#Still so suspicious of the CW | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

notmyneighbor · 2 months

Text

Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 6

Word Count ~ 3.9k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ sexual content

Also available on AO3

taglist @luthien-elvenia-asher @fishfetus @gaudesstuff @nekee-lilac02

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

Early morning. Almost time for Francis’ delivery route to begin.

“Good morning.” You look at the doppelgänger. His face is pressed into the living room pillow he’d borrowed from the couch, offering you the solitary one on the bed. A sleepy smile of greeting.

“Good morning, love.” His hand cups your cheek and you trap his fingers, turning your face to kiss the inside of his wrist. “I’m glad you stayed last night.”

“Me too.” Its earlier than you’d normally rise, but you kind of like it. That sense that the rest of the world is slumbering and the two of you have this time reserved just for you.

“Tell me to go get ready. I don’t want to leave this bed.”

“Go get ready. I’ll press your clothes for you while you take a shower. Get coffee going.”

“M’kay.” He sighs, sitting upright. Stretching his arms, his legs hanging over the side of the bed. A dog barks outside and someone hisses for it to be quiet. The replicant freezes, his arms dropping down sharply.

“Francis? What is it?”

“It’s not a dog.” He stands and goes to the window, edging the curtain back. “I don’t recognize them. Not from my squadron.”

“A doppel?”

“Yes.”

You sit up, the languid, cozy feeling evaporating instantly. Bringing you right back to reality. “Does the owner know?”

“No. They’re human.”

“Are they trying to come in?”

“No. But they sense something. That’s why they barked. They’re already halfway down the street. You’re safe.” He lets the curtain drop back into place.

“Didn’t you say no doppels would try to enter the building anymore?”

“Yes.”

You worry your lower lip. “That’s going to look suspicious to the DDD.”

“The DDD.” He says the name of the organization contemptuously. “I wish you’d leave.”

“It’s not just a job. It’s my career. I can’t leave.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want to help people. I promised I would.”

“You could do something else and still help people,” he mumbles. “Fine. If it’s going to draw more unwanted attention here, I can make certain some doppels do come in when you’re working.”

So much for the relieved idea that you and the residents would finally be safe and secure. “You can do that?”

“Of course.”

“And not let them harm anyone?”

“That is more than I can promise.”

So you’d still be putting the residents at risk. Encouraging it, even. You’d have to make absolutely certain never to let one inside.

“You’d be condemning your own kind. I’d have to call the cleaners if they threatened violence.”

“I’m aware. I have to keep you safe. If that means risking some other doppels, so be it.”

You leave the bed, walking over to the closet. Francis didn’t have many clothes aside from his work attire. He’d had few personal possessions in general from what you’ve seen so far in the apartment. Living so humbly.

The imposter rests a hand on your spine on the way past you to the bathroom, pausing to kiss your cheek. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Yes.” You select a shirt and pair of pants, folding the items still on the hangers over your arm. “I’ll be fine. Go get ready.”

The sound of the shower starting fills the background as you collect the folded ironing board from inside the closet and plug in the iron. You pad barefoot into the kitchen to get the coffee pot on, wearing one of Francis’ undershirts and your panties. You’re a little sore from the previous evening’s events. Internally. The times he had pounded into you deeply. The new bite on your shoulder. The swelling and redness seem to have dissipated. The mirror above the dresser doesn’t reveal anything too drastic looking. The puncture marks are almost invisible.

You’ve got the milkman’s pants ready when he emerges naked from the other room, still slightly damp from the shower. The brazenness still makes you blush. You know what he looks like nude by now, of course, but it feels different when it isn’t during intimacy. You watch the imitator rummaging through the dresser drawers to retrieve underwear and socks and a bow tie, secretly admiring the way his muscles shift in the warm yellow glow of the lamp, the curtains still shielding the window. You can smell the coffee brewing in the other room, easily pervading the entirety of the tiny apartment, and you inhale that enticing aroma deeply.

“So you mentioned earlier you’re in a squadron. Like a military sort?”

“Not precisely as you know it, but I suppose there are a few vague similarities.”

“What rank are you?”

“The equivalent of a lieutenant colonel, if you had to label it.”

You inch the work shirt further over the side of the ironing board to continue the pressing, smoothing out the wrinkles. “Where is the rest of your squadron?”

He shrugs. “Around,” he replies vaguely. You think he knows exactly where they are and he’s not willing to give them up. Still somewhat loyal, in spite of what’s happened between you.

“They don’t wonder where you are? Or vice versa? You don’t have some kind of a leader you have to report to?”

He pauses midway through pulling on a sock. “It doesn’t quite work like that. We are…autonomous, I suppose you would say. Working independently, but striving for the same goal.”

You hand him the shirt and he slides it over his shoulders after finishing with the socks. “So why have ranks at all then, if you’re all equals?”

“Because we’re not. Not everyone can do what I did. It’s still rare. There’s no way to instruct how to do it. It just…happens. Or doesn’t.” He finishes buttoning the front of his shirt. You help him with the cuffs of his sleeves.

“Why did you choose Francis?”

“Opportunity. Nothing more. Sheer random encounter.” You step back as he pulls each pants leg on and stands, zipping and buttoning the fly. The belt is coiled on the dresser beside the black tie. “The best decision of my existence,” he says softly, his forehead bending to touch yours.

You’re so conflicted. He’d killed the man you’d loved. But in some ways was still the man you loved. Only not. An enemy you’re supposed to be guarding against, except he no longer seems to bear any malice towards your kind. Coexisting peacefully. But the cost of that. Oh, the cost.

“I can’t say I’m grateful for what you did. But I am glad it was you, and not someone else.”

His hand cradles your head and he draws you against him. You can smell soap and shampoo. Aftershave. Your arms tighten around him.

“What did happen? During that random encounter?” You ask against his chest.

“Why do you want to know the details? It won’t change anything.”

You draw back to see his face. “Consider it a weakness of humans. There is a car accident on the interstate. The vehicles wrecked, the passengers gravely injured. We slow down or stop to look, even after emergency services have been called, even though there is nothing left to be done. We can’t look away. We have to face it. Confront our fears head on. Grieve our losses. Knowing the truth of what happened is the only way to do that.”

“If I tell you, you’re admitting he’s gone.”

You chew your lower lip, hesitating. “I suppose that would be true.”

“If that happens, you won’t have any reason to be with me anymore.” He strokes a thumb over one cheek. “Is that really what you want?”

“I…no.” Your heart is beating madly in your chest. It would be like losing Francis twice, somehow. You can’t fathom it. “I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s best I don’t know. I won’t mention it again.”

After a time the replicant finishes dressing. The black bow knotted neatly. Belt secured. Wallet tucked into his pocket, followed by his keys. You’ve hastily gotten dressed in yesterday’s clothing. You’ll return home and get properly washed and changed before returning for your shift afterwards.

The imposter pours you both a cup of the freshly brewed coffee. Strong. The way you both like it. A little cream and sugar to kill some of the bitterness stirred in.

You’re standing by the front door now. The doppelgänger holds the milkman’s cap in his hands. He doesn’t like wearing it. You can tell. You pull it from his fingers and set it on his head. Tugging the brim down a little. Smoothing some of his hair back underneath. He really did need a trim soon. You’d never seen it get this long.

“Be safe today,” he says.

“You too.”

“Do you think I could get away with coming over tonight? Is your organization going to stalk me?”

“I’m hoping they’ll calm down after a bit. They are still watching you. Me. Us. So maybe wait a couple of days, make it not so obvious.”

“I don’t think I can manage a couple of days.”

“You’ll still see me in the booth.”

“That’s not the same.”

“I know, Francis. If circumstances were different…I’m trying keep you safe.”

“I know.” He sighs. “Alright. A couple of days, then. Surely the weekend as well?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

He smiles. “Things looking up already. Alright, sweetheart.” He bends to kiss your mouth. “I’ll see you later.”

You exit the apartment and he locks the door. Still no one else stirring in the building yet. He ignores the elevator and begins descending the staircase. You follow him. He’s faster than you, his longer limbs making short work of the steps. Already nearly an entire flight down from you.

He pauses on the landing, looking back at you as you halt, fingers curled over the railing.

“Francis.” You rush down the stairs, throwing yourself at him when you reach the bottom, the momentum pushing him back against the wall. Planting kisses along the freshly shaved cheeks and jaw. “I miss you already.”

“Me too, love.” His arms envelop you and you bury your face against his shirt. Suddenly you find yourself wanting to cling to him desperately. So afraid for him. More than you were even for yourself.

It’s a relief when you see him return safely later that day; it’s all you can do not to open the booth and fling yourself back into his arms. But the camera mounted on the wall over your shoulder is a constant reminder. You’re being watched.

You’re not safe at all.

***

Saturday morning finds you standing in what was once an impressive garden beside your house. Now chock full of wildflowers and overgrown with weeds. Francis’ copy is beside you, kneeling down, his fingers raking the earth, pushing impatiently at the intruding vegetation. “The soil is still good. You could plant here again easily.”

“My grandfather would have been happy to see that. It just got to be too much for him to maintain. He had a hard time finding help for the farm. People lured into moving to the city. Better paying jobs. Fancier homes. A variety of exciting new stores to shop in. My parents both had that itch.”

“You’re somewhere in the middle.” He stands, dusting his hands off.

You nod. “I guess I am. I can appreciate the value of being in the city. The benefits. But I recognize the drawbacks, too. I love being here. It always feels right. I wish I could restore things to the way they were.”

“Maybe you could. Not to the extreme of running a business with employees, but to build it back up, little by little.”

“It would be a full time process.”

“You could do it. We could do it,” he adds softly.

“Is that really what you’d want?”

“I want you,” he says, his hands now seated on your waist, drawing you closer. He kisses you and you sigh contentedly.

“When I’m with you, it’s like the rest of the world goes away. There is no DDD or invasion. It’s just us.”

“It could really be like that.”

“No one ever leaves the DDD voluntarily. And you’d be labeled a deserter, wouldn’t you? We’d be chased. Hunted down. There’s only one punishment for someone who’s a coconspirator.” It didn’t happen often, but occasionally there were stories of humans accepting bribes. Working together with the doppels. It did not end well for the humans making those bargains; did not end well for the invaders, either.

“We’ll keep running so they can’t catch us. To the ends of the earth.” He tugs on your hand and you allow him to, following him. Navigating through the overgrowth, threading through it to find your path. Moving faster and faster, a full jog now. Still anchored to the doppelgänger’s hand.

He halts abruptly and you collide with him. Both breathing heavily. He descends and you tumble down with him. You’re in a patch of wildflowers, their perfumed scent heavy in the air.

You lie together like that with your head pillowed on his chest, one arm tucked around you. “Did you ever have anything like this before? Was there someone else?”

“Never.”

You burrow a little deeper, satisfied with the answer. Would you have been jealous if he’d said yes? Strange to think that way. But yes, you would be, you realize. The concept of sharing, the idea of affection for someone other than yourself bothers you.

“Do you think you could ever find yourself caring for me? Not for the face I wear. What’s behind it, I mean. My true self.” Your head lifts, your eyes searching his features. “I want you to love me as much as you love the man. More than that.”

“You said…you don’t even have words for human emotions. They don’t exist for your kind.”

“They don’t. They didn’t. A change now. Evolution. Something unanticipated. That’s what the ache is, isn’t it? How terrible this feeling is. How wonderful. Paradox.” He pulls your face towards his, kissing you. “I need you, sweetheart. More than you’ll ever know.”

You kiss him back. You can’t speak with words. It’s too overwhelming. Too confusing trying to separate the man and the invader. You’d been telling yourself all along it was your feelings for the former that had driven all your actions. That had been true enough in the beginning. But now. Now there were doubts creeping in. Wondering it wasn’t the other that you had feelings for. Could you really love a monster?

“Need to feel you, love, please.” The sound of his belt being undone. Dark slacks today now that he wasn’t working. Your fingers join him there, finding his cock already hard, leaking in anticipation. So hungry, so fast. Your body responding in kind, drooling for him.

You straddle his hips, the hem of your skirt bunched around your waist. Struggling to hold the crotch of your panties aside, to guide him inside of you. Gasping when you succeed. You lower yourself down onto him. The sun is warm on your back. You lift up slightly and sit back down. Impaling yourself again. Your hips roll back and forth as you lean down to kiss him. Rocking, sliding that prick in and out of your pussy. He slips completely free and you hurriedly snake a hand between your bodies, realigning him. The drag against your clit sending sparks through you. You keep the hand there, touching yourself, touching him. Feeling the heightened friction of the panties digging against your hand, against your lover’s dick. The nails of your other hand raking his chest through his shirt.

You kiss him, tasting the salt of the perspiration that has begun. It’s so hot. Outside. Inside of you. His fingers touch your cheek, seed your hair, hold your mouth against his as his hips lift to meet you. Driving him deeper inside. You look down at the man whose face you’d seen behind glass for all those months. Those dark, tired eyes on yours. Lick his mouth back open, enjoying the mash of the hand still between your bodies, grinding against the bundle of nerve endings. His lips at your jaw and throat and beside your ear. “I love you,” he whispers, and you shatter around him, your walls spasming, your body jerking through release.

It’s easy to say the phrase back to him when you’re in the height of bliss, just three simple little words that escape above his face, panted between noises of pleasure.

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

His hips snap up and you feel the jet of seed inside you. Your forehead drops to his, your arms and legs suddenly shaking. You dismount and drop down beside him, your face burrowing again.

“I meant it,” he says softly. “What I said.”

“I know. So did I.” It’s the truth, you realize. Somehow, the impossible had happened.

You’d fallen in love with a doppelgänger.

***

The weekend flies by.

You are back in the security booth once again the following Monday. Straightening out the desk once more. You really could not understand why your coworkers were so disorganized. You’ve nearly finished the task when you realize through your peripheral vision that someone has entered the apartment building.

Your head lifts to see Izaack Gauss.

Or what looked like him; your instincts kicking in once again. It’s most certainly a doppel.

The face has been perfectly replicated, the second floor resident’s exaggerated features all ones you recognize: the large cleft chin and wide nose, the thick dark eyebrows set above glacier blue eyes, that wide stretch of teeth just a little too large for comfort, becoming almost a rictus grin. One that doesn’t touch the imposter’s eyes.

“Good morning,” he greets you, sliding his ID card and entry request through the stainless steel slot at the bottom of the window.

You look over the identification first. Expiration date checks out, the image and name both correct. Your eyes flick up before you study the other document. On the day’s list. DDD logo present. Occupation of reporter correct. Address verified.

“May I come in? As you can see everything is in order.”

The ID card is still clutched in your hands. You tap it against the desk absently. You know it’s not really him. You just don’t have any evidence to support your suspicion yet.

“Let me just make a quick phone call to your residence.”

You lift the receiver off the hook, dialing the first number.

“I can smell him on you.”

Your hand freezes. “I’m sorry?”

The large nostrils flare and the suited figure inhales deeply. “All over you. Inside of you. He’s been there, hasn’t he? You’ve let him in.” Little burst capillaries spidering across his eyes now. A thin trail of spit glistening on his lower lip. “You could let me inside, too.”

You flip the plastic shielding covering the alarm down and slap the red button, the steel shutters instantly dropping down to cover the glass. Hanging up hurriedly and dialing a new number, the DDD operator answering you in the same calm manor they always adopt, assuring you the cleaners will be on their way shortly.

Time seems to slow to a crawl. You hear the sounds of the disposal team making their way inside. Yelling. Gunfire. Then silence. The alarm stops sounding. The steel shutter retracts. On the other side of the window, you can see a member of the DDD wearing a yellow hazmat suit. “The doppelgänger has been taken care of. You can return to work now.”

