what if.

Nanami had a bated breath faltering as he opened his mouth to speak, and seemed to actually think out his answer carefully, before finally speaking up again.

"I believe so."

A deep sigh got pulled from your lungs as you put your wine bottle away.

"Yeah… me too. I loved you," you mumbled, defeated. The next part came inaudibly, and you weren't sure if you were actually saying it or thinking it.

Still do.

His hands seemed to stop patting you dry for the briefest moment before he continued to do so, completely silent. You were unsure if this had been your imagination, and if he had heard that or not.

A few moments later, he put the small towel on the sink by your side and stepped behind.

"I'll get you some clean clothes for you to change into."

"Okay," you mumbled.

As he was about to step out of the bathroom, you called out, "hey, Kento…"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

He smiled and bowed his head towards you, saying, "you're welcome," finally walking out of the bathroom.

Did I say it out loud? 

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #jjk nanami #jjk fanfic #nanami headcanons #jujutsu nanami #kento nanami #kento nanami x y/n #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x reader #nanami x y/n #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x reader #kento x you #kento x reader #nanami fluff #kento fluff #nanami kento fluff #jjk fluff #jjk imagines #fuku writes #tsukimefuku

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

Pairing | Yandere Jungkook x Reader

Word Count | 2,438

Warnings | +18, kiss and touches noncon, Jungkook is always obsessed and gets a bit angry

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | If she had paid attention earlier to the sin that dwelt behind those obsidian irises, she would never have trusted it.

If she had noticed earlier the devouring love that dwelled in his corrupt heart, she probably would have fled.

She had done none of that, and now she had to come to terms with her new reality.

➢ Author's Note | Hi, guys! Ready for you the fourth chapter of Happy Ending! ❤

If you have any questions, please write to me! 🥰

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @douknowbts

Taglist is open!

Chapter List - I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII / The End

When Y/N opened her eyes that day, she felt strangely physically satisfied, stretched her arms with a smile on her face, thinking that she must have finally had a good night's sleep.

Too bad the environment around her was quite different from what she had become accustomed to for two and a half years now.

The sunlit walls that gently filtered through the window were cream-colored, not gray and gloomy like those in her apartment, plus the mattress she was lying on was too soft to be the uncomfortable second-hand one she had bought to fit in her monthly expenses.

Even the blankets were different, and soon an alarm bell went off in her head.

She stood up abruptly, seized with terror.

"Where the fuck am I?" she muttered to herself, cradling her head in her hands in a vain attempt to think clearly.

Could it be that they had kidnapped her? But who, then-and for what purpose?

Her parents were not rich and wealthy people, she was a normal, average girl, she knew her neighborhood was dangerous, but to go this far?

Maybe... maybe they wanted to sell her.

She had heard of girls disappearing in the middle of the night and never to be found again.

She blanched, seized by a sick feeling, and although she wanted to refuse to believe her own consideration, the well-appointed and elegant room suggested only that one option-why else kidnap her if not to make her work in some illegal brothel frequented by bigwigs?

She shrugged those soft and foreign blankets away from herself and stood up with trembling legs, noticing that she no longer had only her camisole and panties on, a long nightgown that reached her calf covered her body, but she still felt naked given the absence of panties concealing her intimacy. In a flurry of shame she realized that whoever had been abducting her had also seen a lot of her as she blissfully slept.

The girl took a deep breath, walking to the door, which, to her surprise, she found open.

Had they forgotten to lock it? ... Or, was it a trap to test her?

She opened it wide slowly, her heart caged in a powerful grip of anxiety, the first thing she saw was a long dark hallway with artistic paintings hanging on the walls, to Y/N that style seemed similar to something she had seen before, but she could not give herself an answer.

She went into the corridor hugging herself with her own body, she did not know what she would find during her exploration, perhaps a group of kidnappers with sullen faces and brutal manners?

She noticed a bright glimmer at the end of the corridor and reached it at a slow pace, her bare feet stepped on soft carpeting that kept her from feeling cold, and even that made her say that the house must belong to someone wealthy. She could only dream of such an abode, so the idea that she had been abducted for her body grew stronger as the seconds ticked by in her mind.

When she opened the door from which the light reflected in the hallway came, a choked breath caught in her throat at the sight.

The boy with his back turned, busy among the stove, seemed all too familiar, she prayed it was not him, her beloved professor, but the sight of the tattoos on his arm, visible thanks to the short sleeves of his dark shirt, spoke volumes.

It was him, her captor was Jeon Jungkook, the same boy who had promised to protect her only the day before.

"Professor?" she asked anxiously, the young man at the stove froze.

There were a few seconds of stalemate that weighed in the air like boulders, then the boy turned around, revealing the handsome, jovial face of her teacher.

It was really him.

The bewildered girl took a step back, a gesture that did not escape Jungkook's notice.

The latter narrowed his gaze, "Y/N, you've woken up!" he exclaimed coming toward her.

Y/N shook her head, made to put further distance between them, but Jungkook grabbed her by the arm and this reminded the girl of Yoozu's attack the previous day, she found herself shaking and this alerted Jungkook.

"Sweetheart, are you sick?" he gently placed a palm on the girl's forehead, fortunately she was not burning hot, but something in her pallidness told him that something was wrong, "No...you're not hot, maybe.... It's because you're here, isn't it?" he smiled gently in her direction, Y/N would have liked to answer, but her voice wouldn't come out of her throat.

"I know it might feel strange at first, but I'm sure you'll soon get used to it, after all, I did it for your sake, baby."

Baby.

Trying to ignore the all too affectionate nickname, Y/N opened her mouth, forcing herself to answer, "You said you would protect me, that I just had to trust you," she croaked, shocked.

Jungkook frowned, "That's right, here I will protect you from all those people who have always treated you badly or never believed in you! I believe in you, and I love you, honey!" he brought his perfect face closer to the girl's, trying to steal a kiss from her, but Y/N managed to break free from his grip, not that it had been a feat, Jungkook had softened his grip for fear of hurting her, he had already seen the bruises Yoozu had given her without regard, to say Jungkook was pissed off was little, at the next opportunity he would eviscerate that useless blowhard.

Y/N, for her part, recorded his words confusedly, had he really said "I love you" to her?

She denied with her head, it couldn't be true, the professor she had so admired and had a crush on...was a psychopath.

"You can't be serious, tell me this is just a joke," begged the boy, who frowned.

"I'm not joking, Y/N, I'm sure that past this moment of confusion you'll realize that you love me too, and you'll accept me," he concluded confidently, "Now, which breakfast do you prefer? Sweet or savory?" he continued cheerfully, approaching the stove, Y/N saw toast already crispy and ready to be topped with chocolate or scrambled eggs, she took the opportunity to run out of the kitchen.

Jungkook sprinted toward her, missing her by a whisker, "Y/N!" he exclaimed shocked, not understanding the young woman's hostile attitude. He only wanted to protect her, give her the gift of a fairy tale happy ending, why didn't she understand?

Y/N returned to the previous hallway, ignoring the bedroom she had come out of, and spotting that and the kitchen, the front door must have been further down on the opposite side.

Too bad that was not a normal house, it was in fact structured differently and what she found as she pushed open yet another door was just a storage room.

She imprecated mentally, trying to turn back, but her race to safety ended with Jungkook managing to tackle her from a corner.

Y/N shrieked, terrified.

"Let go of me! Let go of me! I don't know what you want from me!" she burst into tears, she wanted to go home, her parents had done so much for her, she could not waste the opportunity they had given her to study and make a name for herself in this way, especially after they had shown themselves to be so displeased. She just wanted to make them proud.

How mocking the world was, just yesterday she had shouted those exact words, and had been saved by the very person who was now showing herself as the real danger.

Jungkook clutched her to his body, causing her to turn abruptly as the back of the small figure in his arms went crashing against the wall.

The boy inhaled in irritation and to shut her up he attached his lips to those of the woman, who widened her eyes trying to push him away.

The boy pressed even more against her, biting angrily on her lower lip, Y/N had to open her mouth wide because of the tremendous twinge she received and the man's tongue invaded her completely, demanding absolute dominance.

Y/N felt violated as the boy expertly entwined their tongues, unaware that the night before Jungkook had dared to do much more with that same tongue.

Jungkook moaned in that violent kiss, enjoying in the taste in which he was willingly drowning himself.

He reached down with one hand between their bodies, lifting one of the young woman's legs and bringing it around his hips, pushing his already hard cock against her pussy covered only by her nightgown, Jungkook could only feel the softness of that area so delicate and delicious, Y/N's eyes widened, between the lack of air and that vulgar gesture that shocked her, she began to moan shakily without any more resistance, in a pitiful surrender that made Jungkook pull away from her lips with a loud pop.

The breathing of both of them was labored and Jungkook's wild eyes met Y/N's tear-filled ones and begged him to stop.

Jungkook did not want to get that far so quickly, but the girl's actions had not pleased him, not at all.

"If you'll be good, I promise I'll stop," he hissed, "We'll go to the kitchen, where you'll eat your breakfast and we'll talk about how it's going to be between us from now on, understand?"

The girl nodded, obediently, and followed him into the kitchen, and when Jungkook let go of her wrist she sat clutching her legs, unable to banish the heavy sensation of a cock against her folds.

She had never had a boyfriend, consequently had never received such attention; it had been shocking and strange.

Why did someone like him want to be with someone like her?

Jungkook put some toast in front of her with a variety of toppings next to it, there was jam and butter, chocolate and even eggs with bacon and cheese, he filled a glass with juice for her.

The boy wanted her to eat and feel good, he really wanted the best for Y/N and was very sorry to see her so uncooperative.

He took a seat in front of her and began to eat, giving her a look that intimated her to do the same, the girl tremblingly took the butter, beginning to spread it on her toast, she did not want to anger him again, she had yet to find the entrance and realized that in order to get the go-ahead, she had to first keep the landlord happy.

"Y/N" she lifted her eyes to his, a twinge of guilt hit the boy in the stomach in front of those red, shiny eyes, "I only wish you to be happy" he began, but Y/N interrupted him.

"But you kidnapped me" she said in a huff, Jungkook for a moment did not know what to say.

"No, I didn't kidnap you, we belong together since we first met," he said confidently, "Do you remember that? You were completely wet with rain, I saw you and you bound me to you with one look, my job is to protect you and make you feel loved."

Y/N remembered that day, which took place seven months earlier, but she did not think she had left such an indelible mark on her teacher, in short, he had never shown any interest and she had never given herself false hope.

"Why didn't you say anything before, because-"

"Jungkook." the boy blocked her, "Call me Jungkook, I'm not your professor outside of school," he pointed out, disturbed by the continuous distance Y/N seemed to want to put in the dialogue.

The girl sucked it up and agreed with him.

"Why didn't you ever come forward, Jungkook?"

In a normal way, she would have liked to add, but did not want to dare too much.

The young man took a moment to absorb as best he could the girl's voice as she spoke his name with what seemed to him to be familiarity; he found the sound of those syllables coming from his woman's lips enchanting.

Y/N did not understand, why had he suddenly approached her and in such a crazy way then?

"Because I'm your professor and it wasn't ethically correct, plus you had never given me a reason to step forward...until yesterday, I couldn't allow them to go on with their torture," he said harshly, "You'll be safe with me forever."

The girl took a deep breath before she began to speak.

"You can't keep me here forever, I have a family and studies to complete, take me back to my home, Jungkook," she begged him again, the boy shook his head.

"You are home, and don't worry about your studies, I will help you and you will get your degree one hundred percent, the principal is a good friend of mine...as for your family, they were the first to hurt you."

The girl's blood drained from her face, she began to finally understand where Jungkook was going with this. He wanted to isolate her from the world, because the world had been evil to her.

Jungkook in those months had been researching the young girl's parents, neighbors told him about how they were always rude and irritated with Y/N, went around saying that the girl was squandering all their savings on that absurd belief that she wanted to continue her studies, not understanding the sacrifices they had made to raise her.

Those statements were enough for the boy to realize that they did not deserve a daughter like her, too good and sweet for such people.

"It's not the same thing!" blurted out Y/N then, ready for another fit of hysterical crying, "I want my freedom!"

"Freedom? For you to live like that is to be free? Living with the constant fear of being attacked at school or in that neighborhood you call home, without a shred of a friend?" he asked, strangled.

