#bet no other ask game asks you to describe your fic as a pair of shoes
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Game Over
Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI
Pairing: SNL Mario x Princess Peach! Reader
Word count: 2.3
Summary: a friendly wager over the Star Cup leads to an unexpected victory.
Warnings: pegging, anal fingering, dirty talk, drinking, flirting, butt plugs, use and abuse of video game imagery, crack fic, probably cringe. No use of y/n, reader is princess peach, but her hair, skin and body type aren’t described.
A word from the author: This is a repost! Here is my bonus contribution to the Peg That Middle Aged Man Campaign! I love this fic. This may be one of my favorite things I’ve ever written. I was giggling like an idiot the whole time I worked on it, and I’ve been dying to finally share it. Yes, it is crack, but I think it’s also kinda hot?
“You lost, Mario,” You said, running a gloved finger over the shiny button of his overalls “you know what that means. I’ll come find you later.” You winked at him over your shoulder and went to celebrate your win.
He had barely gotten out of his kart, angry at himself for losing, angry that he couldn’t react as quickly as he used to, couldn’t dodge banana peels fast enough to keep you from speeding by, a blur of pink in his peripheral.
You took your victory lap, waving gleefully from your kart, and accepted your trophy under a flurry of confetti. No mere cup could bring you as much pride as collecting your winnings from Mario, though.
Mario had accepted defeat graciously, you had won fair and square. You’re an honest woman, a good woman. Even though his cock ached at the sight of you sauntering toward him in the garage, he wanted to go back on his word, travel back in time to take back the bet, to wager something, anything else. Mario knew it was useless. He had already let his secret slip, let you know his secret desire, and now you were going to collect, going to give him everything he wanted and there was no going back. Game over.
•••••
Mario was handsome, much better looking up close where you could see the true depth of his brooding eyes, see the gray threading through his mustache, the way dirt and grease seeped into his denim and smell the engine grease, sweat, and mint that cling to him. You’d wanted him for ages, danced around each other, teasing, hinting, exchanging glances, never quite finding the right time to hook up. He was so quiet and earnest, you were exuberant and bold. Fire and water, to be certain. What do Fire and Water make if not steam, though and last night the pot was about to boil over when you’d met up with a few other drivers before the Special Cup race. Friendly wagers weren’t uncommon and everyone was in high spirits after a tough series of other races. Competition was fierce and only the best of the best were left.
Glasses were filled and drained and filled again, and you were feeling buzzy and alive when you spotted the sometimes plumber on the outside of the small crowd. His eyes were shiny and his cheeks and chest were flushed pink from so many toasts to his opponents. He raised his glass when your eyes met, drawing you to him. “Luigi just bet an entire week’s pay on the first race.” He teased. Luigi was swaying on his feet, smiling and holding Yoshi for balance. “What did you wager, Mario?” You asked, knowing as well as he did that Luigi wasn’t ever going to beat Mario. “Told him I’d give him the business if he won.” Your jaw dropped in faux surprise, and you smacked him lightly on the arm. His arm. Maybe you’d drank a bit too much too, but it was so solid you couldn’t help but let your hand linger, squeezing it gently to feel the solid muscle. You didn’t know how long you’d stood there, gazing at his bicep, studying its strength, imagining it hooked under your knee, or lifting you against a wall, until you heard him speak. “What about you, Princess? You want to make it interesting too?” He was smirking down at you, lust glinting in his eyes.
“Yeah. Let’s make it interesting Mario. What do you want to bet?” You smirked back, tilting your head playfully, your little crown slipping to the side just slightly before you right it.
Mario adjusted his stance, squaring his shoulders and letting you drink in the great size of him, his height, the broadness of his shoulders, the taper of his waist evident even under his overalls, the softness of his belly, grown from a fondness for meatballs and pasta. His strength was tenfold, strong enough, you thought to punch through bricks if he wanted. “If I win, I’m gonna take you out, and you’re gonna let me show you a real good time.”
His words gave you a chill that run up from the base of your spine and made your scalp tingle, leaving you a little breathless. “Yeah? And if I win, then what?” He grinned, placed a wide hand on your ruffled waist “I guess you’ll have to show me a good time.”
You could have left it at that, a flirtation without teeth, but you needed more. “What’s a good time to a guy like you, Mario?” You desperately wanted to know now.
“C’mere, I’ll show ya.” He tugged you down a dark hallway, into the shadows, where the music and the laughter and the voices were dampened by wood paneled walls. Your hand felt small in his and for a moment his thick fingers grazed over your gloved ones, admiring the delicate fabric, how smooth and soft it was, how clean and bright it was, never a smudge of oil, not a single red drip from your glass. They were pure and pretty, just like he liked to think of you, his Princess Peach.
There in the dark he locked you into a kiss, scratched by his mustache and soothed by his tongue, you could only let go and let him take you.Hiking your skirt higher, he nipped at your neck. He kissed wetly along your jaw, and breathed into your ear just as you felt the solid heft of his hard cock come to rest over your clothed cunt. Even under his overalls you could estimate his size. “Is that a pipe in your pocket?” You tease, rolling your hips against him.
Mario hummed. “I’m a plumber, Princess. Lay a lot of pipe. Good at it too.” He continued to kiss you, grunting in frustration at the voluminous skirt keeping him from getting his hands on your ass. “Fabric.” He mutters. “Impractical.” You lean back, smiling at his eagerness and the hunger in his eyes. You gathered the fabric of his very practical overalls at either side of his hips, pulling the material taut over his straining cock. He rocked his hips forward, begging for release. You wondered what he was wearing under there. It would be so easy to find out, just unclip his straps and they'd probably fall to his ankles. Your mouth watered, but senses prevailed and you remembered your wager. “And when I win, Mario? Are you going to let me bring out my pipe?”
You didn’t really expect it would happen. Sure, Bowser loved bouncing on your cock, let you take him all over the castle, begged for it. “Fuck me, Princess, please!” He bellowed. Mario though? For lack of a better term, you never pegged him as one to let a woman dick him down. You fully expected to suck his cock or let him fuck you hard and fast, maybe take your panties as a bonus prize. Here he is though, lips parted, eyebrows furrowed. “That what you want, Peach? You think you can give it to me right?” His voice grew deeper and you knew the surprise was written over your face. “Know I can. I think once you get it you’ll throw every race just to get it again, too.”
That had your opponent groaning and bucking against you, hard and leaking.
You licked your lips, quickly flicked your gaze from his eyes to his lips and back again, and leaned close to let your lips brush the shell of his ear. “Save it for the race, Mario. Better get a good night’s rest.” And with that you slipped back out into the raucous crowd, little crown bobbing along with each step across the room and out he door, gone before he could respond.
•••••
In the dark, warm garage, you found Mario wiping down his kart with a rag, his movements slow and practiced, methodical, buffing until the red paint gleamed, reflecting the moment he saw you standing behind him. He tossed the rag into a bin and smiled, lopsided and a little shy. He shifted his weight and wiped his hands on his pants. “Here to make good on the wager or you want to go double or nothing?”
“I want my prize now, Mario. Unless you’re going to renege.” Your voice was soft and sweet, and as you spoke you closed in, helping yourself to a generous feel of his chest, his biceps, and down his strong forearms before you pulled them around your waist and stood on the tiptoes to reach up for a kiss from his hot and willing lips.
His kiss was searing and deep, you’d like to stay locked with him like this forever, but there was business to attend to first. Deftly, you unsnapped the hooks holding up his dusty overalls, letting them sag low on his hips.
Mario’s head spun. He had given the race his all, determined to bury himself in you to the hilt and fuck you mercilessly until you screamed his name and soaked his cock. He was certain of his victory, but something in the back of his mind gave him pause. A little what if…
And so when you spun the defeated man around, guiding him to lean against the hood of the kart and reaching between his endearingly small ass, you found he was ready for you. Throughout the race, Mario had worn his favorite butt plug, the one that fit with just the right stretch and was adorned with a happy little golden star atop the flared base.
Your heart pounded. He had prepared for you. He knew you were his most formidable opponent and he knew he could very well lose. Your heart sang in your chest. Holding back a delighted giggle, you tugged gently at the plug, making him moan and sigh. You steadied him with a hand on his hips and carefully worked the plug free, tossing it into the bin with the rag, more clean up for later.
From your purse, you fetched a small bottle, laying it on the hood right where Mario could see it, then stepped out of your full, ruffled skirt, revealing that you, too, were prepared. You’d driven to glory with the red and white polka dotted cock resting heavy on your thighs, hidden by your skirt, but urging you to your win, reminding you what awaited. You took the bottle and drizzled the cool green lubricant into your hand. Mario watched, eyes fixed on your strap on. Only closing them when he felt you press one, then two fingers into his tight ass. Gently you stroked him, letting him adjust to you, letting him push back onto your hand with a soft whine.
With every move, his overalls clinked against the side of the vehicle, soon drowned out by his wanton moans and curses. “Fuck, Peach. Fuck, ohh..”
“How’s that feel, baby? That good? Do you need more?”
Mario nodded, swallowing thickly, breathing heavily.
“More. Please.”
You shoved his red shirt up his back and kissed along his spine, easing in a third finger. As he relaxed into your movements you found a rhythm, fucking him with your fingers, praising him, kissing him anywhere you could reach, and taking his big, callused hand when he reached for yours.
When you felt him begin to clench, you pulled away. “No, Mario. You’re not coming yet. Don’t you dare.” You didn't win this race to just finger his asshole. You coated the mushroom head of your silicone cock and nudged it against his warp zone. “You gotta come on my cock. You want that, baby? Want me to fuck you now? Really properly fuck you?”
Again he nodded, and you smacked his ass. “Need to hear you say it, Mario. Do you want my cock?”
“Yes. Yes. Want you to fuck me, Princess. Please. Fuck!”
Desperation looked good on him, but so did euphoria, so you guided your thick, dotted cock into him and watched in awe as the ring of muscle stretched to take you, pulling you in, it seemed. Aided by the generous drizzle of thick, green lube, you rocked into him until your hips were flush with his ass. You stayed there, letting him adjust, head dropped forward, letting the pleasure wash over him.
He felt so full. His cock dripped precome down the gleaming side panel, and he began to move his hips, winding them a little back and then a little forward, slow and steady, “Move for me, Peach. Fuck me. I can take it.”
You increased your pace, fucking his ass a little harder, a little faster, a little deeper, but keeping control. “Doing so good for me, Mario.” You praised. “Look so sexy taking this cock. My pussy is so wet. Do you know what you do to me? Letting me fuck you like this? Taking my pipe?” Your words and praise swirled in his mind and suddenly your hand was around his cock, stroking him, twisting with each pass up his shaft as you buried your cock deep and gave only shipper, pulsing thrusts. “Need you to come for me. Come and I’ll let you eat my pussy.”
His orgasm was instantaneous, thick ropes of spend dripped down the side of his kart, desecrating the shiny finish, but he didn’t care. He slumped forward as you slipped out of him, sated and happy, aching in the best way.
You came back, kissing him again, passing him a clean cloth to clean himself up, thanking him for an invigorating race and an unforgettable night.
Hopping up onto the hood, you laid back, wearing your gloves and crown and nothing else, “You finished first this round, Mario. Now it’s my turn.”
He spread your knees with strong hands, “Let’s a-go!”
#pmamc 2024#PMAMC24#peg that middle aged man campaign#snl Mario#mario smut#Pedro pascal#Pedro pascal as mario#Pedro pascal as mario smut#snl characters#crack#pedro pascal character smut#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro pascal characters
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Needles and Pins
*Requested from this ask :)
Era: Pre-Apocalypse
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader
Pronouns: Non-Specified
Word Count: 2.4k
Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, slight violence/gore, getting into fist fights
Summary: When you and Daryl’s laid-back night out takes a turn, you both aren’t afraid to show off the damage that your strong personalities can cause.
A/N: I’ve never written a fic that is based off of a song/lyrics or Pre-Apocalypse!Daryl before, so apologies if the flow seems a bit choppy or if the content doesn’t match the song, this was just how I interpreted it (Needles and Pins - The Deftones). Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy reading!!
All of your life, you have always been a force to be reckoned with. Strong, fierce, stubborn, and unforgettable are just a few words to further describe you. Sometimes, it was either your way or the highway, while other times you didn’t care which way it was. Although you thrived in the comfort of staying out of the spotlight as much as possible, you never had an issue being in it if it so happened to shine on you. Whether that be from kicking your elementary school bully’s ass at recess, or telling a previous boss where they could shove it after wrongfully commending you. You knew your worth, and possessed just enough respect for yourself to let others know it as well.
Although a man of few words, Daryl Dixon didn’t let anyone or anything change the way he did things; it was admirable (though most viewed it as infuriating at times) how he stuck to his morals no matter what. As much as he tried to avoid it, he never shied away from a fight if it came its way, especially if it involved defending someone he valued or giving someone what they deserved.
Since the day you two met, you and Daryl have been able to admire each other's strengths and ambitions; despite having two very strong personalities that often resulted in the two of you butting heads. After bringing in your nearly broken down car to the shop Daryl was working at, you had begun to loudly commend the mechanic who was trying to hustle you into getting more expensive repairs done to your car than actually needed. Daryl had seen (and heard) your act of defense and found himself quickly rushing to your aid in heckling the amateur swindler.
Ever since that day, you and Daryl had become inseparable; drawn to each other's unique flame. It happened subtlety, and then all at once, when you two fell in love with each other.
You’re pins, Daryl’s needles.
Now, after suffering from another grueling work week that left your muscles aching and having caused your brain to practically turn to mush, you started the weekend right by spending the night out with Daryl at a sleazy bar that smelt of stale cigarettes and pungent alcohol. You both didn’t care for the amount of intoxicated bustling people that filled the small confined space of the hazy bar; you instead enjoyed being able to hide out in one of the corners of the bar, concealed by the dim light fixtures that casted shadows over you when sat in one of the wooden booths.
When you were together, it was easy to tune out everyone in the crowd.
“So, what are we betting on this week’s game of darts?” You asked while setting down the glass that held your Shirley temple.
Blinking his mystified gaze away from your fruit garnish cocktail, Daryl shrugged his shoulders loosely. He could never fully understand you at times, seeing you as much of an enigma as you saw him. You had no problem getting your hands dirty when accompanying him on his hunting trips in the springtime, or standing up for yourself when a customer at work started to become a little too entitled. But at the same time, you preferred drinking fruity cocktails over liquor and enjoyed going to the mall to window-shop at clothes, shoes and accessories that fit your unique style.
You amazed him in every way possible, like a blazing star falling from the sky.
“Losers gotta pick up the tab.” Daryl suggested from over the rim of his beer bottle.
Groaning, you let your head fall into your hands as your elbows sat perched on top of the scratched up wooden table. “We always do that…it has to be more interesting this time.”
“What could be more interestin’ than almost goin’ broke?” Daryl frowned in disbelief, which caused a shadow to cast over his eyes due to his furrowed brows.
“It’s not interesting—its just sad.” You defended while crossing your arms over your chest. A pout began to jut your lips when you thought back to all the times you’d check your bank account the following morning whenever you’d lose to the precise archer.
Daryl just hummed in acknowledgment as he leaned back in the practically disintegrated cushions of the booth. With the neck of the glass beer bottle hanging loosely between his fingers, Daryl pondered over a more enticing bet that was interesting and didn’t pack a painful blow to either of your bank accounts.
With two strong personalities going head to head, it was no surprise that you and Daryl began to bicker back and forth for the next few minutes, trying to agree upon a suitable wager. When it was finally settled, and you were both content with the risks, you slipped out of the confining booth and waltzed over to the dart board that hung in the corner you were occupying. When close enough, you began to pluck the handful of darts from off the board that was made up of cork.
Spinning around on the heels of your shoes, you refaced Daryl, who had brought your drinks over to one of the tall bar tables and was looking at you as if you were the only person left in the world. Despite the years of having been together, you still felt heat rush up your face at his wordless declaration of affection.
You’re pins, he’s needles, let’s play.
“So, who gets to go first?” You proposed as you silently prayed that the dim lights that lit up the bar was enough to conceal your rather juvenile flustering.
“After you.” Daryl mused while outstretching his arm and gesturing his hand towards the dart board.
With a nod of your head, and a confident smile gracing your lips, you started the first round. You tried not to let your sudden adrenaline rush get the best of you, or the look of adoration Daryl kept gazing at you with distract you. With each precise throw of your hand, you tried to make each dart count. Although not scoring any bullseyes (or even getting near it), you didn’t let it deter your confidence.
When you were half-way through the game, after having just finished the fourth round, the score was neck and neck. Although Daryl was leading, your throws were becoming more precise and consistent with landing near the center of the target. Setting the stub of a pencil down on the table beside the scoring sheet, you glanced over at Daryl, who was gulping down the last drops of his beer.
“Ooh, is someone getting nervous?” You teased with a light lilt in your voice. With a jut of your chin, you motioned towards the now empty beer bottle that Daryl held loosely in his hand.
Rolling his eyes and letting out a scoff, Daryl motioned towards your empty cocktail glass. “Says you.” Unable to stop the broadening grin from stretching across your face, you let your chin fall in your hands as Daryl stood up from the table. “You want a refill?”
After nodding your head, you watched as Daryl began to depart from you. Before he had the chance to completely disappear amongst the crowd of hazy and intoxicated people, your light voice beckoned him back. “You’re gonna leave without giving me a kiss first?”
Spinning around on the heels of his worn work boots, Daryl raised an eyebrow at you while the corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a smirk. Without having to say anything, Daryl sauntered back over to you, his concealed smirk only broadening the closer he got, and leaned down to give your soft lips a quick, but sweet, kiss. “I’ll be right back.” Daryl murmured just a few inches away from your lips as he slowly pulled away.
“I better get another one of those when you get back.” You looked at Daryl with hooded eyes as a rather love-struck smile fitted your face.
Letting out a light chuckle, Daryl nodded his head in agreement as he backed away from you. Before you knew it, his prominent broad frame disappeared into the crowd. Having so much of your attention focused on the game of darts and Daryl, you hadn’t noticed how pact the bar had begun. Despite the intimidating confinement, you tried not to let it deter your mood.
Your eyes flickered from person to person as they passed, waiting to land on Daryl’s handsome face when he would eventually emerge through the crowd again. As the seconds began to turn to minutes, and those minutes became more prominent, your worry increased. You knew the bar was busy, just by judging from the bouts of people alone, but you figured Daryl would’ve come back by now.
Just as you were ready to investigate what was taking your boyfriend so long, you quickly received your answer when a sudden boom of rowdy drunks began to cheer and chant.
Your gut was telling you that Daryl was somehow involved.
With a new wave of adrenaline spiking your nerves, you departed from your table and pushed through the mass of people who had begun to crowd around the main floor of the bar. When you emerged from between two particularly enthusiastic men, your eyes fell on the back of Daryl’s head, just as he was in the middle of swinging a right hook into someone’s jaw. Cursing under your breath, you flinched when the crowd’s instigating cheers became louder.
“Daryl!?” You shouted once you regained your bearings. Although you knew Daryl was fully capable of handling himself in a fight, that didn’t mean your worry lessened. He was still getting hurt, even if he was currently winning.
When your wavering concerned voice reached his ringing ears, Daryl instinctively looked for your face in the crowd when his opponent was momentarily stunted. His erratic eyes finally met your widened ones, and he was only able to throw a hand up in a stop gesture towards your inching closer body before getting punched in the face with unrelenting force by the now recovered drunk.