You nod, willing your shaking hands to be still.

***

“There was a doppel today.”

The piece of cake you’re chewing tastes like ash. It’s from your favorite bakery, a treat from your replicant beau. Washed down with an ice cold sample of the milk he delivers. You wish you could enjoy it. But your taste buds won’t cooperate. You’re still shaken from what had happened earlier.

“Yes. There were to be several. What’s wrong?”

“He knew about us, Francis.”

He sets his fork down slowly. “Tell me what happened.”

“He looked just like Mr. Gauss. The reporter that lives alone on the second floor. Paperwork checked out. But I could tell something was off right away. And he said he could smell you on me. In me. He knew what we’ve done together.”

You see the copycat milkman’s Adam’s apple move above his shirt collar as he swallows loudly. “And then you called the cleaners?”

“Yes.”

“Did he get a chance to say anything to them?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“And the surveillance cameras?”

“Video feed only, no audio.”

A heavy sigh. “Alright. I’m sorry that happened to you. That was not a member of my squadron, I assure you.”

“You said they wouldn’t come near the building, because of the marks. Other than the ones you sent as decoys to fool the DDD.”

“I didn’t think they would. Honestly, I didn’t. I would never deliberately put you in harm’s way. You know that.” His hand reaches for yours across the tiny kitchen table in the third floor apartment. “Had to just be an anomaly. Had to be,” he repeats, sounding as if he’s trying to reassure himself as well as you.

“What if it’s not?”

He pushes back from the table, kneeling beside you, reaching for one of your hands and pressing his lips to it, holding it against his cheek. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. I swear to you. I love you,” he says, and your heart flutters. The palm of his free hand rests somewhere along your ankle. Sliding up, bringing the hem of your skirt with it. He kisses your knee. The top of the joint. The inside. Stands and pulls you with him. Lifting you and sitting you on the counter, your skirt gathered in messy folds around your hips. His fingers dig into the sides of the underwear clinging to them, dragging them roughly down. He’s impatient, possessive. Scared, you think.

“I want to make a baby with you.”

“Francis…” Your sex throbs at the suggestion. Such a dangerous idea.

“I want them to know you’re mine. Fuck the DDD and fuck the other doppels.” His face moves against your throat, one hand on your hip as he thrusts into you, the other braced on the overhead cabinet behind you.

“I am yours.”

He huffs a moan. “You’re so perfect for me.”

You gasp when he reaches deeper inside of you, clutching the back of his shirt collar, your other hand at his waist, knees digging into his hips as he ruts against you. Your fingers travel to his hair, those cocoa locks that are growing curlier the more they lengthen. You have to cut them for him, or send him to a barber, or…

“Say it. Please, please say it. Do you want me to beg? I’ll do it. Please…”

You know what he wants. What he needs to hear. “I love you.” The wood behind you groans with the tension his hand places on it as he fucks you harder, faster. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” uttered each time he’s sheathed inside you.

Touching his cheek now, watching his mouth fall open, the kind of wonder in those dark eyes, as if he’s discovering you all over again for the first time, coming apart, waiting to be rebuilt. You both shatter and then there is silence save for the ticking of the clock mounted on the kitchen wall and the breaths you trade, a warm exchange of air in the scant space that divides you.

#thats not my neighbor #francis mosses #milkman #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #milkman x reader #milkman x you

1K notes · View notes

going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 3 months

Text

It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ Chapter 5 ] || [ Chapter 7 ]

Pairing: Price x gn!Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.4K~ cw: firing guns, i guess (but John's teaching you). Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?

Chapter 6: John.

You crossed the entrance to the small pub, head held high, in your most honest attempt at feigning confidence.

After you had accepted, jokingly, to meet with this ‘Captain John’, only as an opportunity to roast the three men behind the account some more, Kyle had reached out to you, through John’s account, saying he also accepted and wanted to meet you today, Friday night, at 8 P.M.

You almost backed out.

Keyword, almost.

Because when you went to your groupchat to ask for support from them, your girlfriends encouraged you.

You almost set a Siri reminder to get better friends.

Either way, you have to admit that it feels… better to meet up John. Your heart is still a bit sore, the wound of heartbreak still struggling to swell closed…

Meeting with Simon or Kyle or Johnny would’ve meant rehashing it. You couldn’t risk getting attached to them after a night of casual sex. But there’s no expectations here… John is older than you, than them. This is just drinks, according to Kyle. He had insisted, in fact, that it be just drinks.

It felt more comforting to know you weren’t expected to go home with him at the end… Even though he’s handsome enough that you wouldn’t exactly refuse had your heart not been in its current state.

So, here you are. You keep his Tinder profile open on your phone, like it has been since you left the house, trying to memorize his features so that when you spot him, you recognize him instantly.

In a way, this feels like a blind date… And it’s strangely exciting.

You spot him from the door the moment your eyes scan the room. He’s at a table in the far corner, his back against the wall, taking up a bar stool. You stop by the bar before making your way over, getting yourself a drink.

You’re not sure if he’s spotted you, if he knows who you are. So you take the time to get a proper look at him that isn’t through a grainy picture on your phone.

He’s about as wide as he is tall and his forearms are covered in hair (“built like a bear”, check.). He’s got a tumbler of ambar liquid in front of him, you can infer it’s whiskey (“likes Whiskey”, check.). His beard is a bit thicker than in the pictures you were sent, and he looks knackered, his eyes surrounded by heavy dark circles.

He sits with his back straight, however his head hangs low and he keeps looking around through his eyebrows like he’s suspicious of everyone. His legs are spread, heels hooked on the footrest of the stool, the jeans he wears clinging tight to his strong thighs. His hands hang limply between them. He’s wearing a maroon button-up atop a white crewneck t-shirt, the sleeves rolled up to show a black watch on his left wrist.

In short, he’s handsome. And does not look his age.

Stopping in front of the table, you offer him a smile. “John?” You ask, as if you don’t already know it’s you.

He seems to finally notice you, and his harsh face softens with a smile that scrunches his nose.

“Hi. How are you?” He asks politely as he pulls back the stool on his right side for you. You take the seat, squirming a bit as you look for a good position.

“Can’t complain. You alright?” You return and you catch how he looks at you, up and down, his head hanging low, as he glances at you.

“What are you drinking?” He asks.

“Oh, just… a Sprite.” You answer as you keep glancing at him.

He goes quiet and nods, looking away for a moment, giving you every indication that he’s not interested in being here.

“I get it, you know.” You say after a beat of long, strenuous silence.

John’s blue eyes immediately flitter over to you, eyebrows raised in confusion.

“Get what?” He asks with a mix of confusion and disdain in him.

“Being forced to go out… Meet someone.” You explain as you sip your Sprite through the black straw the bartender gave you.

“Oh, really?” He retorts as he leans his left elbow on the round table and swivels to look over at you.

“Oh, yeah.” You say with a nod. “Recovering from a break-up.” You tell him. “My friends put me up to the whole… dating app-get laid thing. So, I get it. It’s… awkward.” You add.

“Hm.” He says with a nod and presses his lips together a bit, as if conceding to you.

“We don’t have to make this a whole thing, if you don’t want to.” You tell him and smile a bit. “I can leave, if you’d like. Or you can.” You offer, noticing how his eyes soften a little.

“No… it’s alright…” He tells you. His eyes slip away from you and he looks down at his lap, blinking a little. He seems… a bit lost in thought. He goes quiet again.

“Okay, then.” You say simply. “I just figured you needed a distraction, you know… Your lads were complaining about you being stressed…” You add, your eyes stuck on him, to try and spot his reaction.

He curls his fists closed and then uncurls them, running his clammy palms over his jeans for a moment. Then, he inhales sharply before slapping his hands on his thighs and turning to you swiftly.

“You ever shot a gun before?” He asks you, causing your brows to raise in surprise.

“No?” You answer, watching as he downs the rest of his whiskey and jumps down from his stool.

“C’mon. I’m teaching you.” He demands as he contours the table and helps you down, guiding you back out of the pub.

“Bend your arms about 10 degrees at the elbows.” John tells you from behind you, his big rough hands adjusting your shape with tender but determined touches.

John’s driven you to a firing club’s range just outside of London. You’ve been at this for an hour now and it’s… surprisingly fun.

You’ve yet to land a proper shot, your arms always shaking a little out of aim… But you’ve landed them in the target, which is more than you thought you were going to succeed.

“How the fuck do you handle this every day? This damn rifle is heavy, my arms hurt and we’ve only been practicing for an hour!” You tell him after firing another shot that did not land.

“Lots of practice, love.” He replies, his tone amused. He stepped up behind you, once more fixing your stance, giving little taps to your hip with one of his large hands to force you to stiffen.

John’s been trying not to snicker every time you fire. At first it was because you were flinching, but now it’s because your aim is that bad. But you don’t mind the mockery. He’s got a smile on his face, his smile lines and nose all crinkled.

“Go on, again.” He demands as he helps adjust you, his breath brushing against your ear, the warmth of his torso against your back, and his eyes above the rifle, to try and see if you’re in target. He makes some last second adjustments and then you fire.

This time it was a bull’s eye. “THERE WE GO!” You cheer for yourself and shimmy your shoulders a little while holding the rifle steady. This time, John doesn’t contain himself, and fully laughs. Deep and rich, right next to your ear, making you shiver a bit, your skin covered in goosebumps.

“Good job.” He praises you and gived you another little tap on your hip, this time, sort of catching the side of your ass. Your eyes widen a bit in surprise and you bite your lip before looking up at him.

“You’ve had enough yet?” He asks you with a cocked brow as you lower the rifle into a safe handle, pointing down and to the side.

“Depends.” You find yourself saying as he takes the rifle from you to return at the rental counter.

“On what, love?” He asks you, eyes locked on yours as you turn to face him fully. He seems to be in a much better mood.

“Me having enough of shooting…” You trail off. “Will that end the night? Are you going to drop me off at home?” You ask him.

His eyebrows raise for a bit, but then they lower and his eyes narrow as a ghost of a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Oh no, I’m taking you home, but not dropping you off. I’m spending the night with you.” He assures you.

Then, he walks off out to the armory counter, as if he hasn’t just said that.

taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @zombie-freak , @wittleespur , @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago

#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #text story #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #john price x reader

1K notes · View notes

obsessivevoidkitten · 3 months

Text

Yandere Therapist Drabble

Male Yandere Therapist x Gender Neutral Patient CW: Dubcon, abuse of authority, underwear sniffing, stalking, gaslighting, manipulation, isolation, general yandere behavior (Just a list of ideas I had for a yandere therapist, but nothing I wanted to write a full fic about)

-Yandere therapist that quickly falls head over heels in love with you.

-Knows it's wrong and totally unethical, but can't fight it anymore.

-You're so broken but still so trusting and desperate for love. It's too cute.

-Waves the fee because he doesn't want you to go with a cheaper therapist but says he "just wants to help you" and "doesn't care about money."

-Slowly isolates you, cutting you off from friends and family under the guise of professional advice.

"That's toxic behavior you need to get away from that person."

"You're talking to them too much, be a little more independent."

"Your boyfriend seems clingy and codependent, I really think breaking it off is what's best for both of you."

-Once you have fewer people around he begins stalking you.

-If you spot him in too many stores or other places that you are at and get suspicious he gaslights you.

-Breaks in when he knows you'll be away to get some trinkets to remember you when you're not in sessions.

-Keeps a pair of your underwear to sniff while he jerks off between appointments.

-Slowly conditions you to believe he is the only person you can trust and confide in.

-Starts using hypnosis so he knows best how to manipulate you.

-Uses hypnosis to begin to plant attraction and submission to him into your subconscious.

-Also gets you acclimated to his touch while you're hypnotized by groping, fondling, and kissing you.

-Very hard for him not to go all the way, he is extremely tempted to do so, but wants you to be fully aware when he takes you, wants it to be romantic.

-You find yourself slowly falling for him, thinking about him more and more until it is almost overwhelming. But you remind yourself how inappropriate it is.

-He takes things slow and is very patient. Never doing anything to risk the progress he has made.

-When it gets to the point that you can't contain your feelings anymore that's when he knows he can progress further.

-Once he gets you to that point he is never letting go and the best part for him is that you think being romantically involved was all your idea.

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere male x reader #yandere x gender neutral #gender neutral reader #yandere therapist

1K notes · View notes

euphemiaamillais · 4 months

Text

money, power, glory - coriolanus snow

on the night of your victory party, president snow decides that he wants a little more than a kiss from his victor—after all, don’t you ought to show your president just how patriotic you are?

cw: 18+//dub-con//age gap (reader is 18+)//abuse of power//mentions of exploitation//objectification//blowjobs//piv sex//coercion//loss of virginity//creampie//district 7 victor!reader and president!coryo

the party is all for you; the gaud and festivity, the fountains of alcohol, the ridiculously clad guests. you won, they tell you—but it’s a reminder of the children you killed as you fought tooth and claw in that arena. it feels wrong, to be put on display like this when twenty-three children lay dead in their districts. the celebration of murder—it’s as if you’re the prize animal at the circus.

you had been primped and preened by your stylist drusilla all afternoon, gritting your teeth as every part of your body was plucked and waxed, as she pulled your hair back into some elaborate hairstyle, the pins now digging into your scalp. that pain—the dull ache of it—ironically served as a reminder of the pain you had to endure in the games. you only survived because you slit the throat of that boy from two, watching the blood trickle out of his neck as you practically limped away.

you’d since been repaired, though many a time you felt that familiar ache in your ankle—the one that had been broken—and supposed it was punishment for the cruelty of your actions. but put twenty-four helpless children in an arena and ask them to fight to the death, and you learn that the ‘inherent goodness’ in human beings is nothing but a thin veil maintained by law and order.

‘enjoying the show?’ you hear the familiar, cut-glass voice of drusilla, who’s currently festooned in a garish purple gown covered in feathers—with a hairpiece to match.

you shrug, taking a sip of the expensive champagne, feeling the bubbles fizz down your throat as you swallow. it’s all so much, the noise, the people—as if you’re being smothered.

‘you’re being awfully quiet,’ she sighs, brushing your shoulder with her perfectly manicured hand. ‘isn’t there anything to tempt you?’

drusilla is more sympathetic than most in the capitol; she’d listened as you’d told her about your family back in seven, the trees that spanned for miles, how you often lay under their green blanket and daydreamed of a world beyond this one. but still, she would never understand what being a victor was like, there were scarce few in panem who did. many turned to morphling or alcohol upon their return home, and you’d heard horror stories whispered about victor’s being sold for certain services.

‘i’m just tired, that’s all,’ you murmur, reaching for another glass of champagne as a waiter walks past.

drusilla cocks a thin brow, a suspicious look glittering in her eyes. the throng of people is dizzying as you down your second champagne, but you feel your nerves ease, and pray that this night will become more bearable.