Those words struck Y/N, because they were so fucking true they hurt.

But still, those were not good reasons to kidnap a person, and he had done exactly that.

She shut up for a few moments not knowing how to retort, Jungkook looked at her with disappointment.

Y/N felt a pang in her heart, because in spite of everything, that was still the guy who until the night before had given her butterflies in her stomach, seeing such a look in him too made her want to vomit.

#bts #bts fanfiction #bts smut #bts x reader #yandere bts #yandere bts x reader #yandere jungkook x reader #yandere jungkook #bts yandere smut #yandere bts smut #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #yandere #yandere jeongguk #jeongguk x reader

[sinsinsininning]

A little bit Softer

Chapter 3.

Eustass Kid x crew mate!fem!reader

TW: Smut at the end (female masturbation and fantasizing), talks of weapons, no y/n use, talks of DV and murder ofc

~~~~~

It didn’t take much to convince Killer to reset a course for the West Blue, Kid just said he had a vendetta to settle and that was that. Killer put the puzzle pieces together after a minute.

“You think she’ll like you more after killing her ex?” He asked the captain as they poured over the maps, his head jerked up.

“THEY NEVER DATED!” His head dropped back to the maps before popping up again. “AND YES SHE WILL!”

“Really?”

“Of course! Chicks dig revenge and murder.” Kid said with a confident smile.

“Of course.” Killer adjusted the compass. “But perhaps you should also try… more traditional means of courting.” Kid’s face scrunched up so he amended. “Flirting?” Kid was still making a face but shrugged.

“You mean like flowers and shit. Where the fuck am I gonna get flowers?”

“Not flowers necessarily-“

“We’re in the middle of the fucking ocean!”

“No I meant-“

“You don’t even know if she likes flowers.”

“It doesn’t-“

“Or even the kind of flowers she’d -“

“Enough about goddamn flowers!!” Killer yelled, earning them a few looks from crew across the deck, Kid shouting was normal, Killer shouting was wild.

“Keep it down, will ya?” Kid was deadpan. “You’re the one who brought up flowers man.”

“I’m fucking done.” Killer shot off, leaving his dumbfounded captain behind.

“So dramatic.” He grouched. In his place Killer sent Wire to assist with navigations and planning where and when to stop for supplies.

“So why’re we veering so off course? This will add several weeks to our trip.”

Kid paused. Should he tell Wire this is to murder your ex captain and make you feel safe around him? Nah.

“There’s a captain I wanna take out. I don’t know much about him but he’s in the West Blue.” Kid said cautiously. “Wanna kill him before we get into the Grand Line.”

“Oh? Well you know our newest rookie? The sniper?” Wire lit up talking about you, Kid felt a small pit in his stomach. “She’s from the West Blue, I wonder if she could help chart our journey. I can run and find her.”

“NO!” Kid shouted, now some of the crew were looking again. A few even inched closer to eavesdrop. “I’m not having a rookie chart a map, you can do it yourself. Don’t be fucking lazy.” Wire shrugged good-naturedly and continued with his protractor.

“So why exactly do you want this guy dead?”

“You’ll find out when we get there.” Kid grumbled, Wire again shrugged and the pair worked in silence as the sun set.

The deck cleared slowly as night approached and Killer sent you to fetch the two men for dinner. Your steps were quiet as you approached, Kid wouldn’t have know you were there if it weren’t for the metal on your belt. He could feel your eyes on him, sharp in the dark, as you watched for a moment quietly. With his back mostly to you, he doubted you knew that he knew you were there.

The familiar desire to show off bubbled up in his chest, so he made a show of clapping Wire on the shoulder.

“That’s a good stopping point,” He said, tone much happier than normal. “After dinner help me finish this and we should be done in no time.” That was high praise from the hot headed captain and Wire’s face brighten considerably.

“Sure captain!” His smiled slipped only a little when he stood up straight and saw you on the stairs. The gears in his head turned and he grinned wider. It was cute seeing how the captain turned so mushy around you, if he didn’t value his life he may have pushed it.

But the moment passed as you finished ascending the stairs, steps heavy to announce your presence.

“Killer said dinners ready.” You said plainly, tone flat and face neutral. Kid deflated a little, but Wire was quick to step in.

“Thank you! Your timing is as wonderful as always.” Wire tried gently baiting you into some casual teasing, but since your last conversation with the captain you’d been very subdued around him. “Will you be joking me and Hip or are you planning to abandon us yet again?” The ‘for the captain’ was implied, but you and Kid still felt it, both faces blushing.

Kid busies himself with putting the navigation tools away, while you glare at Wire.

“I’m actually not eating dinner with anyone,” You said, voice strained. “Try not to cry yourself to sleep tonight.” Despite your awkwardness around the captain, you still had to get your dig in.

“What? Why not?” Kid asked before Wire could, whipping his head around to glare at your glare. You turn and started walking back down, Wire close behind you.

“I’m working on weapon repairs,” You offer, after a pause you continue. “The soldering iron smells awful. Makes me sick. So I’m not eating until I’m finished and don’t have to worry about throwing up.” Kid catches up with you, but it’s Wire that asks.

“Darling you shouldn’t skip meals. When was the last time you ate?” His voice is soft with concern.

“I had breakfast, it’s fine, I’m not even hungry. I’ll be finished before midnight.” At the door to the mess you pause to let Wire go through first. “Killer is gonna save me a plate.”

Kid felt dizzy with anger. He barely got to see you at all and the one time he can reliably count on being near you was gone? Yeah he complained about the force contact, but so what! And sure logically, he knows it’s only one night, but fuck off he doesn’t want to be logical.

He can’t be mad at you of course, you didn’t do anything wrong but still. He wanted to grab you by your shirt and sit you down beside him and make you eat. Since he couldn’t do that, he decided to skulk into the mess hall, snatch his plate and stomp back to the deck to eat by the maps. All eyes on him.

You watched his display, surprised by him, Wire gave you a dreary smile and sat down. Killer didn’t even turn his head from the stove, calling out to you.

“Make sure he doesn’t spill food on anything important.” He orders, you wish you could pretend you hadn’t heard but he’d just chase you down.

“Why me?” You shout, not moving from the open doors. “I got shit to finish.”

“Do it before I put you on barnacle duty.” He points behind him. You groan and stomp off to find your pissy captain who you were still scared of but now it was primarily anger. Worse yet, everyone was watching with big grins, you wanted to scream.

You make your steps quiet as you return to the deck, unsure of where exactly he went. His grumbling reaches your ears and you follow it up to the second tier. He was hunched over the desk, maps thankfully put aside, practically chewing his fork. His eyes glance at you then away then double take.

For the first time you’re able to see the shift in him that the crew keeps seeing. The harsh lines of his face smooth away as the anger shifts to surprise and wariness. His eyes stay on you, soft and alert, as you stand awkwardly by the mast. He watches you watch him, his face and body language so open compared to usual.

Finally the intensity becomes too much for you and you turn your head to look over the sea. From the corner of your eye you can see him still watch you, but his shoulders are stiff. You inhale deeply once, the salty air comforting.

“Killer said not to get food on anything important.” You say bluntly, shifting from one foot to another as you glance at him again. His face shifts to annoyance.

“Oh fuck him, it was one time!” He grumbles again and tucks back into his food.

You almost leave at that. You’d done what Killer had ordered. You can go now right?

Instead you lean against the railings, he’s watching you again. You contemplate what you’re about to do, his chewing slows down, taking his time with each bite.

“What did you get food on?” You ask and he nearly chokes on his fork. You never initiate conversations anymore, beyond the respectful ‘what do you need sir?’ He coughs once and you turn to watch him, a little concerned.

“It was nothing,” He finally chokes out. “Well I mean, it was our first bounty posters. Killer wanted to keep them, you know, for posterity or some shit. But I got marinara sauce on them and he got so pissy!” You laugh and he freezes mid story.

“Were you in the kitchen?” You ask through giggles.

“Nah, the medic room,” He smiled, face a little red again.

“Why the fuck were you eating marinara sauce in the medic room?”

“It wasn’t just a straight bowl of marinara sauce you freak! It was spaghetti, but I didn’t spill the pasta.” He huffed, but his grin told you he wasn’t actually mad. “Anyways I’d feel bad but he got a copy of those posters like the next day with the newspaper. He’s just a baby.”

“He’s sentimental, it’s sweet.” You laugh again at your own words. “He’s the-“ you pause to laugh harder at your next sentence. “He’s the Kill-“ You can barely breathe.

“Spit it out, freak!” He cackles at you. Finally you gather yourself enough to say.

“He’s the Killer with a heart of gold.” You burst out laughing, Kid stares at you for a moment before joining.

“That’s what you were dying to say?” His laughter finally putters out along with yours. “That’s the shiftiest joke I’ve ever heard. Fuck me that’s not even a joke.” You whip your head to face him, shock and hurt across your features, his breath catches in his throat. Your hand pressed to your chest in a pitiable display.

“You really know how to hurt a gal’s feelings.” Your grin is the only clue that you weren’t actually hurt. He glares at you again.

“Oh fuck you! Go finish your repairs before I make you hand scrape all the barnacles!”

You laugh as you make your way to the stairs, calling out behind you.

“Killer already threatened me with that.” You wave.

“Who the fuck does Killer think he is threatening you!” His breath catches again after his outburst. You just laugh again and walk down the steps.

You’re too busy chuckling to notice the doors to the inside shifted just as you reached the final step. As you pass the galley, you don’t peek your head in to acknowledge the crew. If you did, you’d notice not a single plate of food is finished. Everyone scarfing down their portions to make up for their eavesdropping.

You continue on to the crew workshop, smile on your face.

~~~~~~

It’s past midnight when you finally finished repairing all the weapons that were damaged over the last few weeks. Most were simple, clearing up gunpowder from barrels, realigning sights, sharpening blades. But some required actual welding and blacksmithing, a skill you had… exaggerated on your ‘resume.’

It wasn’t that you didn’t know how to do it. It’s just been so long since you did. On your old crew it wasn’t your job and you weren’t allowed to do it. So the last time you’d actually repaired weapons or did any blacksmithing was on your home island years ago.

So you’d let some weapons pile up as you relearned how to properly reshape a lock on a shotgun or how to file out the muzzle so the shots could be straight again. And as a result you’d had a lot of projects to catch up on, it didn’t help that you felt so frazzled by the size of the list that you took extra time to avoid fatal mistakes.

Now here you were, covered in grease, sweat, and oxidized iron. Despite your hunger, your nose was still too full of the foul scent to even think about eating. Normally you weren’t so sensitive but it was really affecting you tonight (day?). So you decided a shower is next on the list, glancing at the clock you almost wanted to just plop down in bed right now, dreading the early wake up time you had.

But you knew if you showed up for chores tomorrow stinking and your plate still in the galley, it’d be a day full of lectures from Killer, Wire, Hip, Reck, UK…. Basically everyone, including your captain based on his little fit when you skipped dinner. You were tempted to ask Killer about that, but figured it’d only encourage the blond in the end.

The showers on the ship were, much like the bunks, divided. There were two main bathrooms with multi shower units and one large bath tub in each one. Both Kid and Killer had private rooms and ensuites with single showers, so if they wanted a bath it’d have to be in the communal ones. The easiest way to divide it was by gender presentation, masculine people in the larger one and feminine people in the smaller one since there were fewer femmes on board.

The bunks were sorta divided by vibes, at the start you and the male rookie you’d started with shared a bunk with some senior members. Probably to sus out any bad habits or behavior early. Then Killer allowed you to either stay in the bunk with Reck, Wire, and Gig or ask around if another bunk would let you join. It was kinda fun, interviewing for different spots, ultimately you decided on Hip, Emma, Hop, and House. The group was the most calm comparatively, especially with Dive, Pomp, and Quincy sharing a room- the most energetic crew mates all in one space.

You kept most everything you need in the shower cubbies, including some spare PJs, to avoid waking your bunk mates up at night, so you didn’t have to take a detour to grab anything. You strip down and turn the water on, praying there’s at least a little hot water left. As you wait for it to, hopefully, heat up, you take some baby oil from the communal cubby and begin to apply it generously all over yourself.