You watched in horror as Daryl stumbled backwards, his body falling onto a table as his eyes glistened in a daze. Wooden chairs tipped over and glass mugs and plates crashed to the floor due to the impact of Daryl’s body against the wobbly table. Your ears rang as you watched the smug drunk throw a punch to Daryl’s exposed abdomen; since Daryl was using his arms to block his face. You didn’t care what had caused the fight, or about any of the people who were too busy enjoying the entertainment that the fight brought them instead of attempting to stop it. All you could see was red.
Your boyfriend, your Daryl, was getting hurt. There was no way in hell you were going to allow yourself to stand there and do nothing.
With your hands clenched in tightly bound fists, you marched over to the two men. Although the opponent had a good foot over you in height, and god only knew how much in weight, you weren’t scared of his size in the least. In fact, it only spurred you on; encouraging you to take down the man who was twice the size of you and humiliating him in front of a bar full of people.
He didn’t know it, yet, but he had fucked with the wrong couple.
“Hey!” Gaining the attention of the opponent, you swung your fist directly into his nose. You could feel the bone structure crack under the impact of your knuckles, and could feel your skin tearing from the collision.
You didn’t let the pain deter the upper hand you now held. Grabbing a handful of the man’s stained shirt, you pushed him down onto the bar counter and swung relentlessly at his already bruising face. After you had landed a hard hook to the man’s jaw, you felt your body stumbling backwards as all the air left your lungs. In an attempt to get you off of him, the drunk had kneed you in the gut and shoved your shoulders back with all the might he could muster.
You’re pins, Daryl’s needles.
“Sumbitch!” Daryl growled as you struggled to regain your lost balance.
Placing a hand on your wheezing chest, you watched as Daryl grabbed a half-full beer mug from off the bar counter and smash it over the man’s bald head. Despite having stumbled a safe distance away, you still shielded your face with your arms as sharp pieces of shattered glass and droplets of toxic malted barley flew everywhere.
When you were able to regain your breath, you shouted for Daryl when the shade of red that had been blinding you ceased, and the reality of the scene you were staring in had begun to set in. Thanks to you and Daryl’s tag-team fighting style, the man was practically unconscious and bleeding from every orifice that was on his head. The crowd’s once enthusiastic chants had quieted down dramatically, making the sound of Daryl’s fist colliding with the man’s broken face the only sound that filled the bar.
Who wants to fuck with us now?
Quickly, you pulled Daryl’s tense body off of the man and shoved his heaving body towards the exit. You feared that authorities were finally being called, and you didn’t want to get caught in the center of it. As you made your way back to your booth in order to grab your belongings and leave a few bills on the table for the drinks you had ordered, the dismantled crowd parted and made a path for you and Daryl to walk through.
The cool night air hit your flushed face once you exited the sleazy bar. If you strained your hearing enough, you could make out the distant sounds of sirens that seemed to get louder the longer you stayed put in the parking lot. “C’mon.” Daryl grunted as he grabbed your hand and tugged you towards his parked truck.
You and Daryl would do anything to protect the other, and weren’t afraid to do so whenever and wherever the occasion arose. It was an unspoken promise the two of you had made, having each other's backs no matter what. No questions asked, and no judgment. For times like these, both of your strong personalities never ceased to give you an advantage.
You’re pins, he’s needles.
Make a pact with each other.
Who wants to fuck with us now?
#daryl dixon#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon x you#daryl dixon x y/n#the walking dead#twd#the walking dead fanfiction#twd fanfiction
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,What is a ‘dilf’? Y/N’
- Pairing; David Rossi x Fem!Reader
- Fic type: Romantic, Clean, Fluff, Funny
- Tags: accidental confessions, drunken confessions, sweet Rossi, Y/N is a mess, Hotch wins a bet, slight daddy issues, the team is traumatized.
- Warnings: None,
- Summary: the team goes out to celebrate after a particularly successful case, the girls have an interesting conversation and Y/N has to explain what a dilf is to Dave.
It all started when Hotch mentioned that he and Morgan planned to stop by a bar after work, it was everyone’s day off tomorrow and they couldn’t fly back from New Orleans till morning plus the case had gone shockingly well. Before anyone knew what happened Dave had offered to cover the bill for the whole team, JJ had called Will, and everyone was on their way to the hotels bar no questions asked.
At first things had been calm, everyone ordered a beer, will had recommended it apparently this was his go to back home and it was actually brewed in the bar, it was also eight percent alcohol.
Eventually the guys split off to play pool, Penelope stole a beer from Derek who was completely and utterly plastered and the girls started gossiping by the bar. “He’s cute.” Emily pointed out a guy, nice arms and a nice beard but he couldn’t be older then thirty five, that was still a decade older then you but he was no Pasta Man.
“He’s not really my type.”
“Yeah I agree with Y/N, he can’t compare to that Greek god of goodness.”
Penelope was peering at a stumbling Morgan across the bar earning a quiet ‘awe’ from JJ, he and Will seemed to be ups against each other in a game of nine ball at the moment.
“What is your type?, you’ve been on the team two years and I’ve never seen you date.” JJ took a sip of her beer, god bless her heart for being the only person still capable of standing this far into the night, and Emily and Penelope peaked up in curiosity.
You were to busy starring off at your senior agent, as he fumbled with his wallet trying to buy another round, thinking before you spoke was far to complicated for the moment being.
“Tall, older, handsome. Facial hair is a must and he has to be funny, and experienced, and confident.” Your tone was tooth rottingly sweet and Dave happened to look over, he winked at you playfully holding his beer as if to toast to you across the room and you giggled like a school girl much to your embarrassment.
“Oh my god, Y/N! He’s like fifty three!” JJ was shocked and Emily was cackling at you as you jumped with embarrassment, you weren’t sure if your face was red from the booze or from your life ending slip up on your feelings for the older agent.
“And? It’s not my fault that Rossi is a total Dilf.” Your tone was so self assured but unfortunately Emily and her evil cackle had brought the men back at the worst possible second. Despite the team being profilers, you managed to hide your embarrassing crush well enough, or at least you thought you had up until now.
“I’m a total what?” Speak of the devil, or in this case devilishly handsome Dilf and he shall appear. You wanted to curl up into a ball and die and yet the man looked so genuinely confused at which point he turned to the male half of the team who hadn’t heard and went, “what’s a Dilf?” Before glancing back at you,
“What, is a ‘Dilf’ Y/N?” He wanted answers and you wanted to leap off a tall ledge.
Hotch decided to bite his tongue, Reid looked absolutely perplexed, the girls were dying of laughter and Morgan spat out his drink back into his glass and started chocking. Will looked like he was questioning any life decision that lead him to meeting these people.
“Dilf is popular internet slang, to describe an older gentleman typically one with kids or one that acts like a father figure and is attractive. It’s said to mean ‘dad I’d like to fuck’ if I remember correctly!” It was official, when Reid was sober you were going to gut him, Rossi looked absolutely perplexed and the entirety of the team have a reflexive face palm at Reid’s words “what! Was I not helpful?” The doctor seemed clueless.
“You think I’m a Dilf? Really?” And suddenly Rossi was asking questions you didn’t want to answer and he was doing it in that sexy deep interrogator voice he used on unsubs, god why were you into that? And you were a stuttering mess of confusion.
“Well, uh- I… huh?” Welp, there went your last brain cell. To make matters worse again if that was even possible at this point, the Italian was starring so intensely you felt like you may explode.
“Before we do any Dilf’ing as it implies we should have dinner, I make excellent pasta.” Was he… oh, oh my god.
You nodded cheerfully at the offer, Dave’s Pasta and mind blowing Dilf sex, god bless the drunken delinquency of you and your colleagues.
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Woke up N the first thing I saw was ur OTP ask game post N f4n *KNEW* what 2 do so here I am :3!! 54, 42, 39, 34, 30, 21, 13, 10, 7 N 3 for Bojere pls! (U don’t gotta do all of them if it’s 2 many N Deaf! Jere AU preferably cuz it’s been idk how long but that fic *still* has a chokehold on me N U bet my Ass is gonna be wrapped in a f4 ton of fluffy blankets with snacks N plushies as soon as U bless us with a new chapter!! X33
~^*•.’+ BOJERE BEAM GO!
I'm glad the AU lives in your mind rent free 👀 Thx for sending some numbers!! :3
54: who's more likely to carry the other to bed?
Probably Bojan because he likes to pick Jere up and carry him around randomly for fun haha Jere does also have strong arms though so it's not out of the question for him to carry a sleepy Bojan to bed and tuck him in <3
42: what's their favorite type of weather to enjoy together?
Snow for sure <3 They love making snow men and playing and watching the snowflakes fall. They also just find it cute to see the other bundled up in a big winter coat and a cozy scarf💞
39: who would rescue an injured animal and nurse it back to health?
I can see both of them doing that tbh They both have huge empathy for animals so both of them would be on board with helping an injured bird or abandoned cat or something. But I do think Jere would be the one to play responsible adult at some point once the animal is healed again and explain that they have to set it free even tho they've both gotten attached to it
34: who's more likely to tell a dirty joke to make the other blush?
Jere 👀👀 He can be surprisingly raunchy lmao The fact that he communicates mostly through text and looks so innocent is something he uses to his advantage. No one would suspect a thing if Jere casually shows Bojan the dirtiest message you can think of on his phone lol While Jere is often the one to start things, though, Bojan tends to be the one to finish them 😏
30: your OTP gets to pick out each other's outfits, what are they wearing?
Jere: he'd really love to see Bojan in leather so he'd give him a pair of his own pants and a leather shirt so he can swoon over his handsome Bojan 🥰
Bojan: he's putting Jere in more skirts... 1, because it's sexy. 2, because Jere really does look nice in skirts <3
21: who would get into a fight to defend the other's honor?
They're both pretty protective but unfortunately Jere is more likely the one to be harassed or treated rudely by a stranger so it's more common that Bojan would (fiercely) defend his angel. Bojan doesn't get angry easily but if someone is mean or hurtful to Jere he can become absolutely livid. Jere prefers to avoid conflict but he's not above using a right hook to protect his Slovene 💪
13: who's the bigger tease?
I couldn't really choose one in particular. Bojere have a really playful dynamic so the teasing is pretty equally divided haha
10: describe their first date
Something active. Maybe like a bowling date. It'd be just something lighthearted, something they'd do as friends. Except whoever scores a strike first gets a kiss 🤭 Hand feeding each other fries n whatnot 🥰 Then at the end Bojan would try to pay for everything but Jere distracts him and ends up paying ahead. Bojan is devastated until Jere tells him he did the math and Bojč can pay his half of the bill later. Equality 💪💪 Afterwards they walk to Jere's dorm together hand in hand ♡
7: would they build a pillow fort together just because?
100% They'll have sleepovers on the floor surrounded by pillows even though there's a perfectly fine bed waiting for them
3: do they wear the other's clothes?
Yes 🥰🥰 Jere likes to wear Bojan's hoodies and rings. Bojan also wears Jere's sweaters cuz they're oversized anyways and also his socks cuz Jere has a bunch of socks with fun patterns :3
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3, 5, 10, 22, 30, 39, 50, 51, 57 because why not throw a long list at you. For both pairings, because I'm evil. Chop and change as you like.
Hello. Yep this was asked over a month ago. I do apologize it's taken hell to freeze over for me to put down the fic and come wandering back over here <3
Ask game is here.
So this is OTP asks iirc? Well it is now.
I cannot find a list that has numbers past 40 otherwise so. Here we go.
For Nyenna, Teldryn and Athis from my fic, The World on Our Shoulders.
Below the cut coz it'll be a long one, bet. LOL
Also there's some snippets toward the end!
3. Do they wear the other’s clothes? (sweatshirt, bandana, necklace, etc.)
Nyenna is a very small bean by comparison. She can get away with stealing other's clothes. Athis is shorter, around 5'7-8 or so; his shirts fit her better. Teldryn has borrowed her cloak before.
5. Describe their cozy night in.
READING. Nyenna definitely wants to catch up on reading. She's definitely going through it in the place we're at in the WIP and if she had her way, she'd be home with Athis by the fire pit with cozy blankets reading. If we're talking future timeline, rest is still mildly hard to come by.
She and Teldryn might instead spend it at Orgnar's inn, listening to Sven make a fool of himself trying to be a bard and enjoying the company of their new neighbors. That's not really "a night in" but it kind of counts when your new hometown is as small as Riverwood.
10. Describe their first date.
Nyenna and Athis... <3 They were a bit of a whirlwind. They skipped steps. Back before the nonsense, he would often take her out to dinner at the Bannered Mare, even after they were married. They had a few camping dates where he'd bring along a stash of some homemade mead on the way to some dungeon or another while they were working. He isn't much of a storyteller, but Nyenna definitely was and she'd also sing to him in Bosmeris until he fell asleep while she was on first watch.
Nyenna and Teldryn did things glacially slow and in reverse order, lol. They didn't skip steps so much as do things completely backwards. They fell in love first. Then they...made mistakes. Then eventually they would have had a moment to spend with just each other and not the weight of destiny. Teldryn would have taken her to pretty places he'd found while he was wandering on his way home from one job or another. They love the Rift for picnics.
22. What reminds each of their partner?
At this point in the fic, Nyenna is still very much always turning her thoughts toward Athis. They're still married and she still wears her wedding ring. They still write to each other constantly and she does try to return home as often as she can.
Later on, after a few close calls, Teldryn has a dragonbone dagger each made for Nyenna and himself. This is before they admit any sort of love for each other. He thought it was symbolic, and also good back up if she ever ran out of magicka again. So you know, lethal weapons they hold on to for the rest of the fic. Suits, really. LOL
30. Your OTP gets to pick out each other's outfits; what is each wearing?
Nyenna has picked out Athis's outfits since they were dating. He has terrible fashion sense. Have you seen his summer armor? Ugh. A mess. She had him in blue clothes and the Companions got him some Ebony Plate mail for their wedding. Speaking of, she also picked out his wedding outfit. Athis would look for any excuse for Nyenna to wear that dress again, speaking of. It's featured in one of his best memories, and the little embroidered tundra cotton flowers suited her.
Teldryn always wears grey shirts when he's out of his armor. All his spare sets are gray, except his white shirts he wears as the first layer under the armor. Nyenna would insist on blue; it might be her favorite color, and it looks good on him. Teldryn has seen Nyenna dressed for a Thalmor party, but even then would still say she looks best in her grey and teal mage's robes.
39. Who would rescue an injured animal and nurse it back to health? What would the other think?
Nyenna absolutely would rescue animals. Neither Athis nor Teldryn would not have the heart to dissuade her, even if there was no time or safety for such things.
50. Who's more likely to do something out of spite?
Of the three, Teldryn. He's persisted this long out of spite, so it would track that he'd probably take on some activity or another and/or stick with it out of spite. He might not be spiteful necessarily, though. None of them really are.
51. What’s a non verbal way they say I love you?
There's a lot of this in the fic for everyone involved. I'll pick two and share mini snippets.
For Nyenna toward Athis, she'd run her fingers through his hair.
“Mornin’,” he said, voice still heavy with sleep. He yawned widely and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He got up out of bed and cracked the stiffness from his neck. She approached him and ran her fingers through his hair. He had no idea why she did this, always admiring something about him he thought so little about. It was charming. When he tried to return the favor, his fingers got tangled in the silvery curls, same as every day, really. She let out a surprised laugh and helped him untangle. He smiled and leaned down to kiss her. Her hands were warm against his face as she kissed him back gently.
For Teldryn toward Nyenna, he will always heal her first before himself as best as he can.
He held her close, Healing spells active in both hands.
“You’re okay?” he asked, worry written across all his features. She coughed weakly, but managed a nod.
“What on Nirn…?” she whispered hoarsely, wincing. Her hand flew to her neck. He pressed his gauntleted hand over hers and concentrated his spell there. Her shoulders slumped as the overwhelming pain slowly started to subside.
57. Whose the serious one when grocery shopping and who likes to toss random things in the cart?
LOL insofar as Tamriel has 'grocery' shopping...let's just call it a normal day at Belethor's shop. Nyenna is the responsible one and keeps household ledgers and has a list of needful things to retrieve. Athis and Teldryn are the "I'm not really saving up for anything" kind of people and would buy yet another cool knife if the opportunity presented itself.
#AskMareena#MareenaWrites#The World on Our Shoulders#Athis#Nyenna#Teldryn Sero#LDB/Teldryn Sero#LDB/Athis#Skyrim#tes#tesblr#ask game#skyrim fic#fanficblr
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questions for fic writers
a collection of questions i, as a writer, would love to be asked !!!
1. What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)
2. Go to your AO3 “Works” page, to the sidebar with all the filters, and click the drop-down arrow for “Additional Tags.” What are your top 3-5 most used tags? Do you think they accurately represent your writing habits?
3. What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?
4. What detail in [insert fic] are you really proud of?
5. What do you wish someone would ask you about [insert fic]? Answer it now!
6. What's one fact about the universe of [insert fic] that you didn't get a chance to mention in the fic itself?
7. Any worldbuilding you're particularly proud of?
8. What song would make a great fic (to either write or read)?
9. How do you find new fic to read?
10. How do you decide what to write?
11. Are you partial to a certain character/pairing or are you more equal-opportunity? If you are partial to any character/pairing, why do you think that is?
12. Are there any tropes you used to dislike but have grown on you?
13. Are there any tropes you used to like but don't anymore?
14. Are there any tropes you would only read if written by a trusted friend or writer?
15. What's your favorite AU that you've written?
16. What's an AU you would love to read (or have read and loved)?
17. What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?
18. If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it involve?
19. If you wrote a spin-off of [insert fic], what would it involve?
20. If you wrote a prequel to [insert fic], what would it involve?
21. If you wrote a “missing scene” in [insert fic], what would it be?
22. Who is your favorite character in [insert fic] and why?
23. What's a trope, AU, or concept you've never written, but would like to?
24. Are there any easter eggs in [insert fic], and if so, what are they?
25. What other websites or resources do you use most often when you write?
26. Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue?
27. How long did it take to write [insert fic]? Describe the process.
28. Does anyone read your fics before you post them? If so, who?
29. What songs would be (or are) on a playlist for [insert fic]? Explain your choices if you want!
30. Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter?
31. What's your ideal fic length to write?
32. What's your ideal fic length to read?
33. If you write chaptered fics, what's your ideal chapter length to write? Is it different from your ideal chapter length to read?
34. What aspects of your writing are inspired by/taken from your real life?
35. What aspects of your writing are completely unlike your real life?
36. Do you visualize what you read/write?
37. Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it?
38. Did any of your fics get surprisingly popular (whatever that means to you)? Which ones? Why do you think they were so successful?
39. Is any aspect of your writing process inspired by other writers or people? If so, who?
40. Do you tend to reread fics or are you a one-and-done kind of person?
41. Link a fic that made you think, "Wow, I want to write like that."
42. Have you ever received a comment that particularly stood out to you for whatever reason?
43. If you take/write prompts: what's your favorite prompt fic that you've written?
44. If you take/write prompts: do you prefer dialogue or scenario/narrative prompts?
45. What's something you've improved on since you started writing fic?
46. Do you prefer writing on your phone or on a computer (or something else)? Do you think where you write affects the way you write?
47. If [insert fic] was a pair of shoes, what kind would it be? Describe the shoes.
48. What's the last fic you read? Do you recommend it?
49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!