‘come, they all want to see you—their victor,’ she grins, pearly white teeth glistening under the golden light of the strings of lanterns.

you take her hand, and she pulls you through the crowd. it’s a vertigo-inducing sea of rainbow; hands clasping together in applause, rich cheers from their panted mouths. you feel your own lips twitch into a smile, but your eyes are somewhere else; far away from this. you can smell the soil back home, see the larks that fly through the trees that reach to the heavens. there’s a dreadful pang of homesickness thrumming in your heart.

and yet you cannot return home, not when they’re all watching you, waiting for the pretty victor to make a witty remark, or to make bids on who will get to have her first. you’re acutely aware that your pink dress is practically see-though, it’s gauzy fabric not leaving much to the eye. your feet ache from the heels they’ve put you in, and you know no matter how much they primp and preen at you, you’ll always be district. an outsider among those in wealthy excess.

among the throngs of people, you spot him—president snow. your breath catches between your lips. you’ve seen him before, obviously. his touch has always strayed a little too much when he’s been around you, but of course, you’d never say anything. you wonder how such a young man—he’s only 24 after all—rose to such power. nobody can deny how attractive he is, piercing blue eyes and platinum blonde curls. if he hadn’t put you in these games, maybe you’d even be persuaded to like him.

drusilla pushes you to him, and you stumble a little, the champagne causing a heady, floaty feeling in your body as you make an attempt to make yourself presentable. you hadn’t expect to be thrust towards him so soon, but the way he’s staring at you is as if he’s been expecting this.

‘don’t be so nervous, you look gorgeous,’ drusilla reminds you as you come to a halt before president snow.

he’s wearing one of his finely tailored suits; this one the crimson shade of red you’ve so often seen him wearing. you feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and feel the absence of drusilla’s hand from your back. when you crane your neck—only slightly, so as not to seem rude—she’s disappeared into the throng of brightly clad partygoers.

‘my favourite victor,’ president snow reaches for your hand and presses a kiss to it. his lips are strangely cold. not that you knew what to expect, but somehow it makes sense. his demeanour is like ice.

‘president snow,’ you lean back into curtsy, your bad ankle aching as you do so.

he smiles, icy eyes flickering over your form. he can practically make out your undergarments in that dress; they’re a shade of peach and of such a sheer satin that you can nearly see right through, but it leaves enough for the onlooker to be left wondering what lies underneath. your eyes follow him, and you clutch at your arms shyly, as if half of the capitol hasn’t seen you dressed so scantly.

‘shy tonight, are we?’ he inquires, edging close enough to you that you can make out the slight five o’clock shadow on his jaw.

‘i’m tired, that’s all,’ you mutter, flinching as one of his hands grips at your waist.

‘i would’ve thought you’d enjoy this spectacle, seeing as you made quite the circus out of the arena,’ he leaned in close to your ear, in what you assumed was an intimidation tactic. in spite of being hardened by the arena, deep down, president snow terrified you. ‘the way you killed that boy from two—brutal. but you made yourself the star of the capitol…’

his touch strays further, grasping at the thin fabric that surrounds your ass. one blonde brow arches in surprise, and his lips flicker into what you assume to be a smirk. if he was anyone else, you would’ve pushed him away, but he’s your president. one word and you’d be good as dead; and after enduring the games, you’d rather not come face-to-face with that sort of confrontation again.

‘how pretty,’ he muses, fingers tracing lightly against your form. ‘did you wear this just for me?’

your lips purse, but your body propels you to give a swift nod of your head. ‘do you like it?’

president snow smiles, eyes dancing at your quick wittedness. the girls he has are usually stupid whores who he pays to suck his cock—you, on the other hand, are a precious prize. intelligent, obviously, and startlingly beautiful. and you’re the first female victor since mags flannagan, not that he has any say over her because he was still crawling his way up under dr. gaul then.

‘oh yes, i think you know why,’ he drops the fabric, and takes a few steps away, a blasé look crossing his features.

he watches as your cheeks turn a pretty pink, and you cast your gaze to the ground. how charming; you feigning bashfulness. he’d seen you at your most primal, knife dragging along the jugular of that boy. you couldn’t charm your way out of this one.

the silence pierces the air, and you are prompted to speak—anything to change the topic. the stagnancy between you two has wrapped it’s suffocating arms around you—and you don’t want to choke.

‘i must thank you, president snow, for the festivities,’ you gesture to the ridiculous amount of decorations; the blaring music and the light show.

‘i’m glad you like it,’ he remarks, but his eyes are still trained on you. he wants something from you, and you’re not sure what. ‘i had to celebrate my favourite victor, after all.’

you stifle a scoff; his flattery is sickening. he’s never this charming among company. he’s cold, calculating—you can see it in his eyes, still, but he so obviously needs you wrapped around his little finger. and of course, you can’t resist. who would disobey their president, after all?

‘you flatter me, sir,’ he swallows thickly at the appellation. god, he’d love to hear you call him that as he bends you over one of his expensive armchairs. he wonders if you’d beg him to stop, or if you’d take it. he can’t figure out which type you are, just yet.

‘there’s nothing wrong with flattery, don’t you think?’ he is close to you again, breath fanning your cheek. ‘especially when it comes from your president.’

you feel your body freeze up. there’s something so intimidating about him, and although you want to outsmart him, the way he makes your knees buckle turns you into another one of those bumbling capitol fools.

‘now, if you’ll excuse me, sweetheart. i’ve got a few matters to attend to,’ he backs away, leaving in a flourish of red.

you have to blink a few times to register his absence, and reach for another glass of champagne as a waiter holds out a decadent tray to you. why not? you think, taking time to sip elegantly at this one. there’s no harm in imbibing if you have to make it through this hellish night.

—

drusilla taps you on the back as you’re shoving an expensive vol-au-vent past your painted lips. when you turn around, she’s shocked to see your mouth full of the pastry, cheeks rounded out as you attempt to swallow it. the hunger pangs had grown considerably, and when you finally gulped it down, the effects of the champagne made you giggle.

‘oh honey,’ she shakes her head, reaching for a pristine napkin to wipe at the flakes of pastry by your lips.

the night had drawn on, and you’d been left with an anxious feeling after your encounter with president snow. everytime somebody so much as brushes against you, your head had whipped around as you searched for a head of perfectly-set blonde curls and a crimson coat. to your luck, it had only ever been waiters, carting more champagne. you reckoned you were drunk enough now that you didn’t care how you acted.

let them think you were a fool, you’d be heading home tomorrow anyways.

‘how much have you had to drink?’ she inquires, and watches as you furrow your brows in thought.

‘six, no—seven glasses,’ you admit, and drusilla scolds you with a clucking tongue, her pink curls bobbing as she shakes her head.

‘president snow won’t be very happy with that,’ she remarks.

your mouth turns into a curious pout, watching as her face falters into some sort of cryptic, far-away look. you run the soft fabric of your dress through your fingers as you let the words settle. no, it doesn’t make sense.

‘why would he care?’ you asked, a little piqued by the thought that he’d even be remotely interested in whether you were sober or not.

drusilla’s purple lips are drawn into a thin line, and she bends in close as if she’s ready to tell you a secret. your throat’s gone dry, the anxiety prying at you with it’s cold hands.

‘look, sweetie,’ her golden tone is laced with a little condescension. ‘president snow won’t like that you’re drunk. it won’t make the situation ideal for him.’

your brows quirk into a look of confusion. situation? drusilla sees your loss of words and takes it upon herself to inform you of the events. how naive you are, that you’ve got no idea just what he wants with you.

‘you’ve been asked to stay the night at the mansion,’ her eyes flicker to search for any eavesdroppers, and then she continues. ‘look, i’m sorry if i didn’t tell you earlier, but he’s asked to keep quiet about it. what with the others being jealous—’

‘others?’ your voice falters.

‘well, sweetie, you know how desirable victors are. president snow just wants to make sure nobody else gets their hands on you. that’s why he’s keeping you here, under close guard.’ drusilla bites her lip, revealing that she’s worried for you. she didn’t have much of a choice in your fate, but if she could forewarn you, she would.

you understood now why he’d been so touchy before—clearly he was jealous that somebody was trying to get their hands on his precious victor.

you lose all your words, mouth opening, nothing spilling out. it feels like it’s been filled up with dirt; you can hardly speak. drusilla goes to strike your arm, but is prevented from doing so as she’s whisked away by some blue-haired man harping on about her latest designs. once again, you feel the pangs of loneliness.

you had to reconcile yourself to the fact that the rest of your life—however long that may be—would be a lonely existence. you’d spent the better part of the month on the train, zigzagging back and forth between the districts, reading off prewritten speeches as you had to face the families of the fallen. all those children—their children—dead.

every night, you’d taken those pills prescribed by the doctors, the ones that stopped you from waking up with your hand around your throat as you screamed. you slept a dreamless sleep, but it became hard to not depend on them. what would you do without them tonight?

—

the party draws on long into the night, and you grow bored and overwhelmed. as per drusilla’s advice, and also not wanting to wake up with a throbbing headache tomorrow morning, you resorted to drinking the assorted non-alcoholic beverages.

your head is pounding by one am, but the party doesn’t seem to cease by any means. deciding you’ve had enough, and that nobody would really miss you—after all, nobody’s even talked to you for at least two hours—you stumble your way across the marble steps of the mansion. you hazily remember drusilla telling you what door you were meant to enter by, and you find it manned by a singular avox.

without a word, they let you inside, and you trail tipsily after them up a velvet staircase. your ankles roll as you climb the steps, head spinning, but it doesn’t take long to reach your room. your feet are aching, and when the avox leaves you to your own company, you practically tear the shoes off your feet.

you lay back against the white sheets, revelling in the feeling of the thousand-count cotton brushing against your skin. you’d never felt anything like it, and could feel your eyes shutting as you relax into the plush sheets.

you awaken what seems like hours later, but only twenty minutes have passed on the alarm clock by the bed. the sound of footsteps can be heard outside your door, and you’re surprised you can make it out as the party still booms outside the vast windows of the mansion.

you sit up, heart racing, and head throbbing slightly. you’re groggy from the champagne, and the bubbly tipsiness has given way to the absolute misery of sobering up.

the door opens, a small sliver of light giving way to the shadowy figure that progresses into the room. you squint, unable to make out a face, but pray it’s not one of the men you’ve heard were making bids for the victor.

you sigh a breath of relief when you see president snow, not a hair out of place as he stands beside your bed. your dress is up around your thighs, and you can see his blue eyes dancing across your frame.

‘president snow,’ you murmur into the darkness.

you wondered who had turned off the light in the first place—your memory is hazy at best but you don’t remember flicking the switch. an avox must have come past while you were sleeping.

‘i see my favourite victor has taken some respite,’ he muses, one cold hand reaching out to stroke your thigh.

you flinch back reflexively, not used to the icy feeling against your skin. nor are you used to the prying hands of men. the most you’d ever done was kiss a boy, and even then, that was years ago, you weren’t even sure it counted.

‘sorry,’ you spit out, lips trembling with apology. he only laughs, hand still tracing your smooth skin.

‘no need to apologise. i’d rather you doze here than fall asleep on a bench where any of those men could lay a hand on you,’ he makes a sound of disgust, shaking his head at the thought. ‘i couldn’t let them spoil my pretty victor.’

you feel your cheeks warm—did he really think you were pretty? but you remembered who he was; in fact he was the very reason there were even any games at all. he could put a stop to all this if he wanted, and yet he didn’t. you couldn’t let him fool you with his charm.

‘it’s very thoughtful of you, president snow,’ you offer, not wanting to raise suspicion in him.

in the moonlight, you can see a smile flicker across his lips. his hand moved further up to the apex of your thigh, and your breath hitches. what was he doing?

‘do you like that?’ he murmurs, leaning in against your ear, breath hot.

you can’t think of what to say. your thighs tingle a little with the touch, but you don’t want him there. it’s wrong. he’s the president though, and how can you tell him no when he could have you killed?

‘you’re a quiet one, aren’t you?’ he mutters, but wanting to rouse a sound out of you, he moves his hand to press flush against your panties, thumb stroking the area where your clit is.

you let out a breathy gasp; the pleasant warmth flooding your belly. his brows quirk up at your quick response—you’re so willing. he wonders how far he can push you; of course he wants to have you no matter what, after all, it’s his right as president—but he wants to know how much of a whore you are under those pretty clothes.

he knew what district girls were like. lucy gray—though that name made him shudder—bent easily under his guidance. he hoped you’d do the same; obey him. he had more power now, six years after his stint as a mentor and then peacekeeper. he kept that to himself; everybody else simply thought he’d been struck down with a bad bout of the flu, when really he’d been uncovering rebel plots by day and by night was burying his cock deep inside of whatever district slut would have him.

‘please, president snow,’ you beg, head spinning as he rubs at your sensitive nub.

‘please what?’ he inquires, an undercurrent of menace in his voice.

‘i mean—are you sure we should be doing this?’ you furrow your brows with anxiety. ‘aren’t there men who want to pay you good money for this?’

you squeeze your legs together in the hopes that he’ll stop, but this only angers him and he uses his muscular hands to pry your thighs apart. you can’t deny him this; he wants it, and he’ll have it.

‘oh, they’re not going to get you. no, you’re far too precious for the likes of them,’ he shook his head in disbelief. ‘when i realised you were going to be sold to some scumbag who’s been divorced three times, well, i couldn’t let that happen.’

your mouth stretches into a perplexed pout, and you let out another soft moan as he rubs diligently at your clit. his other fingers brush over your red lace panties, and he sucks in a breath as he feels how soaked you are. surely you cannot deny him when you’re practically begging for it?

‘but…’ your lips tremble and you are almost deterred from saying what you want to by the scornful look painted across his noble features.

‘surely you don’t want me,’ you scramble to find an excuse.

‘why wouldn’t i? it’s not like you’re a girl anymore, hm? you’re nineteen, and ever so pretty,’ his other hand thumbs your cheek. you didn’t feel it, but you’d been crying. his thumb presses against a droplet.

‘please,’ you plead. ‘you wouldn’t enjoy it—i’m a virgin.’

he laughs, shaking his head at your stupidity. he hasn’t suspected it, what with the way you were dressed; the gown revealing far too much of your body to him—he could see the top of your nipples sticking out of the neckline.

‘oh no,’ he clucked his tongue. ‘then i simply must have you. how could let you i waste your virginity on any of those men when i could have you?’

you shake your head, body trembling as you feel yourself give way to his fingers, which were slowly bringing you to your pleasure. you clutch at the plush sheets and feel yourself gush, your panties growing even more damp.

he can’t believe it, how quickly you came. he wonders if you’d ever even touched yourself before. sure, you’d killed a boy, but you really knew very little about the world, and even less of men. it enthralled him.

his cock strained in his suit pants, and he let out a low grunt. you responded with a shocked look, but sighed as he stood up, letting go of your thighs. the way he’d touched you—it was scandalous. surely he’d be in a lot of trouble if anyone found out?

but your heart fell when you remembered that he was president. it’s not as if you were anything more than a hired whore who had to do her duty by him.

‘you’re going to be good for me, aren’t you?’ he called out, combing a hand over his perfectly styled hair.

your mouth went dry, but you stood up, wanting to be defiant, clawing for anything to make you seem like you had some sense of autonomy. it was a lost cause, however. you forgot how he towered over you now that your heels were discarded. you couldn’t face up against him.

‘i said, you’re going to be good for me, aren’t you?’ his voice was wrought with ire this time, and you nodded.

‘yes sir,’ you respond with a clear tone. you’re surprised you even managed it.

he reaches out to stroke your face again, sighing as your warm cheeks meet the cold pads of his fingers. you tremble a little, knees buckling in fear. anything could happen.

‘now, are you going to be a good girl and show your president how patriotic you are?’ he asks.

‘yes, mr president,’ you reply blankly. the name sends the blood straight to his cock.

‘then get on your fucking knees,’ he commands.

your head is spinning, but you somehow find your way to the ground, knees aching as you press them into the wooden floorboards. you hear the sound of something unzipping, and when you glance up, you come face to face with his cock.

he’s hard, and huge—not that you’ve ever seen one before—and he lets out a heavy grunt as he sees how pliant you are. he wants nothing more than to fuck that pretty little face of yours and watch how you gag around his length. he hasn’t known he was so big until he’d gotten to district 12 and the stupid district sluts kept choking on his cock. when he’d dressed in academy rouge he’d only ever known his own hand. but now, he knew what power he could exert with all eight inches of himself.