Usually the oil was used after someone shaved or needed extra moisture, but you knew from experience that nothing got rid of grease and gunpowder like oil. As you rubbed to break up the caked on grime, your mind wandered a little, this was the first time you’d had alone in ages. Normally the showers had at least one other person, or someone right outside the door. It was rare to be alone anywhere on this ship for more than a few moments.

It was kinda thrilling, you thought, hands slowing down a little to really rub your muscles. You let out a small groan as you press on your shoulder, rotating your neck a slowly to really grind that muscle. The privacy was making you feel warm.

You checked the water and, miraculously, it was heating up. The water washed away most of the grime with little resistance, but a few spots you had to help along. You lather up your wash cloth with your favorite strawberry soap, normally reserved for special occasion, but you felt like tonight was special enough to warrant it. You took your time, resuming your massage from earlier, while your mind wandered.

At this point you’d already decided you’d masturbate, you deserved it obviously, but it’s been so long since you’d had the chance. You struggled to think of erotic scenarios to help you along, not able to rely on physical touch alone. You rinsed off the soap and remaining grime then quickly washed your face. Your hair was next and when you finally had it conditioned and pinned up to sit, you were still struggling. But the urge was so prominent you decided to start anyways and hope you mind could conjure something up.

Your hands were experts despite the long break, one hand grasping your own breast, the other rubbing along your outer lips. You pinched your nipple as you finally slid a finger over your clit, a gasp leaving your lips. With a shiver and more pressure you rubbed again, slick arousal spilling out.

Your mind couldn’t conjure anything, your last sexual encounter was before your first crew and you didn’t want to think about them. A blush spread across your face, embarrassed even in your own mind, that you were about to picture members of your own crew. It felt so forbidden, despite the lack of restrictions on relationships between crew, you’d never let the thought linger.

Now you tried to picture some members, it was hard though, even though you had some hot crew mates. It felt… awkward to imagine them like this. Still as your fingers kept pressing, moans leaving your mouth barely concealed, you scrolled through the list.

Wire and Heat were handsome, but not your kinda handsome, Hip was out despite her beauty as well as your other bunk mates, Quincy and Pomp were also a no, not your vibes. You paused on Killer, the mask helped evade the awkwardness, but after a moment picturing him you felt like he’d know what you’d done the second you saw him tomorrow.

You shivered and whined, frustrated that you had such a mental block. You tried again with some crew members you knew a little less, but still nothing.

‘Could try Kid.’ You nearly slapped yourself at the thought, you couldn’t help it.

At the start of your journey with the crew you admired him so much and maybe would’ve found him attractive…possibly. But now you were so nervous around him….. but he was acting different now, he wasn’t shouting or throwing things. He’d smelled like warm musk and metal when he’d crowded you the other day in the med bay, pleasant and masculine, surprisingly mellow.

Your fingers dipped into yourself, so you kept thinking of him. What his hair would feel like. What his back would look like with your scratch down it. What his dick would look-

Ok, too much, you gasped and whined again, curling your fingers. You panted as you increased the pace of your fingers and thoughts.

Would he eat you out?

Would he fuck you slow or fast?

What about positions? Doggy? Missionary? Would he let you ride him or would he never relinquish control?

You hunched over as you thought about his eyes when you’d spoke about you ex captain. Angry and possessive, why? You were new.

‘But you’re his, remember?’ You thought, head dizzy as you reached down with your other hand to rub your clit. ‘You’re his now and he takes care of his own.’ Your mind was depraved as you wondered if he was going out of his way to murder that man, to impress you.

Fuck, you were so close.

You pictured him and you fucking after a battle, he seemed like the type. He’d be covered in cuts and blood, mostly his enemies, huffing in your ear little praises. Maybe this was after he killed Badger, a little celebratory fuck before returning to the helm. A reward, for him or you, you’re unsure.

You picture him crushing you close to him, legs around his waist, hands in his hair. You picture him, still thrusting, leaning down to kiss you. The image of a gentle kiss during a rough fucking brings you over the edge.

Most of your moans were muffled as you bite your lip, rubbing yourself through your high, but you know if anyone was awake right now they’d know what you were doing. The thought makes your thighs clench and you finally rinse your hair, the water now cool against your heated skin.

You wrap your hair up and get dressed, skipping the lotions and skin care so you could hustle and grab your plate. As you make your way to the galley, you pass by Kid’ personal workshop, you can hear him working and moving things around. Your face heats up as you remember your shower thoughts, so you soften your steps and hurry by.

After scarfing down your meal, you pass his workshop again, it’s quiet now. Feeling dread that he may catch you up so late, you rushed back to your bunk. You were out the moment your eyes closed.

#one piece #one piece smut #eustass kid #eustass x reader #kid x reader #one piece kid

[saltofmercury]

Touch

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader

Summary: Soap is a little touch starved

A/N: Should this have been for Ghost? Yes. Do I care? no because I believe in Soap being touch starved too. Also use of nickname "hen" I don't think I used any words that would allude to a f!reader, but lmk :)

"Touch"

Perhaps it was a dream that jolted you from your unconscious state. Tucked underneath three comforters, engulfed by 6 pillows, you laid inside the huge bed fast asleep. The nights turned cold, prompting you to pull the extra blankets at the edge of your bed.

A sudden close of the front door disrupted your concentration.

Heavy footsteps in the distance pounding closer to where you were. Sleep still weighed heavily on your eyes. Not wanting to move in case of touching a cold part of the bed, you stayed still, focused on drifting off back into unconsciousness. “If they rob me, they rob me,” you chanted in your head. Though you knew who had a spare key.

Thump thump thump — the steps got closer. A bag dropped in the distance, calculated footsteps reached the bedroom door.

“Hen?” The deep voice startled you. “Are ya awake hen?” Cold fingertips touched your face, eliciting a whine from you.

“You’re cold!”

“Dinnae fall back asleep, yeah?” His fingertips lingered on your face, softly tracing your lips with his thumb, his ring and pinky tracing your earlobe. A small hum from his mouth.

He knew not to wake you up in the middle of the night, but there was an urgency tonight. Almost 4 months have passed.

Footsteps fade away, fabric shifted in the air and dropped on the ground. Then, the shower runs.

Some water splashes down, but this isn’t like quiet rainfall that can lull you to sleep, it’s crashing and splashing on the marble floor. Then a quick squeal indicating the faucet is off. The shower curtain opens, and the footsteps come closer again, sliding from the bathroom to the room.

If Johnny is anything, he’s fucking loud.

You sit up on the bed, disgruntled. Your phone says 4:18AM

“Did you have to shower?”

“Aye, good you’re still awake” he ignores you, attempting to put his pants on. You can tell he’s still wet just by the way he’s attempting to pull the fabric up on his legs. He’s flustered, fighting the fabric that sticks to him, he should’ve just dried himself off properly.

He’s stepping over to the edge of the bed, crawling towards you, taking the cold side and shuffling in

“S’ cold aye? Ahm pure done in” but he’s not tired. He’s been anticipating his return. He’s been deprived of something. He still doesn't know how to describe it.

You turn to face him, right as he makes himself comfortable, it all falls into place. Placing one arm underneath your head, followed by engulfing your legs with his, he settles his face into your neck, mouth latching onto you. He starts off slow, just grazing his lips on your collarbone, exhaling in relief. “Wasn't sure how much longer I could take this.”

*

This first started when he enlisted. It went from constant everyday physical touch from his sisters and friends, to suddenly being swamped in a constant battle. He had longed for his opportunity to serve his country. He made it his first mission to be the best. Moving forward in his squad, earning him the nickname “Soap.”

But then when he got back home, everyone else moved forward too. His sisters were married and gone, his parents had taken the vacations they wanted, and his friends had started their own families.

He didn’t realize it then, but a dull pain had surrounded his body. 

On the way back to base as Gaz hugged him, he knew then how much he missed the touch of someone else. 

He remembers going to the bar to get some cheap touches. Flirting with the waitress, holding onto her hand a little longer as she handed him the drink, just to feel relief. A small tingle that radiated goosebumps on his arm. 

Sometimes the waitress wasn’t there, and he couldn’t get away with it with another server.

He moved onto “gentlemen” clubs.

Fascinated by how they twirled, gracefully shook, and pulled their body weight around. The skimpy shiny outfits trotting around. The glitter around them. How their bodies were slenderly built. Their nails are perfectly manicured. Everything about them was perfect.

However, most of the girls here would be on a time limit.

“$20 for a dance” “$25 to touch me” which Soap didn’t mind, he just craved the time a little longer.

Even went to some red light districts when it got bad.

The woman staring at him in her bright pink lingerie. “You want to just hug?” Clarifying his intention for the night. 

“Not a hug, I want a cuddle.” He spoke.

The woman stared at him, it wasn’t the first time she had this request. She just wanted clarification that this was what he had wanted. This happened a few more times, where Soap had begun to satiate his starvation... Until she asked one too many questions.

“Don’t you got a bird?”

“No”

“You’re not ugly pet, you could find someone.”

“Don’t have the time.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“Military”

“Explains the gunpowder scent”

That was the last time he went there. He didn’t need to be picked at or prodded.

He figured a hobby while time off between missions could help.

Any sort of hobby; weight training, ax throwing, and puzzles, to get him out of his head and the hold it had on him. No matter how much he did, no matter how much he accomplished, the feeling lingered there.

He talked to Gaz a few times, but Gaz wasn’t comprehending at all.

“It’s a dull feeling, just weighing on yer body.” Soap said, staring at the ground between them, pretending to watch the ants trail by.

“Can’t say I have mate… sounds odd.” Which made him feel even worse. 

“Why don’t ya find friends with benefits?”

Soap had tried, and miserably failed. Women getting too caught up in him, checking his phone, demanding they speak to him when he was away. He was too detached, just wanted to come home and feel safe in someone’s arms.

Then by chance, you came. 

At a bookstore while he was looking for any sort of book on this topic, you accidentally bumped into him.

“Shit sorry!” You, bending over to pick up the book he dropped. 

You put your left hand on him, smiling, then holding his book out in the other. 

“Here” you said.

He swears he could feel your entire heartbeat through your left hand, or was it his heartbeat? The small touch you gave him was euphoric.

“I’m Johnny.” He said, reaching his hand out to shake yours. You smiled, shook his hand and introduced yourself. Your hand felt warm, and soft. Kind of like when he goes into a pub after a mission and the heat from the room warms him up. It felt known, it was what he was after.

From then on, he continued to chase that feeling…Kept seeking your touches on every date. 

How you wrapped yourself in his arm and squeezed yourself in.

“It’s getting so cold!” You mumbled walking through the park. You, innocently flirting, but he was so soothed by this. He gently closed his eyes and took it in. You wrapped your hand around his and shoved them in his pocket. 

“Mens jackets always have more room don’t they?”

“Aye…” he said, his eyes still closed. Still entranced by your touch.

When you guys ate ice cream and you wiped a bit of the chocolate off his mouth. Your thumb gently swiped at the corner, bringing it to yours. Soap blushing at the small gesture.

“Yer something else hen,”

The time he stood there in your kitchen, listening to you babble about your show. He was drinking chocolate milk. You slowly crept up and placed your hands around his waist. Peering up at him with wide eyes, glad someone could stand you talking about fictional ideas. You scratched gently at his sides. He bit back on his tongue to hold in the moan. You already felt the goosebumps that accompanied your finger tips.

“Did you also know that they’re straying away from the book?”

“Hmmmm” biting his bottom lip, while wrapping one arm around you.

Or when you got a migraine suddenly during a night in with him and needed it to be quiet. You laid on the couch, instructing him to turn off the lights and not make any sounds.

“Yer sure you don’t need any medicine?” He questioned, looking at how pale and lifeless you became. 

“Just come here please.. quietly.”

You made space for him on the couch, then brought an eye cover over your eyes.

“Please don’t laugh” you nuzzled yourself into his chest, “can you put your arm over my head?“

“Over yer head?” He was so confused but entertained the idea seeing that he’s never met a headache that could take out someone. The weight of his biceps was comforting the pound in your head.

Soap waited a few minutes before you knocked out, then brought you closer.

He inhaled your scent, watched as your eyebrows had furrowed, the tension harboring in your head, then released. Your lips on his chest, hand underneath his shirt holding the small of his back, and legs tucked under you. It felt amazing.