50. Answer any question of your choice, or talk about anything you want to talk about!
#ask games#ask game#writer asks#stuff#got tired of seeing the same fic ask games around. decided to make my own. ive been workshopping it for like two weeks lol#im always like damn i wish these ask games asked me about [insert highly specific thing]#and then im like . WELL#part 2 of if you want something done right do it yourself#anyway! send some questions!!#some of these are either exactly the same as or very similar to questions on other ask games#but i think that is the nature of fic writer ask games#and to be fair a lot of them are different enough#bet no other ask game asks you to describe your fic as a pair of shoes#try me bitch#im a WRITER. creativity? thats my BREAD AND BUTTER. my ashton irwin if you will.#what a horribly layered joke#okay so here's what's going to happen#im gonna post this right now. at 3:40am. and then im going to go to bed (HOPEFULLY)#then i will wake up and reblog it again For The Morning Crowd or whatever#and in the meantime im sure all my friends will have reblogged it and my dash will be full of fic asks#but that is okay#love you guys!!!!!!!
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CHAPTER 2 - FALLEN
Fic Summary:
The sky Oikawa Tooru’s heart seeks is a world away from the earth yours is buried in. You are a fool to trust him with your heart anyway.
Where Oikawa Tooru tries to recapture your heart.
Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3
Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x fem! reader
Genre / Wordcount : Angst (7k words), cameo from MSBY 4
Warnings: One non-explicit bedroom scene.
Masterlist link here!
Tag list link here!
You catch sight of Oikawa Tooru as you bustle through the hospital’s sliding doors, your usual cup of coffee in your hand that you buy on the way to work. He’s seated in the waiting area next to a middle aged man you guess must be his manager, from the way he jumps to his feet immediately to act as a human shield as you call out breathlessly -
“T - Oikawa? What are you doing here?”
Tooru’s head swivels around to meet your gaze, and you’re shocked by the lifelessness in his eyes until you glance at the bandages wrapped around his swollen knee.
Oh.
You try not to stare, but you do so anyway. The sight of your ex-boyfriend makes you feel as if you’re seeing a ghost, a specter from some past life. You last saw him when he was twenty one, young and proud, wax wings fully spread, a speck in the skies. What a difference five years makes. His shoulders are still broad, and the tilt of his jaw is still proud, but the light in his eyes has faded to darkness, and the pallor of his skin suggests far too much time spent away from the sun.
Icarus, Icarus. Your hubris has led you to such heights, but look how far you’ve fallen.
It’s surprising there’s no news of his injury, considering he’s one third of Japan’s trifecta of setters in the volleyball scene’s monster generation. With the Olympics rapidly approaching with just over a year to go, an injury must be devastating, especially to Oikawa Tooru, with dreams of Olympic greatness and victory on his native shores.
A nurse materialises to usher Oikawa away for surgery before he can respond to the pity in your gaze. You look around. He’s alone, save for his manager. No one deserves to be wake up alone after surgery, so you call after him -
“I’ll check in on you after you’re done! Gambatte!”
He responds with a thumbs up and a weak smile.
You flip through his medical files once you get the chance.
Oikawa Tooru, twenty six. Pro-volleyball player for EJP Raijin previously, currently playing in the Argentinian league. Narrowly missed out on making the cut for the previous Olympics, but went on to represent Japan in the last three World Cups, alternating with Miya Atsumu and Kageyama Tobio. Obviously hoping for another shot at the Olympics, but that’s looking bleak from what you’re gleaning from his medical records.
His right knee has always bothered him, even during his high school days. Now, a decade later, it looks like he’s managed to tear his tendon to shreds.
Volleyball is a cruel, demanding mistress, especially for one not born a genius.
The surgery to repair a torn knee ligament is delicate work, requiring an experienced surgeon, and the road to recovery requires extensive physiotherapy. It’s no wonder he’s resorted to the modern Tokyo hospital you work in rather than returning to his native Sendai to recuperate. The downside of doing so though, is that he’d have to recover alone.
You wrinkle your nose. He may be your ex-boyfriend, but he doesn’t deserve that.
The sun is setting when you finally find the time to slip into his room.
As expected, he’s still asleep. The anesthetic will take some time to wear off. From the looks of the surgeon’s notes, the surgery was a success - though you know from the nature and extent of the injury that his road to recovery will be long and winding.
So you seat yourself in the visitor’s chair with a hot cup of tea and an onigiri to stave off your hunger at not finding time for a break any earlier. You had an awful day at work today, two of your patients puked on you, another tried to fight you when you drew his blood, and the senior registrar in the ward assigned you a mountain of paperwork that you only just managed to complete, so you give in to sleep yourself as exhaustion settles into your bones.
“Princess?”
You snap awake at the familiar nickname, ignoring the flush working its way up the back of your neck as you leap to his bedside to check his vitals, only relaxing when you’re satisfied everything’s fine.
“You’re just waking up after a surgery, Oikawa”. When his forehead crinkles in confusion at the sound of his surname, you correct yourself. “I mean - Tooru”. The corners of his cracked lips tilt up in satisfaction.
“Will you stay with me?” Tooru murmurs, eyelids beginning to droop again.
You smile fondly despite yourself. “Do you want me to?” you ask.
He manages to pout even as he’s falling back asleep. “I asked, didn’t I?”
You smooth his hair from his forehead, slotting your hand into his. “Fine, fine. Go to bed, sleeping beauty”.
He huffs an amused breath from his nose before he closes his eyes, contented. Trust Tooru to be shameless enough to cling on to his ex-girlfriend without a shred of awkwardness. You end up staying in his room for hours, watching him sleep.
The heart that you’ve locked away behind bars of bone and steel twitches, just once.
You frown when the nurse catches your sleeve. “A patient’s looking for you” she says, just as you’re about to go off on a short break.
“Who?” you reply, wondering whether it’s Sato-san who vomited this morning, or Imai-san whose blood pressure niggles at your mind. You do not expect the nurse to flush pink as she replies - “Oikawa-san”, describing the sweet young man with lovely brown eyes and such a charming voice.
You slip back into his room when your shift ends. You expect to see a shadow of a man with broken wings, and you do catch a fleeting glimpse of Tooru staring wistfully out of the window, face tilted towards the sun before he turns to you with a wide smile and a pleased - “you came!”
This is the Oikawa Tooru you are accustomed to dealing with. “Stop flirting with the nurses”, you tell him briskly, bustling over to look at his files. “They have jobs to do, don’t use them to carry messages to me.”
“But I’m boredddd.”
“I’m sure you have volleyball videos to watch.”
“I watched them all day today. ‘Sides, I watched all the matches on today already, twice – and I have plenty of time to watch them a third time. I have plenty of time to catch up with you, I haven’t seen you in so long!”
Five years since you broke up to be exact, but you sidestep that fact neatly, pouring over his medical file instead. His doctors’ notes indicate his recovery is promising. He brightens up when you tell him so, playfully complaining that hospital food is shit in a thinly veiled attempt to steal your food, a habit he’s clearly not outgrown. But you’re not all that hungry anyway, so you split your pork bun in half and hand it to him, dropping into the visitor’s chair.
“So how’re you feeling?”
“Like shit. My knee hurts so muchhhh.”
You shrug, careless. “That’s pretty expected, to be honest.”
“Hmph. I thought they’d have taught you some bedside manners in medical school”, he snipes, though the effect is rather lost when his cheeks are comically round and full of food.
You laugh, the stress from your day lifting from your shoulders.
“I seem to forget them when it’s you.”
“So mean”, he pouts, hiding the familiar gleam in his eye that appears whenever he’s trying to analyse his opponents, take them apart. “As punishment, tell me about yourself. What have you been up to these days?”
You decide to treat him like any old friend, giving him the condensed run down of your professional life, how you’ve graduated from medical school (with top marks I bet, he interjects), how you chose to stay in Tokyo instead of returning to Sendai (your parents must miss you he says, and you brush him off with an airy they have other children, they’ll survive), how you chose to work in this hospital because you’re considering a specialisation in Orthopedic surgery (because of your grandma, I bet, he says, and you choose not to correct that, using your silence as a lie).
He in turn tells you about the highlights of his career, how he’s spent a year at EJP Raijin before he was headhunted to the Argentinian league, how he spent four years overseas save for summers back in Japan to train with the national team, how he’s hopeful, even now, of recovering and fighting for his spot on the Olympic roster next year.
You already knew all of that from news alerts on your phone you never forced yourself to delete, diverting him instead with a question about life in Argentina, nodding as he reminisces about his apartment in San Juan where he gets to watch the sun set over the Andes mountains, the kitchen that he stuffed full of Japanese groceries like daishi and mirin and sake and miso in his first year there just so he has a tangible reminder of home.
You stop yourself from wondering whether he thinks about the little home he shared with you with such fondness. That time has passed.
His voice wavers as he spins you stories about his teammates - Matteo, whose family owns a vineyard and taught him to appreciate wine like a proper Argentinian, Miguel, who makes the best empanadas and gets roaring drunk every time they win a match, Gabriel, who takes him to his family’s home in the mountains every other weekend because his grandmother is convinced that a single young man without family in the city will starve if he’s left to his own devices.
It seems his wings were durable enough for him to soar across the oceans, his grit and determination the foundation of the new life he’s built, whole continents away.
“It’s funny how the world works”, you remark off hand. “I never expected to see you again.”
His eyes gleam again. “The universe seems to work in funny ways.”
You start spending breaks in his room, scarfing down your lunch and dinner while he talks your ear off about the horrible sitcoms or ridiculous game shows he’s watched today. You catch him watching a video of Kageyama’s serves and you’re amused when he practically hisses when you comment idly that his kouhai has certainly improved since his high school days.
You ignore his spluttered protests that service records aren’t everything and besides, his own spike serves have definitely won Japan a game or two last year until, with the air of a boy king, he commands you to sit next to him on the hospital bed so he can pull up a compilation of his serves and his best moments.
Years might have passed, but you’re still hopeless at refusing him. Besides, isn’t it better that you distract him from the sorry state of his knee? So you do as he says, ignoring the faint flutter of your traitorous heart as he leans into your side.
“See? I told you my spike serves are amazing?”
“Yes, yes. I already knew that. I watched so many of your practices in university, remember?”
He looks at you strangely. “Did you?” he asks, leaning his head on his hand, eyes boring into yours.
You think of evenings spent sitting on the bleachers, homework in your lap as you watch as the boy you love builds the strength in his wax wings in preparation for his eventual flight. “Yes”, you admit, sheets rustling as you shift away from him, avoiding his perplexed frown. “You were probably too focused on practice to notice.”
You already know you shouldn’t spend so much time in his room, but you’ve spent most of your life doing what you should instead of what you want to so just this once, you ignore rational thought in favour of sentiment.
After all, he’ll be discharged from hospital in a week, then you’ll never see him again.
Tooru promptly proves you wrong the day before he’s scheduled to be discharged.
“I need someone to help me move into my apartment.”
“Hire a mover”, you tell him. You don’t even look up from your notes.
“Already did”, he chirps, undaunted by your apparent disinterest. “But it’d be nice to have a friend who I know will be nice enough to help poor old crippled me put my stuff away.” Then he grins cheekily, “plus I checked with that pretty nurse – Yuna-san was it? Anyway, she told me you’re off tomorrow, so you might as well spend the day with me.”
There goes your excuse to wriggle out of having to spend your rare day off with your ex.
“I have a mountain of sleep debt to pay off”, you protest, but faced with wide brown eyes and an embarrassing wobble of his lip, you comply. Still, you manage to get the promise of a free dinner out of him, so you suppose it’ll do.
Tooru doesn’t have much to unpack, a couple of cardboard boxes of clothes and books, probably because most of his belongings are still in Argentina. He laughs and raises his hands in an attempt to placate you when you lift an eyebrow, first at the lack of kitchen equipment in his furnished apartment, second at the weights and volleyball he tries to smuggle in behind your back.
“You’re not supposed to exercise for at least a month or two”, you cluck your tongue, sighing with disapproval at the furtive look he casts at the volleyball sitting at the corner of his living room.
“I can set while sitting on a stool! Don’t scold me, my heart can’t bear it”. He throws a hand across his face, brow creased dramatically.
Icarus, Icarus. You’ve already fallen once. Will you seek out the sun again?
A string of familiarity loops into a knot over your heart. If you close your eyes and count to ten, you can imagine that you’re eighteen again, chiding the boy you love for practicing too hard. But you’re twenty six now, a full fledged adult who should know better than to dabble in sentiment again (especially when it comes to brown eyed boys who only dream of the sun), so you slash through the threads connecting you to him with a flash of your teeth, bury your beating heart deeper into the dungeon you’ve built years ago of white bone and solid steel.
“Do what you want, but your neighbours will hate you if you keep thumping that damn ball against the wall.” You say, simply, dismissively.
“No one could ever hate me”, he declares with bravado. “I’ll charm them all with my charm and good looks.”
“Ridiculous”, you huff, dumping the last of his clothing into the cupboard. “Where’s the dinner you promised? I want ramen and gyoza at least.”
“So demanding”, he lilts. “I’ll order in. Tonkatsu ramen with char siu, bamboo shoots, extra spring onions with gyoza on the side?”
Your heart struggles against its shackles. He still remembers your order.
“Yes”, you finally say. “You got that right.”
He grins at you cheekily, as if to say of course.
After you gulp down your ramen, devour your gyozas, you pack up, ready to leave. You have an early shift tomorrow, and you’re already dreaming about your soft bed whilst dreading the cup of coffee you’ll have to down tomorrow morning just to stay awake.
He catches your wrist, presses the spare key to the apartment into your hand. “Come back. I want to see you again”, he says, an order and not a plea.
You are about to make up an excuse, tell him anything but the truth that you suspect it’s bad for your heart to keep seeing him again.
“Please” - he adds with a tint of fragility to his voice.
“I’ll be back when I can”, you finally say.
“Tomorrow?” he looks up at you with hopeful eyes.
“We’ll see”, you pry your hand loose from his grasp, slip out the front door.
You stay away for two days, citing your work schedule as an excuse until he wears you down with a barrage of cutesy line stickers aimed at driving home how lonely he is and how much he misses your presence. You’re being dramatic as usual, you text him dryly, but you turn up anyway at his apartment on a Friday night, letting yourself in with an armful of reports and a bucket of oden.
“How’re you doing? Are you listening to your physiotherapist? Eating properly? Sleeping well?”
“You sound like my mother”, he grouses, rolling his wheelchair to the dining table.
You flick at his forehead, he slumps back in his wheelchair. “Stop bullying the cripple’, he wheezes through his chortle.
“You deserve it”, you retort. “Don’t run away from the question. How’re you feeling?”
“It still hurts”, he admits with a mock sniff. “It should stop hurting by nowwww.”
You push your glasses up the bridge of your nose. “That’s to be expected. Your sinews just got stitched together two weeks ago. Not sure why you’d expect any less.”
“Bah, rude. At least you didn’t say I told you so”, he grumbles, spooning oden into his mouth. “That would be insufferable.”
“Well, maybe you’ll listen to me now that I’m actually a doctor”, you inform him pertly, batting away memories of a teenage boy with hazel eyes shouting indignantly at you after practice in the Seijoh gym.
Tooru snorts. “I can’t believe my eighteen year old self was dumb enough to open my future self up to a jab like that”, he complains, chewing on a cabbage roll grumpily.
“We’re all dumb at eighteen”, you remark. “You’re no exception.”
“You were dumb enough to date me”, he teases with a mocking smile.
Your spoon slips from your hand momentarily. It’s the first time he’s alluded to your past relationship.
“I was, wasn’t I”, you say lightly, before turning the conversation to Tooru’s physiotherapy sessions.
You have no wish to delve back into the past, but you’re willing to be his friend since he seems to need one for now.
Tooru’s knee recovers enough for him to shift from his wheelchair to crutches, which he points at you playfully, mimicking a gun every time you pop by for a visit. He seems to plan his physiotherapy session around your schedule, just so he can wheedle you into paying him yet another visit when your shift at the hospital end, bribing you with a cup of coffee with a hint of chocolate from the café across the street that you’ve never found the time to visit.
“Thank you, kind sir”, you say, accepting the coffee with a laugh.
“You’re welcome, my lady”, he answers with a smirk, motioning you to follow him for yet another evening to be spent in his home sitting across him, red ink smeared on your hands as you mark up the reports in your lap.
His façade that he’s coping with his injury just fine slips every so often. You catch him more often than not watching compilation videos of Kageyama and Atsumu at the World Cup this year with a strained expression on his face, or resting his chin on the windowsill whilst staring wistfully at the birds in the sky.
He does not confide about his worries to you. You’re not sure you want him to.
But you can’t explain to yourself the impulse to purchase a bird feeder for his balcony, nor the glow-in-the-dark poster of the constellations that you cart into his bedroom until your heart has to scramble for equilibrium when he thanks you, his smile soft.
“In exchange for all the coffee you’ve bought me”, you reply, turning away to hide all evidence of your heart’s betrayal, the diffusion of blood in your cheeks.
A month passes. Then another.
The crutches get kept in the storeroom. A limp remains, but the degree which his knee can bend increases by the day. His mood improves even further, and you constantly find yourself swerving to avoid his affectionate gazes, his attempts at flirtation.
“You’re looking so pretty today!” he lilts, fitting his arm snugly into the crook of your elbow as you walk down the neon lit streets of Tokyo. He insisted on this outing, and in the custom of your rekindled friendship, managed to convince you to accompany him on your off day so he can get crepes from Harajuku notwithstanding the fact that it takes forty five minutes on the train and his knee still acts up from time to time.
“It’s my first time downtown in a month”, you tell him. “Of course I’m going to dress up.” You don’t tell him you spent far too long in front of your closet, tossing outfits on your bed until you found one that complements you just right.
He buys you trinkets, hair accessories that you’ll never wear, tries to win you ridiculous stuffed toys from the claw machine.
“You’re wasting money”, you scold, wiping the whipped cream from his mouth.
“It’s not a waste if it’s for you”, he tells you, with startling sincerity that you still doubt.
He doesn’t mean it, you tell yourself. It’s just Tooru being Tooru.
You refuse to admit what’s staring you in the face until you have to duck your head to avoid his attempt at pressing his lips to your cheek.
“Goodnight, Tooru”, you manage to say before you bolt off into the night. You check to make sure your heart is still under lock and key.
It is, but it beats resentfully. Tooru, it beats against its bars with frightening intensity. Tooru. Tooru.
You ignore it. You know what’s best for it.
You stay away from him for a fortnight, requesting for a change in your schedule without updating him, taking the other exit from the hospital so you don’t have to see him. You stay away until he manages to wear you down yet again, texting you the most ridiculous conspiracy theories about your absence from his life – you must be abducted by aliens, he texts you once, or your mother forced you to marry some stranger, I can break you out if you just say the word.
He has a guest, you hear another voice, deeper, filled with gravel and intensity, so different from Tooru’s lighter lilt. You do not mean to eavesdrop, but you don’t want to interrupt Tooru when he has a rare guest over, and there’s nowhere else for you wait save for the dusty front step, so you settle yourself in, pen poised to continue your work.
“What did the doctor say? When are you coming back for practice?”
“I’m doing good! The physiotherapist thinks I can try light exercise next week. If all goes well, I’ll be back to practice in a month.”
“Sounds promising.”
“I had a good medical team. And I’m actually resting properly!”
“Shittykawa. Stop sounding so proud about doing what’s necessary for your recovery.”
“Iwa-channnn, stop being mean to meeee!”
Ah, Iwaizumi, of course. You haven’t seen him in years, but you remember him from school, a stoic boy with a good heart. You wonder if he’s changed.
“Are you planning on heading back to Argentina?”
Tooru answers without hesitation. “Of course”, he says airily. “As long as they take me back.”
Your foolish heart shudders with disappointment. Of course. If you run your fingers down his spine, you’ll probably find blooms of wax attached to his very bone.