‘good girl,’ he strokes your chin, and when you open your mouth, he slides his thumb over your bottom lip.

your saliva coats his thumb, and you gag a little as he slides it to the back of your mouth. a small grin flickers across his lips; if you’re choking on his thumb, just imagine how bleary-eyed you’ll be as you gag around his cock.

‘god, i don’t want to think about what i would be missing out on if you’d died in that arena,’ he tuts at the thought, and slides his thumb out of your mouth, smearing your own saliva at the corner of your lips.

your lipstick is smudged now, and he’s determined to ruin it even more; perhaps even have your mascara running down your cheeks as you take his cock in your mouth.

‘when i’d heard that the victor was to be the eighteen year old girl from district 7, well, i knew i’d be able to have you. especially once i got a look at you, in your victory dress. did they make it that short on purpose? to make my cock hard?’ he laughs, reminiscing how he’d taken a whore that night that looked just like you, pretending it was you that he was fucking from behind.

you shiver, terrified by him, his words. they’re disgusting. the way he viewed you as something to exploit—and it can’t even be considered taboo because you’re nineteen, after all. if the president wants you, he’ll get you.

‘answer me!’ he scowls, tugging at your intricate hairstyle, which hurts because the pins holding it together were already poking at your scalp.

‘no,’ you murmur, because it’s the truth. you wore what they told you to, you didn’t think it was supposed to be for him.

‘no?’ he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘well then, tonight at least—they must’ve known i wanted to have you. wasn’t going to let you get away from me this time.’

you swallow thickly, mouth agape in terror, knees trembling against the cool floor. you can feel the bruises forming on them; the dull ache of kneeling is humiliating.

finally, he presses his cock against your open mouth, a little pleased that it was hanging agape in shock, making it easier for him to slide it right in. you freeze, blinking back tears of mortification, but you can't say no, not when he's your president, not when there's that nagging ache in your core that makes you yearn for his fingers back against you.

you open wider, and he slides himself in, cock hitting the back of your throat instantly. you gag, the tears now dribbling foolishly down your cheeks, and president snow just laughs, the sound mottled with undertones of a soft groan. you wrap your lips around him, and move to bob your head up and down, but he grabs your hair and tugs it towards him.

you cry out, scalp stinging and mouth stuffed full to the brim with his cock. his grip tightens as he begins to thrust into your mouth, grunting as feels your saliva coat his length. he can't even fit himself all in, it's pathetic, but he'll help you learn in time how to deepthroat, so he can watch as your mascara runs while you beg him to push himself further down your throat. you'll become his personal fuckdoll.

'teeth,' he winces as he feels your top teeth make contact with the skin of his cock, and embarrassed, you make sure to push your top lip around them.

his lips stretch around a groan, forcing your nose to meet his pubic bone—the sound of your gags are delightful, and when his eyes flutter shut, you know he's enjoying it. he tosses his head back, cock throbbing as he forces it back and forth in your mouth. when his eyes open again, it's to the sight of your mascara running, thick black streaks painting your cheeks as you choke around him.

'so pretty,' he strokes your cheek, smearing the mascara even more. he wonders if you'll still be crying as he stretches you out, filling your cunt with his big cock. probably; he's forgotten how much whining virgins do.

feeling himself close, his thrusts grow more haggard, and you feel his balls slap against your chin as you attempt to breathe—through your nose, of course. his movements are suffocating, you're grasping at his hips, praying for it to be over—and then it is.

hot sticky spurts of cum slide right down your throat as he gives a loud moan, crying your name in praise. part of you—the part you revile—reddens at his praises, you want nothing more than to please your president. the other part of you tries not to gag as the pearly ropes of his cum slither achingly slow down your throat.

'good girl, swallowing it all—you'd do anything for your president, wouldn't you?' he coos, pulling his cock out of your mouth.

your lips ache, and you're sure the back of your throat is blooming purple with a bruise; but you nod, eyes all fucked out because your cunt is dripping wet, all for him.

'well, i really only want one more thing from my victor...' his voice trails off, lips pursing. you can see the desire in his eyes, icy gaze dripping with lecherous intent.

and yet, you cannot deny the fact that he had already made you cum once, that your body is begging for him. you hate it. you want to scream—if only you weren't so tired and your mouth didn't ache so sorely.

'how about you lay back in the bed, hm?' his voice is soft, laced now with the sweet tone he uses to charm the wives of senators and the little girls that give him roses.

you oblige blindly, and rise, knees black and blue, legs trembling, but somehow you find yourself laid back against the plush sheets once again.

‘can’t believe nobody else has had you,’ he murmurs, removing his shoes carefully, and then undoing his suit. it’s brand new, and he doesn’t want to spoil it.

when he’s undressed to his boxers, you can’t help but admire his form. he’s well-toned, biceps muscular, the slight formation of abs on his stomach, and you can see his cock has once again hardened. you press your thighs together in want, and he watches as you gaze at him, half-terrified, eyes blown wide, and yet half-wanton, body beckoning him to take you and make you his.

‘god, you’re so pretty,’ he muses, crawling across the bed and placing his arms either side of you.

you shiver, suddenly feeling brushed with cold, perhaps it’s from him. how fitting, you think, that his name and touch are both reminiscent of the cold. you can feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh, a reminder of your helplessness in this situation. the way he’s going to do whatever he wants with you.

he slides his fingers under the straps of your dress, forcing it down your arms. you lie still as a stone, letting him slide the dress down your body, exposing your breasts, watching him sigh as your nipples respond to the frigid temperature radiating from his body.

he takes one breast in his mouth, laving at your nipple until it hardens under his tongue. your hands are urging you to clutch at his perfectly styled hair, but you cannot move; the tears are brimming in your eyes and you’re not sure if they’re out of shame that he’s touching you, or shame that your body is so pliant to his touch.

he pushes the dress down further, and gets on his knees until he’s completely stripped you of it. there you lay, among the pristinely white sheets, the party alive outside of your window; completely bare besides your panties. your skin is pocked with goosebumps as he runs his hands over your bare stomach, fingers latching at the waistband of your panties.

‘god, are you wet for me?’ he chuckled as he removes your soaked panties—still evidence that he’d managed to make you cum.

you are unresponsive until he gives your skin a pinch between his slender fingers, and a soft yelp escapes your lips.

‘talk to me,’ he commands, though there’s an undertone of begging. not that the president should ever have to beg. ‘i can’t have my pretty victor keeping silent, especially not while i fuck her. i want to hear the sweet sounds that are going to come from your lips.’

you give a nod, eyes flickering to glance at the ceiling, watching as the hazy lights from outside dance upon the ornate eaves. one of his hands touches your cheek, the chill bringing you back to meet his gaze.

‘gonna make you mine,’ he groans, reaching down to palm at his cock through his boxers.

you push away the tears at your eyes, and your hands go down to clutch at the sheets. you’re still a little floaty from the champagne, but it can’t seem to take you away from what is occurring right before your eyes.

'look at me!' he snaps, hard cock now pressing against the inside of your thighs.

'sorry,' you manage to get out, lips trembling as you brace yourself—he's big... too big.

'fuck, can't believe i get to have you all for myself...but i suppose it's the least i deserve as president,' a soft laugh plays upon his lips, the sound soon mottled by a low moan.

he eases the tip into your hole, sighing at your tightness. your eyes flutter shut, but strangely, your core only tingles as he slides himself into you. it's the ultimate betrayal—your body is yielding to him, growing wetter as he sheathes himself completely inside of you; at least, most of his eight inches.

'so fucking wet,' he grins devilishly, beginning to buck his hips gently.

you look so angelic, hair sprawled out on the pillow like a halo, the soft lights from the party glowing against your skin. coriolanus wants to take it slow, in spite of how much his cock is throbbing, because you are his prize—he must relish you. he can't let your virginity go to waste, after all. half the capitol has been vying for it, and now he is the one to take it. he imagines the disgruntled looks on the faces of the men who had bid for you when he informs them that you've been spoiled—and if any of them complained, well, he's the president. he could see to their... accidental deaths.

as he stretches out your tight walls, a pretty moan escapes your lips, by accident, but he takes this as a sign that you are surrendering yourself to him. coriolanus smiles a little to himself, and fastens the pace slightly, grunting as your body opens itself to his caresses.

‘you like that, hm?’ he inquires, one cold hand moving down to rub your clitoris.

you let out another gasp, this time of shock and pleasure, as his thumb presses against your sensitive nub. his eyes dance with delight as you come apart under him, your cunt growing slicker by the second. you’re so beautiful, and he glances down at the part where you two meet—his big cock stretching out your tight walls. a milky ring of your arousal coats his shaft, only driving him more lustful as he fucks you.

‘president snow…’ you cry out, trying to shove his hand away.

you can see the ire returning to his eyes, and when he presses down on your clit harder you stop and allow your body to relax. you realise it’s fruitless to try and fend him off anymore—he’s making you feel good, after all. but that’s the terrible part of it, the fact that you can feel waves of pleasure washing over you again. he’s smiling sickly, groaning as he ruts into you with grunts.

‘you're so fucking tight,’ he moans, watching you moan with pleasure as his fingers bring you to climax.

‘so good…’ you say, barely above a whisper, but the knowing look he cast you makes you admit it—after all, perhaps he’ll be kinder next time. let you decide when you want it.

‘yeah? you like the way my big cock is filling you out? how your president is reminding you who you belong to?’ he grunts, and you give a lazy nod.

the coil in your stomach comes unbound slowly as the combination of his cock stretching you out and his thumb rubbing diligent circles around your clit drives you over the edge. your toes curl sightly, arms moving up to grip at his back. you find the smooth, cold skin is surprisingly toned; hard muscles prominent under your touch.

you feel your pleasure peaking, body dancing with warmth and want. you try to stifle your moan by turning your head into the pillow, but his hand grasps your chin and pulls you back to meet his gaze.

‘don’t turn away from me!’ he scolds, brows knitting into a pained expression.

‘i’m sorry…’ you murmur, too ashamed to meet his gaze.

you feel a wave of pleasure wash over your body as his thumb coaxes another orgasm out of you—your second one for the evening. your cheeks fill with warmth as your arousal coats his cock, causing coriolanus to let out a breathy groan.

you pray that it ends soon, but your body continues to dance with pleasure and satisfaction, giving into him, allowing him to make his stake in you. his pretty little victor that he was deflowering—and she came around his cock and everything!

‘fuck,’ coriolanus grunts, hands travelling down to grab at the soft skin of your hips as he pounds into you. ‘all fucking mine. taking me so well…’

when you clench around him, he feels his balls tighten, and cock still for a moment as he reaches his own climax. you’re mewling so prettily—half-begging for him to stop by the way your head roles about in a dissociative reverie shows him that if your heart cannot be persuaded to take him, your body will.

‘shit,’ he spits as he slows his pace, dragging in and out of you at a painfully still speed.

he doesn’t want to finish so quickly, but you’re so fucking tight and your slick coating his cock has set his nerves on fire—his tip is throbbing with desire. coriolanus’ fingers are plunged into the supple skin of your hips, digging far enough that you feel a few bruises forming under the skin.

'so fucking tight,' he curses, sliding himself all the way out before filling you up to the hilt again. the sound of your wet cunt squelching around his big cock reverberates against the walls.

another moan escapes your plump lips, egging coriolanus on—clearly you're enjoying this to some extent; you've come twice tonight. next time he might not be so kind, after all, he's only being so sweet because you're a virgin—you're more like a prize to enjoy than anything else.

'gonna fill you up with my cum,' he sneers, eyes rolling shut as he pushes himself against your g-spot. you contract around him in response. 'you'd like that, wouldn't you? taking your president's cum? so patriotic, aren't you?'

the way he's still squeezing and pinching at your hips urges you to respond, so you cast a groggy nod—the champagne is still making your head swim.

'good girl,' he praises, and you respond with a genuine smile.

coriolanus grunts heavily, his balls tightening, and he feels hot spurts of cum spurt out from the tip of his cock. the relief that washes over him is blissful; watching you take every last drop of him makes him sigh deeply. you can't help but squirm at the sticky feeling as he thrusts his cum back up into you. you're trying not to lurch away in disgust—his hands, now clamping down on your shoulders, are keeping you there, close to him.

when he pulls out, he gazes at your weeping cunt in awe as his cum trickles down your thighs. you’ll always be his—he can see that by the tiny smudge of blood that also coats your inner thigh on one side. he doesn’t know if he can bear to sell you to those other men now; perhaps he’ll just have to lock you up here and keep you all to himself.

‘thank you, mr president,’ you murmur, half on the verge of sleep.

your body is humming with exhaustion, and you begin to curl up into a supine position, trying to force away the uncomfortable combination of his sticky cum and the dull ache between you thighs.

‘i’ll be back tomorrow,’ he presses a kiss to your forehead, smoothing a few tendrils of hair out of your half-closed eyes. ‘don’t think you can get away from me now, my pretty victor.’

1K notes · View notes

st4rrth0ughts · 4 months

Text

fucking Sunday after he's offered to keep you confined during heat season you is kinda… 🪽✝️

tw/cw: consensual? somnophillia (only at the end cause you fuck him so well he passes out :(( a/n: wow two fics to make up for dying for a few days?!?!?

He shouldn't have agreed to this. Thats what Sunday always told himself every time he locked your shared room's door. Robin and the rest of the house were getting suspicious as to why their leader and his lover was disappearing completely for a week straight. The excuse that the two of you were having… a week off wasn't exactly convincing, but other than Robin who constantly teased and probed about speculations of what the two of you did, they didn't dare ask why he was limping and covered in bruises at the neck.

He's snapped out of his thoughts when you pull his pants off, your eyes practically glowing as they stare at his dripping pussy. He struggles to contain his composure, he always does. why does he even make the effort to try and maintain it when your going to rip away his dignity as quick as a bullet? Its just a pathetic excuse for you to not go easy on him. A loud moan slips from those pretty lips as your tongue plunges into him, bucking his hips on your mouth, his bright yellow eyes already hazy from lust.

You explore him slowly, savouring him, the way his legs shake while your tongue slips deeper into him, it soon quickens as your sharp finger flick quickly at his clit, making the angel squeal as he begs for you to go slower, fisting your hair, but you don't listen as the tip of your sharp tongue prods that soft cushy spot in him making him shriek and squirt so prettily. Licking his juices as you flash a embarrassed Sunday a stupid grin, a small sound of panic escaping his lips when your cock presses against his cunt. He knew you were bigger since well- you were a demon, but aeons above, he was not expecting you to be fucking massive.

He screams out in overwhelming pain and pleasure as your slam into him, gripping the pillow hard as he watched your cock bulge in his stomach, his frame was so, so much smaller compared to yours, and he was taller than most he's met in his life. Growling lowly as animalistic desires take over any rational thoughts in your mind as you force him into a mating press, ignoring his weak protests as you fit snugly in his pussy, tip kissing his cervix as the angel grips you, cumming just from the feeling of you stuffing him so full. How pathetic, and quite cute.