The two of you fell asleep there.

*

Now he’s here, coming home to you, knowing that he’s going to be touched, maybe even loved.

Your hands rub the back of his head. His mohawk has started to grow out like a pineapple, longer strands almost touching his ear. You trace the back of his neck down to his spine, then up again.

You kiss the spot below his ear, and he hitched his breath.

“I’m sorry” you say, scared that maybe you woke him up. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No, hen keep goin’.”

You smile to yourself as you kiss his eyebrows, his cheek, rubbing a little harder into his shoulder and back.

He moans, you tease a little. “You’re so spoiled aren't you? Delicately tracing his spine with each of your fingers.

“You like being spoiled, baby?”

He smiles, nuzzling into your chest. Goosebumps have formed on his back, arms, and neck. “Aye, feels good.” he laughs a little embarrassed. How quickly he caves into your praise.

You rub him to sleep, watching the sun rise through your windows, how his face calms down, eyebrows are settled, lips puckered out. He settles into your skin. Maybe it wasn’t a dream.

#john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader #soap x you #soap fanfic #soap mw2

[shady-lemur]

ooooh dom!abby x reader with a demanding work life (maybe a trade of some sort) who wants to come home and be taken care of instead of taking care of everyone else (smut obvi but maybe some angst/drama perhaps 🫣)

oh my god can we get married pls. i love u. i hope you like this, i kinda rushed it at the end and smut isn’t my strong suit but i had to do this prompt!

content warning : smut, a little bit of angst, fighting, two cuties!!

minors do not interact!!

you were fucking exhausted. working on cars for 8 hours straight with no lunch because your coworker can’t do his job made you ready to cuddle up with your wife and put in a movie!! you were finally home! ready to relax and let off some steam.

you unlock the door to your apartment and sigh at the cool air-conditioned air. “abs? you home?”

you hear an answer and smile, walking into your shared room to find her studying for her upcoming exam. what a hard working medical student!! “hi angel. how was work?” she smiles and pushes her chair out enough for you to give her a kiss.

“fucking terrible. i just need a shower and eat, maybe we can cook that steak together tonight.”

abby looks back down at her notebook and gives you an apologetic smile. “sorry baby.. i really have to get this done, i ran out of time earlier to-”

you scoff slightly and dropped your bag on your bed before cutting her sentence off. “abby. i thought you were gonna get that done this morning so we could have a night together.”

she sighs and puts her pen down. “every night is a night together.. ”

“are you fucking kidding? abby i’ve been looking forward to tonight all week. it’s literally the only thing that was keeping me sane.” you’re starting to tear up. all the stress and frustration from work bubbling over. when abby notices she gets up and goes to comfort you but you push her away.

“whatever abigail. i don’t even care. i don’t know why i’m fucking crying. i’ll just get some takeout of some shit.”

abby furrows her eyebrows and laughs. “abigail? it’s that serious to you? you’re not the only one who hasn’t caught a fucking break. working and going to school full time is hard!! not that you’d know.” you’re scowl falls at you sit in shock for a second before grabbing your bag again and storming out of the room. “i’m going to my sister’s house. maybe you should think about who pays your fucking rent to make your life 5x easier before calling me.”

abby tries to say something else but you’re out of the apartment before she can get anything out.

————————————————————————

the next couple days were tense. you had come back from your sister’s house but you barely talked to your fiancé. just making small talk and giving each other pecks on the cheek before leaving for work or getting home from class. abby was afraid to say anything because sometimes she talks before she thinks. you didn’t say anything because you were embarrassed that you let so much emotion from your job pour into your relationship.

tonight you worked an hour of overtime and you were sore and tired and stressed out. all you needed was some tlc!! but of course this is the week that you and abby were silently fighting….

you unlock the door and drop your bag and take off your shoes before making a b-line for the shower. but something stops you. the sight of a set table with two plates. steak, potatoes, and some greens. with a bottle of wine and fresh flowers in the middle of the table. you feel the tears already coming… jesus christ. then you hear a quiet “shit!” from the kitchen.

“abby?” you ask before seeing abby in a cute apron holding her finger while looking down at a pie tin. you laugh slightly and walk over to her. “what happened?”

she frowns, “i burnt my finger.. i also think i made the filling wrong. i tried to follow your recipe but..”

you smile at her and pull her in for a kiss. she lets out a surprised moan but immediately kisses you back, taking off her silly oven mitt so she can bring your body closer to her. you pull away and laugh. she brushes your hair out of your face and smiles. “i’m sorry angel. i said some really stupid shit and i didn’t mean it. i was just ashamed for putting off studying and i got defensive.”

you nod and smile at her, eyes still tearing up. “i’m sorry too. i should’ve heard you out more at first before getting upset. work has been beating my ass lately and i think i’m just needing some extra support right now.”

abby nods and kisses you again before leading you to the table. “well how about we start with some dinner? then you can take a nice shower and we can do whatever you want for the rest of the night.” you sniff and nod, giving her one more kiss before sitting down!

“this smells delicious oh my god.”

————————————————————————

“the waters warm now angel. you’re so beautiful.” she watches as you strip out of your work clothes and you giggle at her blatant staring. “are you not coming in with me?”

abby perks up like a fucking puppy when you say that and starts to take off her clothes as you get in the shower. she’s in not even three seconds after you. you laugh as she pulls you closer. “can’t believe i was so stupid.. you’re so perfect.”

you shake your head and turn to look at her, “shut up!! you’re the smartest person i’ve ever met. gonna be the best doctor.” abby shushes you and smiles, “this is no time to flatter me. this is your night.”

abby starts to kiss your jaw as she slinks her arms around your waist. the hot water coming down to you making you even more comfortable in her arms. “abs-“

she smiles and nips at your neck before pulling away, “is this what you want? we can just shower instead-“

you cut her off with a passionate kiss, “please abby. don’t wanna stop.”

she smirks at you and goes back in for a kiss, pining you against the shower wall while you whine into her mouth. she bites your bottom lip and smiles into the kiss when you yelp in surprise. her tongue explores your mouth while her knee slots between your legs.

you take hold of her hair when her thigh makes contact with where you need her most. “please-“

your hips buck, making your clit drag across her skin beautifully. you whine and wrap your arms around her neck as she moves down to suck on your neck. her hands move down to guide your hips against her bare thigh. groaning at the sounds coming from your mouth. abby wishes she could record them and make them her ringtone, mostly to remind everyone around her that she has the most amazing girl in the world.

“abby.. need you so bad.” your breath hitches as she bites a particularly sensitive area next to your ear. she smiles and looks at your face. your eyes shut and your mouth slightly open as you focus on getting yourself off. abby gently forces you to look at her and smiles at you as she stops your movements.

“what do you want baby?”

your face heats up as you pout at her. “abby.. do i have to say it?”

she laughs and nods, “cmon angel, you can do it. it’s your night.”

“i… want your tongue” you whisper. usually that wouldn’t satisfy abby but you needed her so badly!! how could she wait any longer? she lowers herself onto her knees and rubs your hips gently as she kisses the skin of your stomach and thighs. “beautiful girl. my beautiful beautiful girl.”

you cover your face in embarrassment but abby gives you a light smack on the thigh. “eyes on me baby. there’s no need to be embarrassed.”

you open your eyes and nod, just trying to get her to touch you asap!!

abby lets out the prettiest moan when she connect with your cunt, giving your clit kitten licks before sucking on it. you let out a shaky breath and bring your hand to her hair, trying to stabilize yourself. “fuck, abby..”

you feel her fingers sneak up to your cunt while she draws shapes around your clit with her tongue, sometimes flattening it against your pussy just to hear your surprised moan. you have to stop yourself from screaming when her fingers plunge into your pussy.

“fuck baby. calm down.” abby lets out a shaky breath, your cunt is squeezing her fingers so good! she’s so wet :(

you shake your head as you watch her. “abby- ‘m gonna cum..”

she smiles at your slick and meets your eyes. “go ahead baby.”

the knot in your stomach tightens at her words before it breaks. she keeps fucks you through it until you’re finally calmed down. your chest is rising and falling rapidly with your breaths.

abby puts a stop to her movements and smiles at you. she kisses your thigh before giving your cunt one last kiss and rising from her knees. “open your mouth angel.” you do as she says and she sticks her two fingers in, watching as you suck your own cum off them. “such a dirty girl.” she teases you as you whine. you’re getting wet all over again!!

she lets her fingers free with a ‘pop!’ and gives you a kiss before running her hands up and down your sides, stopping at your ass.

“what should we do now? you ready for a movie?”

you shake your head and smile at her, “i’m ready for your strap.”

abby laughs and stops the water in the shower. “that’s my fucking girl.”

————————————————————————

that night was amazing. not only was it the best dick you’ve ever had but it was also a turning point in your relationship!! abby never missed a date night ever again and you started being more open with your emotions and needs, leading to wayyy more ‘i’m sorry you had a bad day’ sex.

#tlou part 2 #tlou fic #tlou smut #abby tlou #abby anderson #abby the last of us #abby anderson smut #abby x fem!reader

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I loooove your Minotaur!Konig, mythological AUs are my favorite ❤️

Asterion is such a sweetheart with his love, but I can only imagine how he gets when he's jealous/protective. I see Asterion settling into domestic life as a husband and a sailor relatively easily because it's all he's ever wanted (more than what he wanted/thought possible if he's being honest), but all it takes is one man making aggressive advances on his wife and he's the dreaded Minotaur of Crete who cut through hundreds of soldiers to get through the palace and slaughter the king himself. All those feral, animalistic traits come rushing back tenfold when it comes to her, the center of his universe and the only goddess he'll ever worship. So it doesn't matter if it's a simple fisherman, a famed warrior, a prince from foreign lands, or the son of Zeus himself. Asterion had slit the throat of a demigod before; Theseus, a rival who he disposed of bitterly before he had even met his wife, the unfamiliar poisonous feel of envy trickling through the Minotaur's veins as Theseus mentioned a woman he'd come to the labyrinth with, a woman who would change his fate and make him different from the other heroes who had tried and failed to kill the Minotaur and escape that infamous maze. Yet the divine hero fell as easily as the others, and she ended up changing Asterion's fate instead, guiding him through the hell that had imprisoned him since he was a child, holding out her hand to him and bringing him out of the darkness of the Labrinyth and into the light. Asterion would kill a thousand heroes and kings for his love, become Death itself and burn down the world and the heavens alike just to keep her safe, keep her with him.

Anon you depicted him & his devotion so beautifully…

He has a lot to learn when it comes to society and living among people: the first time they were at the marketplace and she started to barter with some shopkeeper, he thought the bargaining male was insulting his woman. So he marched forward, grabbed him by his clothes and raised him to the chalked wall until she ran to him and explained the situation – amused while the poor shopkeeper almost pissed himself. She got a very good price after that!

And he will absolutely turn into a demigod, this chthonic warrior whenever he feels his beloved is under a threat or if someone tries to take her away from him. It’s not even about him being jealous (although he is that too): he just sees himself as the most able protector she could choose, and anyone who dares to challenge that will get stomped to the ground.

Clearly, she favors him between the furs as well, so it’s no use to try and snatch her away with perfumed beards, shallow promises or playful charms… She always runs her fingers through his hair, chest, head or thigh, looks at him with stars in her eyes. She obviously doesn’t need some shaved “hero” with an eloquent tongue when she has a bull like him.

Bulls don’t have time for philosophy and neither does she: his goddess prefers a strong man who can carry heavy loads and make her moan in bed. And whenever he does talk, he says what he thinks. It always makes her either gasp or smile so at least he doesn’t bore her to death like those oiled, fancy men… She likes his comments in bed, too, he can tell. To him, it’s nothing earth shatteringly special to wake her up in the middle of the night and announce that he’s hard. The thing between his legs was made for her pleasure after all, so why should he keep it to himself?

She always acts as if he has both done something wrong and extremely right because it always ends in her saying that perhaps he should fuck her then. Soon enough she's begging under him, clawing his back like a cat, sighing that she loves him.

He always tells her that he loves her back, as many times as he has to to make her shatter in his arms.

#minotaur!könig #könig fluff #long post #tw: long post

[security-chief-odo]

To Love and Be Loved in Return - Chapter 4

Chapter 1 & 2 & 3

Roy Kent x Reader

Description: Between you, Roy, and Keeley, who will spill the beans first?