You are about to stand up and leave when Tooru speaks up again.
“But I’m going to enjoy my time in Japan while I’m back. Did I tell you I reconnected with my ex? She’s great, it feels like I never left.”
The firestorm of blood in your ears nearly drowns out Iwaizumi’s growled ‘piece of shit’ (he truly hasn’t changed after all), the clatter of glassware as Tooru protests that he’s not playing with your heart, he truly cares about you, his sullen silence when Iwaizumi demands what’s going to happen when he leaves Japan for Argentina, when he inevitably leaves you behind (yet again).
Of course.
You know his heart longs for the sky. There is no space for you.
You barely have time to react when the door swings open, Iwaizumi on the verge of storming out. You plaster a smile to your face that does not fool him, but you hang on to it nonetheless, cracks appearing only when he gives you a wide eyed look of sympathy that only pours oil onto the flaming war between your brain and your heart.
“It’s fine”, you say, and though he clearly does not believe you, he bows and leaves anyway.
Tooru stares at you, mouth open, stumbling over himself with apologies and demands for you to tell him what you’ve overheard, but you motion for him to just stop with your hand, wave aside his protest that he means what he said, he truly likes you.
Your heart screeches in delight, but your mind is firmly in the driver’s seat.
“Let’s just pretend I never heard you say that, and we can continue just as before.”
“As friends?” he says, twisting his lips as if the words taste sour in his mouth. He clutches at your shoulders.
“I want more. I want you.”
Your heart thrums in agreement, but you recall assembling the remains of your heart back into your chest whilst kneeling on the cold bathroom floor half a decade ago. The span of five years should have molded you to view your shared past with pragmatism, but your heart seems to have forgotten its lesson. You shake your head.
“There’s no way you truly want me. I don’t think you’ve only ever had space in your heart for anything but your goals.”
Your response emerges more bitter than you intend.
“That’s not true”, he weakly protests. “I care about you.”
Not enough, you refrain from telling him. “Let’s remain friends”, you do say, and he opens his mouth to object again, but at the hard look you give him, he slumps back with a defeated nod.
He tries to respect your decision, never complaining when you keep a careful arm’s length distance from him, though you can feel his heated gaze on you whenever he thinks you won’t notice, hear his quiet sighs whenever you shy away from any accidental touch. He droops when you turn down his invite for lunch with his family when they come down for a visit, citing work even though he knows you’re off for the day.
Still, it’s manageable and he says he needs you, so you return for visits, at least twice weekly, offering encouraging smiles and friendly words when he returns first to light exercise, then to rehabilitative practice a month later, just as he predicted.
He carves out time for dinners with you, taking care to ask about your day, preferring to spin you stories about the pigeons and doves and crows crowding his balcony rather than talking about volleyball or his practice. He insists on escorting you to his apartment after work when you allow him to, offering you his arm with a soft smile that disarms you, dissolves any resistance.
It’s an uneasy equilibrium, but it’ll suffice.
The careful balance you’ve maintained in the space between you and Tooru is shattered when you find you’re not the only one who’s decided to pay him a surprise visit on a Friday night.
“Tooru, ya didn’t say ya got yerself a pretty girl during yer break”, a man with bleach blonde hair wolf whistles appreciatively when you step into the apartment.
“I’m just a friend”, you reply confusedly before Tooru’s shout “Shove off, Miya” confirms that one Miya Atsumu has decided to invade Tooru’s apartment. Well, him and what seems like half the MSBY team, with Hinata Shoyo, Bokuto Koutaro and Sakusa Kiyoomi squashed uncomfortably on Tooru’s tiny sofa, long legs stretched across the living room.
It turns out the MSBY team just finished a game in Tokyo, and Hinata dragged his teammates to visit Tooru in a wholesome bid to cheer him up. You try to excuse yourself after exchanging nods with Sakusa (he hasn’t changed much from his university days) when Miya Atsumu blocks your retreat with a drawled invite for Izakaya and the promise of karaoke after.
Tooru mouths playfully at you don’t leave me alone with these clowns (you’re tempted to point out that he’s very much one himself), and before you can even blink, you find yourself dragged along to the nearest Izakaya, impressed by the amount of food each man polishes off - skewers of chicken hearts and cartilage, bowls of potato salad and rice with braised pork belly, listening to stories of their exploits on the national team together, stumbling into the karaoke bar tipsy from the beers that Miya Atsumu pressed into your hand, head heavy enough to allow him to wind an arm around your waist.
“She’s too old for you, ‘Tsumu-kun”, Tooru trills, inserting himself in between you and Atsumu, mouth taut with aggravation.
“I’m not old, just a year older”, you roll your eyes, as the blonde setter backs away, lips turned up in amusement. Tooru is not placated, muttering how the younger setter is a douche and a sleeze bag as he drapes his jacket over you like a blanket. You nestle against his side, head on his shoulder as his arm rests protectively around you.
Atsumu watches this with raised eyebrows, whistling slowly, opening his mouth to remark that he’s never seen Oikawa so smitten before when Hinata interrupts with a chirped “‘Tsum-Tsum, join me!”, handing him a microphone while bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Karaoke is the most fun you’ve had in ages. Hinata and Bokuto and Atsumu sing all their favourite anime theme songs with gusto - Atsumu even gets misty eyed when he croons Sparkle by Radwimps, reddening when everyone teases him for being a romantic sap, Bokuto shaking his hips to Western pop hits, Hinata showing off his Spanish skills. Sakusa refuses to even touch the microphone but you suppose it’s a win that he’s even in the karaoke booth with all of you.
Tooru slaps away Atsumu’s attempts at handing you any further alcohol, forcing you to down cups of water until you are no longer glassy eyed, but still tipsy enough to agree to sing ridiculous K-On songs with Hintata and Bokuto, not stopping even when Tooru whips out his phone to video the entire performance with an indulgent smile.
“Delete it!” you squeal, losing your balance when you try swiping the phone out of his hands, tripping into his lap instead.
“In your dreams, princess”, Tooru chuckles, his arms snaking around you like a vise.
“Anndd that’s our cue to call it a night”, Atsumu quips, herding Hinata and Bokuto out onto the street, Sakusa heaving an audible sigh of relief. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, kids!” he calls over his shoulder, throwing you a wink.
“I’m technically his senpai, cheeky brat”, Tooru mutters, the irritation in his voice washing away as you giggle. “C’mon, it’s too late for you to get home and my place is nearer to the hospital so you might as well stay over tonight. You can take the bed, I’ll take the sofa.”
You shake your head, arguing that you couldn’t possibly turn an invalid like him out of his bed but he huffs at the insinuation that he’s anything but well, his knee almost whole again. You give in after he convinces you that it’d be more inconvenient for him to escort you all the way to your own home rather than put you up for the night, and you allow him to loop his arm around yours and lead you back to his apartment.
It’s not the first time you’ve been in his apartment this late, not by a long shot, but it is the first time you’re over with the intention of staying over. The t-shirt you borrow from Tooru hangs off your frame, the scent of the fabric softener Tooru uses is familiar. You would’ve preferred being tipsier to dull your senses, but alcohol would only impair your logic, allow your heart to prevail, so you try to quell the thrumming of your blood in your veins by curling up on a seat by the window with a cup of tea when Tooru emerges from his shower.
“Ready for bed?” he asks, towelling off his hair, frowning when you shake your head. “It’s late, you have work tomorrow, even if it’s the afternoon shift.”
“It’s fine”, you say without turning your head to face him. “Go to bed, I’ll take the couch.”
“I’m insulted, princess. What kind of a man d’you think I am to make his guest sleep on the couch? ”
It’s less dangerous to ignore him, so you pay him no mind, choosing instead to lean your chin in your hand and look up towards the night sky. It soothes you, the moon an old friend, reminding of five years’ worth of quiet nights spent in your own flat, filtering your younger self into adulthood.
“What’re you looking at?” He takes a step forward, kneels down next to you.
“The moon and the stars”, you say dreamily. “They’re pretty tonight.”
A myriad of weather conditions must coincide to allow the stars to even be visible in the polluted Tokyo night sky, but tonight of all nights fate intervenes, the stars align. The sky is cloudless, the full moon hangs heavy, the stars shimmer and dance.
“Are they?” Tooru whispers. “I haven’t noticed.”
You finally turn to look at him. “Why’re you staring at me?”
The unconscious echo of your past - a boy and a girl, falling in love under the same night sky makes his mouth twist wistfully, eyes faded gold.
“Because you are my sun, my moon and my stars. I love you better than anything in the sky.”
Your mouth falls open, your heart suddenly roaring, pounding against its restraints.
“You can’t mean that”, you whisper. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”
“I do”, he says, with heartbreaking sincerity. “And I always will.”
Nostalgia, aided by the lingering alcohol in your veins opens the gate to your foolish heart. You want to pretend that you are eighteen again, without a care in the world, indulging in the warmth of his hand on the small of your back, the caress of his breath on your cheek. Your lips beckon his, swallowing the catch of his breath when your hands slide under his shirt.
“Are you sure about this?” His eyes are hungry, almost ravenous, but his hands still hover at the hem of your top.
“Yes”, you murmur, pressing open mouthed kisses to the column of his neck. “Please, Tooru - please.”
He carries you into the bedroom, undresses you with shaking hands, chanting your name with reverence, almost a prayer. His eyes darken with desperation and need, unwilling to allow himself any release until you fall apart boneless, caged in his arms.
“Stay with me”, he murmurs, after you’ve both cleaned up a second time, tugging you into bed.
It’s laughable. Five years on, Oikawa Tooru still has the power to make your mind lose all reason (however temporarily). With a single heated look, he commands your heart to break willingly in his hands. How could you not have learnt your lesson? The conversation between him and Iwaizumi merely confirms what you’ve known all this while.
(The sky his heart seeks is a world away from the earth yours is buried in)
Even now, you can see the glimmer of golden wax feathers budding along his spine, gleaming under the pale moonlight.
You lie under the covers until his breath evens out, then you stumble out of bed. You force your heart to relinquish the keys to its freedom, handing it back to logic and rationality, pulling on your clothing, folding your borrowed clothing aside.
Tooru mumbles your name, his hand outstretched towards you. “Come back”, he says in his sleep, fragility tinting the edges of his words.
Your fingers miss the doorknob by an inch. You dash your foolish hopes against the darkness of the room, put on your resolve like armour, leave your spare key on the kitchen counter.
Without looking back, you slip out into the night.
#haikyuu angst#oikawa tooru#oikawa x you#oikawa x reader#oikawa x y/n#oikawa tooru x you#oikawa tooru x reader#oikawa tooru x y/n#seijoh#haikyuu x reader#hq x reader#haikyuu!!#hq#msby 4#haikyuu romance#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu writing#hq writing#haikyuu imagines#hq imagines#haikyuucafe#Icarus
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Hey beautiful!! If you have the time/ inspo could you pls do a full Kit fic based on that nipple clamp scenario you described?? It would be greatly appreciated but no pressure if you cant! Thanks and love you!!
Mr Walker’s Treat, Your Punishment
Yes queen, I’m sorry it’s been literally 6 years since you sent this request, I hope you love it. I chose to use clothes pins instead of nipple clamps, and decided against a daddy kink since y’all brought up a lot of good points. Mr Walker is it.
Summary- After losing a bet with Kit, his dark kinky side comes out and he punishes you with the one thing he’s dreamt of since the day he met you.
Words- 2k. I’ve been writing too many headcannons, need to stop being lazy and start writing longer fics for y’all😤
Another request that was a similar was- “Hi! I don’t really know how to work tumblr so if this is bad or something, sorry but can i get a smut about Kit Walker having a boob kink? I loved your Kai one with the mommy kink and all that but if you don’t wanna write it ofc you don’t have to. thanks <3″, I hope you’re here! I hope you enjoy!
No cap this might be the hottest thing I’ve written, enjoy! 🥵
--
“This isn’t like you, I kind of like it”, you giggle, as Kit ties your hands to the bed frame with the only two ties he has. He smiles down at you, straddling your stomach, fumbling with the ties before he finishes, and looks around the room.
“Hm?”, you ask.
“I need something to cover your eyes”, he says, before getting off the bed and looking at the pile of dirty clothes by the wall.
“Ooo, kinky”, you can’t help but giggle at how unusual it was for Kit to be this adventurous. Not only a few days ago did he propose a 69, but he also was willing to make it a game. Whoever came first lost, and the winner could do whatever they pleased with the loser. The second the proposal left your lips, a certain dominant twinkle sparkled in his eye and activated the horny young man he had inside of him. You pulled out all the tricks you had, but no matter how deep you took him in your mouth, and how much you choked on him trying to make him let go, nothing seemed to work. He was so focused on slurping you up and licking you raw that he barely realised your mouth was on him. All he had in his mind was the sight of you, tied up, and your kitchen timer set for him to do with you as he pleases.
You could’ve never expected what was to come, since Kit never showed a particular interest in anything kinky. But your body was ready to be at his mercy.
“How about these?”, Kit asks holding up a pair of dirty underwear to cover your eyes with. You scrunch up your nose in disgust and shake your head.
“Absolutely not, do you not have any more ties?”. Kit throws the pants back on the dirty pile and takes some sweatpants out of his drawer.
“How fancy do you think I am, doll?”
You chuckle at the way his accent proved his point, before looking up at him in awe when he returned to his position on your crotch. He shuffled around as he straddled you, before putting the legs of the sweatpants around your eyes, poking his tongue out slightly as he tries to tie a knot. After a minute of struggling, Kit becomes impatient and takes the makeshift knot off your face, and puts your face inside of the pants where his butt would go, making you both laugh at how unsexy your homemade blindfold is.
“Hey, it works”, Kit laughs before reaching over to the kitchen timer on your bedside table. He twists it to an hour and sets it down, then proceeds to get off you and leave the room. You wriggle around the bed as you hear Kit walk out.
“Is this what you wanted? To tie me up and leave me for an hour?”, you whine loudly so Kit can hear. He collects his desired (and prepared earlier) items before shouting back to you from the kitchen, “More whining like that and I’ll leave my naughty girl tied up for two”.
You become visibly aroused at the new dirty nickname and bite your lip at what Kit has in store for you. Just as your mind is about to wander to the filthy things you ache for, Kit comes back and puts, what sounds like quite a few, things on the bedstand.
He kneels at the end of the bed and crawls over to you slowly, admiring the sight of you bare chested and rubbing his body against yours. He presses his lips to your neck and kisses you slowly, the quiet sounds right against your ear making you open your mouth. Admittedly, not being able to see heightens the pleasure, and makes even the simple activity of being kissed down to your chest even more erotic than before. You’re both very touchy and affectionate to one another, so you quickly feel the effects of being tied to the bed, when you tug slightly against your restrains wanting to run your fingers through Kit’s hair as he softly sucks on your collarbone. Kit closes his eyes and breathes against your skin as he moves down to attach his lips to the sensitive skin around your nipple, teasing you before he gets to it. He uses his other hand to wrap around your other boob, not wanting to waste a minute of the hour he has with your girls. You rub your thighs together slightly, aroused from the feeling of Kit’s mouth inching closer to nipple, but Kit stops you when he presses down, putting his body weight on you, only propping himself up on his elbows to be face level with your naked chest. The extra restrain of not being able to move frustrates you; Kit’s chest pressed down on your still clothed crotch stops you from creating any friction.
Kit never makes it to your nipple, after kissing around it for the longest minute of your life, he grazes his lips against it, before sitting up slightly and reaching over to the bedstand. The teasing lack of contact makes you huff.
“Don’t be impatient, you lost, deal with the consequences”, Kit says, now completely sat up fumbling with something in his hands, squishing your lower torso, stopping you from moving.
“Yes, Mr Walker”, you mockingly say like a child. But the term of endearment shows you respect Kit’s new dominant authority, and he swallows it up.
“Mr Walka’s got you, just sit back and relax”. Kit flicks open a cap and drizzles some liquid on your chest, making you gasp. He shushes you softly, and puts his large hand on the edge of your boob, to ensure it doesn’t drip down to the mattress. He places the bottle down and runs his fingers around in the pool of cool oil and slides them around your tits, soaking in the sight of the trails he leaves glistening. He purposely still avoids your nipples, instead circling his fingers around them. Even when he finally places his hands on either breast, kneading them and rubbing in the oil into them, though distracted by the gorgeous sight, he doesn’t give attention to the one place you yearn for it most.
“Please…”
“Please what?”. You open your eyes under the cover, not even realising when a whimpering please left your lips. Although you wanted Kit to do anything he wanted to you, your body was tingling and tired of being teased.
“Touch them, Mr Walker”
Kit smiles at your eagerness and how easy it is for him to dominate you and have you begging, and holds back from the urge to rip your clothes off now and pound you into oblivion, knowing that if he can have you begging already, there’s more to come. He cups your tits and rubs his thumb over your hard nipples. The slightest touch makes you bite your lip, feeling overwhelmed by how such simple affection can send a rush of arousal through your whole body, making you resist the need to arch your back.
Unexpectedly, Kit takes his hands off your chest and takes a few seconds to look at them, making you even needier than before. He flicks your right nipple with his finger, making you flinch at the feeling. The minimal pain it brings subsides quickly, but the lingering touch stays and is only reset when Kit does it again, and again, and again. He takes it in turns to flick each nipple, biting his lip hard at the sight of you flinching every single time. When he stops and puts his hands on his thighs, you relax your body, savouring the slight sting from the consistent flicking.
Kit puts his hands above your shoulders and leans down, not touching you but admiring how pink your nipples turn, satisfied knowing that they will be sensitive and ready for the next activity planned. Kit leans over to the night stand, and messes around with the multiple things he has, leaving you motionless and completely submissive to whatever else he wants to do to you.
Kit sits back up and clears his throat, making you nervous slightly. He cups one boob, and you feel a sudden harsh squeeze on your nipple, making you wince. He takes it off and puts it on further, the uncomfortable nipping turning into a constant pinching of your nipple. The sensation feels weirdly sexual, and leaves you holding back a moan at first, but letting it out when Kit puts a clothes peg on the other nipple, too. Though the sight of you being used is enough for Kit’s bulge to protrude through his white underwear, desperate for attention, Kit’s intention is only to tease you, not to hurt you.
“Is this okay?”, Kit says awkwardly. You can hear the quick slurp Kit has to do as whatever is filling his mouth almost escapes.
“It’s… amazing”, you breathe out.
“Who woulda thought you’d be so naughty, hm?”. You furrow your eyebrows at what he could possibly be eating right now, but quickly melt under the weight of his lewd description of you.
Kit steps off you and stands up, chuckling darkly at the helpless view of you trying not to wriggle from the intense feeling at your sensitive buds. He takes off his shirt and drops it by the bed, not being able to rip his eyes off you laying there, wondering what he’s doing and when he’ll be back and close to you again. He slides his underwear off as silently as he can, before stepping closer to the bed, his hand wandering to his crotch, stroking himself looking at you.
When he kneels back on the bed and flicks the clothes peg, you whimper out at the endurance needed to take the uncomfortable pinch for so long. Kit moans quietly at you whimpering, before quickly slapping away the clothes peg, letting them rip off your nipples and fly across the room. You hiss at the painful turnout, making Kit instantly soothe your pain with an ice cube he holds to your nipple. You cry out at the action, and Kit smiles, before latching his mouth to your other nipple, settling the pain he induced with his freezing cold mouth and lips, swirling his tongue around your pink nipple. Tears escape your eyes at the unexpected pleasure, and a shiver breaks through your body when the ice cube between Kit’s warm fingers begins to melt and run down your side, giving you goosebumps.