His yellow eyes roll back as your cock pounds roughly into him, feral movements from you making drool slip past his lips, fat tears falling down his cheeks as your sharp fingers wipe them away gently, a sharp contrast to your movements. He doesn't know how many times he's came at this point as he creams around your cock again, too weak to fight against anything, relying solely on your strong arms keeping him grounded as you fuck him like he was nothing but a pretty fleshlight for you to have your way with. He's snapped out of his stupor when your hips stutter, eliciting a hoarse shriek from your precious angel as your cum fills his pretty pussy, overflowing as his walls struggle to keep your seed in him. His mind goes blank as his vision blacks out, soft slurs of 'please, wan' more..' falling quiet as he dozes off.

Now, you were a demon, but you didn't forget your manners, even during mating season. After what seems like forever, feeling Sunday's cunt loosen around your cock, his face devoid of its calm demeanour he uses to put on a show for everyone, only a blissful, fucked stupid expression visible as you coo softly, still fucking him in a mating press, but gentle. Your movements slow to a leisurely pace, still hitting all the rights spots in the man, making him moan and whine out even in his cute unconscious state. You'd pull his wings to see his reaction if he wasn't sleeping. He stiffens and relaxes completely when you release in him again, cum spilling out as out pull out with a loud pop sound. Pressing a kiss to his Adam's apple, your hand hovering over his belly as your mating mark appears and disappears, making him shiver. This manipulative angel was all your now. Forever.

#dom male reader #dom reader #sub honkai star rail #sub hsr #dom gn reader #sub character #honkai star rail smut #hsr smut #sub sunday #sunday hsr #hsr sunday #hsr x reader #sunday smut #i am going to breed this man.#thats a promise #/hj

2K notes · View notes

chuuyrr · 5 months

Text

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐙𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 .ᐟ

feat: dazai, chuuya, fyodor

ꨄ˙ CW(s): gn! reader, mentions of alcohol (reader is drunk)

ꨄ˙ SYNOPSIS: in which you drink too much and don't even realize that your boyfriend is your boyfriend or you might as well be drunk in love

in the dimly lit bar, the air was filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses. you found yourself swirling the remnants of a colorful cocktail, the room around you blurring as the night progressed.

DAZAI sits beside you, and couldn't help but notice your flushed-pink demeanor, fueled by the drinks you had consumed, and giggles to himself.

in your tipsy state, you tilt your head, looking at dazai with a playful suspicion. the room spun slightly, and you sway on your seat, trying to focus on his face.

"you know," you slur, "you're a suspicious stranger. i bet you've got some secret agenda." you point an accusing finger at him, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

dazai, amused by your playful accusations, couldn't help but giggle even more, "oh, do i now? well, i'm just a harmless 'stranger' who happened to find the most adorable drunk person in the entire bar."

you raise an eyebrow skeptically, still not recognizing him, "adorable, huh? well, mr. stranger-fanger, you're gonna have to prove it." you cross your arms, a challenging smirk on your flushed face.

dazai, seizing the opportunity, wraps his arms around you with a mockingly serious expression, "see? no danger here, just a guy who appreciates adorable drunks."

you broke into a fit of giggles, melting into his embrace, "well, you're not that bad for a stranger, i guess."

completely unaware that the 'stranger' was, in fact, your boyfriend, you continued to enjoy the whimsical dance of laughter and teasing, creating a memory that would undoubtedly be cherished in the days to come.

"i'm gonna be serious though, i am your boyfriend," dazai says to you.

you blink softly at him, your tipsy-drunk state had somehow lead you to look at him as such. dazai blinks back before a grin starts to tug on his lips.

"do i have to remind my dearest? well, then. buckle up because you're in for a treat!" he says before he instantly starts peppering your face in kisses as he holds you tightly.

you immediately start to squeal and giggle as you are reminded of the constant kisses that your boyfriend would give you admist the alcohol in your system.

"osamuuu!" you say in a soft whine before he pecks your lips.

dazai grins even more widely at your cute little whine as he cups your face now, "that's more like it. goodness, such an adorable drunk you are, hmm?"

CHUUYA watches with a mix of concern and amusement as your cheerful demeanor transformed into a tipsy state.

as the night wore on, chuuya decides it was time to take you home. he gently placed his gloved hand on your shoulder, trying to capture your attention, "hey, it's getting late. how about we head home?" he suggests, his voice warm and caring.

however, in your inebriated state, you misinterpreted the situation. you gasp sharply before you squirm in your seat and whine softly, "nooo, i'm having so much fun here! plus, you can't take me home! i have a boyfriend!"

chuuya was flabbergasted, but he couldn't help but chuckle at your resistance afterwards upon seeing this, "come on, baby, i'm not a stranger. i'm your boyfriend, and I just want to make sure you get home safely."

now it's you blinking softly, looking at him with a mix of confusion and innocence, "boyfriend? really?" you giggle, completely unaware of the true nature of your relationship.

"you're being so silly right now, i almost can't with you," chuuya sighs, still laughing softly, "geez, i didn't know my baby can be this forgetful with this much alcohol."

undeterred, chuuya continued to coax you gently, his amusement growing as you stare at him in awe as you begin to pat his cheeks in your warm hands, "this pretty face is all mine?"

chuuya chuckles again, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks as he takes your hands in his before leaning in to press a lingering kiss on your lips and whispering, "i'm all yours, baby."

the night unfolded in a blend of laughter, warmth, and the endearing challenge of convincing you that the 'stranger' was, in fact, the person who cared for you the most, and you couldn't help but giggle even more into the kiss.

FYODOR observes your increasing intoxication with a measured gaze, a sense of concern clouding his usually composed demeanor.

as the night unfolds, you continued to enjoy the array of drinks that nikolai had generously provided you two. fyodor, recognizing the potential consequences, decided it was time to intervene. he places a hand gently on your arm, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

"dear, perhaps it's time to slow down," fyodor suggests, his voice calm and measured as he tries to get you to stop.

you looked at him with a tipsy grin, oblivious to the fact that fyodor was your boyfriend, "but nikolai is just being generous. no harm in a few more, riiight?"

fyodor's piercing gaze held a mixture of concern and determination, "i'd rather not see you regretting this tomorrow. let's enjoy the night responsibly," he insists, attempting to guide you away from the tempting allure of more drinks.

however, in your intoxicated state, you resisted his efforts, misinterpreting his intentions, "oh, come on! live a little, stranger!" you playfully tease, unaware that fyodor was the person you were romantically involved with.

fyodor couldn't help but hide a small smile at your playful antics, though he inwardly feels a twinge of sadness at being referred to as a stranger, maintained his composure.

he observes you with a subtle sadness in his eyes, a fleeting emotion that betrayed the depth of his feelings. still, he wasn't one to give up easily.

with a gentle touch, he cupped your face, making you meet his gaze, "remember, i'm the one who cares deeply for you," he murmurs with a faint smile, his eyes staring in yours.

"i may be a stranger in this particular scenario, but i am not to you," fyodor replies softly, realizing that your drunken state was proving to be a barrier. yet, he didn't relent.

the realization began to dawn on you, your intoxicated mind slowly connecting the dots, "wait a minute... you care about me? really?"

fyodor nods, his eyes holding a mixture of hope and longing, "more than you can imagine."

you blink softly, still processing the situation through the haze of alcohol. before you could react, fyodor leaned in, pressing a soft and lingering kiss against your lips. the touch was tender yet filled with an unspoken depth of emotion, an attempt to bridge the gap that had momentarily separated you.

as the kiss unfolded, a subtle warmth spread through you, and the fog of intoxication seemed to lift momentarily. the taste of familiarity mingled with the hint of sadness, creating a poignant moment that transcended the blurred boundaries of the night. fyodor then pulls away, his gaze searching yours for any signs of recognition.

there was a pause, a moment of suspended realization. slowly, your eyes widened, and a spark of recognition flickered within them. "wait," you whisper, your voice carrying a mix of surprise and clarity as you smile. "you're not a stranger, only my fedya kisses me like that!"

a soft smile tugged at the corners of fyodor's lips as the weight of being called a stranger lifted. the kiss had served as a catalyst, a bridge that connected the fragments of memory scattered in the alcohol-induced haze.

"my, my, how could you forget your fedya, dear?" fyodor sighs, shaking his head before he kisses your lips again and whispers, "traitor.."

ꨄ˙ A.N.: i feel like i might have written fyodor in an ooc-ish way, and if i did, i apologize !! haven't written for him in so long and i don't write for him as often as dazai and chuuya. this is also kinda silly i think now that i've finished writing this lol !! thank you so much for reading until the end (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

3K notes · View notes

nina-ya · 5 months

Text

New Years Kisses With the Monster Trio + Law

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Law (all separate). CW: None

This New Year’s, you found yourself on an island known for its grand annual festival and its spectacular fireworks show when the clock strikes midnight. The celebration filled the island with its festive air. Stalls were adorned with decorations,offering different treats, drinks and trinkets to festival goers. The melodies of the music filled the air, accompanied by the beats of the drums and the laughter of the crowd. Colorful lanterns decorated the pathways, casting a gorgeous glow over the setting. This New Year’s was bound to be an unforgettable one.

Luffy’s hand grasped yours as he started sprinting away from the crowds, dragging you with him. Shocked, you asked, “Where are we going?!” He turned to look at you with a wide grin, laughing out loud before responding with, “You’ll see!” He ran, keeping your hands locked, as your curiosity heightened.

The Sunny came into view and confusion lingered in your eyes as the distant chant of the one-minute countdown started to fade away. Suddenly, Luffy stopped and said, “Hold on!” He stretched one arm around you, and the other swung back before launching forward, grasping the Sunny's head. The force sent you both flying, a mixture of fear and excitement bubbling within you as you clung onto Luffy.

You couldn’t help but let out the breath you had been holding as you landed on the Sunny’s head, still clinging onto him. Luffy, still grinning, looked out into the distance, remarking, “I thought the view might be better up here.” He laughed and continued, “Looks like I was right.”

This prompted you to lift your head from his chest to admire the surroundings. The elevated position on the Sunny’s head offered a breathtaking view of the festival below. The vibrant colors of the stalls and the lights all blended together to create an absolutely enchanting view.

The countdown continued, and as the clock ticked away, the crowd’s cheers grew louder. With each passing second, the excitement in the air became palpable. The islanders collectively shouted the final numbers in unison. “3… 2… 1…”

As the clock struck midnight, the fireworks lit up the sky, illuminating both of your faces. You turned to Luffy, noticing the bursts of colors reflecting in his eyes as he stared at the fireworks with the widest grin. In the joyous chaos, you find the sudden courage to lean in, capturing Luffy's lips in a celebratory kiss. Your hands found their way onto his shoulders, your fingers lightly grazing his hair. Luffy smiles into the kiss as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you a bit closer. The fireworks continued to shine in the sky and the kiss deepened, this locking of lips sealing the promise of more adventures together in the upcoming year.

Zoro’s sharp gaze locked onto something in the distance, prompting him to make his way through the crowd. You followed closely behind him, curiosity and impatience evident in your expression. "What? Where are you going? The fireworks are about to start," you ask, tugging on his arm in an attempt to stop him.

"I thought I saw something suspicious, come on," Zoro replied, urging you to follow him. He led you into a secluded alleyway, and with no one around, you couldn't help but express your doubts. "Come on, Zoro, there's nothing here."

He turned a corner and continued down the alley, responding with, "He must have gone this way." You sighed, realizing that convincing him to return to the festival was not going to happen, so you gave up and started trailing behind him.

Turning corners and walking through empty alleys, Zoro finally came to a stop when you heard the distant countdown. Panicking, you grabbed onto Zoro, attempting to guide him back to the heart of the festival, ignoring his protests. However, your efforts were to no avail , and you both found yourselves lost in the alleyways.

You sighed in defeat and grumbled about the unexpected turn of events. "This is not how I wanted to spend my New Year's."

"30…29…28…"

Zoro, unfazed, questioned your disappointment. "What? What's so wrong with this? You don't need to see the fancy fireworks, ya know."

“No, it's just—" you began to explain before frustration took over. "The fireworks were supposed to make it more romantic, and—"

"10…9…8…"

"Wait, make what more romantic?" Zoro asked, clearly confused.

As the countdown reached its climax you closed the remaining distance between you and Zoro. Your hands gently cupped his face, feeling the warmth beneath your fingertips. Zoro's gaze locked onto yours, his expression giving way to curiosity.

"5…4…3…2…1…"

Uttering "Happy New Year," you pressed your lips to Zoro's in a soft, lingering kiss. The initial touch was gentle. However, as the seconds passed, the kiss deepened. Zoro took control of the kiss. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as your lips moved in tandem.

The distant cheers of the crowd faded away as Zoro's kiss became more passionate. His lips molded against yours with intensity. The hands that were once at your waist now roamed, his touch leaving a trail of warmth on your skin. The festival no longer mattered as you felt Zoro’s lips leave yours in favor of planting kisses along your jaw and neck. You and Zoro were left in a world of your own as the fireworks served as a witness to the perfect way to start the new year.

Sanji had taken it upon himself to cook and serve some treats to the festival goers. As the night progressed and the crowd began to thin, leaving only you and Sanji, he approached you with a plate of the treats. The charming smile that had graced the faces of countless patrons now turned its warmth towards you.

"A specially prepared treat for a very special person," he declared, his eyes gleaming with sincerity.

You chuckled, savoring the delicious treat. "What would I do without you here to boost my ego?" you teased, taking a bite and humming in delight at the flavors.

"I'm only telling the truth," he replied, his smile never faltering.

As the crowd erupted into cheers, the distant sound of the countdown began.

"10…9…8…"

Sanji's eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

"5…4…3…"

In the final seconds, Sanji closed the gap between you.

"2…1…"

The kiss began with a soft press of lips, a gentle exploration that quickly ignited with desire. Sanji's lips moved with confidence, coaxing a whimper from you. The taste of the treat he had given you lingered, adding a sweetness to the kiss.

His hand cupped your face, the touch sending shivers down your spine. Fingers trailed along the curves of your jaw, leaving a trail of tingling warmth in their path.

Your senses heightened as the kiss unfolded, and you found yourself lost in the sensations—his warmth, the taste of him, the sounds of your intertwined breaths. Your fingers entwined in the silky strands of the blonde hair, pulling him closer in a silent invitation for more.

You finally pulled away, and as your eyes met, a breathless smile played on his lips, and he whispered, "Happy New Year, my love." The words were a promise for the days and nights that awaited, filled with the shared moments of joy, laughter, and maybe, many more kisses in the coming year.

The crowd gathered as the time inched closer and closer to midnight, bringing you and Law closer in proximity. The distant sounds of laughter, music, and chatter built up as the anticipation grew. You walked beside Law when you heard the subtle uttering of "room" and "shambles." In an instant, you found yourselves on a rooftop, the edge looming dangerously close. Your heart raced as you dropped the treat in your hand. Simultaneously, Law grabbed your arm, pulling you back from the edge. "Too many people down there," he remarked, the reason for the teleportation becoming clear.

The city lights below were absolutely stunning from above, their reflections shimmering on the surface of the nearby sea. The gentle breeze caressed your skin and the moon softly glowed, adding to the beauty of the scene.

"It's pretty up here," you commented, your voice barely above a whisper as you took in the view.

Law agreed, his gaze fixed on the city lights. "It is..." His usual stoic expression softened as he looked at you. The countdown started, and excitement rippled through the crowd.

“10…9…8…7…”

You joined in the chant, leaning forward with enthusiasm. The distant rumble of the crowd below reached your ears as they continued to chant.

“3… 2… 1…”

As the cheers erupted around you, you felt Law's fingers gently grasp your chin, turning your face toward his. Before you could fully comprehend, his lips met yours. A whimper of surprise escaped you, but your heart quickened, and you melted into the kiss.