Note: Hope you’re ready for fluff because oh boy is that all I felt like writing tonight.

Word Count: 2.3k

• • •

Chapter 4 - Drunk Words, Sober Thoughts

Roy’s knuckles go white as he grips the wheel, trying to find his composure along the journey. He knew he would obviously see you again and have to reckon with his feelings now that he couldn’t just throw a pity party for himself over a rejection he hadn’t even gotten. One that he may not even get.

That little spark of hope that has only just crept into his heart might be the thing that breaks him. It’s that hope that has him imagining what it would be like if you were his actual date to the gala. It’s that hope that has him picturing you in his arms after a hard day at work. It’s that hope that has him imagining your lips on his after the team wins a game. It’s that goddamned hope that has his palms sweaty and heart racing faster than he knew it could as he pulls up to the club.

He pulls up outside the bar and sees the three of you standing together. Keeley is the first to notice his car and corrals you all in his direction. The excited smile that crosses your face as you notice his arrival is enough to make his heart melt. He can’t let himself read into that though, you’d probably be just as excited for an Uber driver considering how fucking late it is.

Of course, he’s lying to himself though, because he does read into it just a little. He does get his hopes up that even a fraction of that excitement was specific to him.

Keeley and Rebecca guide you to the car, perhaps using your drunkenness to expedite their matchmaking as they guide you to the passenger seat. It’s only when you get buckled and they’ve already settled into the backseat that you realize what they’ve done. You couldn’t complain too much at getting to be close to the man you had so clearly fallen for, but Keeley was about to give you reason to complain.

She is sitting behind Roy, so you can see the smile on her face as she begins what could best be described as a transparent attempt to make Roy jealous. “So, y/n, who was that tall guy you gave your number to earlier?”

Bummed at hearing this and completely oblivious to the mischievous smirk adorning Keeley’s face, Roy feigns casual interest, “Oh?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

You whip your head around to reply to Keeley, not wanting Roy to think you’re unavailable, “It’s not like that and you know it.”

This piques Roy’s interest and he begins to steer the conversation, “Then do you give your number out to just any strange man?”

“No, not my number,” you clarify, “Beard’s.”

“What?” he asks, now more confused than he was jealous.

“So one time I was at the Crown and Anchor with Beard and some creep just wouldn’t back off. Eventually I relented and gave him my number just to make him go away. Beard told me to start giving out his number instead of my own to creeps. He gets to enjoy scaring shitty men and I get to enjoy a peaceful night with my friends with no creepy texts in the morning. It’s a win-win situation”

“That’s fucking brilliant” Rebecca chimes in, “I’ve got to start doing that shit.”

“So you didn’t find a date tonight?” Roy asks, trying too hard to be nonchalant about it.

“Wasn’t looking.” you reply more to the window than to him as a faint blush crosses your features.

He pulls up to Rebecca’s house first, and when she gets out Keeley adjusts to the middle, using the opportunity to finally see Roy’s face, and try to figure out if he feels the same for you. It doesn’t take long for her to see the softness that he looks at you with, but it will certainly take longer for her to get him to admit it.

“Since I’m taking her shopping tomorrow, you should probably tell me what color you’re wearing.”

Knowing your friend too well, you brace yourself for this conversation. Her lack of subtlety only worsened when alcohol was in the mix. “Don’t worry about it Keeley. He’s not bringing me as an actual date anyways. We don’t have to match.”

Roy is kicking himself for being so obvious with his feelings. Keeley could read him like a book and this was her idea of either teasing or being helpful. He hasn’t quite figured out which. “I don’t know yet. I try not to think much about that stupid event. If it wasn’t for a good cause I wouldn’t even go to the fucking thing.”

“But Cheryl would miss you if you stopped going.” She has definitely settled on teasing then.

“Fuck Cheryl.” he rolls his eyes. He is not looking forward to another year with her as the highest bidder. She may not be as bad as he made Jamie think, but the idea of going on a date with anyone other than you makes him feel sick.

“You would if she got her way.” you chime in.

At your teasing Roy can feel that heat in his face, “She won’t. I’m not interested in her.”

“But you are interested in someone?” she adds barely letting him finish his own sentence.

He growls, “I didn’t say that.”

“But you still aren’t denying it.” Keeley says with a smirk evident in her sing-songy voice. Though she is clearly taking this as confirmation he likes you, you sink into your seat hoping it swallows you whole. Him liking somebody doesn’t mean he likes you. Then she asks the question you’ve both been dreading, “So who is she?”

“She’s none of your business.” Roy lets out a huff. If he wasn’t certain Keeley knew he liked you before, he definitely knows now.

“Come on!” Keeley whines, knowing she won’t get her way but enjoying watching him squirm all the same. “Tell me who’s captured the attention of the Roy Kent.”

He has taken to ignoring her prodding in hopes that she’ll get bored or at least give it up for the minute or two left in the drive to her flat.

His hopes are quickly shattered by her adding “Is it someone we know?”

Now that’s a question he can’t answer. If he does, he’ll give everything away, and if he can’t have you, he’d at least like to not lose you.

Lucky for Roy though, you seem to have gotten tired of this subject too. “Knock it off Keeley.” you roll your eyes at her, trying your best to play at being casual.

The car ride continues in relative silence until you arrive at Keeley’s. She gets out and cheerfully yells bye at both of you. Winking at you both, though each of you assume it is directed at only yourselves.

Once the car is finally moving again, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding in. Even in your inebriated state, you can still feel the full force of the embarrassment Keeley brought on in her attempt to play wingman. You sigh, “Sorry about her. All of that really. It was pretty invasive.”

He smiles ever so slightly and glances at you before looking back at the road and replying, “No worries. Not your fault. I know she’s just drunk. She’s always a little nosy, but never more so than when she’s drunk.”

You both chuckle at how true that was. You can’t help recalling all of the strangers Keeley has practically interrogated on past nights out. “Yeah, she gets that way, but it is kind of my fault. She was just trying to help me out and she overstepped.”

You don’t quite register how revealing your words are until he parks just outside your flat. “What do you mean?” Roy has turned entirely to face you.

In this moment, you have half a mind to run out of the car and straight into your flat and bury yourself in pillows hoping sleep will make you forget this night ever happened. Though it must be true what they say about alcohol being liquid courage because you don’t move towards the door, but instead you turn to face Roy.

“Fuck it.” you let out a sharp breath and begin. “It’s stupid and kinda embarrassing, but I have feelings for you. She found out today and has been pestering me about it all night. I’m sorry, I didn’t think she’d bother you with it or –”

He cuts you off with a groan of “Fuck” but you continue, reading his reaction as confirmation of your every fear.

“That I’d be telling you for that matter. I didn’t really want you to find out, certainly not like this. Don’t worry about it though, I’ll text Rebecca and have her move me to work under a different department if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Wait” he cuts in again.

“I can even look for a new job. I like it at Richmond but I know this probably ruins our friendship and I don’t want to make things weird for you at work too. It’s really no big deal.”

Finally frustrated with your flat refusal to listen to him he yells your name. This gets your attention and for the first time since you started rambling, you make eye contact with him. “Stop talking for a second, y/n”

“Ok” you reply. You immediately failing at the request makes him roll his eyes at you.

“Please don’t quit. I have been freaking out all week because I’ve been head over heels for you for months now and I was finally trying to ask you out.”

“What?” you look at him in sheer confusion. Just minutes ago the man groaned in frustration at your confession. You never would have guessed it was because he returned your feelings.

“I asked you to be my date to the gala.”

“But then you told me it wasn’t a date”

Stumbling over himself he continues “Well – I – You’re the one who replied to me asking you on a date by telling me I’m the best boss. That one’s kind of your fault too.” He drops the defensiveness and continues on. “Then I asked you to lunch today, but you had plans already. Fuck. You don’t make it easy to ask you out.”

“I can tell because you still haven’t actually done it.” you tease.

He grumbles in response. “You’re right. Y/n, I am madly in love with you. Would you please do me the honor of being my girlfriend?”

“Hm. Let me think about it.”

“Don’t you fucking dare start that shit,” he scowls and points at you accusatorily. Although he won’t say it right now because the last thing he needs is more smugness from you, that playful smile has his stomach doing flips. It is probably his favorite expression of yours. You look so unburdened when you’re having fun like this, even if it is at his expense.

“Absolutely. I’d love nothing more than to be your girlfriend Roy.”

Over the moon at your response, he finally realizes the late hour. “Let me walk you up to your flat. Wait there.”

He turns off the car and walks around to your side. He opens the door for you and steadies you as you step down. When you get up to your flat you’re barely not stumbling. Between the exhaustion, the heels, and the alcohol in your system, it feels like a miracle when you reach your door. You hand Roy the keys and he gets the door for you, his left hand still on your back to guide you. He walks you to your bedroom, finds you pajamas to change into, and closes the door as he leaves the room to give you privacy.

You call out from the other side, “Scared you’ll like what you see too much?”

“Shut up and get dressed,” he responds, his tone clearly light. He moves to the kitchen to grab you a glass of water and some ibuprofen, both of which you will definitely need come morning. He knocks gently on the bedroom door, “You decent?”

“Sadly, yes.” you reply. He opens the door and seeing your sleepy eyes light up leaves him in awe of you.

He swiftly crosses the room to place the pills on your bedside and the water on a coaster next to it. He pulls back the blanket on your bed and gestures to the space below it. “Come on, y/n. You need some rest.”

You settle into your bed and look up at him. “Can I get a goodnight kiss from my boyfriend?”

“Not tonight.” he replies as he tucks you in.

You pout at this response and ask, “Please?”

“Nope”

“Why not?” you whine.

“You’re drunk”

“And? It’s just a kiss. Why should that matter?”

He leans in and you think he’s going to give you your way, but he stops just shy of your lips and whispers gruffly, “When I kiss you for the first time, I want to be sure it’s fucking memorable.”

With that he pulls away and you're a little more turned on than you’d like to admit. The anticipation for something as simple as a kiss, has turned you into a sleepy pile of mush. Okay, maybe it was the alcohol that did most of that, but It sure didn’t help.

He turns to leave and you call out, “Roy?”

He turns to you and cocks his head slightly in confusion.

“Can you stay the night?”

“Of course. I’ll be on the couch. If you need me, don’t hesitate to wake me up. Goodnight y/n”

“Goodnight.” you doze off into a far more pleasant sleep than you expected.

• • •

Taglist: @infinetlyforgotten @taytaylala12 @siriuslyreads @ashy-kit @isla-finke-blog @laukora1030 @tamberjo @queen-of-the-downtown-scene @harry-bowie-mercury

#reader insert #roy kent x reader #roy kent/reader #roy kent #roy Kent Ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #Ted lasso #brett goldstein #idiots in love #love confessions #fluff #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fluff #roy kent fluff #Roy Kent’s foul mouth #to love and be loved in return #keeley jones #rebecca welton

[amywritesthings]

about you. (cassian x you)

Pairing: Cassian Andor x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.6K

Summary: You are a rebel spy working as an escort at Canto Bight's cliffside casino. When Luthen cannot meet you for an intel exchange on New Year's Eve, he sends his best asset. Never in your wildest dreams did you think that meant you'd reunite with your former childhood best friend, Cassian Andor.

Warnings: New Year's Eve, Spy Thriller, Escort Service, Romantic Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, Reunions, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Mentions of Sex Work, Wall Pinning, New Year's Eve Kiss

A/N: Happy New Year, everyone! I had a fun holiday one shot idea and wanted to try my hand at writing Cassian Andor. I am wishing you all a happy & healthy new year, and I can't wait to continue writing in 2023.

( Read on AO3 )

Canto Bight is always bustling at New Year’s Eve.

It’s why Luthen Rael has shown up on your doorstep for the first time in months. In his not-so subtle way, the man requests (see: demands) that you float back to your old haunt, the one within the glittering halls of their monument cliffside casino, and do what you do you best: entertain as a partner experience escort for the rich and powerful. 

The partner experience operation has been your designation from the very beginning of this rebellious calling. Your contribution to the rebellion, as he claims, is valuable — because the whispers in the night by decorated Imperials that feel safe in your company are priceless.

Whispers bring intel, and not even gold is as priceless as Imperial intel.