Your breaths become hitched as swaps his hands and mouth, softly suckling on you with his cold lips, humming at the way you moan when he suckles harder. Your thighs can barely stay still on the mattress, moving around hoping to feel something and release the pool of pressure you feel between them. But Mr Walker doesn’t accept that, immediately sliding his hand between your legs and squeezing your inner thigh, not letting them touch and not giving you any more release than necessary. You completely let go and quickly become a whimpering and moaning mess when his hands and mouth work wonders on your body, squeezing and licking everywhere but where you need it.
“Mr Walker”, you whimper out, not being able to handle the punishment any longer.
Kit rubs his fingers against your freezing nipple as the last of the ice melts away, and removes his mouth off you with a sucking pop. He slides the sweatpants off your face, revealing the tears filling your eyes and running down your cheek. Alarm bells ring in Kit’s mind and he leans down close to you and wipes your tears away.
“I’m so sorry doll, did I go to hard on you? You shoulda said something”
“No, Kit, I need more… please”
Kit smirks at you begging once again, but sits up cockily and looks down at you.
“Sorry darling, but this was your punishment, you lost, remember? Besides…”
Kit stops in his sentence and you furrow your eyebrow in question, before, as if on cue, the kitchen timer dings.
“Sorry doll, we’re outta time”
You whine in annoyance and look up at Kit, who stands up and twists the timer again. He sets it back down before walking towards the bedroom door to exit.
“Are you not even gonna untie me?”, you whine loudly. Kit stands in the door frame with his hand on the door handle, ready to leave.
“Why? So, you can touch yourself the second you’re free? I told ya darling, if you’re whiny and naughty, imma just leave you here”
You look up at Kit in disbelief before pulling at the secure ties on your hands.
“Have fun”, Kit says, before winking at you and leaving.
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Opposites Don’t Attract (A Witcher Fic)
Author’s Note: This was written while I was fighting Covid19...so I’m pretty proud of that. I'm aware that not everyone likes the Witcher but this was the only thing that would could out of my head that week so...
I took bits of lore from the show, the books, and the games and mixed them all up into a cohesive awesomeness...also, the smut is pretty good, but the banter is where it's at with this one. If you guys like this, I might make it a series...so, let me know how you're feeling on it.
Summary: Y/n is a witcher from the Cat School (a nomadic school that is one of the few that actually makes female witchers) who keeps running into Geralt of Rivia...to her great pleasure.
Pairing: Geralt x Female Witcher!Reader, mentions of Geralt x Yennefer and Geralt x Triss Merigold
Word count: 3869
Story Warnings: 18+! HERE BE SEX!! DON’T READ IF YOU’RE A YOUNG’UN!!!, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of infertility, little bit of angst (it's a Cassie story...what do you expect?)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It wasn’t often you crossed paths with the White Wolf. The Continent was vast and you both had work to do. But it was always a treat when you walked into a tavern and smelled the man.
"Geralt. What brings you to Kagen?" you asked, taking the stool next to him at the bar.
"A contract."
"Always so succinct, Wolf...and just a bit disrespectful. Isn't my school the one that's supposed to birth disreputable thugs?"
Amber eyes turned on you as you fiddled with your medallion, a silver coin with a cat's head on a silver chain. It hung right between your breasts and never came off.
"Here to kill a monster...or be a monster?" he asked, his voice a deep rumble.
A zing of indignant fury went through you but you stifled it instinctively. "I haven't taken a contract against a human in nearly twenty years. I've learned the error of my ways. I told you as such when we met last. Remember? The bard's impromptu celebration in Lyria." He grunted softly at you and looked away. "You do remember, don't you, Geralt?"
"My memory is fine, Feline."
"Then you remember folding me in on myself and making my body quake?" You set your hand on his thigh and watched his face for a reaction.
He gave no indication he even noticed your fingers over the conditioned leather. "Since when do you call them 'humans'? When last we met, you were still calling them by the slur."
You rolled your eyes. "That was a single slip. Another thing I've seen the error on. I've developed, I've grown. You have to admit that some things are hard to shake, like a word you shouldn't say or a prejudice you were taught as a small child. I wasn't really given a choice on who to sympathize with in the conflict. Cats and Elves, we go together. Call it a commiseration of outcasts."
He let out a long sigh before dropping his hand to yours. "You talk too much, Cat."
"Well, someone has to fill the silence around you. Jaskier doesn't seem to be around right now, so I'll take that mantle." You licked your lips and hummed as his fingertips slowly caressed the back of your hand. "I could help you fulfill your contract. Two witchers are better than one. What are you after?"
He turned his head just enough to catch your eyes. "You want to help me?"
"I want to fuck you, but I feel you're going to be distracted until you've got your coin so I might as well hasten that instance."
"Can I trust you to have my back in battle?"
You pulled your hand away and shook your head. "If I can alter my preconceived notions of humans, you can alter your notions of Felines. Or, in the very least, of me." You caught his eyes and held them without blinking. "I have known you for decades, Geralt. Can you trust me to have your back?"
He held your eyes for a few moments before he picked up his ale. "It's a graveir. Strength is more important than speed."
"Well, then I'll just have to pull its attention and hope it is hungry for witcher." You smiled. "And you can kill it before it eats me."
He smiled just a bit as he set his mug down. "Perhaps I'll let it eat you, kill it while it is sated and happy."
"Aww, but then the great White Wolf would never get to eat his fill of this Feline ever again."
He smirked as you set a coin on the bar and requested an ale of your own. "And what brought you to Kagen, Y/n?"
You smiled at the use of your name. "Tracking a man." His eyebrow went up so you clarified. "Just tracking. He's a historian. There's some question of the authenticity of some of the Aen Seidhe artifacts he's 'found'. He's at the whore house two down so I thought I'd have a drink while he was busy. A lucky stroke to find you."
"If you help me with the graveir, you might lose him."
You took a drink of your ale and turned on the stool. "You think we can't take down a graveir and have a fun night before a middle-aged human historian wakes from his well-deserved nap after a night of lust away from his wife?" You leaned next to his ear and whispered, "Are you underestimating me or yourself?"
"I could never underestimate you." He tipped his head back and finished off his ale and you chugged down your own. It was time to work.
As you moved to follow Geralt out of the tavern, a tall man with a sunburned face stepped in front of you.
"I didn't know they made witchers with tits," the foul-smelling farmer said with a guffaw at the end for good measure.
"Well, you've never seen the Butcher of Blaviken with his shirt off, have you?" you snapped, stepping away from him.
"You're a real one, then? You got the eyes, I see. They do all those mutations on you? Hear witchers are like a bitch in heat but cain't procreate. Now there's a perfect woman, right? Always ready to be filled, but never able to give me any more little brats."
Geralt sneered at the man's words but you just shook your head. "I guarantee no woman wants to be filled by you or your brats. Especially not this woman."
The drunk looked offended for a moment before he scoffed. "You're not a woman. You're a fuckin' mutant. Wouldn't want your-"
A blade was in your hand and held against his throat in a flash. "I'm a fucking mutant and a fucking woman and I want nothing to do with you."
"Apologize," Geralt demanded, quiet and intent.
The drunk looked down at the knife and blinked a few times, then nodded. "Sorry."
Your blade was back in its sheath on your hip before he could take another breath. "Let's go, Geralt."
"Hmm." He pulled open the large wooden door and walked out, you followed.
~~~~~~~~~~~
"When's the last time you saw the Caravan?" Geralt asked as you headed for the woods.
"You really don't think I've changed, do you?" He gave a noncommittal grunt so you rolled your eyes. "Even after that slime back at the tavern? I didn’t kill him. I didn't even hurt him. I didn't even spout off and call him a...well, if anyone deserves to be slurred, it's a man like that and I held my tongue." You reached out and slapped your hand across his chain mail. "Haven’t seen hide nor hair of Dyn Marv in…"
You rubbed your fingers across your eyes and shook your head. "I abandoned the Caravan the day I met you. The ideals were harder to shirk but I left my school the moment I realized that Gezras wasn't quite the savior they claimed. You had it right. You and the others up at Kaer Morhen, you know how...how a witcher's supposed to act. You were trained in the codes and morals, I wasn't."
"No, you were trained blindfolded on a tightrope across the rooftops of Oxenfurt."
"Let it never be said that Cat School is without our flair." You smiled over at him. "And it was Oxenfurt, the Cintran Capital, and Vengerberg. Nomads and all that."
Geralt looked over at you and smiled. "I can imagine the Cintran guard were very happy to have a bunch of witchers crawling across their roofline."
"Oh none of them ever cared for having a bunch of witchers in their city let alone running training exercises across their roofs. But not a one tried to stop us. You'll recall, there was a time when most feared and respected us more than they hated us."
"I don't recall people ever fearing Cat School," he teased.
"Ah-ha, you're so hilarious, Geralt. My sides are in stitches from all this laughter," you responded dryly.
You walked in relative silence for a few moments, your boots making no sound on the tall grass. "I didn't know meeting Vesemir affected you so much," he said eventually.
"Oh, yes. It was wise old Vesemir that showed me the error of my ways, not the dashing white-haired man who rode into Novigrad after him."
"Dashing. That's a new one."
"I'm absolutely certain it is not a new one, Geralt. Not for any woman who's had the pleasure to make your acquaintance." Your cheeks heated up in a way you imagined his never did. Wolves dulled emotion. So did Bears, and Vipers, and most schools. Most pushed down emotions to make a witcher less susceptible to fear and anger and sadness. Cat School was different. You were reminded of that every time you were around Geralt. "I bet 'dashing' would be one of the first words they'd use to describe you: the Triss Merigolds and Yennefer of Vengerbergs of the world."
He looked over at you as you approached a cemetery filled with recent dead from a bandit attack on the outskirts of Kagen. "Hmm. Is that jealousy I hear?"
"No!" you responded just a little too loud. "What do I have to be jealous of? They're two supernaturally beautiful sorceresses who've been part of your life much longer than I have. Besides, none of us really gets you for more than a night or two, right?"
He grunted softly in agreement, then offered a potion from his belt. You took it and swallowed it down, feeling your already-fast reflexes get a boost. "You're supernaturally beautiful too. It will make you better graveir bait."
You couldn’t focus on the compliment he'd given you as he pointed to a bloated ghoul digging into a fresh grave with short, strong claws. He was gone by the time you looked back but you could sense him moving around the outside of the cemetery.
Normally, this was the point when you'd draw your silver; approaching a ghoul as it ripped a limb from a corpse to make its meal for the night. The sword stayed on your back with your steel, however. You were to take its attention so Geralt could kill it from behind.
It was fairly easy, actually. You and Geralt, working in tandem, had the graveir as dead as his dinner before there was a chance for real trouble. It noticed you, it rushed you, you dodged and dodged and threw a punch or three to its ugly face and then Geralt appeared in your vision and the graveir met the sharp blade of a witcher's silver sword. No muss, very little fuss, and very little blood.
"You did good as bait," Geralt commented as you walked back toward the city. "Maybe I should have you play the snack on hunts more often."
"Oh? A snack for the monsters or a snack for yourself?"
"I'm serious. We work well together."
"It's not the first time we've worked together."
There had been, in fact, two other monsters that you helped Geralt with. A wraith terrorizing a man in Novigrad that you helped him with when you first met each other and a wyvern you encountered on the road. Geralt happened to have the contract on the wyvern and showed up to take it down as you were in the midst of killing it.
He graciously shared a portion of the coin garnered from his contract.
He hummed in acknowledgement. “You should come with me.”
You stopped and turned to look at him. “What?”
“Once you’ve fulfilled your contract on the historian, you should saddle up and travel with me. You said it yourself, ‘two witchers are better than one’.”
You looked up into his eyes and blinked a few times. “You miss Vesemir so much that you would travel with me just to have another witcher at your side?”
“Why don’t we leave it at ‘I enjoy your company’?” he suggested.
You started walking again, heading toward your mare, a Konik named Daisy, and Geralt’s mare, Roach. “Will you be staying in Kagen for a while?”
“I have a room at the inn. I can stay in Kagen until you return.”
“You’re serious about me coming with you? I thought sweet nothings were whispered in the throes of passion, not in the aftermath of battle.”
“You don’t have to come with me, Y/n.”
You shook your head. “I’ll have to think about it, Geralt.” You didn’t want to anger any sorceresses. You climbed up into Daisy’s saddle and grabbed her reins. “For now, let’s go to the inn. A bath and a bed sound amazing,” you said, before riding toward the city.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The tub was small but you weren’t large. “How do you fit in this thing?” you asked, dunking yourself under the warm water.
“I’m very good at fitting into tight spaces.” Geralt stepped up behind you and kneeled down, setting his chin on your bare shoulder. “Do you need help getting clean?”
“No. But I’d love a bit of help getting dirty again after I’m done.” He hummed and nodded, turning his head to press his lips to your neck. You hummed happily and turned your head to give a bit more access and he took the invitation, running his hand down your body and under the water. You gasped as his fingers brushed your curls. “I’m not clean yet, Geralt.”
“Clean enough.”
You pressed closer to him, arching your hips and reaching back to grab the back of his head, pulling him further down. “More,” you whispered. He chuckled, slipping a finger down to tease your entrance. “Fuck, don’t tease.”
“Why not?” He nipped at your jawline and gave a low hum. “You know...the first time I heard your voice, I knew I’d have to hear you moan.” You gasped as his finger slipped into you down to the knuckle, your fingers digging into his scalp as the heel of his palm pressed into your clit. “I knew I’d have to feel you cum on my cock when I smelled you in the heat of battle.”
You moaned at the thought of Geralt, barely knowing your name, deciding that he’d have to have you just based on scent. It was something so animalistic, so inhuman...so uniquely witcher.
You twisted in the water and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a fierce kiss. You didn’t wait for an invitation into the cavern of his mouth, tugging on his bottom lip with your teeth as he gathered your body in his arms and carried you to the lumpy bed across the room. You pushed at his clothes without breaking the kiss, desperate to taste and feel him. Your fingers skimmed across the lines of his back muscles as you pulled his shirt off. His fingertips dug into your hips and moved to put bruising pressure on your ass as you started untying his trousers.
The man was a specimen. The mages at Kaer Morhen made the best of him. You didn’t have time to examine the body and the cock that were so prominent in your wettest dreams because he was obviously just as desperate for you. He got his trousers down and reached between your bodies, taking his length in hand and smearing the head of it in the wetness seeping out of you. You were just about to start begging when he slipped his cock into your cunt.
You lifted your hips to get more of him inside of you. You needed him stretching you and stuffing you. You needed him pushing you to the absolute limits. He fit you better than any ever had.
He rocked his hips against yours, his pelvis putting pressure against your clit as his cock barely moved against your walls. You wrapped your legs around him, ankles crossed at the small of his back, urging him deeper. He growled and grabbed your wrists, pulling your hands from his shoulders to pin them to the bed above your head.
No other man could put you in such a position. No other man controlled you like Geralt. You would never think to let it happen. No man, not even another witcher, could play you like such a fine instrument. A beautiful lute.
Part of you wished you didn't heal so efficiently, so quickly. Part of you wanted to wear his marks upon you for days, but his marks, just like the scent of your coupling, faded far too quickly for your liking. It left you with nothing but the memory and that just wasn't enough. Not when the man you were remembering was so...amazing.
You whimpered out a faint request and he heeded it, slamming his hips into yours harder. You struggled against his grip, desperate to get your hands in his hair, wanting to tug on the white locks, but he refused to relinquish control of your wrists. He gave you everything you needed, but not necessarily what you wanted.
Like you wanted to hear his voice, but the only time you really needed to hear it was when he leaned down next to your ear and demanded, “Cum, Cat.” Your toes curled and your head pressed back into the pillow, your hips arching closer to his as that finally cracking pleasure fell over you. Geralt lasted a while longer before he filled you, his cock pulsing against your walls as his breath caught in his chest, fingers tightening around your wrists as he came.
He pressed sweet kisses along your jawline as he pulled his half-hard member from your dripping pussy and his hands released your wrists to slide his fingers up to entwine with yours. You ended up with your legs tangled with his, neither of you seeming to care about the wetness of sweat and cum sticky between both of your thighs. You kept one of your hands clutched in his, but pulled the other away so that you could run your fingers through his hair as you stared at the ceiling.
“Do you give it much thought?” you asked, quietly. He made a questioning noise and popped open one eyelid to look up at you from where his head was on your breast. Your cheeks heated up and you licked your lips. “What they did to us. What the mages made of us. What they took from us.”
“Took?”
“Options. The options they took from us. We were children, Geralt. We were babies. They stole…” You cut your words off with a shake of your head. “I guess I’m the only one who thinks about it...and I can’t really imagine being some normal peasant wife with a litter of children and a world of misery, but I...I guess there’s some sweetness in the simplicity of their lives, you know? And I hate that I was never given that option. I was deprived of simplicity before I was even aware there was a difference between the folk in the Caravan and the rest of the world.”
Geralt was silent, but the way his fingers tightened their grip upon your hand filled you with a sense of calm. “People hate us, Geralt. They think us heartless, emotionless, cold. I learned to fake it, because that’s what people expect from someone with two blades on their back and these lovely eyes, but-”
“Cat School doesn’t dull emotions.”
“No. Not even with training. That’s a learned reaction to the outside world. I miss Dyn Marv fiercely sometimes because it’s...lonely away from people who understand. It’s hard to walk the Continent alone.”
He closed his eye and shifted a bit against you. “Why aren’t you with them, then?”
“Differences of morality.”
He was silent for a few minutes, just the sound of your breathing filling the room. “Opposites attract.”
“What?”
“It’s something the bard says. The idiot heard it from an alchemist once and he likes to believe it applies to relationships too. It’s why he goes after beautiful, cultured, married women. ‘Opposites attract’.” He sat up and looked down into your eyes. “But it’s horseshit. We look for companions that remind us of us. It’s why all of his women are as enamored with him as he is. Opposites don’t attract, Y/n...and that’s why you are someone I can’t say ‘no’ to.”
“Because we’re so alike?” you guessed.
“Yes.”
“Just because I’ve changed though, right?”
“No. You changed because you weren’t truly that woman. You were what the mages made you. What your teachers made you. You changed when you decided to.”
You licked your lips again and sat up a bit on your elbows. “What about your sorceresses?”
He smirked a little. “I don’t have sorceresses, Y/n.”
“Lovers. Ex or current?” you simplified the question.
“Current. Obviously,” he said, sarcastic humor in his voice as he ran his hand down your body.
You rolled your eyes and tried to ignore the way his touch lit your skin aflame with sparks of desire. “Geralt, I’m serious. If Yennefer were to ride into Kagen right now...if she knocked on that door…”
“Yen would just walk in. She’s never been one for other peoples’ privacy.” He leaned his head down when you didn’t express amusement at his jest, pressing his forehead to yours. “I could lie.”
“Not really. You’ve not proven yourself a good liar, Wolf.”
“True. I prefer honesty.” He sighed and looked away, sitting up to lean his back against the wall.
“Would you turn her away? Would you turn away Triss?” You sighed heavily. “I’m not trying to sound...like such a sodding woman, but...Geralt, you asked me to come with you. That seems like-” His pensive face made you question what you were even trying to get at. “You know what? I think it’d be better if I just head back to my job following Professor Lery and-”
“Don’t.” He grabbed your arm as you moved to get off the bed. “I care for Triss and I think I...loved Yennefer. But I...don’t think we’ll be an option again. She’s been upset at me since Triss.”
“Won’t this-”
“Stop questioning everything.” You closed your eyes as he leaned over and kissed you again. “Stay.”