The distant 'boom' of a firework echoed through the air, momentarily interrupting the moment. However, Law didn't pull away. Instead, he deepened the kiss,

his lips molding against yours with intensity.

When Law finally pulled away, the air around you felt warmer. A smile played on your lips and his hand lingered on your chin as he whispered, “Happy New Year.” Before you could form a response, he leaned in once again, capturing your lips in a second kiss– a silent promise of the new and exciting future that awaited the two of you.

1K notes · View notes

girlgenius1111 · 3 months

Text

say it again

alexia x reader something... slips out accidentally. alexia is more into it than you expected. smut. 18+

cw: mami kink. breeding kink. thigh riding. fingering. strap on use. dom/sub dynamics. praise kink.

-----

Both you and Alexia had been busy beyond belief in recent weeks. So, when she slid out of bed early on the day you were both supposed to have off, you latched onto her shirt and refused to let go.

“Amor, I have to go,” Alexia whispered, although she slid back into the warm cocoon of blankets, and wrapped you back up in her arms.

“No. Stay.” You grumbled, tightening your arms and wrapping your legs around her too, for good measure.

“I have to go,” she repeated, kissing your temple and attempting to slide out of your grip. You were about to remind her that neither of you had training that day, when you remembered somewhere in your sleep-hazed brain that Alexia had mentioned coaching a game at the Barça academy that morning. An idea found its way into your brain, and you forced yourself to sit up, allowing Alexia to escape the bed. She looked at you suspiciously as she headed for the bathroom, never having seen you give in so easily. In fact, she still had 10 minutes to lay in bed with you, having set her alarm early because she knew you’d capture her for more cuddles.

“I’m coming with you.” You declared, smiling happily at your girlfriend when she poked her head out of the bathroom, a slight frown on her face.

“Bebita, you will be bored, and you will distract me.” Alexia was referring to your rather interesting habit of watching Alexia. There was a certain look you got on your face when Alexia took charge on the pitch that made her crazy. You both kept it under control when you played together, but when one of you was out injured or on the bench, there were few games that didn’t end in rather passionate sex once you arrived home. You both loved to watch each other, and you really loved to watch Alexia be in charge. This was why Alexia absolutely did NOT trust you to accompany her to coach this youth game.

“No, I won't, I promise. I’ll sit in the stands the whole time. No one will even know I’m there. ”

Alexia simply raised her eyebrow at you doubtfully, before turning away to head to the closet. You scrambled out of the bed and followed after her, wrapping your arms around her abdomen. She chuckled, but continued to rifle through her sweatshirts, picking out the right Barça one for the day.

You kissed her shoulder blade, peeking out from the small tank top she was wearing. “Please, Ale. We’ve barely seen each other these past few weeks. I miss you.”

Alexia melted, turning around and wrapping her arms tight around you. “Okay, bonita. If you promise not to distract me.”

-----

You’d had every intention not to distract your girlfriend, really you did. Watching her with the kids, though, was much more challenging than you expected. It wasn’t stern Alexia that you got; it was soft Alexia, and it was making something inside of you melt into a puddle.

Alexia with a whistle slung around her neck, leading the very little kids through some basic drills. Patiently directing them around the pitch. Very softly kicking the ball in their direction. Shouting words of encouragement every second, even when it was just in response to one of the kids falling down and getting up.

Alexia, standing on the side lines, whistle caught in her mouth, hands on her hips, taking the match just a touch too seriously.

Alexia in a tight pair of athletic shorts, ass on full display, although it always was, regardless of what she was wearing.

Alexia rushing onto the pitch when one of her players fell; it was nothing more than a scraped knee, but she carried the sniffling boy off the field and over to his parents, ensuring him that he was being very brave.

You’d never really gotten the appeal of being pregnant before. And sure, you wanted kids, but you’d never craved them, never desperately wanted to watch your partner turn into a parent with you. Sat in the stands, though, watching Alexia interact with these kids like she was born to do it, you rethought all of that.

You were staring, and you knew it, eyes firmly trained on your girlfriend as she turned around, bringing her shirt up to wipe at her face. It was a hot day, and she was standing directly in the sun. Her eyes caught yours as she did so, lips pulling up into a very small smirk, before she turned back around, taking a sip of water. You realized your mouth was, embarrassingly, hanging open. The things Alexia could do to you, without even trying; it wasn’t fair.

The midfielder could feel your eyes on her for the remainder of the match, and she struggled to stay focused. Her mind, too, was elsewhere, somewhere in the future. Where she was coaching your guys’ kid, with you watching proudly from the sidelines. She wanted it, desperately, and it caught her off guard. The rest of the match passed slowly as both of you were eager to get home. Even though you’d known what you’d been signing up for when you forced Ale to let you come watch, you couldn’t help but feel a little starved for attention. It was ridiculous, but you weren’t one to shy away from the things you wanted. So, when the match ended, and Alexia led the kids to shake hands with the other team, you headed down, impatiently waiting for her. The hug you brought her into was one that belonged at the end of a difficult match, not at the end of a children’s match where most of the goals were accidental.

“Hola,” she sang softly in your ear, feeling you inconspicuously press a light kiss to her neck. Your lips didn’t leave, though, and Alexia pulled you back, giving you a warning look.

“You are all red, amor, are you warm?” The question was paired with an adorable look of concern washing over her face; Alexia was always very aware of your less than impressive heat tolerance, and she grabbed the hat you were holding in your hand, placing it on top of your head.

You were warm, but the redness was due more to Alexia’s close contact with your body, when you were already very aware of her, than the heat, although it wasn’t helping.

“It’s warm out.” You agreed anyway, before smiling innocently up at her. “Can we go home, baby?”

Alexia’s lips twitched. “Of course.”

-----

Alexia had parked in a different parking lot than the rest of the attendees, and by the time you made it over there, you were debating whether you could wait until you arrived home for Alexia to touch you. The way she led you through the parking lot, hand in yours, body hovering protectively in front of you even when there was no one around, was only increasing the deep need for her to do anything to you.

You decided to take matters into your own hands, noticing that the area around you was devoid of other people. When Alexia opened your door for you, something she insisted upon even though you were completely capable of opening your own door, you smacked her ass, climbing into the car like you hadn’t done anything. Alexia jumped slightly, and her eyes narrowed at you as she shut the door behind you.

The minute your girlfriend was in the driver's seat, you were leaning over the center console, attaching your lips to her neck. Alexia exhaled sharply, minutely tilting her head to the side.

“You promised to be good.” She said quietly, and you noted the very slight shake to her voice that told you she was, in fact, feeling the effects of what you were doing to her. You pulled back briefly, nipping at her ear as you did so.

“Are you not enjoying this?”

“It does not matter. You promised to be good, and you are breaking that promise.” She warned, gently shoving you back to your seat. You blinked at her, not used to the hard edge her voice had taken on.

“Ale,”

“No. You will take what I give you at home.”

You couldn’t pretend the way Alexia was looking at you disapprovingly wasn’t filling you with arousal. As badly as you wanted to be good for her, you also desperately wanted her to make you be good for her. And it seemed this was her plan.

-----

You trailed into the house behind her, not quite sure what to expect when you were behind closed doors. It wouldn’t be the first time Alexia was rough with you, and you enjoyed it. Something seemed different, though, and there was a tension in the room you couldn’t quite identify. Or, if you could, you weren’t quite willing to admit it yet.

Alexia backed you up against the wall just inside the front door, her face mere inches from yours, capturing your wrists in her hands and pinning them behind you. She was looking at you, sternly, but also so… softly. Like she would take care of you, even if she made you work for it first. Your stomach was filled with butterflies, in a way it hadn’t been in a while around her. You were beginning to have an idea of what you wanted, you just weren’t quite sure she wanted it too.

“You have been very bad today, bonita. I do not know what I am going to do with you.”

“M- Ale, please, take me to bed.” You almost slipped up, and you blinked at your girlfriend, hoping to god that she hadn’t caught it.

Alexia leaned back and was quiet for a moment, her eyes searching yours.“What was that?”

“What was what?” You replied, feeling blood rush to your cheeks, avoiding your girlfriend’s gaze at all costs.

“You almost called me something… it sounded like it started with an M…” Alexia whispered, moving closer to lay kisses on your neck. She knew where your head was at, somehow, as she always did, and she was very on board. It had been something you’d both been thinking about for a while, but neither of you were brave enough to bring it up.

“Alexia,” you whined, struggling to form a single coherent thought.

“That is not my name, amor. Not right now.” She whispered, her teeth capturing your ear and tugging lightly. You went practically limp in her arms, a low keen escaping your lips.

“Mami,” you whispered, feeling Alexia’s grin against the skin of your neck. You realized that Alexia liked the title just as much as you did, if not more.

“There you go, bonita. Mi mala niña, you can listen, hmm?”

“I can, I am listening. I’m your good girl.” You argued, pressing your forehead to the blonde’s somewhat desperately.

Alexia tutted quietly. “You were not listening before. I am not sure you are mí buena niña.”

“I am, mami, I promise,”

You’d barely finished speaking before Alexia was capturing your lips in a heated kiss, her tongue licking into your mouth, her teeth nipping at your bottom lip, in a manner that was almost overwhelming. She pulled away from you with a wet smack, her smile beyond devious as she took in your blown pupils, the downright submissive look on your face.

“You want to prove to me you are my good girl?” She murmured, dragging her finger lightly down one side of your face, watching as your eyes fluttered shut, struggling to answer her.

“Sí, por favor. Let me show you.”

“Vamos, mí zorrita.” With that, Alexia swept you up into her arms easily, throwing you over her shoulder and heading for the bedroom.

It wasn’t unusual for Alexia to take full control, as she was doing as she carefully placed on the ground, removing her clothes and directing you to do the same before scooching up the bed to lean against the headboard. What was new, though, was the feeling filling your body, like Alexia didn’t even need to ask you to do anything; you’d just do it if it was what she wanted. Making Alexia feel good would make you feel good. And Alexia knew better than anyone on the face of the earth what you needed.

So, the minute she gestured for you to move on top of her, you were scrambling forward. Ignoring the slightly condescending smirk Alexia sent your way, and the blush that lit up your cheeks as she did so.

Alexia settled you on one of her thighs, the smooth skin hitting your core perfectly. You barely contained a whine at the contact, and Alexia smirked up at you.

“You are wet for mami, no?”

“Yes, for you, only you,” you stuttered, feeling incredibly turned on considering Alexia had barely touched you at this point.

Alexia’s voice was low and possessive when she spoke next.“You want to make a mess on my thigh, bebé?”

“Yes, please,” you begged, her hands still keeping your hips completely still, even as you tried to grind down against her,

“Yes please what?”

“Fuck, please mami, please,”

“Buena niña,” she replied softly, the quiet, affection filled tone she was using making you fall against her, wrapping your arms around her neck almost desperately. Your motions were stuttering, no rhythm to them. Your head was too empty, your body too aroused to get you where you needed to be. “You need my help, bebé? You need mami to do it for you?”

You thought you might be dying. Everytime Alexia said the word, you crumbled just a little bit more. You’d never felt this desperate, this needy before in your entire life. It was almost beyond words. You just needed her. And at the same time, you couldn’t do it yourself, couldn’t get yourself to move the right way.

“Need you,” you cried out. Luckily, Alexia seemed to take mercy on you, her hands beginning to guide your core to slide against her thigh. She leaned up, pressing her lips to yours in a slow kiss, almost as if she knew you could only take so much at once. It was intoxicating, being pressed up against her, feeling her wet thigh on your dripping cunt, her hands in your hair, her teeth tugging on your lip.

You whimpered pathetically into her mouth, encouraging her to speed her motions up.

“Am I making you feel good, princesa? Tell me.” She murmured, pressing her forehead against yours, her face so close you could feel her hot breath on your lips.

“So good, mami. You feel so good,” you whined, and Alexia almost moaned, too, at how entirely gone you sounded.

“You are being so good for me, hmm? Do you like it when I take control? When I help you get yourself off on my thigh like a needy slut? Does it make your pussy drip, princesa?”

“Jesus christ,” you replied, every word she spoke edging you closer and closer. It had been minutes, only minutes, and you were already about to fall apart on top of Alexia.

“I want you to come on my thigh, sí?” She said lowly, and suddenly, as soon as she said the words, you were teetering on the edge, just one perfect movement away from coming.

“Mami, fuck, please,” you gritted out, teeth clenching together as Alexia worked you harder and harder against her, until your body tensed for a minute, and you fell silent.

“Que buena, princesa, que bonita.” The blonde woman whispered, watching your face in awe as you collapsed against her, breathing heavily. Her hands slowed their movements, until you were left rubbing yourself against Alexia’s thigh very slowly, and very jerkily.

Alexia didn’t wait very long until she was easing you away from her, gripping your face in between her hands.

“I want to fuck you,” she whispered, watching as your breath stuttered. “Can I fuck you?”

“Yes, mami, I need your cock,” you begged, knowing you said exactly the right thing when Alexia rolled you off her with a smirk, and headed for the bedside drawer.

Alexia liked to fuck you from behind, more than anything. She loved your ass, loved to watching it as she fucked you, so you rolled onto your stomach, looking questioningly at her when she tapped your side.

She was kneeled behind you, gazing down with a hungry look on her face. “No, on your back. I want to see your face when I fuck you wide open,”

You barely withheld a moan, then, as you rolled over and spread your legs. Alexia roughly pushed them to the side, settling in between them, and plunging a finger into you without warning.

“Shit,” you cried.

“You are soaked, mi amor. You need mami to fuck you now?” She asked, quickly adding a second finger when it was clear you could take it.

If anything was hotter than calling Alexia mami, it was hearing her call herself mami.

“Need you, mami,” you repeated for what felt like the 8th time so far. It was all you could think or articulate. You just needed her.

When Alexia pressed her cock in, you knew instantly that you wouldn’t be lasting very long. You were already gripping the bed sheets in your hands, and Alexia was already starting an unforgiving pace.

Alexia fucked you harder than she ever had before, her hands pulling your hips to meet her thrusts, her thighs burning, her breath heaving as she worked herself in and out of you. She was getting worked up herself, watching the way her cock disappeared into your dripping cunt, the way your clit throbbed, the way you looked up at Alexia like she was the only other person in the world.

You were so far gone, so lost in the pleasure, and you knew Alexia was getting close too by the way she whimpered every few thrusts, a sound very un-Alexia, but one that made you bite your lip all the same. You wanted more from her, needed more. And what did you have to lose, really?

“In me,” you muttered, almost completely incoherent as Alexia moved herself in and out of you.

“Que?” she asked, not slowing down for even a second.

“Inside me, please,” you begged, blinking up at her with a look in your eyes that she’d never seen before.

Alexia was confused, momentarily. She was already inside of you. She watched you grow closer and closer, suddenly hit with your meaning.

She pressed her hand down on your lower stomach, and your back arched right off the bed. You threw your head back, practically screaming at this point at the sensation.

“Mami, mami, please,” you cried.

“You want me to come inside you?” She gasped, absolutely pounding into you now.

You nodded frantically. “Fill me up, mami, I need it”

“Mierda,” Alexia groaned, she was close too, suddenly, even though normally the friction of the strap wasn’t enough to get her off. Everything you were doing, though, everything you were asking for was almost overwhelming to her, and it was all she could do to keep pumping in and out of you, moving her free hand to circle your clit.

Your voice cut off abruptly, and your eyes slammed shut. You reached for your girlfriend, and she reached for you, too, removing her hand from your stomach and lacing her fingers with yours. Her forehead fell to your shoulder as she got louder than you’d really ever heard her.