Luthen claims he knew of your potential the moment he laid eyes on you in a seedy dive bar on an Outer Rim moon. The little lamb far from her home planet Ferrix, looking fearful yet enraged all the same; starved, but most importantly willing to do anything to take down the Empire one domino at a time.

It was the type of spunk the older man needed in a claustrophobic world.

So you struck a deal: under trained supervision, you would run the casino circuits and red districts — never quite getting close enough to sleeping with the enemy (who knew the Empire thrived on humiliation and edging?) but enough to drug them, learn from them, then report back to him for the next move.

Rinse and repeat for six successful years.

And right now, you were supposed to be done. Find a small shack in the middle of nowhere knowing you did your part in the small but mighty agenda. Perhaps, eventually, you would find a way to make peace with your past and your present.

Then Luthen fucking Rael shows up at the stoop of said shack only six months later with a new opportunity.

A new strategy on the chess board.

(The rebellion, as he so candidly puts it, is never final.)

“Did you hear about what’s going on with Life Day this year on Canto Bight?” Luthen grunts, opting to stand by the doorway rather than a seat at your makeshift kitchen table.

You drop down unceremoniously with your arms at your sides. You know — and you know he knows — there is a blaster taped on the belly of the steel table should this be an unpleasant visit.

“You mean the Wookie holiday?”

“Hmm,” Luthen sounds, caught between a yes and a no. “Supposed to be the Wookie holiday, but it seems the Empire has allowed the casino a profitable chance to participate until the new year.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” you muse in return, surveying him. “When you say profitable, you mean—”

“Everyone who is anyone will be visiting.” Luthen never makes any sudden movements; always trapped sounding bored with this life he leads. It’s also a tactic not to play his cards too far from his chest. “They’ll be running the gambit for paid time off.”

Smile bland, you nod once. “Which is code for… you need someone on the inside.”

“For the season,” he agrees, shifting his weight. “A gift to the faces who may have missed you.”

“Missed me?”

“I hear about the Diamond quite a lot.”

Their precious Diamond.

Maker, that nickname always made your skin crawl.

You huff, rubbing your nose with the back of your thumb. “Flattery gets you nowhere with me, Luthen, you know that.”

He takes a pause, small eyes observing everything that you do. Updating a mental database logging your quirks and your discomfort to cipher for a later date — that’s all he’s ever done, study and download people, and he’s done so without error yet.

(It’s why he’s never been caught.)

“It isn’t flattery,” he finally says. “It’s an opportunity.”

To do everything we couldn’t the first time, is what he really implies.

It’s feeding an addiction no amount of dead fascists will be able to quench.

“And how do I tell them why I want the job back after I quit?”

“Your mother was very ill. You needed to help with her expenses,” Luthen fabricates from thin air. “It was easiest to part ways without the low note on your record. But the credits have dried up, and their clientele will be thankful of the casino’s decision to allow you back on the floor.”

It’s your turn to pause — to study. He gives away nothing. You lean forward to rest your elbows on the tops of your thighs.

“You think that’ll work?”

“You’ll sell it,” is all he gives back like you’ve already said yes.

You’re supposed to be out.

(Do you want to be out?)

.

.

.

.

.

No.

No, you don’t.

.

.

.

.

.

Getting the job back at the casino as a specialized escort is easy. The difficulty lies in remembering how to fall into old, subtle habits when all you want to do is cause chaos. Staying engaged while chatting up Imperial scum as they spittle in their expensive liquors and moan about the woes of their occupations and agenda can only go on for so long.

Yet you laugh with the rest of them once they’re kissing your feet and your hands, because everyone in this rebellion has a part to play.

(Our loveliest of diamonds, back to see us once again.)

Luthen, of course, never leaves you to your own devices for long. Gifting a hefty sum of credits and a bag of dissolvable sedatives every time he passes through Canto Bight as his alter ego is about as noble as the illusive man gets.

You fill small briefcases with voice memos and holovideos of nightly conversations, drunken manifestos and slippery plans.

It works.

By some miracle, you have never been caught.

New Year’s Eve is filled to the brim with Imperial guards enjoying time off from their grueling schedules. Some of the higher commanding officers already have their arms draped over people inviting them to a great time. Others chase after the debauchery promised by scantily clad creatures inviting them into the halls and out of their money.

You? Have a booking in advance: a high-ranking officer, but not within the Inner Circle.

According to Luther, he’s a valuable asset double-crossing their superiors.

A plant.

You are to deliver the intel to him under Luthen’s command and trust.

(Ironic. You always believed Luthen trusted no one.)

At the final half hour of the year’s end, you round the corner from the main entertainment room and down the hallway towards the private event spaces. A multitude of sounds are muffled by the doors — some good, some not so. Your focus is set on the twelfth door where your officer awaits, and suddenly you feel nervous all over again.

Meeting one of Luthen’s other operatives feels all too daunting.

After a moment, you place your code into the code box by the door and wait for the durasteel to slide, revealing the plush crimson meeting space. It's staged with a convenient king-sized bed and a vanity for refreshment, inviting comfort and suggesting the obvious.

What greets you as the door opens — a silhouette at the edge of the bed, dressed in Imperial formals — is not what you envisioned.

The man’s hair is what you notice first: disheveled brown locks are combed back neatly, smoothed by gel to keep the unruliness at bay. The jacket’s shoulders are a little too pointed, as if he’s not grown into his uniform quite yet — or like he’d stolen it on his way into the venue. The lines on his faces aren’t new, but aren’t old. He’s tired — so fucking tired, but he sits taller the second the door opens.

The blank expression on his face is purposeful, almost doe-eyed, with a feigned, smug-like innocence only an Imperial officer would wear.

Then his gaze travels from your open-toed shoes, up your bodysuit dress of sequins, and locks onto your face.

Just like that, the façade is broken.

What once was blank now hardens, wholly confused, before the lines on his prominent brow smooth with recognition.

Cassian.

Of all the idiots in all the galaxy, Cassian Andor is dressed as an Imp in your meeting space on the eve of the new year.

And you thought, with this rebellion, that you’d seen everything.

While the officer in disguise is much older than what your memory recalls, you could never forget that face even if the Empire tried. The feeling of dirt under your fingernails, the scent of rubber burning, the spark of an electric charge from a stolen piece of property — it all floods back in a tidal wave, almost knocking you a step back into the hallway.

On Ferrix, Cassian Andor always ran around with different people — sometimes it was Bix when she wasn’t punished for entertaining teen scoundrels; sometimes it was other boys in scrappy brawls and mended machinery; most of the time, however, it was you.

Hand and hand, causing mayhem in the bright suns and the full moons. He'd shown you what it meant to stand up for yourself. To want what you want and not apologize for it. To be bold, even at the expense of disruption.

And then he’d pummel whatever wayward eye looked at you the wrong way.

Trouble. 

Cassian Andor was so much trouble, and you were mad for it.

Your last memory of him is as vivid as the neon lights lining the ceiling: you're both sixteen years old and shoulder-to-shoulder on an inclined metal slab, staring up at the stars. He's wearing that jacket from his father and hasn't combed his hair in days. You're lost in telling him about your dreams of a better tomorrow, of one day leaving Ferrix for good and making a difference in the vastness of the galaxy despite how small you feel. He laughs, a hum more than anything else, and takes your hand in his.

You're too afraid to squeeze back.

Having Cassian poke fun of the idea of doing much of anything in the galaxy never felt like he mocked you for wanting to try. More than anything, his laugh was one of envy: he couldn’t afford dreams, so you dreamt for the both of you. He couldn’t handle intimacy, so you were satisfied with resting your hand in his the entire night.

Nothing was said. Nothing had changed.

He gave what he could, and you understood.

Childhood friendship has a funny way of feeling that simple.

Cassian, however, never truly chose to change with you. He never truly chose anyone, not really, not when he had so much to give — to his mother, to his scrapyard confidantes, to Bix.

You fit somewhere in the chapters of his life, but Cassian Andor could never tell you which ones. He could not, and would not, promise someone tomorrow.

An unfinished book.

You never did tell him where you were going after hitching a ride on that stock transport to get the hell out of Ferrix for good. Not a single holocard or a note.

Just… gone, into the galaxy, to dream.

Now he sits in front of you at the edge of your meeting space bed, threatening to ruin your calculated cover in one-fell swoop.

Before Cassian can implode your operation, you turn on the mask: with a bright smile and squared shoulders, you gesture to the plush furniture of the room. “Is it to your liking, Mr. —?”

You trail off on your question to give him a chance to speak.

Cassian blinks a few times, only to remember himself.

“Raoul,” he blurts without dismissing his accent, eyes widening with an unspoken question: what are you doing here? “Sargeant Murl Raoul.”

Maker, you haven’t heard that voice in so long.

It’s deeper now. Rusty. Scratched.

“Sargeant,” you correct pleasantly, taking a step into the bedroom to toe the perimeter. Cassian pulls the geometric gray hat clear from his head, balling it in his fist, but you raise a palm at the hip when his mouth opens: don’t.

He listens, pressing his lips together with purpose.

“I asked if this room was to your liking," you repeat.

Cassian struggles with an answer, studying you with concern. You hate it. You hated it back on Ferrix when he tried to play protector, and a decade and a half apart doesn’t dilute the emotion.

Your brows rise, and he clears his throat. “I— yes, I am quite comfortable.”

“Good,” you conclude with a small nod. “Now before I join you and get more comfortable, do you have any questions for me?”

“More comfortable?” he asks a little too fast, so you recover with a glide of your hand along your sparkling thigh.

“Can’t do much when I’m in this old thing,” you coo, that stage performer voice now sounding so phony to your ears with a known audience. “Shouldn’t take long.”

Cassian runs the tip of his tongue along the seam off his lips, shifting his seat on the mattress. “I suppose I could ask how… uh, how long have you been doing… this?”

You don’t know if he’s asking about the escort arrangement or the Informant position, which further complicates the game. The odds of Cassian showing up on Canto Bight should be slim. Cassian wearing an Imperial outfit on his own ought to be slim to none. 

But appearing in your private meeting space, fake alias and all?

Your blood runs cold with truth between the lines.

(Luthen never does anything by accident.)

This meeting — reuniting Cassian and yourself — is his test, a judgment call, but you refuse to let Luthen win the game with this surprise hand.

“Years,” you answer honestly, to both.

You continue to face him as you skirt around the left side of the sparkling vanity, not taking any chances with your former friend. Your manicured fingers glide along the mirror’s back, searching for the planted Imperial wire.

(Not only are they cruel, but perverted in their efforts to catch spies.)

“So then you are... experienced?” The question comes out rougher than you believe he intends. Gruff, like he’s embarrassed to even ask.

(The question almost — almost — makes your face burn.)

“If you’re worried that you won’t have a good time, Sergeant, then I promise they sent you to me for a reason. I’m going to take great care of you.”

Cassian’s expression darkens at this as he rises to his feet with purpose.

You rip the microphone from the back of the mirror, holding the device between your index and middle finger for show. 

This stops him from moving ahead, eyes locked on the microphone before flickering back to you. You shake your head.

I said don’t.

He nods once, and you take the microphone between your hands. With two clicks, the wire cover pops open, displaying a multitude of tiny wires. You fidget between two, pulling, until the red eye at the center of the device dissolves into black.

The room is blanketed with silence.

Now it’s just you and a ghost here.

“We’re clear,” you tell him after another beat, dropping the seductive aloofness in your tone.

Cassian’s shoulders drop a fraction of an inch. “That was fast.”

Your brow picks up that fraction, raising high. “You have to dismantle them fast."

“Let me take a look at it,” Cassian replies, tossing the hat twisted in his hands to the mattress. "Are you certain it's off?"

“Positive,” you say, sheltering the item closer to your chest. “You don't need to look at it. Easy to disable and reassemble at a moment’s notice, so I’ll turn it back on when you depart.”

“What about lost footage?”

“Chalk it up as faulty equipment they’re too stubborn to replace in a shithole like this.”

Cassian mulls over your answer, taking a cautious few steps forward to observe the small device in your hand. “Imperial-grade wires are tough to work with. A five-second warning doesn’t give many people time to disable the alarm,” he informs in a whispered afterthought. “Where did you learn to do that?”

In your bones, you know it’s a trick question.