“I have to finish the contract, Geralt. I’ve already been paid a hundred-fifty gold for it.”
“Then come back,” he demanded softly.
You smiled at him and nodded, but your heart was far less resolute than you were pretending. “Of course. Don’t go anywhere.” You rolled off the bed and grabbed your trousers and shirt, dressing hastily before grabbing your swords and potion belt. You kissed him one more time before leaving the room, swiping a loaf of bread off of a table in the tavern on your way out.
You weren’t sure if you were coming back to him. You wanted nothing more, but you weren’t looking forward to the moment one of his sorceresses came to call. “I’ll decide while I finish this job,” you told your horse, patting her lovingly. “Maybe it should just stay you and me, huh, Daisy. Maybe two witchers aren’t better than one.”
#cassie writes stuff#witcher fanfic#the witcher#geralt x reader#geralt of rivia#witcher reader#reader-insert
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Oooh your requests are open, I'm so excited! Could I ask for a Tanjiro x Reader in a modern AU setting (Kimetsu Academy, perhaps?) where Reader visits Tanjiro (who's crushing on her) at his bakery and he sees her playing with his siblings? It just warms his heart up and they're all like 'You should marry our brother!' and ahhh just fluff galore! Headcanons, scenario, short fic, anything is fine with me, whatever's easiest for you! Thank you so much! ~Oblivion~
(a/n: hi again!!! thank you so much for requesting! this is such an adorable request, im literally so soft rn ya hear??? tanjiro is such best boy im 😔✊✊,, i hope you like this and have a great day!)
(this became longer than expected, are headcanons supposed to be this long??? per usual, there will typos and grammar errors! happy reading!)
Total words: 1770+ words
Genre: Fluff
No manga spoilers
Warnings: None
Will You Marry Our Brother? ( Kamado Siblings x Reader, Tanjiro Kamado x Reader) I Headcanons
During your time at Kimetsu Academy, you had the pleasure of meeting the owners of a nearby bakery, the Kamado family. You shared classes with the eldest son, Tanjiro Kamado. You became good friends with the boy, and eventually you met his younger sister, Nezuko Kamado. You adored his sister and the two of you instantly became close friends, because of her kind and caring nature.
Since Tanjiro was your classmate, you usually sat beside him. Each chance that he would get, his attention would be focused on you, chatting and asking about your day with an obvious flush in his face. Honestly, you thought it was kind of cute, seeing him all flustered up all around you. You sort of got a crush on him, not that he knew about it.
You would hang out with Nezuko in-between school breaks, eating Lunch with her as the two of you would have girl talks. She would always keep you company, and if ever you needed someone to lean on, you bet that she would always be there to support you.
You could say that you were more than shocked when you discovered that they had four more younger siblings. You didn't have the honor of meeting them properly, because of your busy schedule and just the overwhelming amount of academic pressure on your shoulders that hindered you from visiting their bakery. However, judging by the wonderful stories that Tanjiro would tell you in the middle of school breaks, they seemed like absolute sweethearts, and you were looking forward to meeting them.
However, you would later have the chance to meet them. It was a peculiar day, and the teachers weren't as harsh on you all like they would normally. Not only that, you craved for something sweet and warm. You just wanted to just bask in positive vibes, and you knew exactly where you wanted to go.
Your legs stopped in front of a small shop, and almost immediately, a wave of gentleness hits your body with so much comfort. You entered the bakery, a bell ringing as you begin to salivate at the sight of the delicious treats displayed on the counter. Nezuko takes notice of your presence, and turns around to welcome you with a big smile on her face.
When you finally picked out the goodies you desired from the shelf, you made your way to the cashier to pay for them. As you got near, you heard little strange noises coming from below the cash register. Confusion began to grow as you recognized the strange noises sounded like the sound effects from a popular mobile game. You became even more perplexed as Nezuko's expression hardened, and she instantly marched behind the cashier in slight annoyance.
A loud squeal of surprise erupted as the sound effects abruptly stopped. Then, suddenly, a young boy emerges from the cashier, a sheepish look evident in his face as he rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. The moment he notices your figure just standing awkwardly behind the cash register, he immediately turns red and mutters incoherent apologies as he would repeatedly bow profusely. You just give him a reassuring smile, and you said something about also liking the game he was playing.
You learned that this boy is Takeo, one of Tanjiro's younger siblings. As he continued to check out your treats, he couldn't help but find you so familiar.
Are you the girl in his brother's lockscreen photo?
After you paid for your orders, you introduced yourself to him, and his suspicions were confirmed. He couldn't help a mischievous smirk form on his lips, as he vividly recalls all the moments his brother would dreamily talk about a girl named [ Y / N ].
You asked him to play one round of the mobile game he played before with you. After seeing how the bakery was not really busy and getting Nezuko's approval, he accepted your offer. You bonded with him over the game, and the two of you had so much fun! You were pretty sure that you played more than one round with the young Kamado!
You were absolutely great at the game, much more so than him! You beat his high score, and he wouldn't admit it, but he swears he will beat your score one day. He could not wait to totally tease his brother about this.
Later on, you meet Hanako, Shigeru and the youngest, Rokuta. You were absolutely delighted to finally meet them. They were exactly how Tanjiro described them, they were all such big sweethearts!
Hanako and Shigeru almost immediately took a liking on you! They bombarded you with so much questions, asking you about your favorite color, animal, and all the little things you liked. The would listen to your answers eagerly, big smiles never fading from their expressions.
They would absolutely invite you to play a few games with them! They looked absolutely precious and you didn't have the heart to say "no". You played so much games with them during your stay, the most prominent being "Tag" and "Hide 'n Seek".
After they become tired from running around so much, they settled on listening to your jokes and puns. You swear they have the most adorable laughter in the world!
Just seeing them being giggling and laughing so much melted your heart into a puddle of joy. These two were absolutely cute and adorable, and they radiated so much positive energy that just fill your entire being with warmth and love.
They think that you are absolutely beautiful and wonderful, just like how their brother described you to be!
And then, there's little Rokuta. At first, he was a little shy to approach you. His big eyes looked at you with so much curiosity, and when you told him your name, his face immediately transformed into one of recognition.
Oh! So you're the [ Y / N ] my big brother keeps babbling about!
You would dote on him so, so much! You couldn't stop the squeals from escaping your mouth as he would adorably babble and tell you about his day! His big eyes hold so much innocence and purity in them, and your mind went absolutely bonkers about how cute this little Kamado is!
When he deemed he trusted you enough, he would raise his little arms up, and his tiny hands would make some grabbing motions. Nezuko would chuckle at his actions and tell you that he wants you to pick him up. You stifled a scream of absolute delight, mustering all willpower not to cry from sheer happiness. A cute and cuddly toddler wanted you to pick him up? Don't mind if I do!
The moment Rokuta is in your arms, he immediately embraces you, his little arms just wrapped around your shoulders. Nezuko cheered you on, commenting about how Rokuta had now grew attached to you. He was nuzzling on your neck, feeling secured in your hold as you silently thanked the gods above for giving you this oppurtunity.
Unbeknownst to you, a pair of Crimson hues stared at you with so much adoration from over the counter.
Tanjiro watched how the whole thing unfold. From your little game matches with Takeo, to your giggling fits with Hanako and Shigeru, and to how you held Rokuta in your arms with so much tenderness. All of this left Tanjiro feeling so much warmth and affection in his chest, and he wanted to cry out from the sheer joy of how much you had gotten along with his siblings.
You were absolutely Wonderful. Exquisite. Magnificent. Beautiful. Stunning. Heavenly.
Just so drop-dead gorgeous.
He's in absolute euphoria.
The boy won't admit it, but he's imagining his future with you. Seeing you being so happy with his little siblings makes him wonder what a family with you would look like. Gosh, how much he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.
He practically had hearts in his eyes as he kept staring at you like a lovesick puppy, not noticing that Takeo was leaning against the counter with a smug expression on his face.
"Gosh, Nii-san. I knew you had a crush on her, but I didn't know it was this bad."
Tanjiro snaps from his day dream, and he could feel so much blood rush to his face. He was so embarrassed, much more so that Takeo had caught him looking at you all this time! Takeo laughs at his brother's red face, and Tanjiro could only shriek out erratic noises to desperately request Takeo not to get too loud.
You heard a commotion from the counter, and you turned to see a completely red-faced Tanjiro waving his hands vigorously to a guffawing Takeo. You could only giggle at the sight in amusement, and when Tanjiro makes eye contact with you, his face gets even more redder.
In your arms, Rokuta shifts from your neck to look at his big brother. Noticing how the two of you gazed in each other's eyes, he claps his hands in delight and looks up to meet your [ E / C ] orbs.
"Ne, [ Y / N ]-san, will you marry my big brother?"
THE WHOLE BAKERY JUST EXPLODES IN HYSTERICS
Takeo laughs harder than he had before, grabbing at the edges of the counters to prevent himself from falling to the ground from the amount of amusement he was getting from the situation.
Hanako and Shigeru just burst out in full excitement, jumping and smiling at you, asking you repeatedly if you wanted to marry their big brother. They practically pleaded with you, their wide eyes constantly staring at you, in hopes that someday you might officially become their big sister.
Nezuko chokes in shock at her drink. She didn't expect Rokuta to say those words! She immediately goes to your side, and just repeatedly apologizes to you in behalf of Rokuta for putting you in such an awkward position. But, she cannot really lie, she would love for you to become her sister-in-law.
Tanjiro just looked at you in horror and fear. His face had hit the utmost redness it could possibly have attained, and he only wanted to crawl and hide at this very moment. He didn't want his crush on you to be revealed this way! He had special plans for that moment, but it didn't matter anymore, because you now know about his overwhelming feelings for you! Gosh, he felt so humiliated, and it didn't help that you were in such an awkward position just because of his attraction on you!
But then, he was caught off guard by your breathtaking smile. The next words sent Tanjiro's mind into a frenzy, desperately struggling with the urge to faint out of sheer bliss as the bakery exploded again into cheers of celebration.
"I would love to."
#tanjiro x reader#tanjirou x reader#tanjiro kamado x reader#tanjirou kamado x reader#demon slayer x reader#moji writes#tanjiro is husband material aight
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Touch Starved [Frankie Morales x Reader]
Summary: You and your best friend Frankie Morales have had silent feelings for each other since the day you met. No one could’ve ever guessed the strange circumstance which occurred one fateful night, and how the proceeding events would be the push you needed to take your friendship to the next level.
Word count: 6k (what the heck this is the longest piece i’ve ever written BY FAR)
Rating: 18+ only.
Warnings: SMUT, thigh riding, oral (m and f receiving), alcohol consumption/intoxication, food/drink mention, lot of pining over each other and just some general fluff
Author’s Note: This is my first ever Frankie fic anddddd my first ever smut lol. Please be kind I hope you enjoy. PS if you want a part two let me know! xx
MASTERLIST | Submit your requests HERE
•••
Your eyes were heavy and you shuffled into the cushion, adjusting your position on the couch until you felt more comfortable. You grazed your fingers against the pages of your book, but found yourself re-reading the same sentence over and over again in attempt to keep yourself awake. Even your two scented candles were close to burning out, and you figured it was time for bed.
Gently dropping the book on the floor, you closed your eyes and felt yourself drift off into a dreamy sleep when a loud bang on your door woke you up with a jolt. Your heart was pounding as you bolted upright, clutching the thin wooled blanket that was lazily draped around your body in fear. Within seconds, you heard another bang on the door. Rubbing your eyes, you flicked on your phone and checked the time. 11-48pm. Almost midnight. You groaned, standing up and padding to the front door of your apartment. Who could possibly want to see you at this hour? You wondered. Not even bothering to check through the peephole, you let out an elongated groan.
“Who is it?” You called out and rubbed your tired eyes. You ran your fingers through your hair in hope that you would look somewhat presentable for when you greeted your uninvited visitor.
Without hesitation you heard him. A voice you were so familiar with. “It’s Frankie, man! You gotta let me in!” you noted that his voice sounded urged and your stomach filled with concern. Was he alright? Why was he at your apartment at 11-48pm? A million thoughts raced through your mind in just the second it took you to open the door. The thought of Frankie being here made you nervous, but excited. In a fluster, you stumbled with the door lock before finally managing to get it open.
There he was. His dark brown waves were tucked into one of his infamous baseball caps and he was wearing a dark green flannel and a washed out pair of denim jeans. You tried to search for answers in his face, but he truly seemed fine, other than the slight panic in his voice. He slid past you, allowing himself into your apartment and began pacing around.
“Would you like a drink?” You asked, almost rhetorically. Frankie didn’t answer, nor did he need to. You were already clicking open the bottle of ice cold Bud and handing it over to him. He took a big sip out of the alcoholic beverage, and you took the liberty of admiring him as he done so. He wasn’t watching you anyway, but instead focusing on downing the drink. That's what he needed. A drink to wash away his worries. How could he ever explain this to you?
You loved the way his chocolate brown eyes shone under the candlelight and the way his skin looked almost soft and golden. You waited patiently for him to finish drinking, never wanting to hurry him.
Frankie appreciated the atmosphere of your apartment too. He always had. It made a change from his current living situation. Frankie wasn’t picky as such, but living with his four best guy friends definitely had its downfalls. Whether that be Ben constantly hogging the living room television to play his Call of Duty video games, or Santiago bringing home a different lady every other night, making such noise that nobody but Will could sleep, or even Tom with his untidy behaviour and complete disregard for everyone else who lived with him. It wasn't great but what other choice did Frankie have? Other than you. You didn’t feel like a choice to him, you felt like a necessity. He needed you. You were his safe place, and your chic apartment felt more like home than his shabby downtown place.
“I gotta ask you a favour.” Frankie prompted eventually, sliding down into the cream faux-leather sofa and placing his bottle of beer on the coffee table. You took a seat in the chair opposite him and folded your arms, waiting for him to continue. “Actually, I don’t know. Never mind. Uhm… it’s a funny story to be honest. But, maybe it’s fine. It’s not fine. It’s just, well-”
“Spit it out Frankie!” You giggled jokingly, reaching over and nudging him slightly. He was immediately put at ease by just the simplest brush of your fingers, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with you. He found himself staring into the burning flame of your cinnamon scented candle. He felt mildly ashamed about how this whole situation had even surfaced in the first place.
“Me and Santi… we had a bet. A dare kinda thing.” Frankie explained, shuffling around with discomfort. He was definitely embarrassed that he had driven himself all the way to your apartment in the dead of night just to tell you this— or rather, ask you this. “The guys were teasing, you know how they are. About how- well, you know, I’ve never really been with a girl since…” Frankie paused.
“Marià.” You sighed, and Frankie nodded slowly. “Your ex wife…”
“Yeah. And I know it’s crazy but after the divorce and everything… I just haven’t really uh, had the opportunity. I mean I’ve had the opportunity it’s just- never felt right. I suppose. And you know, it’s not that I don’t want to start dating again. Or seeing women. Sleeping with wo-” Frankie was about to start rambling about his sex life (or lack there of) and you were not prepared to let your mind journey there. Not that you had never thought about it before… no. He was your best friend. And it would be wrong. Besides, Frankie had a tendency to over share but you were always there to help him get back on track, whereas others, namely the guys, would tease and mock him for it.
“Why are you here, Frankie?” You cut him off with as much delicacy as you could muster up. Your voice was soft, and Frankie noticed how gentle you had always been with him.
“Santi said he bet I couldn’t ask a girl out if I tried,” Frankie explained with a short sigh and you frowned. You knew Santiago well and you knew that he and Frankie were like brothers, but Frankie had been through a lot lately and Santiago never really had the best choice of words. You wondered if he had hurt Frankie, and instantly felt defensive over your friend.
“And then what happened?”
“I told Santi I could get a girl, and then, this afternoon, he asked me how I had come on. I lied, told him I asked out a pretty girl. He asked me about her and well, the girl I described… I guess… in my head I was just picturing you.” Frankie said, and finally glanced up at you, his pretty eyes shimmering in the dim light. You felt your heart rate increase at his revelation. “You know? It’s funny. This made up girl looks just like you.” He chuckled lightly. Your silence was deafening and his stomach filled with anxiety. “I don’t know why!” he assured but that was a lie. He knew why. He was your first thought at the start of the day you were his last thought at the end of the day. Every moment he got, he was thinking about you— pining over you.
“Oh,” you whispered, unable to process any more words. You weren’t sure what to make of it. You brushed away your feelings, thinking that you only came to Frankie’s mind because you saw him so much. You were the only girl he really hung out with.
“Of course Santi didn’t believe me. I’m a terrible liar. You know that. But I really don’t want the guys to catch me out on this! It’s so embarrassing.” Frankie was exasperated. You took to your feet and walked over to him, falling back on the sofa and resting your hand on Frankie’s forearm. To Frankie, your touch was like electricity.
“You do not need to be ashamed of something like this Frankie,” you assured him. Frankie took off his cap and ran his fingers through his brown locks.
“I know I know,” he sighed before looking back at you. “Santi wants to meet this fake girl. He’s been seeing Yovanna again and he’s organised a double date kind of thing. For him, Yo, myself and well… I'm hoping, you.”
You blinked hard. “Wait,” you paused. “You want to go on a date with me?”
This had to be dream. Had you just fallen asleep on the sofa? You pinched yourself and checked the wall clock above the television. Only a few minutes had ticked by. Definitely not a dream.
“Fake date.” Frankie corrected and you felt your heart sink slightly.
Or maybe it was a nightmare.
You shuffled around, not knowing how to feel. “Uhm, Frankie… I’m not sure…” you hesitated. All you had wanted for so long was to go on a date with Frankie. A real date. You had been dreaming about the day he would ask you out since you first met him, but this wasn’t what you had pictured at all.
“Please,” Frankie begged, clasping his hands together in a pleaing manner. “Just pretend to be my date.”
And how could you ever say no to Frankie Morales’ puppy dog eyes?
The night of the date, you and Frankie had agreed to meet at the restaurant. You hadn’t really discussed anything prior, but this date, albeit fake, was all you could think about. Every chance you had, you were thinking about Frankie. You wondered how it would be, pretending to be his date. And equally, Frankie was thinking the same.
He struggled to catch any sleep, and instead would lay in his bed staring at the ceiling. He wondered how to fake a date. He didn’t want to do anything to make you uncomfortable and he simply hadn’t dated anyone in so long. He was so sure that he would embarrass himself, and that you’d never want to talk to him again.
Frankie, Santiago and Yovanna were already sitting around the restaurant table before you arrived. It was a quaint little Italian place on the coast and it had the most beautiful evening view. The sky was darkening and there wasn't a cloud in sight, but instead, pearly white stars pierced the velveteen abyss above and it looked like something straight out of a romance movie. The environment was perfect. The place was slightly out of the usual burger joint budget for Frankie and Santiago, but Yovanna insisted on the high-end restaurant, and even Frankie had to admit it would be nice to eat some good quality food for a change.
You weren’t late, but rather Frankie, Santiago and Yovanna were early. Frankie had already downed three bottles of beer before you arrived, trying to wash away his nerves. By the time you came, he was already slightly intoxicated. His ease was all that mattered and besides, Frankie was a happy drunk.
When Frankie saw you enter the restaurant, it was like his whole world stopped. He always thought you were beautiful, but tonight he was looking at you in a whole different light. You weren’t in your usual sweats and hoodie, and truthfully he had never seen you like this before. Your little black dress hugged your body in all the right places, and your matching heels clicked against the marble floor as you padded over to the table. You felt a blush creep upon your cheeks when you caught Santi gawking.