“Gonna come, princesa, gonna come in your pretty pussy,” she managed, her words making you shudder underneath her.

It was the most intense thing you’d ever experienced. You felt yourself tighten around Alexia’s cock deep inside you, felt Alexia thrust one more time stop, frantically grinding herself against you as she, too, fell over the edge. Pleasure washed over the both of you, and you held tight to each other, as if your lives depended on it.

When it was over, you fell limp into the mattress, every clenched muscle unclenching as Alexia’s full weight dropped on top of you. It was the most comforting sensation, her hand shakily running through your hair, her hot and rapid exhales on your shoulder blade as she came down. You were still throbbing around her, and it was becoming too much, she was too big, too deep.

“Out, Ale, pull out,” you murmured. Alexia broke out of her mindlessness, sitting up and very delicately removing her cock. You whined deeply when she pulled it out all the way, brow scrunching as you squirmed underneath her.

If someone had asked you your name or what club you played for at that moment, you weren’t sure you’d be able to respond. You weren’t sure you could form words at all, really, only capable of reaching out for Alexia again, and sighing happily when she laid back down, pulling you to lay flush on top of her.

“Are you okay, amor?” She asked after a minute, when you still hadn’t spoken, and your eyes were still shut, face crammed into the crook of her neck.

You only hummed in response, barely registering that she was speaking to you. That was not good enough for your girlfriend, though, and she rolled you both over, until she was hovering over your body again, finger delicately tracing a pattern on your cheek. You opened your eyes, a faint smile on your lips.

“Bonita, are you okay?” She asked again.

“So good, Ale. My god. So so good.” You promised her, your smile only growing when Alexia’s face broke into one of relief.

“Muy buena,” she murmured, ignoring the annoyed whine you let out when she sat up off you. Alexia was undeterred, even when you reached out for her. The blonde left the room, briefly, and you felt your eyes inexplicably filling with tears.

When Alexia returned with a water bottle and granola bar in hand, she quickly grew frantic when she saw the tears dripping down your face. She dropped the items onto the bed, sitting you up and pulling you into her, your back against her chest.

“What is it, what is it?” She asked, panicked, wiping away the tears so gently, you almost started to cry again.

“I don’t know,” you cried, the words somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “I don’t know why I’m crying,”

Again, Alexia deflated, relieved, knowing that she hadn’t upset you. “Okay, that is okay. Drink some water for me please?”

The adorable grin on her face as she held the uncapped water out to you had you reaching for it without question, taking a few sips before handing it back to her.

“You too.” You reminded her. Alexia dutifully took a few sips, placed the bottle back on the table, and manhandled you until you were laying down next to her, her body wrapped around yours.

“Love you, love you, love you, love you,” she murmured in your ear, and you laughed in response, feeling happier than you think you’d ever felt in your whole life.

“I love you so much.” You whispered back, feeling Alexia smile hugely into your neck.

“Mi princesa,” she sighed. “How are you so perfect?”

“Because I’m with you,” you replied easily. “And you’re perfect.”

Alexia disagreed. In fact, she thought the opposite. She wasn’t going to argue with you now though, not after you’d made her deepest desire come true. Instead, she tugged you closer, kissing your neck repeatedly. There’d be time to remind you of your perfection later. Now, though, both of you were drifting closer and closer to sleep, and all Alexia wanted in that moment was to hold you close to her forever.

You’d happily let her.

------

this has been in my wips for actual weeks im im thrilled to be done with her i hope you like :)

#woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #woso fanfics #woso one shot

976 notes · View notes

klausinamarink · 4 months

Text

You’re Never Too Much

rating: T | cw: negative self talk | wc: 1.5k | tags: angst with happy ending, hurt Steve, arguing and making up, established relationship, post-canon | prompt: Love is giving them space when they need it

written for @steddielovemonth

Steve knows he can be unbearable with his partners sometimes.

He can’t help it. He doesn’t have a switch that shuts down the sparkling fountain of love like his parents apparently possess. It just naturally flows his veins without pause and surges anew every day.

His first girlfriend Heidi had broken up with him three days into the relationship, saying that Steve was too much for her. He had been more confused than devastated back then because since when did hugging your girlfriend from behind with a kiss to the cheek become ‘too much’? It only confused Steve more when he saw Heidi’s new boyfriend doing the exact same thing with her and they’d been together for three months by then.

Steve had ignored the tiny pang in his chest, shrugged off Carol’s comments, and moved on. Maybe he and Heidi weren’t meant to be anyways.

But it kept happening with the other girls. Leaving romantic poems in the locker instead of make-out invites? Too much. A bundle of flowers after class? Too much. Wanting to cuddle after sex? Too much. Stay the morning after? Too much.

Then came Nancy and she had adored every one of Steve’s antics that none of his previous girlfriends had liked. He quickly made his own schedule of sneaking into her bedroom late in the evening to help her study because he loved her blush and the bright gleam in her eyes. The day when Nancy told him that he was a dork was the day when Steve felt his heart swell because finally, he wasn’t being too much.

And then Barb disappeared and monsters turned out to be real.

Nancy stayed with him but it wasn’t the same anymore. She would still laugh at his corny jokes and affirmations but Steve had seen her distant eyes, no longer bright with the same love. Like she had managed to switch it off by herself.

Steve should’ve split up with her. But he didn’t want to be an asshole and leave her miserable with no support who knew nothing about the Upside Down. But she hadn’t pushed him away or told him his efforts were too much. So he stayed.

If he had left sooner, then Steve wouldn't have been told in a stranger’s bathroom that his love wasn’t just too much, they were bullshit instead.

He couldn’t trust himself with another romantic partner after that.

And then about two years later, he and Eddie started dating.

Everything that Steve had been told was ‘too much’ or ‘bullshit’ became ‘give me more’. More lazy kisses in the morning, more cuddles on the couch, more help with the laundry or dishes, more lovemaking, more, more.

Steve also found out real quick that Eddie loved whenever Steve quoted Shakespeare - especially Romeo and Juliet or Much Ado About Nothing - for no reason except to watch his boyfriend turn and scream delightfully into his own shoulder. Of course, Steve had taken his advantage, dialing it up with the Harrington charm just to make Eddie’s face redder. Whenever he thought that was too much, Eddie turned back around and kissed him with stupid smiles on both of their faces.

For a while, Steve had thought he finally found the perfect partner.

But he forgets that he doesn’t know how to shut his heart down.

—

Steve casually leans against the living room wall, acting totally non-suspicious as hides from view of the front door. He hears it swing open and then Eddie coming inside, the metallic clicking of his crane accompanying his steps. Steve waits just a bit longer until Eddie makes his way to the kitchen. Then he hurries around the corner and giddily wraps his arms around Eddie’s torso, lifting the man up.

“Welcome back-” Steve starts, a petname ready to fall out as he’s ready to bemoan his loneliness. But Eddie’s cold tone makes his jaws instantly clamp shut.

“Put me down.”

Steve obeys, swiftly but carefully as not to agitate Eddie’s leg. He keeps his arms around his boyfriend, squeezing just once in what he hopes comes off as assuring. However, Eddie only stiffens and says in the same cold tone-

“Let me go.”

Steve does. Eddie continues on towards the kitchen, not even glancing over once. Anxiety starts to drill into Steve’s spine, already making its way into the lining of his stomach. Something clearly happened to Eddie that’s putting him in a foul mood.

Tailing after him, Steve finally finds his voice and asks, “Is everything okay?”

Eddie doesn’t respond. He plops down onto a chair, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders are starting to shake. The anxiety shifts into concern as Steve hurries over to his side. “Eds-”

Eddie suddenly slams his hands onto the table, startling Steve back. He whips his head around to glare at Steve, yelling, “Is it too much to leave me alone for one minute?!”

Too much.

Steve swallows the thick lump in his throat, mumbles something he hopes is an apology, and stumbles outside to the backyard. He stares at the pool for a second before he quickly rounds to the side of his house, stopping just along the walls where he always felt the sunlight wouldn’t reach. Steve slowly crouches down to the ground, staring at nothing in particular despite the burning pressure behind his eyes and heart.

He should’ve seen this coming. Actually, he had known the day when Eddie finally had enough of his unbearable actions was approaching soon. They’ve been together for nearly a year. Just as long as Steve had with Nancy before that Halloween party. But Steve’s been living in blissful ignorance, hoping that it wouldn’t happen.

But even that had been too much.

A wet laugh bubbles out of his lips and Steve quickly clamps a hand over it. He feels like a kid, hiding behind his house like he’s avoiding his father instead of Eddie. It’s so stupid but very on-brand.

He lets the tears drop, forcing his hand to remain on his mouth so he can stay quiet. He doesn’t want to upset Eddie anymore.

Crunching stones under shoes approach. Steve doesn’t even look up when he hears a sucking of breath and Eddie’s murmuring voice, “Shit, Stevie.”

Calloused, ringed hands gently cup both sides of his face. Steve barely catches himself from sinking into the grasp. It’s always too easy to enjoy the feeling of Eddie’s hands on his cheeks. Was it too much for Eddie as well?

“Stevie, please look at me.”

Despite his brain screaming at him no, Steve does so. Eddie’s eyes are bloodshot red and tracks of tears practically shine on his face. In another scenario, he would look as beautiful as ever. But instead, he looks like shit.

Eddie’s fingers tap on his hand, the one still clamping over his mouth. Steve shakes his head quickly. He doesn’t want to break down into a sobbing mess and demand Eddie’s comfort.

“I’m sorry.” Eddie rasps out, a line of spittle popping out of his mouth. His voice sounds rough like he had just cried. “I’m so sorry, Steve, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. Work was-” He closes his eyes, shudders out another breath, and opens them again. “What happened at work wasn’t an excuse and never should be. Even if I was exhausted and upset, I shouldn’t have lashed out. I wish I could take those words back, baby.”

Steve finally removes his hand, managing to speak coherent words just before the sobbing finally breaks out. “Am I too much though?”

He catches the horrified expression before Eddie suddenly pulls him forward into a tight embrace.

“You’re never too much, sweetheart. You’re just fucking perfect.” Eddie whispers into Steve’s ear, clear as day.

Steve doesn’t know how they spend kneeling on the ground as his entire body rattles out from crying while Eddie keeps holding him and occasionally gently shushing Steve. Eventually, Steve’s eyes dry out and he feels so tired that he just wants to tuck himself into bed and sleep.

Eddie helps him up and guides him back inside the house. They linger at the foot of the stairs, both of them realizing the same thing.

“Do you… want me to sleep with you still?” Eddie asks softly. He hasn’t let his hand go from Steve’s where it occasionally squeezes around his fingers. It fixes something in Steve’s heart but it’s barely enough to soothe the ache over.

“I-” Steve cuts himself off. Eddie looks at him earnestly, his brown eyes appearing to grow bigger with the still-there shining tears. Steve sighs and continues, “I think I want.. space. Just for tonight.”

Eddie nods, pursing his lips. “So do I. I think that’ll be good for tonight.”

“You won’t leave?” It hurts Steve to ask even though his gut is certain that Eddie will rather chew his hand off than leave.

“I’ll still be here.” Eddie raises a hand up with a small smile. “Especially in the morning when we’re rested and less pissed-off.”

Steve smiles back, “Okay.”

And when the morning does come, Eddie’s still here. When they talk and apologize, Eddie tells Steve again that he never thought of Steve as an unbearable boyfriend.

It makes Steve feel warm from the overflow of Eddie’s love.

#klaus writes #steddie #stranger things #steddielovemonth

1K notes · View notes

gremlingottoosilly · 6 months

Text

Under the Christmas tree [dark!141 x fem!Reader] (Secret Santa fic)

Secret Santa gift for @crash-and-live 141 had a wonderful time taking their combat medic to be their captive barracks bunny instead. Now, the Sergeants have decided you will make a wonderful gift for their COs. CW and Tags: Dub-con, poly!141, inappropriate celebration of Christmas, power imbalance, bondage, slight BDSM.

Gaz was always an expert on knots.

Fancy little ribbons and bows – not so much. He prides himself on being suspiciously quick to adapt to the changing environment, yes, but learning how to tie bows when your little captive is acting just a tad bit dismissive towards the whole idea is…hard. Not as hard as hanging down the rope on a moving helicopter, but…

— Come, luv. Stop strugglin’

He smiles, all teeth and no lies, when you – his favorite medic, the best thing ever happening to this bloody team – started meowling something about the circulation and cutting off the bloodstream and how you don’t exactly like not only being held in the basement of the base but also being tied up…he looks at you and just knows he can’t resist booping you on the nose, kissing your perfect fuckin cheeks while Soap already has his hands in your hair, gently brushing it to put even more ribbons and bows. Red, just like on a Christmax gift.

You’re a bloody gift.

— I ken ye don’t like sittin’ like this, but Lt needs pick me up, aye?

Soap smiles when you struggle just a bit more, your tied hands brushing against his stomach as you slowly buck your hips back. Trying to get just a tiny bit of stimulation, sneaky little lass – this is why he loves you, so smart and so adorably dumb at the same time. The best thing that ever happened to them is that you still act like you don’t enjoy being their shared chewing toy. They can agree it’s just a bit of a stretch from your previous working environment but hell, at least you’re not being shot at. Johnny’s hand gently moves from your head to your neck, adjusting the little red bow he made from the ribbons. They tried so hard to find the softest ever ribbons without a sharp edge and material that could cut off the circulation – even though Kyle was still doing his favorite knots that rendered you absolutely defenseless. You lick your lips and try to rock from side to side, making the ribbons a bit more loose – it doesn’t work, of course. Not like your team ever wanted you to have a say in their perverse desires, right?

You fell into the Stockholm syndrome quite easily, especially since they were so stuck on always respecting your wishes(except for letting you out, of course) and never forcing anything too harsh…up until now, apparently. Making sure you’re on your best behavior because it’s Christmas, they have a small table set up – beer, whiskey, some snacks that you naively put on because you’re still not allowed to cook, and they don’t really care for home-cooked meals – and your shaking form, twisted in a somewhat sexy pose all because they needed a little Christmas present for their CO’s.

Gaz brushes his hand on your tummy, gently pushing it down – you were prepared, of course, so much lube was out in your glossy folds, with Soap’s mouth buried deep between your legs, until you felt you’re going to pass out from the sheer amount of orgasm he was edging out of you. There is a reason why Johnny isn’t allowed to eat you out when Ghost isn’t around – his self-control is non-existent when push comes to your cunt and the tongue he can shove in.

You feel like you’re going to burst when you finally hear the door opening. When you finally hear Captain – his tired, gruff voice, the way Ghost’s jacket silently hits the ground as they start to undress. Usually, you’re made to greet them with kisses and your soft lips on their cocks if they feel particularly tired. Usually, you’re made to wait for them in the bedroom, with their sergeants gently playing with you because, of course, you’re the property of all four of them, no matter the power dynamic.

Nothing is usual now – you’re laying under a Christmas tree, naked and aroused, your pussy is all puffy and swollen from Soap’s tongue, your body is tied up with red ribbons Gaz was using. You want to be good for them, and so you lay here, hoping your obedience will be enough for a few more climaxes. Ghost is the first to put his hands on you.

Kneading your breasts, gently forcing his rough fingers on your exposed nipples, you’re so sweet for him, so perfect, laid out like a beautiful gift – he can only groan in arousal as he slowly pushes the ribbons from your chest, taking in the view of your hardened buds and bite marks – evidence of Kyle taking his mark while he was tying you up. You might have been apprehensive about the whole idea, but you’re playing the role of a gift perfectly – just like you should.