Fifteen-something years of reuniting in a moment like this comes with immense drawbacks. When he asks, it is not out of curiosity — it is out of the desire to see if you are truly you.

(Because he remembers your face, too.)

“On Ferrix,” you reply.

He gives no reaction, continuing to deadpan. “Where on Ferrix?”

“You want me to remember from that long ago?” you laugh, placing the microphone on the vanity’s surface and following up with a thick blue cloth to drape over top of it.

“Humor me,” he reasons, flexing his leather-clad fingers at his sides. Now that he doesn’t have a distraction, Cassian doesn’t stop looking at your face.

(The same intensity as the boy without dreams.)

“The old Slavyard. There was that one incredibly rainy month when those prim and proper freaks—”

“—installed the spyware on the back door in the middle of the night,” he interrupts, finishing the story with a misplaced awe under his breath. “You played lookout while I disabled the devices.”

You don’t answer, not really, as you offer a half-hearted smile. “Say what you want about that place, but you learn a lot of things when you watch restless boys who never know when to stop getting in trouble.”

The return smile is small and fleeting, but the corner of Cassian’s lip upticks. His brows knit together, contemplating before a huff of a laugh exits. “Not a very good lookout, then, if you were so busy watching me.”

“You never got caught, though, did you?” you joke.

You swear he almost laughs.

The silence settles at your ankles and rises with each passing second, encompassing you both in a shroud of possibilities: pleasantries are nice, but the popping of bottles and shouts of celebration passing by your room brings you both back to a reality where you’re playing pretend.

Cassian huffs once more, running a hand down his face and around his neck before dropping it in a gesture towards you. “He cannot be serious.”

He.

You catch that pronoun with intrigue and tilt your chin.

“Serious about what? Who’s ‘he’?”

His voice softens, shrinking in size, as he nears half a step closer and into your bubble. “Don’t tell me it’s you.” You maintain eye contact — maintain dominance of this situation — and stay in place. “When he said to wait…”

“...for the Informer, you didn’t think you’d run into a ghost?” you finish, and he’s polite enough not to nod. “He only told me the person he was sending in his stead was one of his best assets. This reunion isn’t my doing.”

“No,” Cassian agrees, low and certain. “It isn’t.”

Because Luthen knows.

Luthen knows, and that’s dangerous in and of itself: his little lamb on Ferrix knew his most trusted asset long before the mastermind was in the picture, and this sabotage is meant to figure you out.

(To figure you both out for his own gain: to make sure you were both up for the task, history aside.)

Your jaw clenches as you nod with assertion, mindful of the train of your body-tight dress when you shift around Cassian to create some space. He turns his torso, following.

“Did he force you to do this?” When you pause in your steps to quirk a brow, he struggles with verbalizing what this means. “Entertaining these low lives while they piss their credits away.”

“Very strong words for someone dressed as an Imp.”

He completely ignores you, hyper in his budding rage. “Because if anyone has touched you—”

“No one’s forcing me to do anything, Cass,” you reply, hateful that the former nickname leaves your lips so fluidly; as if no time has passed. “We’re all cogs working for the same machine.”

“That doesn’t mean he should be having you do this on your own,” the man argues. “He’s not even on the planet, for fuck’s sake. This is dangerous work.”

“You keep saying this or that, but you’re not really asking the real question.” Your nose scrunches, maliciously playful. “I don’t fuck them. It’s pretend, Cassian. My honor is intact.”

Cassian squints with a scoff. “That isn’t what I meant—”

“It isn’t?” you challenge.

“No,” he responds just as fast and just as intense. A smirk plays on your lips, slow and growing. “Fuck whoever you’d like to fuck. One or a dozen, I don’t care, but not them. They don’t deserve you.”

“And who does?”

“I don’t know, but not Luthen or the pieces of shit out there or anyone on this planet.”

“Not even you, right?”

He stares down at you, hard. You snort in disbelief.

“I never thought I’d see the day where Cassian Andor is jealous of a body count, but I guess stranger things have happened for both of us.”

Cassian’s jaw sets, nostrils flaring with an anger he refuses to bury completely. He searches your face, lost on a response, before sharply inhaling through his nose.

“I need information on your regulars.”

Ah.

No more games. 

You roll your eyes, absently waving him off as you turn to walk towards the crate-like nightstand. “I have the files on a drive.”

No more games, or so you thought — Cassian follows close behind. “Drives are easily corruptible or lost or stolen. You could just tell me.”

Your hand hovers on the drawer when you turn your chin to look at him. “Yeah, sure, let me just… tell you about a mission I’ve spent years finessing so you can get the details wrong when you relay with Luthen.”

“Do you think so little of my memory skills?” he says and it’s a joke, but it teeters on the edge of an argument.

Just like old times.

You don’t need this type of deja vu before the new year.

“Whisper down the lane only goes so far,” you answer, turning back to the drawer in front of you. Your hand lifts the edge of the bottom plate, removing a small box from the center of the hidden compartment.

You only pause when you feel his presence right behind you as soft puffs of air tickle the back of your exposed neck.

He says nothing, not at first, in this proximity. Then a syllable sounds:

“Why?”

The question is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it whisper. His voice flutters along your skin, causing a shiver down your spine. Deep down you know he’s not asking about the drive or your distaste for his preferred method of relay. Why — the one word you hoped to never face.

If you concentrate hard enough, you can smell the scent of his cologne.

It smells nothing like Cassian.

You stay focused on a miniscule dot on the wall, too afraid to turn around.

“We can’t do this here,” you murmur, barely audible in return.

“I paid for the hour,” he replies. “If I were to leave ten minutes into your company, then there would be questions.”

(He’s right. As much as you hate it, your former friend is right.)

You raise your chin to the ceiling, closing your eyes. Contemplating. Seeking anything, everything, to say to avoid what’s to come.

You open your mouth to speak, but Cassian gets there first.

“I looked for you.” A vulnerable statement from an impenetrable man. His chin leans forward, the warmth of him spreading to your aura. “In dozens of quadrants—”

“Cassian.”

“—and about a hundred planets—”

“Stop.”

“—but you left nothing.” The final word emphasizes with raw emotion, causing your throat to swell. His gloved hand rests on your tricep, but you turn to finally face him. The closeness of him is a surprise — piercing brown eyes meet yours with mere centimeters between noses. “No note, no goodbye, no telling where you might have headed. Nothing.”

Frowning, you don’t realize that you’re shaking your head. The lines on his face are too distracting. He is distracting.

“You were never supposed to see me again.”

“And I never understood why.” He steps forward. You step back. When you think he won’t advance, he continues to step once, twice, until the third lands your back to the corner of the room. “So I am asking — now — while I can still have you: why?”

While I can still have you. You know the implication isn’t there, not truly, but your heart aches for it. The tension makes you feel so small, as if you’re eighteen and flying all over again.

You’re supposed to be over this; over him.

“I had to start new,” you answer after a considerable pause, forcing yourself to look him in the eye in what little space is held between you. “I was always going to leave Ferrix.”

“I knew that,” he argues softly. “I was never going to deter you from—”

“No. No, you were never going to,” you agree, nodding. “But you were always off and on the planet, doing what you had to for everyone else. If I didn’t cut Ferrix out of my life, then I wonder if I would have had the same fate as my parents or my friends: getting stuck there. And not just getting stuck, but waiting.”

“Waiting?” Cassian asks with confusion, brows knit.

You relax against the wall with a humorless laugh. “How did you not see it? The way I always waited for you.” Anxious, you turn your cheek to check the main door as you mull over your next few words. “I would have waited my whole life for you.”

The air in the room shifts.

Although he remains in your peripheral vision, the man stays staring at you without a discernible expression. The gravity of what you’re admitting drags lower, lower, until he says something that forces you to look at him head-on:

“I thought you were indifferent to me.”

Your eyes widen. “Indifferent?”

Cassian nods, short and quick. “You had all these big plans. I listened for hours. Not one of them involved me.”

“Because I didn’t think you’d want to be a part of those plans.”

“Maybe I didn’t think I couldn’t make a difference, not in a… rebellion, though the irony is not lost on me now,” he admits with a huff of a laugh, “but I wanted to be a part of you. I didn’t care what it was, so long as I still had you.”

You stare at him as he stares back at you, totally dumbfounded with this brand new information. Cassian swallows thickly, shifting his weight yet again from one leg to another. The loud party continues outside of your room, drowning these confessions in the excitement for a nearing midnight.

You had all these big plans.

Memories warp at a second’s notice as your brain tries to understand what he’s laid at your altar.

Not one of them involved me.

He shouldn’t be saying this.

He shouldn’t be saying any of this.

Closing your eyes to find a pause in your racing thoughts, you try — try to find where perhaps this is fabricated, designed to see if you’re easily swayed by the past that you so desperately let die in this rebellion.

Slowly, your eyelids flutter open. Cassian is watching with something close to concern.

(Something, maybe, closer to fear.)

You gently shake your head. “This is a test.” 

“I know.” 

“Luthen did this—” 

“Fuck Luthen,” he breathes out, eyes dropping to stare at your lips, and your heartbeat quickens. 

His brows meet in the middle, concentrated yet lost — as if he’s back on Ferrix, scrawny and scrappy and calculating the gravity of the risk should he decide to steal or trespass —

Or do something he wasn’t supposed to. 

“Cassian.” 

Your voice is gentle with a warning. His eyes do not raise, but he does answer.

“What?”

“You have that look on your face.” 

“I have a look?”

“When you’re contemplating doing something stupid? Yes.”

He snorts, amused. “You remember what that looks like after fifteen years?”

“It's very hard to forget it.” 

He mulls the moment over, flickering his attention back up to your eyes and nodding.

“You’re right. I am thinking of doing something stupid.”

“How stupid?”

“Incredibly.”

A beat passes.

Finally he blinks up to your eyes, searching for an answer to a question he hasn’t asked yet. You wait, just as you’ve always waited, to hear his voice.

“It’s almost midnight,” he says, flexing the leather gloved hand at his side. “I should go.”

Everything sinks.

The crowd outside grows louder as people depart from their private rooms to celebrate in the middle of the casino. Everyone begins the unison countdown of the final minute until the new year rings out.

The device in your hand grows heavy — a reminder of why he’s here in the first place, what Luthen will be looking for, yet your arm cannot rise to give it over.

(A few more minutes and he’ll be gone.)

To find a reason to keep him here with you would be selfish.

Instead of protesting, you nod. 

“Yeah. You should go.”

He nods, too, and his throat bobs with a swallow.

Outside your door, their laughter and shouts reach a collective ten, nine, eight, seven…

Yet he doesn’t move. 

Neither do you.

Six, five, four, three…

“Cass?”

Two.

Cassian speaks with broken finality, rushed and wanting. “I can't go without—”

You beat him to it.

Canto Bight’s cliffside casino roars with excitement of the new year while you grab the lapel of his Imperial uniform, dragging him in as he simultaneously launches his lips to yours.

The force of him smacks your head into the wall, but the stars behind your eyes aren’t from impact. It’s from the way he presses his mouth to yours, desperate to pour years of frustration and wonder into a long-awaited kiss. You whimper into it, eager to dissolve any space between you.

Cassian Andor cages your head into the palms of his gloved hands, holding you with a tenderness and strength only he can have. He groans into your mouth when he tastes you, tongue dragging along your lower lip — the neediness of it is enough to make your knees give out.

Except he drops his hands to your shoulders and spins you, pressing your chest into the wall. Using your hands to balance yourself, Cassian wastes not a second more to place his hands over yours, pinning you in place.

“We should have — opened with a fight,” he murmurs breathlessly into your ear, kissing your earlobe before bringing it into his mouth. 

You bite back a moan, dropping your forehead to the wall. “If I'd known you wanted to kiss me after all this time, Cass, then I would have — gone straight past a fight and went for it.”

He chuckles behind you, letting go of your earlobe to travel kisses down the side of your neck.

“There is a lot I wanted to do back then, but I was too chickenshit to try it.”

The imagery of a lot burns into the back of your skull.

“And now?” you ask, but it’s wavered.

Cassian slows down, but his lips remain against the crook of your neck. You mourn the loss of speed, pushing your hips back to connect with his.

A hand shoots down to still your waist as his thumb runs soothing strokes into the skintight dress.