“Whoa, you clean up well!” Santiago complimented, looking you up and down, grinning ecstatically.
Frankie tried to keep his cool, but he couldn’t take his eyes off you. He took in your bare legs and how fine they looked in your dress, and he admired the way you had styled your hair. It was out of your face, and he appreciated that, because now he could infatuate himself over your features. You wore minimal makeup, but your eyeshadow accentuated your eye colour and your choice of lip gloss plumped your lips slightly. Frankie’s eyes went from being drawn to your legs, to now your lips, and he cursed himself for the thoughts he was thinking. Fake date. He reminded himself; but he couldn't help but question— what if it was real? If he could, he’d take you in his arms right then and there and kiss you.
You took your seat next to Yovanna and opposite Frankie, trying to remain as nonchalant as possible, but as you felt Frankie’s eyes burn into you, electricity sparked in your in your lower stomach. A certain kind of excitement. You pushed it away the best you could, focusing on reading the menu in front of you and deciding on the food you would order. Frankie pushed over a vibrant purple drink in a cocktail glass. “I got you your favourite,” Frankie smiled, and you felt your heart flutter. “I hope you don’t mind.”
You smiled and took a sip, but scrunched up your nose when the strong taste of vodka hit. “Um, sweetie,” You thought that tonight you would have to force out the pet names but it came so naturally. “How many shots are in here?”
“It’s a treble.” Frankie bit his lip, watching you with intent as you took another sip. His heart blossomed at the little name you called him.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?!” you gasped playfully and Frankie offered you another warm smile. “I don’t mind. Actually, I need it. Had a bad day at work.” you explained.
“It was Santi’s idea.” he admitted and Santiago innocently raised his hands in response. Frankie reached over the table, taking your hands in his and brushing his thumbs over your knuckles. You felt a shiver run down your spine at his touch. “Bad day?” he furrowed his eyebrows together, concern peaking in his gentle voice.
“Talk about it later.” you promised. Frankie brought your hands to his lips and kissed them softly. You had to stop yourself from swooning on the spot. Your heart began to pick up speed again and at this point, you were finding it difficult to remember that this was all fake.
As the four of you ate your food, you and Frankie were flirting all night; playing footsie under the table and exchanging dirty jokes. At one point, you accidentally ran your heel up his leg and he let out an accidental groan, fillet mignon almost spilling out his mouth. You hurled with laughter and his cheeks rosied up in embarrassment. Both you and Frankie were enjoying yourself way more than you had ever even considered.
“Wait,” you spluttered out in a fluster of giggles. You were still laughing at one of Frankie’s jokes. “Yovanna and Santi have gone home.” You noticed, pointing your finger at the empty seats next to yourself and Frankie.
“Oh yeah,” Frankie replied. “And we didn’t even notice.” He burst into laughter again and you followed, the alcohol really letting you both lose your inhibitions. “That bastard left me with his and Yovanna’s bill too.” Frankie shook his head in disbelief.
“Let me help you pay,” you unzipped your purse but Frankie put his hand out and stopped you.
“Don’t worry baby, this is on me.” Frankie promised and offered you a cheeky wink.
Santiago and Yovanna were gone. They had no one to prove their fake date to— and yet, exchanging flirtatious comments were simply too fun to stop.
“Okay,” you laughed, taking a gulp of red wine. You were sure the warm liquid must have stained your lips crimson with how much you had drunk, but you weren’t too concerned. “But next time, I’m paying.”
“There’s going to be a next time?" Frankie asked you hopefully.
“Isn’t there?” you returned a smile. “This was the best fake date I’ve ever been on.” You and Frankie let out a boisterous laugh, even catching the attention of other couples who were sitting around you trying to enjoy their romantic candlelit dinners.
“Touché,” he agreed, taking out his wallet and signing a check before clipping it to the bill and standing up. He took your hand, pulling you forward but you stumbled to your feet, falling into his chest. He was so broad and his arms were so big. Your feelings for him picked up a notch and you were unsure how long you could keep up the charade of pretending you saw him as just a friend.
You thought about how strong he was, barely flinching when you fell into him, and honestly, it turned you on. He slung his hands around your waist, slowly pushing you off his, but even when you weren’t resting on him anymore, he kept his big hands around you as you left the restaurant and walked through the parking lot to Frankie’s truck. You were grateful because without him guiding you and steadying you, you’d probably struggle to even reach the truck.
The close proximity between you and him made Frankie overwhelmed, his palms getting clammy and his cock hardening from your scent alone. Everything felt so intense. The cool night air took his breath away and he loved the way he could feel the shape of your body through your dress. He craved more.
He hoped that in the darkness of the night, you hadn’t noticed his throbbing length under his jeans. He slid into the driver seat of the car and you sat next to him, strapping yourself in. Frankie turned the key and as you set off, you both sat there in silence. Silence around Frankie was never uncomfortable, but this wasn’t a situation you were used to. It was a big difference to the environment in the bustling restaurant, but now it was just you two, alone, in his car— and you could cut the sexual tension with a knife.
“Come home with me.” You said eventually, not moving an inch and still looking at the road ahead. You managed to find the confidence, but you weren’t yet able to bring yourself to look him in the eye. He was your best friend. And you realised that what you were asking of him was a lot.
Frankie wasn’t put off, in fact, he felt his cock twitch at your words and he had to suppress a moan from escaping his lips. Did you really want him to take you home? As if on cue, you continued your proposal.
“Stay the night.” This verified Frankie’s thoughts and you hoped he had got the hint. You looked up into the rear view mirror and watched Frankie as he concentrated on driving, his body completely tensed up. He didn’t say a word, but when he detoured, you knew he was taking you back to your apartment. You wanted to calm him. Relax him. Soothe him. You let your fingers grace his jean clad leg, accidentally brushing over his erection. Frankie cursed under his breath. “S-sorry.” you mumbled, feeling your face flush. He was already hard. You crossed your legs tight together, trying to ignore the way your cunt was already dripping for him.
“No,” Frankie said. “Was good. Felt good.” his grip on the steering wheel tightened as you contemplated his words. He liked it. You moved your hand over his crotch again and began to palm him as he drove. He felt so constricted in his jeans and he couldn’t wait to get them off. It wasn’t long before his vision began to feel hazy under your touch but luckily he soon pulled up in front of your apartment. You removed your hand from his leg and let yourself out of the truck, feeling dazed also, and hurried inside. Frankie followed, loosing his belt as he stepped foot into the building. He was throbbing and in such desperate need of relief.
You pressed the button and waited for the elevator to come. By the time Frankie caught up with you, it was here, and the pair of you stepped inside. As the doors began to close on you, Frankie crashed his lips onto yours, pushing his body against you. This time it was his turn to touch you. His rough manner made you gasp but you needed to feel his body against yours. You let his hands explore you, his fingers rolling over the curves of your breasts and the dips in your waist. Within seconds, the elevator door opened with a ping and you had reached the floor of your apartment. Hungrily, you grabbed Frankie by the collar of his shirt and dragged him to your front door, unlocking it with haste. Once you were inside, you turned to shut the door behind you when Frankie pinned you against it. His hands were on your wrists and your arms were spread out over the wood. He pressed a kiss into your jaw. “You want this?” his voice was rough and barely above a whisper, and his manner made your knees weak. He was so close to you, you could smell the beer mixed with his fragrance.
You didn’t dare move, but instead mewled out a tiny “yes”. Frankie smirked and turned you around so he could look at you in the eyes. He still had a hold of you, his grip was as tight as vice and his eyes were no longer the usual shade of honeyed brown but instead were much darker and lustful with a predatory glint. He kissed you again, hard, and his tongue swiped along your lower lip, begging for entry which you quickly granted. It was easy to get lost in the kiss; he was so good and so passionate. He worked his hands all over your body, pulling the occasional moan from your lips. Hearing the noises you made felt like music to his ears. You felt his hardened manhood press against the inside of your thigh and you shuddered, breaking the kiss to regain your breath. “Bedroom.” you mumbled out. You took Frankie’s hand and dragged him through the living room and into your small bedroom. He sat himself down on the edge of your bed and began to kick off his shoes when you took him by surprise and straddled him, wrapping your legs around him and initiating another heated kiss.
You needed some kind of release and on impulse, you began to grind yourself over Frankie’s denim clad leg. Your heart was racing as you rubbed yourself over the material, a fire burning deep in your stomach at the friction between the jeans and the thin silk panties you were sporting. Frankie placed a soft kiss to your lips, along your jaw, and down your neck as you began to get yourself off on him. He bit down gently, leaving his mark, wanting to claim you as his own. “Mine.” His voice was dark and you grabbed his shoulders, grinding on his leg harder.
“Yours.” You shakily exhaled, trying to keep your composure. You shuffled forward, further onto him and started rubbing yourself over his erection, pulling a groan from his lips, and you couldn’t help but smile knowing that this was your doing. You kept at it, enjoying the control, and watched Frankie’s eyes close from the sensation as you grinded over him.
“Yeah baby that’s it,” he praised. “Take what you need.”
Those four words threw you over the edge. You reached up, letting your fingers tangle in Frankie’s chocolate coloured locks of hair, tugging at them as you rode out your high. He opened his eyes, watching you as you dropped your head back, seeing stars. You were truly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Feeling satisfied, you scrambled off him, your legs shaky and he grabbed the hem of your dress. He began to pull it off you as eagerly as he could. Frankie noticed the damp patch on his leg from your wetness and muttered another curse. You were so wet and it was all for him. He looked up at you, watching you kick your dress to one side and felt his jaw tick. He was mesmerised by your body. In only your panties, you straddled him once more, and Frankie let his hands roam over your breasts, giving them the occasional squeeze.
“My turn.” you told him, pulling his shirt over his head and pushing him into the blankets of your bed. He let out a soft groan as his head hit your pillow and you shuffled backwards a little. You unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped them before pulling them down to his ankles. Frankie kicked them off and they pooled into a pile amongst his shirt and your dress at the bottom of the bed. A little gasp escaped your lips when you eyed up his hardened length under the thin cloth of his boxer shorts, a small patch of wetness already visible. You dipped your hands into his underwear and pulled him out, licking your lips at the sight of his precum beading at the tip.
You let your fingers wander his length, teasingly, making sure you were as soft as possible. Then, you pulled away and spat into your hand. You wrapped your hand around his cock and began pumping at it. “Ngh, s-so good,” Frankie grunted, closing his eyes as you worked at him. “Haven’t-haven’t been touched in so long.”
“Relax,” you soothed. “Let me take care of you.”
Frankie bucked his hips further into your hand and you kept going. His eyes fluttered shut and his mind was in a solid state of euphoria. This was better than he had ever imagined and he knew he wouldn’t last long. You stroked him up and down and watched him as he came undone beneath you.
“Wanted this for so long,” he admits mindlessly. “Imagined this, so many nights… imagined your pretty lips around my-”
You cut Frankie off by taking his length in your mouth and pushing as deep as you could, opening your throat up to him and gagging slightly from his length. However, it didn’t take long to become comfortable with the way his cock filled you. He let out a gasp, his back arching and his fists grabbing the bed sheets. You bobbed your head up and down and he took a fistful of your hair, only encouraging you further.
He raised his head and watched you take him. Your hand still wet, you begin to pump the remaining length of him that you couldn’t fit into your mouth and he shudders in ecstasy. With your free hand, you cradle his balls, rubbing circles with your thumb and you can feel him almost lose it completely.
“Won’t last,” he warns you. “Please, wanna be inside you. Wanna feel your pussy.” he practically begs and as soon as you feel his cock twitch in your mouth, you pull off him, leaving a trail of your saliva between your tongue and his length.
You admired Frankie’s naked body spread out in your bed, a thin sheen of sweat glazing over his chest. It was a sight you had only dreamed about. He sat up and grabbed you by the waist, pulling you down so now he was on top. He positioned himself in between your legs and gently spread them apart, eyeing up the dark patch in the crotch of your panties from where you had previously orgasmed on his leg. He let his finger glide over the material, rubbing against the bud of your clit and you whimpered in desperation. “So wet for me.” he drew out. “Can I taste?” he asked, looked up at you with his big brown eyes. You wanted to smack that innocent look he had playing on his face.
“Frankieee.” you cried out. You would never, ever deny oral from Frankie but right now you craved something else. “Need you inside me. Please.”
Frankie pulled your panties down your legs and threw them to the floor. “Oh baby,” he moaned, running his fingers through your slick wet folds. “I’m just warming up.” his voice was like honey and he attached his mouth to your clit, sucking intently. You threw your head back at the sensation and felt his mustache and stubble tickle you as he worked your core.
This was better than anything Frankie had ever dreamed about. He needed to taste every drop of your arousal. He had wanted this for so long, and now it was finally happening. He wanted to savour every moment like it was his last. After all, you two were the best of friends and he didn’t know where exactly you’d stand about all of this tomorrow. If you’d even want to see him again. You were both risking a lot but somehow, it felt worthwhile.
Frankie found it difficult to remain composed as he devoured you and felt your body shake as you neared your climax. He grabbed your thighs, steadying you as you let out a wail. “Please Frankie.” you cried out, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Need you inside of me.” You reminded, tugging on his hair even harder. He took his finger and grazed your entrance while still working his tongue against you. “Stop teasing.”
For once, Frankie listened to you and pulled his lips away from you. He thought he could cum just from eating you out and he didn’t want that to happen. This could be his only chance. You groaned in frustration at the break of contact. You were so close and he had edged you completely before pulling away. You had asked for it. He was such a tease. Frankie hovered himself over you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You felt his cock nudge against your core and you dug your fingernails into his back. You needed him now.
“Do you have a condom?” Frankie whispered into your ear. He hadn’t brought any to the fake date because truthfully, he didn’t expect the night would be ending like this.
“I’m safe.” you promised him and he smiled, kissing your lips. You laced your fingers into his hair as he steadied himself on the bed.
“Are you ready?” Frankie questioned, nudging his cock over your entrance again causing you to let out a wail.
“Please Frankie. I’m ready.”
The second those two words left your lips, Frankie thrusted deep inside you. You gasped as he slowly adjusted himself inside of you and, still experiencing your high from when he ate you out, you knew you wouldn't ask long. He felt your walls tighten around him and he knew it too.
“I’m gonna cum.” you warned him, tugging on his curls at the nape of his neck and pulling his head down into your collarbones. He pinched at your skin with his teeth and increased his speed.
“Cum for me.” He instructed, his voice dark. With a few more sloppy thrusts, you came undone beneath him, dragging your nails down his back. He didn’t stop and continued to thrust into you as you climaxed causing small screams to emit from your lips. Frankie loved the little noises you made.
“Shit,” he whispered, his coarse hands finding and massaging your breasts. “Your cunt gets so tight when you cum.”
“Frankieeee, keep doing that and I’ll cum again.” you said softly and you felt Frankie’s lips twist into a wicked smirk as he pushed himself deeper inside of you.
“Ngh you feel so good,” Frankie grunted, pearls of sweat beading at his hairline. “Can you cum for me again? Can you give me another one?”
“Yes Frankie,” you obeyed, cupping your hands around his face and forcing him to look you in the eyes while he fucked you. His coarse facial hair grazed your hands but nothing felt as good as his length filling you up, hitting you in just the right spot with each thrust.
“I want you to cum with me,” Frankie gasped, groaning loudly as he felt his cock twitch inside you. He was close, and you could feel it too. “Same time.” he instructed. He was so used to giving orders, that it turned you on even more. “Can you do that for me?” his voice was urged and he kept his pace consistent.
You managed to give him a small nod and closed your eyes feeling nothing but pure bliss and ecstasy. “I’m close!” you managed to cry out.
“Me too, n-not long baby,” Frankie promised you. “Say my name.”
“Fuck Frankie, you fuck me so good. Your cock fills me up so well. Feels so good,” you moaned, your legs tightening around his waist.
“That’s it.” Frankie groaned.
“Cum inside me Frankie,” you gasped. “Pl-please. Need to feel your warm cum inside of me.”
“Gonna count down baby girl,” Frankie said, straightening up and pushing more hard thrusts inside of you. He admired your tangled body between him and brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing at it while he finished fucking you. “Are you ready?”
“Frankieeee.” You cried out, squeezing your eyes shut.
“3, 2,” Frankie pushed one final deep thrust into you. “1.” You and Frankie both came together, your wet cunt squeezing his cock like a vice and his thick ropes of cum spilling inside of you.
Frankie rolled off you and lay next to you. You curled yourself into his damp chest and he slung his arm around you. You felt safe. Protected. You knew that Frankie would never let anyone or anything hurt you but now it felt different. He was your safety, and you were his home. For a few minutes, you both laid there in silence trying to regain your breath and settle down.
“That was-” Frankie started but you cut him off.
“So good.” you smiled and he grinned back in agreement.
“The best.” He replied and gave you a little squeeze of reassurance.
“Hey Frankie?” You asked and he hummed in acknowledgement. “If that was a fake date… what the hell do you do on a fake date?” You raised an eyebrow and giggled when you saw Frankie’s cheeks rosy up.
“Wanna find out?” He beckoned and your grin couldn’t have grown any wider. You were finally going to get your chance to have a real date with Frankie.
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#frankie morales#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales smut#smut#catfish morales#triple frontier#x reader
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Wincest and J2 High School Fics
2028 AD by inlustwithsammy
It's in 2028. Sam and Dean got reincarnated and they have no idea who they were in their past lives. They live a normal life as high school students. They grew up as best friends who live close to each other. Dean is still a playboy. Sam is still a nerd. Some things never change.
a first time for everything by riyku In which Jared announces that his family is moving, and Jensen suddenly becomes very concerned with time.
A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More "Touch Me" by gothpandaotaku
Sam Winchester, the jaded new kid at school. Dean Winchester, the school badass who rides a motorcycle to school every morning. When they collide, sparks fly- the wrong kind. It's hate at first sight. But over time they find they have a lot more in common than they thought...
All The Other Kids by AureaMediocritas Dean and Sam roll into another high school. The first weeks through five students' eyes.
Baby Steps by cherie_morte AU: Jared is nine years old when his mom marries Jensen's dad.
The Ballad of the Invisible Boy by dollylux This is a story of adolescence. This is a love letter for the slow burn, for Led Zeppelin, for the 90s. This is the first of two sets of stories about how Sam and Dean didn’t fall in love. They never had to. It was always there, this desperation between them, like a real, breathing thing. When they came together, it was inevitable. As sure as continents colliding, as the phases of the moon and the life and death of stars. This isn’t a love story, but it’s a story of love.SeriesPart 1 of Invisible Boy.
Becoming What We Pretend To Be by locknkey In a fit of pique Sam brags to his high school friends that he can get Dean as his boyfriend. Dean's never been able to say no to Sam. Pretense is a slippery-slope when you're romancing your brother and it's all too easy to for the lines between what's real and what's fake to become blurred.
Bend and Break by Winmance If Jared had to describe his life, he would say that his life is lonely. Between the bullying and his parents lack of interest, the only true joy he has is Jensen, the baseball player with who he's having sex.
But everybody has a limit and Jared is about to find out his own.
Best Birthday Ever by ballsdeepinwinchesters prompted for: w[ee]cestiel + bottom!Sam For Sam’s sixteenth birthday, he only asked for one thing. He didn’t want a car, or money, or even a dog (Dean hates dogs). All Sam wanted was to get f***** by Dean and his friend, Cas.
Bitchface No.5 by bookworm1805 There's a new kid in school and Sam is being a bitch, but Dean doesn't see how the two things are related.5 stars
The Craziest Thing by thefourofswords Sam and Dean find themselves de-aged back to 18. The only solution anybody seems to have is to go back to high school.