— Bloody hell, love. So pretty for us.

— She was such a good girl for us, Lt. Didnae even resisted much. ~ — Is that right, sweetheart?

You can only nod, your mouth stuffed with a pretty gag – you’re drooling all around it, looking fucking adorable as you try and look as harmless as possible. No reason to provoke them now when they already made it clear just how many orgasms they are going to take from you tonight.

Ghost smiles under his mask, his hands moving to play with your lower tummy, squeezing the soft flesh and teasing your folds – you’re soft and pliable for them, spread out like a perfect toy. The most desirable thing they could ever find under a Christmas tree.

Price caresses your face with a softness you didn’t know a man of his position could have. He kisses you, and his whiskers tickle your soft skin – you aren’t sure if you can even handle him being so damn gentle about everything. He laughs as you try to wiggle out of Ghost’s grasp, their hands laying on your body – bruises and marks are scattered across your skin, making you the perfect canvas. Gosh, you’re beautiful – John doesn’t even know what they did to deserve such a little treat. — Such a pretty display for us, eh?

— Sergeants outdid themselves this time.

— You bet they did. Are you goin’ to behave for us, love?

Price smiles when you whimper, spreading your legs like a pretty toy. Ghost already pushing you to the ground, forcing his way in between your thighs – you’re so open for them, vulnerable to the tip of his cock pressing in your folds already. Soap did a good job eating you out, even Simon’s cock won’t be too much – not after the way Gaz was spreading you on three of his fingers, smiling with each of your little attempts at moans. You know the night is going to be long.

#cod #cod x reader #call of duty #captain price x reader #price x reader #john price #captain john price #soap #soap x reader #soap mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #dark ghost #dark 141 #141 x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick

1K notes · View notes

tongue-like-a-razor · 7 months

Text

Brother's Best Friend - Part 9

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: I just wanted to let y'all know how much your enthusiasm and encouragement means to me. Your support, whether it's in the form of comments, reblogs, or asks, literally inspires me to keep writing and I just wanted to say thank you for your kind words! You guys seriously rock!

Summary: The trials and tribulations of falling for your brother's best friend.

CW: Uhh.. you're gonna love it

WC: ~2500

Part 1 | Masterlist

“What’re you up to tonight?” Jake asks casually, about five minutes after you’ve entered the kitchen.

You glance up from your still steeping tea hesitantly; you haven’t spoken to Jake since the pervious night at the club and you’ve all but resolved never to make eye contact with him again. “Uh,” you begin shakily, the stress of the situation resulting in a minor mental shutdown.

You watch as your brother tries on a third Hawaiian shirt and walks over to the mirror in the front hall to check himself out.

You gulp uneasily, your eyes meeting Jake’s as Bradley leaves the kitchen. “Just studying,” you finish, finally remembering your plans for the evening.

“Studying, huh?” Bradley calls from the foyer. A second later, he reemerges with a smirk on his face. “I know what that means.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you and then shoots Jake a knowing grin.

Jake appears, at the very least, unimpressed with Bradley’s insinuation and, quite possibly, even critical of it. He gives him an irked look and proceeds to flip more aggressively through an old National Geographic magazine, one from the stack currently sitting on the living room coffee table. “You look like a douche in that shirt,” Jake grumbles.

Bradley’s eyebrows converge as he stares at his friend with a mixture of shock and disappointment. “Is that true?” he asks, turning to you for support as if you’re there to mediate.

You shrug. “I don’t think the shirt has anything to do with it,” you say.

Jake snorts out a laugh while Bradley’s mouth falls open in outrage. He looks between you and Jake and shakes his head. “That’s how it’s gonna be?”

“Maybe wear a t-shirt,” you suggest. “Borrow one of Jake’s.”

Jake gives you an amused look. “You think I’m just handing out band tees?”

Bradley narrows his eyes. “I feel like I’m missing something.”

“I just finished a load of laundry and I’ve got a Pantera shirt you can wear,” you continue, already smiling in anticipation of Jake’s reaction.

Jake lifts his eyebrows with a grin. “I thought that wasn’t appropriate dating attire. Too many skulls or some shit?”

Bradley places his hands on his hips and tilts his head suspiciously. “I…” he begins. “I have questions,” he concludes, still glancing between you and Jake. His knotted eyebrows indeed confirm just how perplexed he is. “But I’m already late. So, I guess douche shirt’s gonna have to do.” He grabs his jacket off the back of a kitchen chair and heads back out into the hall.

“Have fun!” Jake calls, leaning into the table so that his voice carries through to the front door.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” Bradley calls back. “We’ll be meeting up with her friends later tonight. They’re female.”

You roll your eyes, removing the tea bag from your mug. You look up to see that Jake’s gaze is trained on you.

“I’m good,” Jake calls back, finally breaking eye contact with you. He reverts his attention to the article before him detailing the mating rituals of various species of primates.

“See you tomorrow, then!” Bradley calls, and then the door shuts behind him.

A predictable, but still awkward, silence follows Bradley's departure. You finish preparing your tea while your heart batters relentlessly against your ribcage, daring you to say something – anything – about the previous night’s affairs. Naturally, you ignore this sensible impulse, starting for the staircase mutely after shooting Jake a quick, rigid smile.

Jake’s eyes follow you as you cross the room. “You got a date with ‘study group’ guy?” he asks pointedly, using air quotes to emphasize study group as though your evening is sure to consist of anything but that.

You pause, holding your mug close to your chest. “It’s not a date,” you say, although, at this point, you kind of wish that it were.

Jake raises his eyebrows like your response has only served to reinforce his skepticism. “Why do you even need to study?” he says with a cringe. “You’re already smart.”

You purse your lips to suppress a grin. “Funny,” you comment, continuing toward the stairs.

“I could help,” Jake offers.

You glance at him over your shoulder in surprise. “What?”

Jake closes the magazine and straightens his back. “I could help you study.”

You stare at him, trying to imagine how that might go down. “What do you know about psychology?” you ask, having already decided that, despite his noblest intentions, Jake’s assistance would be absolutely useless.

Jake scoffs. “I don’t need to know anything about it to help you cram for a test. You got flash cards?”

You give him a flat look. “It’s an oral exam.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Say what, now?”

You close your eyes and massage your temple irritably. “It’s worth fifty percent of my grade.”

Jake grimaces. “How good are you at oral?”

You let out an indignant cry, wishing you had something in your hands to throw at him other than a ceramic mug full of scalding liquid. “And this is why I’m studying with ‘study group’ guy,” you retort, stomping up the stairs.

“I’m joking!” Jake laughs, getting to his feet. “Come back!”

But you’re already on the second floor and you shut your bedroom door before he can say anything else.

…

Twenty minutes later, you return with your book bag, your empty mug, and a disparaging look on your face as Jake approaches the bottom of the stairs to greet you with a sheepish grin.

“Come on, Baby B,” he says as you set your bag down and glide by him with an eyeroll, heading for the sink. “It was a joke.” He follows you through the kitchen and leans into the counter as you start to wash your mug.

You bite into the inside of your cheek to keep a straight face. It’s not every day that Jake takes responsibility for his actions, and you’re sort of enjoying the groveling. “I’m not mad, I just think you’re an idiot.”

“See? I told you you’re smart,” Jake says.

You sigh, glancing up at him wearily. “Unfortunately, my extensive knowledge of Jake Seresin isn’t going to help me pass my midterm.”

“Shame,” he responds with a slight grin. “’Cause you’d ace that.”

You chuckle. “You think?”

Jake’s smile falters and he leans his back into the refrigerator. His eyes scan your face like he’s searching for something. You wonder if he’s finally going to address the elephant in the room, but he just exhales moodily and drops his gaze. “Well, have fun,” he mumbles to the floor.

You narrow your eyes and let out a somewhat resentful scoff. It’s just like Jake to lead a girl on, and you should have known that – after all, you’re apparently the leading expert on Jake Seresin. “Oh yes,” you say. “Studying’s a blast.”

Jake lifts his eyes solemnly. “Come on, you’re not that naïve.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask, picking your book bag back up.

Jake’s gaze slips briefly to your bare abdomen, framed by the hem of your crop top and the band of your baggy joggers. “This dude only wants one thing,” he says. “And it’s not to help you prepare for midterms.”

You let out a cackle and head out of the kitchen. “Seresin, please!” you exclaim. “Not every guy in the world is a total pig.”

“How many people are you meeting tonight?” he asks, trailing behind you.

You pause at the door before putting on your shoes. “He couldn’t get a hold of anyone else,” you respond innocently, trying not to cringe at the – now that you think about it – ridiculous excuse ‘study group’ guy has given you.

“Right,” Jake mutters, taking the bag off your shoulder when you bend down to put on your sneakers.

You stand back up and your eyes meet his for a moment. He looks like he’s got more to say but you have a feeling he isn’t going to say it. “I can handle myself,” you reassure him.

Jake watches you with a dubious expression. “As long as you know what you’re walking into,” he says.

You laugh, taking a step back to ease some of the tension that’s got your back muscles seizing up. “And even if he does have an ulterior motive – which I seriously doubt – would it really be so terrible?”

Jake doesn’t seem as amused at this prospect as you. “It would be manipulative,” he responds levelly.

You shrug nonchalantly. “I don’t think it’s a big deal.”

He squints slightly and you feel like he’s judging your answer. “I thought you needed to study.”

“I do!” you respond defensively. “And I’m not going with the intention of engaging in any…” you pause, thinking of a way to put what you’re about to say more delicately. “… other activities,” you finish with a minor wince. “But, if an opportunity happens to present itself –”

Jake raises his eyebrows. “An opportunity,” he echoes in the same disapproving tone.

“What, like you’ve never taken advantage of an opportunity.”

Jake juts out his jaw in a sulking manner, pondering over your allegation without disputing it. He looks a fair bit guilty but that may very well be your personal interpretation. Finally, he reaches for the door and opens it resignedly. “Call me if you need me,” he says.

You sigh, standing in front of the open door. “You don’t have any plans?” you ask, almost cautiously because you probably don’t want to know the answer.

Jake purses his lips and shakes his head.

This gives you pause, but you try not to let the defeated look on his face sway you. You aren’t sure what he stands to gain from this particular transaction, but you doubt his motive for offering to help is entirely altruistic.

Perhaps he’s gunning for a clean slate. Trying to be a friend. Trying to eclipse recent, reprehensible behavior with an act of goodwill. Maybe he’s worried that you’re mad, or that he might lose you.

The fact of the matter is, you could speculate till the cows come home, but you won’t know unless you ask. So, in a move not even you could have predicted, you do just that. “Why would you even want to waste your evening studying?” you probe.

Jake tilts his head to the side and squints his eyes at you in confusion. “Just tryin’ to help,” he responds.

You look down at your feet uncomfortably and shrug, but continue prodding, nonetheless. “I mean, you could be out with my brother.” What you really want to say is that he could be hooking up with a new chick within the hour if he feels like it; it wouldn’t even be a challenge.

“Didn’t wanna crash his date.”

You glance up at him sharply, wondering if that is, indeed, the only reason he chose to stay behind. His eyes slide slowly over your face as though he’s trying to guess what you’re going to say next. You gulp uneasily; being scrutinized by the guy of your dreams is hardly an enjoyable pastime. At the same time, it’s wildly thrilling to have his undivided attention. “No other reason?” you ask with a slight break in your voice, your throat decidedly too dry to pose any further questions.

Jake glances pointedly at the open door he's still holding and then back at you. He doesn’t respond, nor does he inquire why you’ve still not left. Instead, he starts to slowly close the door, his eyes boring into yours so intently you think the weight of his gaze might vaporize you.

You feel a warmth wash over you – no; a heat. It’s a distressingly abrupt sensation, like you’ve been shoved into an oven set to broil. But it’s nothing new. You’ve experienced this kind of nauseating high before and you’re just as unamused with this bodily reaction now as you’ve been in the past.

Jake stands very still, his back to the door he’s just shut, stalling. And despite the very persistent voice in the back of your head telling you he can’t possibly be interested in pursuing anything remotely romantic with his best friend’s little sister, the hesitation on his face is telling quite a different tale. Jake is torn.

You can relate. You’ve been simultaneously longing for and avoiding direct contact with him for ages. “You, uh” – you take a shallow breath and nervously lick your lips. “You think I’ll get more studying done if I stay?” you ask faintly.

Jake watches you carefully, as though he’s giving himself a minute to consider your question. He takes a step toward you, lowering his face to maintain eye contact. And, while his expression remains mostly impassive, you swear that you notice a brief flicker of exhilaration pass over his features right before he says, “I can’t promise that.”

You stare at him, frozen in place as he takes your chin in his hand and lifts it ever so slightly, as if he knows that you’re in no condition to elevate it on your own. Then, just as you’re about to say something completely irrelevant to fill the silence, Jake’s lips pass softly over yours.

And that’s when you come entirely apart. Your book bag crashes to the floor as your arm drops limply at your side. Your legs vibrate feebly, fighting to keep you standing. But you ignore the – indeed concerning – widespread weakness sweeping through your body. Because the only matter worth attending to is Jake’s hand as it slides purposely down to your throat, his thumb curling around as though he means to choke you.

Admittedly, you’d let him.

But his fingers don’t commit to a firm grasp by any means, instead, they glide up and down, intermittently applying a gentle pressure to your neck as his tongue curves boldly into your open mouth.

Jake Seresin is kissing you.

In a way that no one’s ever kissed you before. In a way that rattles you. Because it’s hungry and unreserved. Because it’s dangerously intimate. Because it’s Jake Seresin.

He’s kissing you like he already knows just how you like to be kissed. Or… the way you like to be kissed just happens to be the way he kisses. He’s had plenty of practice, after all.

Whatever the case may be, there’s a fire at the tip of every one of his fingers, and it follows the length of your collarbone in their wake. There’s a spark in the friction of every touch, at every point of contact.

It’s in the sweet burn of your bottom lip when he catches it between his teeth. It’s in the way he nudges your face with the tip of his nose in between kisses. It’s in his eyes when he finally releases your lips and meets your gaze; it’s in the silence.

You swallow, looking up at him anxiously, unsure how it’s even possible that you’re still standing. Jake is watching you with an unsettling blend of affection and alarm. He sighs finally and tugs on your elbow, pulling you in to rest his forehead over yours. “Fuck,” he mutters, closing his eyes and releasing a heavy – and noticeably unsteady – breath. “Your brother’s gonna kill me.”

Read Part 10

Hangman Tag List:

A/N: I've condensed my Hangman list to make room for new people by removing accounts that have been on the list the longest and haven't interacted in a while. If I've removed you but you still want to be on the list, please let me know!

The rest of the list will be in the comments. Let me know if you don't want to be tagged anymore.

@atarmychick007

@callsign-sunshine

@shanimallina87

@wkndwlff

@thefandomimagines

@lunamoonbby

@xoxabs88xox

@Elenavampire21

@desert-fern

@averyhotchner

@Topguncultleader

@teacupsandtopgun

@lilyevanswhore

@sarcasm-n-insomnia

@avengers-fixation

@malindacath

@maddievevo

@widemiffyhappy

@dempy

@djs8891

@pono-pura-vida

@phoenix1388

@teaminator

@rascallyrascals

@kmc1989

@drakelover78

@hangmanscoming

@topgun-imagines

@thedroneranger

@joaquinwhorres

@abaker74

@untoldshortsofthefandoms

@lynnevanss

@birdy-bat-writes

@alexxavicry

@scenesofobx

@hallecarey1

@rrocky0ah

@ekeel2016

@imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog

@maeleeme

1K notes · View notes