“Not here,” he decides, but it isn’t regretful. It’s determined. “When I see you again—”

“When?” you interrupt.

“When,” he enforces, squeezing your waist, “I see you again, I’ll do what I’ve been too chickenshit to do and it won’t be under a watchful eye.”

When I see you again.

You smile small, delirious in the haze of him.

“Is that a promise?”

“As good as I can make one,” he responds in earnest, turning to leave a small kiss on your cheek. “You’re not losing me so easily this time.”

And you believe him.

Misunderstandings, miscommunications — all of that hardship to end up here, of all places.

You have so much to learn.

(He has so much to hear.)

Even if this was Luthen’s doing, even if this was a test of faith, you cannot find a reason to care. Not when your lips still tingle with the kiss you’d only dreamt about your entire life.

Reaching for his arm, you gently bring his free hand to yours and place the small drive in the middle of his palm. Cassian’s chin drops to observe the tiny metal, jaw setting to its unreadable clench.

Because at the end of the night, you both still have jobs to do.

A new year.

(A new horizon.)

“Until next time,” you say, removing your hand from his.

Cassian curls his fingers over the drive, shoving the small device in his coat pocket. He flexes and raises his hand to bring it up to your cheek, cradling your face once more as he leans in for one final kiss. This time it’s softer. Timid.

The closest Cassian Andor can ever get to a promise.

He pulls away, nose to nose, and mirrors in reply.

“Until next time.”

#andor #cassian andor #cassian andor x reader #cassian andor x you #cassian andor x female reader #cassian andor x f!reader #andor tv #andor tv series #star wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars #andor fanfiction #cassian andor fanfiction #luthen rael #female reader #reader insert #new years eve #about you #amywritesthings

[zablife]

Hello, Lee! ❤️

Ok, John. No request but imagine/headcanon/something.

John climbing through the window to meet his girlfriend or s/o in the middle of the night? And the next day he returns to Small Heath with leaves on his clothes or perhaps a thorn in his hands, but it was certainly worth it 😂. Probably Arthur finds that very funny, and Tommy "not again" but if his brother is happy...

Flor, I took inspo from your lovely ask and included it here, but perhaps not quite the way you meant. I hope you still like it! In this one Y/n is healed from her wound and is ready for trouble which is good bc she finds it with John right before Tommy's wedding! This is prob the closest thing I will ever write to crack fic so enjoy this bit of utter nonsense!

Read previous parts here.

Plus One (Partners in Crime AU)

John Shelby x Y/n Solomons

“Who’s your man, Ada?” Polly asked, eager to know everyone attending Tommy’s upcoming wedding. “He’s not from one of your political meetings is he?”

“Tommy would hate that, wouldn’t he?” she asked with a smirk. “But no, he’s not. I’m bringing a man from the library.”

“John that only leaves you, love,” Polly noted. “Grace doesn’t want uneven numbers so you’ll have to find someone.”

“Why don’t you ask Y/n?” Ada asked, trying to be helpful.

John pulled a face at her remark before exclaiming, “Are you daft? I can’t ask her!”

“Why not? You’re always together,” Polly pointed out.

“We work together, Pol. Thought this was supposed to be a night off. Besides, she’s a pain in my arse,” John replied, twisting the toothpick in his mouth with great agitation.

“I think you fancy her! Are you afraid she’ll say no and break your heart?” Ada teased, shoving her elbow into his ribs playfully.

“Fuck off!” John said, stomping away. The family had noticed he was spending more time with you recently even when you weren’t on the job and he was tired of the insinuations that there was anything more than friendship between you.

As he took a stroll outside the Garrison, he made a mental list of everyone he could possibly ask, but the only girls he could think of were whores. A few of the girls had serviced Tommy after the war so that definitely wouldn’t do. After careful deliberation, he hated to admit that you were looking like the best option after all. He just didn't know how to ask you, knowing you'd hold this over him for months.

————————————

Despite his predicament, there was work to be done. Tonight your brothers wanted you to report back on the Russian royals living in Hampton Court Palace and their jewels, an interesting task considering the orgy of epic proportions going on in the parlor.

John stole a glance at you from his position at the door, gun in hand in case a partygoer or member of staff should wander in unannounced. “Three minutes,” he reminded you of the time you had left before the guards would check the rooms again.

“Four! Get a watch that fucking works!” you hissed in return.

John tapped at the glass above the ticking hands, then held the time piece to his ear as you continued to pry at the case holding the jewelry Alfie instructed you to find. There would be no robbery tonight, only reconnaissance so you knew you had time for a bit of fun. 

After taking a quick inventory of what was kept in the duchess’ bedroom, you took up one of the rings, admiring the biggest diamond you’d ever seen against your fingers in the dim light. “Look at this beauty,” you cooed at the gem.

“Stop playing dress up, Y/n! Do you want to get shot?” John warned you harshly as he moved away from his post.

“By the cossacks or you?” you asked cooly. Standing to your full height, you paced toward him so he could see the irritation in your eyes as you pushed his arm away from you carefully. “Watch where you’re pointing that thing! You know I don’t like it when you bring that one.”

“And what’s wrong with me Webley?” he asked, looking down at the gun.

“Jumps on the hammer, don’t it? Nearly shot your bollocks off last week,” you said at full volume.

“Stop talking so loud about my balls, alright?” Glancing down the hall, his eyes grew wide as he whispered, “Someone’s comin’” and began dragging you away from the door.  

You tried to shake him off reasoning. “I been practicing my Russian accent. We’ll be fine. Let me do the talking,” you said, attempting to jerk your arm from his grasp.

John whipped you around to face him arguing, “What are you going to say? You brought me up here for a shag?” Looking at you doubtfully, he added, “No one here is going to believe you’re Russian.”

“Yeah? Well, no one’s going to believe I’d fuck a bellend like you either! Not for all the money in—” but John cut you off, shoving you out an open window. He came barreling out after you with a grunt, rolling toward you into the flower bushes.

Just as he did, two men went rushing past, unaware of your presence on the well-manicured lawn. You didn’t understand what they were saying, but the sounds echoing inside of their rough curses and heavy boots were enough to make you grateful you hadn’t attempted your plan.

————————————

As you drove home John stole a glance at you, a smug smile tugging at his lips. “That’s two for me,” he commented.

“Two what?” you said, picking leaves from your hair.

“I’ve saved your life twice, alley cat. Three if you count the lie I’m going to have to tell to keep anyone from finding out you stole that ring tonight,” he chuckled, gesturing toward your left hand. 

You gasped as you realized that in the chaos of your escape, you absconded with the jewel you’d been admiring earlier. “Fucking hell!” you exclaimed, trying to wiggle it free. However, it wouldn’t budge and John watched you claw at your hand helplessly as he shook with laughter.

“That’ll teach you to impersonate a bloody duchess!” he roared.

In desperation to remove the ring, you began sucking on your finger to use your saliva as a lubricant, but John quickly pulled your hand away.

“Stop it! You don’t know where that thing’s been,” he said, disgustedly. “You wouldn’t believe the things Tommy’s told me about what they do with their gems.”

“Like what?” you asked in a distracted, far off voice, too busy watching your finger turn from red to purple as you squeezed at the metal band painfully.

John snickered as he replied, “Tatiana said that’s been inside her aunt’s dusty old cunt!”

“Get it off me!” you cried, thrusting your hand in his face and slapping at his shoulders as though the ring was burning your skin.

The car swerved as John batted you away, scolding you in his deep fatherly voice he reserved for his errant children. “Behave yourself, Y/n. I’m fucking driving!” 

You slumped back in your seat with a frown, feeling the gem snag your dress as you crossed your arms over your chest. Thinking of Alfie’s explicit instructions not to take anything from the house, you lit a cigarette and began to ponder a way to hide your accidental theft. 

It wasn’t long before John’s taunts drew you from your sulking. “So what’s Russian pussy taste like, Y/n?”

Exhaling smoke in his direction you retorted, “Probably the same as the cock you had to suck to get in the front door, you fuck wit. Now help me figure out what I’m going to do about this!” you cried.

“I’ll sort this for you,” John said confidently, eyes trained on the road once more. He knew Tommy would do anything to keep Grace happy, even concealing this massive fuck up from Alfie.

“Yeah, how?” you challenged him, exhausted and definitely not in the mood for his scheming.

“Let’s go see Tommy,” he announced.

“Now?” you shrieked. John just nodded. “Is he even awake?” 

“You’re asking the wrong questions, sweetheart,” John said with a smirk. 

You rolled your eyes at him, letting your head drop back against the bench seat in frustration.

“So do you like weddings?” he asked nervously clutching at the steering wheel, though he had no reason to be. You’d have to say yes after a favor like this.

—————————————-

The light of the pre dawn hours had not yet breached the Shelby household when an ominous scratching noise woke Tommy and Polly. Giving up any hope he had of resting the day before his wedding, Tommy rose cautiously with his pistol in hand. Creeping toward the steps in the darkness, he held his breath as he heard the thud of a body tripping over the low windowsill. 

“On your fucking feet before I put a bullet in your head,” he warned in a low growl. He readied his weapon, fearing the worst before seeing a lighter flicker to life before him and John’s face appear in an orange halo of light.

“For fucks sake, it’s me Tommy!” he called out, brushing off his jacket which was still coated in dirt and grass, a few leaves sticking out from his back pockets.

Tommy came forward to light a lamp and took in the sight of his younger brother helping you through the window, a large diamond ring shining brightly on your left hand. He blinked several times at the sight, rubbing his eyes to be sure he wasn’t dreaming. 

“We need your help, brother,” John said cryptically.

Tommy stood still for a moment, running a hand down his face before exhaling a weary reply. “What have you two done now?”

--------------------------

Read next part Birthday Gift

#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #John shelby #John Shelby x Solomons sister #John Shelby x you #john shelby x y/n #John Shelby x reader

[stxneflxwers]

all's fair in love & war.

⋯⁂ Summary: You are the God of War—Zhongli is the Warrior God. You are known for your bloodlust and savagery, but some things go unexpected and unplanned when you cross him.

⋯⁂ a/n: !! tags will be subject to change and updates as i post more chapters !! i SWEAR to FUCK i will make this multi-chaptered and try to post more- enjoy tho?? ehe

⋯⁂ w.c: ~380

⋯⁂ characters: zhongli/morax. gn reader.

⋯⁂ cw: archon war and its side dishes (violence, blood, etc.); identity crises (for reader).

Prelude

You awaken on a dusty, bloody battlefield - body torn to shreds from head to toe.

Being at war with other gods and winning countless times in this era is nothing new - to you, at least. But…there is, in fact, something peculiar about all of it.

At the end of every bloodied day, you remember not a single detail. Everything you see is a squirming haze - like the refracting light on the horizon in the middle of a hot summer day. And, more often than not, you black out during the heat of the battle. To your still-living foes, you're nothing short of a savage beast with a human face. A face that gives away nothing to your inner turmoil.

No one truly knows what fuels your blinding bloodlust, not even yourself. Your life has been like a mirage, after all. Your theories are manifold. Perhaps a curse haunts you after encountering a tough enemy - you could never conclude the truth behind all of it. Despite all of the blood and murder, your life is rather insipid from your point of view. It's a symptom of a rather forgetful memory, you figured this out a long time ago…

—

That night, you find your favorite clearwater mountain stream. This area - dense with green thickets and full trees - brings you an uncanny form of tranquility and clarity. Meaning: you think of nothing - absolutely nothing. It allows you to become one with the smooth-flowing brook. The chilly water washes away the blood…and your mind. While the peace is short-lived, it helps in the long run.

Whether you're meditating or somehow fell asleep despite not needing it, you're apathetic about which it is.

All that matters is that you have found quietude.

—

The morning rises as always, alongside the chirping birds and gentle breezes. The sun hardly shines through the numerous trees. The forest of evergreens always shades you from the day star's blinding light.

It's another day - another day to avoid other gods at all costs. You will not surrender your life, but theirs will become forfeit should they cross you. Outside of battle, you've grown tired of war and battle and blood - inside and out. Your mind weary, your body aching.

But, you must push forward. As you have done for innumerable centuries.

#🌠— my works #zhongli x reader #genshin x reader #💕— zhongli #genshin impact x reader #🔶— all's fair in love & war