Crown and Anchor Me (or let me sail away) by Sena Sam Winchester is fifteen years old, at yet another new high school in yet another state, he doesn't get along with his distant, distracted father, he's figuring out that he likes guys just as much as he likes girls, his clothes never fit and his limbs ache at the joint ever since his growth spurt started, he has to study for the PSAT and, oh yeah, he's a little bit in love with his brother, Dean, who's taken a break from hunting monsters to work at a local garage for minimum wage.
Flagstaff by Linden John tracked Sam down in Flagstaff, four days after he got home to find him gone.
Go, Dean... by orphan_account Prompt: Teenage Dean joining the football team and Sammy cheering him in the stands, Dean calling him his little cheerleader and making him wear the outfit while he rides his big brother... How's that for enduring football?
“Thought you wanted to be my little cheerleader, Sammy,' Dean said, tossing the gathered supplies onto the bed and crawling back between Sam’s legs. His lips sealed themselves to Sam’s, and he kissed him breathlessly. 'Loved watching you bounce up and down out on the field, everyone watching you, wishing you were theirs.'”
Good as New by sixtysevenlmpala When an asshole at Dean and Sam's high school breaks Dean's amulet, he doesn't react well. But as always, Sam's there to make it better.
Hope You Don't Mind by compo67 Jared has no problems being an introvert in a family of extroverted women. He enjoys his alone time as a freshman in high school... that is until signs for prom start showing up. With both his sisters going, he begins to wonder if maybe his time alone is a little lonely.
I'll Give You What You Like by soulmatecest Jared is, by all means, the worst cheerleader in the world.He absolutely fucking sucks; Jensen’s not even sure how he made it to the cheer squad and why would anyone take a look to his really bad dancing moves and still think ‘oh yeah, we definitely need to get some of that for the team.’Jared is honestly a disaster at this.And yet, Jensen has done pretty much nothing apart from staring at him most of the game as Jared dances terribly in a short skirt. Because even if Jared sucks, he’s also the most beautiful omega Jensen has ever seen.
The Jock and The Nerd by JuniperLemon Unrelated Wincest High School AU.
Sam and Dean go to the same school. Dean asks the school nerd, Sam, on a date. Little do they know that it'll lead to so much more. Is there more behind Sam than what meets the eye and how will John react to Dean's bisexuality?
Kiss Me by lotrspnfangirl Worst case scenario: Jensen would be freaked out and spend the next three weeks until graduation, completely avoiding Jared and not speaking to him. And as much as that would hurt… It was only a dollar to get a kiss from Jensen at the kissing booth.
Little Pieces by compo67 Jensen the Bad Influence is better known as the town hellraiser. He stays out late, skips class, and takes bets on chess games after school. His partner in crime happens to be Jared, raised in a strict Catholic-Protestant household, and reigning chess champion. Together, they've skimmed five hundred dollars from their classmates with no end in sight.If they can survive high school, conquering the rest of the world must be a piece of cake.It just happens that the world has something else in store for them--something no one planned for in a million years.
Mr High School by kinkylittlered This is for a bingo competition on livejournal. Each chapter has prompts. AU Sam is a popular boy in high school and Dean is an invisible boy who is coming to terms with his sexuality. Each chapter will have different warning, eventually leading to slash
Putting On A Show by BewareTheIdes15 Lightning fast Dean's grin slants into sly and Sam's stomach lurches hard enough that his lungs get jealous and jump in on the action. Without so much as a glance in Sam’s direction for approval, Dean lifts one shoulder and says, "I'll make out with Sam."
Say the Words by dollylux A new boy rolls into town, and Jensen Notices. (And... his girlfriend notices him noticing.)
Touch and Go by versaillesatnight Dean Winchester doesn’t date. He fucks around, sure, but the whole dating thing? He’s never seen the appeal. Enter Sam.
Verses Like Yours and Mine by rivers_bend Sam and Dean are regular brothers--no hunting, no demons--who fall in love anyway.
White Knight by echoes_of_another_life Jensen is a senior and protects shy freshman Jared, who is being bullied.
Worth It by saltandbyrne Turns out the only thing more uncomfortable than sitting through class with a half-woody and a pair of panties wedged up your ass is doing it while your panties are soaking wet from your brother's mouth.(Sam is 14).
You Didn't Listen When You Went To School by Posse Magnet (rhink_is_my_kink) The kids at school know the new Winchester brothers are different. Everything about them is strange. From the way Dean effortlessly completes any physical challenge that gym class can throw at him without even breaking a sweat. To the way Sam is the smartest kid in all his classes, even though he's a freshman, and all his classes are college-level and full of seniors. But the most peculiar thing about the Winchesters, the thing that everyone notices: the way they come tumbling out of empty classrooms, closets, bathroom stalls, untidy hair, messy clothes, cheeks flushed with a color that’s almost as intense as the color of their lips.
you're a real f*ing page-turner by grace_fully Jared's days pretty much all run together, one big muddy mess of emotional turmoil and confusion and shitty friends and shittier classes. not to mention that his best friend is equal parts awesome and a complete jerk, his little sister is also kind of a jerk, and he thinks privately that someday his books are going to be the only thing to stand by him in the end. luckily, life has a way of turning things around on him.
Your Pretty Face Is Going to Hell by sonofabiscuit77 While the Winchesters are living in a small-town trailer park, sixteen year old Sam accidentally spies on his brother with an older man. The discovery triggers feelings in Sam that lead him and Dean down a path which will change their lives forever.
#wincest#j2#supernatural#dean winchester#sam winchester#dean/sam#jared/jensen#Jared Padalecki#Jensen Ackles#high school fics#high school#weecest#spn fan fiction#spn#spn fanfiction#ao3fic#fanfiction.net#livejournal fic#au fic#alternative universe#alternate universe#castiel#age difference#john winchester#Jealous!Dean#jealous!sam#jock!dean#reincarnation#bad boys#trope
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Secrets (Shigaraki x Reader)
A/N: I know I said I was working on a summer camp wip and I am but then I got this idea and as usual here is a random fic that could be a series? n e ways enjoy ooc shiggy
Pairing: Shigaraki x gn!reader (p sure I dont use pronouns) (established relationship)
Word Count: 1.6k
Warnings: Cursing
~
“Fuck”
“C’mon you’re almost there”
“I don’t know where it is!”
“It’s literally right in front of you, how can you not find it.”
“Shut up before I kill you.”
“I’m on your team you can’t kill me.”
“Watch me.”
“(Y/N) What the fuck!”
“I told you not to bully me this is your fault.”
“Oh my god you are such a baby how will you survive without me, stay put until I find you”
“I think you meant to say “(Y/N) I’m sorry I’m such a meanie face I promise to make it up to you.””
“No I did not.”
“Fine, remember you did this to yourself.”
“(Y/N) STOP SHOOTING AT ME”
“Stop being mean to me”
“Are you serious? Fine I’ll stop being mean to you, just stop shooting me we are literally not going to progress at all if you keep killing me.”
“I don’t know, that didn’t sound very convincing.”
“Are you fucking kidding me stop shooting me I swear to god.”
“Why bring God into this? We all know he’d take my side in this Tomura, now until you stop being a meanie I will simply not let you live.”
“Why do I put up with you?”
“Because I’m hot and will kiss your crusty lips.”
“Not for long if you keep this up.”
“Shigaraki Tomura are you threatening to withhold kisses from me? I think we both know you would cave before I would.”
“…Shut up.”
You snorted as you looked over to your boyfriend, who had a slight blush coating his cheeks. He refused to look at you, keeping his gaze on the TV, pretending to focus on the game. You rolled your eyes and set your controller off to the side before doing the same to his. He weakly protested but it was cut short when you placed your lips on his, his hands immediately going to your waist and bunching up the material of your shirt in his gloved fist. You cupped his cheeks, moving to straddle his waist to get more comfortable.
The two of you didn’t separate until you absolutely needed air, panting slightly when you broke apart. Your hands softly skimmed over his shoulders before encircling his waist, your cheek resting on his shoulder. He nuzzled into your neck, squeezing your hips as he sighed into your hair. You were content to sit there for the rest of the day, until an alarm went off on your phone. You groaned and slid off of Shigaraki’s lap to silence it. Your shoulders slumped as you realized you had to get ready for work. You had forgotten you agreed to take your coworker’s late night shift. You quickly got ready, Shigaraki watching you from the bed before betting up when you were putting on your shoes.
“I’ll walk with you, it's getting dark.” You coked an eyebrow at his words. “Are you sure? I’ve taken this shift before and you didn’t feel the need then, and besides, I think there are more heroes out than usual you might be spotted. He simply rolled his eyes and put on his shoes, grabbing your hand and leading you out the door, his hood pulled up to slightly obscure his face. “Shut up, let me walk you to work.” You giggled and walked beside him, hands intertwined. You talked about the new stuff going on at work, the new shipments of books coming in, catching him up on workplace drama, and anything else he missed since the last time you talked about work as you walked down the street. Shigaraki listened diligently, chiming in with “oh nice”, or “that bitch” when appropriate.
When you arrived at work you kissed him and promised to make up your game mistakes when you get home. He rolled his eyes but the smile was still on his face as he turned to leave. You turned to enter your work when a pair of green eyes caught your attention. There was a hero, most likely on patrol, and a sidekick? Or kid, you weren’t quite sure but something seemed familiar about them. The hero wasn’t paying attention to you, talking about something as they gestured to the building. But the other person's eyes were locked on your own, you couldn’t distinguish the look on their face, and you furrowed our eyebrows before going into your work, clutching your purse strap a little tighter.
You shoved the uneasiness to the back of your mind as you focused on your work. You stocked the new shipment of books, occasionally checking out a customer that wandered in. A few hours into your shift you were behind the counter organizing the specially ordered books, getting ready to call the customers who ordered them when the bell above the door jingled, signaling another customer came in. Without looking up you greeted them. “Welcome in! Let me know if you need any help, books with a blue sticker are 50% off.”
“I do have a few questions, though not about books.” You furrowed your eyebrows and looked up to where the voice was coming from, eyes widening slightly when you noticed the kid from earlier. “I’m sorry?” You said, not sure if you heard him right. He took a step toward the counter, his eyes nervously flitted around the shop, as if he was making sure no one else was in it. “Are you with him? Do you know what he’s done?”
Your blood ran cold at his words. You tried not to let it show, steeling your stomach that had dropped to your feet. You furrowed your eyebrows and cocked your head slightly. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you’re talking about?” He sighed and stepped up to the counter. “I saw you with him, you’re dating Shigaraki Tomura right? Do you know who he really is? What he’s done to people?”
Your fist clenched and you gritted your teeth, how did a kid know so much? Unless- fuck. He must be a hero student. Shigaraki mentioned his master had some plans with them, but he didn’t delve much into his work with you. This must be one of the kids. Even so, you’ve practiced for situations like this, though you never expected it to actually come. “I don’t know who that is, You must be mistaking me for someone else, and we are closing soon so if you’re not going to buy anything I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.” His face twisted into one of disdain briefly before quickly being replaced with a smile you were sure was fake. “I must have. Sorry to bother you.”
You let out a breath when he left and you quickly locked the doors and turned off the open sign. Your boss wouldn’t be mad if you closed a few hours early, right? You counted the till and finished closing everything up, texting Shigaraki that you were closing and asking if he or someone from the league could come pick you up. He said he was on his way and you bite your lip, trying to figure out if you should tell him or not. You mulled over it shortly before deciding it was best to tell Tomura. The two of you haven’t kept anything from each other, and you didn’t want to start. You waited in the staff room in the back until he texted you he was here.
You met him at the back entrance and hugged him as soon as you saw him. He hugged you back but moved you back after a moment had passed, confusion and worry evident on his features. “What happened?” You gripped his hand tightly as you took the back way to the hideout, worried someone was watching. You recounted your experiences earlier, and Shigaraki’s grip tightened when you described the boy to him. He didn’t say a word until you were back safely to the hideout. Not paying the others mind he led you straight to your shared bedroom, closing the door softly behind you.
You looked at Shigaraki worriedly, you knew he could get overwhelmed easily, but he wasn’t scratching at his neck, just standing in the middle of your bedroom, facing away from you. You stepped closer and rested a hand on his shoulder. When he didn’t flinch or push you away you slid it up to his neck and walked in front, hugging him tightly. “Tomura? What’s wrong?” His arms snaked around your waist, hugging you back just as tightly as you buried his face into your neck, inhaling and kissing the skin softly before bringing his head back to look at you. He sighed and cupped your face with one hand, thumb softly caressing your cheek. “Nothing. I’m sorry (Y/N), are you okay?” The corners of your mouth ticked up at his words, he was being unusually soft, he must actually be listening to Kurogiri.
“I’m fine Tomura, he was just being nosy, I’m more worried about you, obviously you recognized his description. Is he one of those students from U.A. you mentioned?” He exhaled and nodded, gaze cast to the floor. “Yes, he’s inherited all for one.” You nodded, Shigaraki had explained the quirk of all might and his master to you before. Though he obviously wasn’t telling you all of it, you didn’t press the matter, he either couldn’t tell you, or it was something you didn’t want to know, either way you’d accept what he told you.
You could tell it was bothering him, so you led him to the bed and laid down, tugging him down with you. He hugged you stomach, laying his head on your chest as you curled into him and ran your fingers through his hair absentmindedly. You felt his shoulders sag, he exhaled deeply as he tightened his hold, nuzzling into your chest. After a few minutes he fell asleep and you soon followed, green eyes still fresh in your mind.
#shigaraki x reader#shigaraki#shigaraki tomura#shigaraki tomura x you#shigaraki tomura x reader#bnha shigaraki#shigaraki x y/n#shigaraki x you#my hero academia#My writing#my hero academy#my hero academia x reader#my hero academia x you#tomura shigaraki
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Guess what? I’m re-binge-reading Good Omens. And here are some Obervations that I forgot about and some things I might put in fics. Also things I found funny. Basically my dumb commentary on the book.
Crowley actually flees Sister Mary. He doesn’t saunter vaguely away. He flees.
Ligur is rather more thoughtful than he’s portrayed in the show
Anathema likes to read about herself, and her teachers are confused because she spells words like Agnes Nutter
Crowley apologizes
By page 41, it is mentioned at least twice that Aziraphale and Crowley Do Not choose each other’s company for any reason other than that they are constants, that they have an Arrangement, and that they are Friends because being Enemies got boring.
Aziraphale blushes!!!!!!
The Drunk Scene is fuckin hilarious and it’s actually a lot longer than it is in the show, and really you ought to read it. (Book pages 47-50)
My mom (who has a PhD in human development) would probably like to talk to Crowley about upbringing because they seem to agree on how important it is
War has always looked 25, and had a vulture that died of fatty degeneration
Pollution is very cleverly compared to actual pollution
Warlock has Kermit the frog overalls, and Nanny Ashtoreth is described as someone who “advertises unspecified but strangely explicit services in certain magazines”. The tutors are present for about four paragraphs. Warlock is good at math and likes banana flavored bubblegum.
Crowley has a slice of angel cake. Aziraphale eats it. Aziraphale also eats deviled eggs. Hm.
Crowley calls Aziraphale angel casually enough to suggest he’s been doing it for a long time
Some girl at Warlock’s party calls Aziraphale a f*ggot
Crowley glares suspiciously at a gerbil. It is suggested that Hell has, in the past, sent hell-gerbils in place of hellhounds.
“Oh dear,” muttered Aziraphale, not swearing with the practiced ease of one who has spent six thousand years not swearing, and who wasn’t going to start now.
Adam and his friends play in a place called The Pit, where shopping carts go to die, apparently
Crowley is the first one to mention sides in the book!??!? Also Crowley goes on about how humans are more evil than Hell (but he calls himself evil—is he calling himself human already?)
Aziraphale yells “get off the road, you clown!”
“What’s a velvet underground?” *love confession???* “you wouldn’t like it”
Aziraphale is a bit rude to Crowley in the “flashes of love” scene and Crowley is less panicked about it
Crowley glares at the Bentley and it fixes itself
Anathema’s bike is called Phaeton
COULD THEY ACT ANY MORE MARRIED OH MY GOD
Aziraphale speaks like. Like ugh. “FlOUndeR on tHe rOcKS of inEquiTY”
“Thirty seconds later someone shot both of them. With incredible accuracy.” *cuts to a random pleasant story about Mary Hodges* *cuts back to where Aziraphale has fallen into a rhododendron and Crowley licks the paint before he knows it’s paint* dumbasses
Crowley does not slam Aziraphale into the wall
Crowley is actually pretty impatient and doesn’t argue with Aziraphale when he’s worried
“Nothing but dust and fundamentalists” “that was nasty” “sorry, couldn’t help it”
When the radio sings “Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me,” Crowley sings “for me” and then screams
Crowley asks Aziraphale if he’ll keep in touch, and Aziraphale doesn’t say tickety-boo, and then Crowley says “right” and feels very alone
the international express man is small and has glasses, and wears green woolen socks
The sword, which turns out to be Aziraphale’s, is described as having an aura of hatred and menace, which makes me think of how it could’ve gotten that aura from Heaven or from humanity or from War...
In the book Pepper has red hair and freckles, which makes it a cool comparison to War’s appearance and the defeat of War
Adam is excellent at slouching, apparently
Occasionally, as Aziraphale reads the book, he would very nearly swear
“He wouldn’t have said ‘that’s weird’ if a flock of sheep had cycled past playing violins.”
“If you had told him there were children starving in Africa he would’ve been flattered that you’d noticed.”
“...that he was English, that he was intelligent, and that he was gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide.” (151)
Wensleydale watches David Attenborough programs
Shadwell’s voice is described as “the color of an old raincoat” and seems to fake smoking cigarettes
Aziraphales cocoa is moldy and solidified by the time he calls Arthur Young, and has a thin layer of dust on himself too
Newt says that the walls look like nicotine and the floor looks like cigarette ash, and he suspects both are, actually, coated with these substances
Newt looks a bit like Clark Kent, and people seem to like Shadwell for some reason, much to his annoyance.
Aziraphale calls Shadwell “dear boy” on the phone
Agnes Nutter called God a daft old fool #goals
Adam is wayyyy too good at video games
Smelling Anathema’s perfume makes Newt uncomfortable
Adam suggests that Pepper ought to have Russia cause of her red hair (huh)
Anathema and Newt actually have decent conversations?? Like?? Show??? C’mon, man. The show kinda butchered their relationship.
Trees, apparently, make a ‘vvrooooommm’ sound when they grow very fast
“He suspected that Crowley was from the Mafia, or the underworld, although he would have been surprised how right he nearly was.” Shadwell also thought Aziraphale was a Russian spy. Wow, Shadwell.
Aziraphale calls Crowley and actually says “shut up” to him, and then when the answering machine beeps, he tells Crowley to “stop making noises” and then he swears for the first time ever.
The fuckin’ footnote on page 227
“A sleek computer was the sort of thing Crowley felt that the sort of human he tried to be would have.” I like the word choice here. He’s not pretending to be a human, he’s trying to be one. That’s a really important distinction.
It never actually says what Crowley does to his plants.
Crowley’s flat is very white. Wow, Crowley. It just looks dark because of the lighting. Heaven imagery and symbolism out my ears, goddammit.
Why does Hell say Crowley’s name so much when talking to him?? Honestly, I think that’s an intentional dig at his chosen name, using it in their speech to scare him. Wow, Hell. (And wow, Finn, excellent sentence)
Whenever the book says something is shaped like something, it definitely isn’t that thing. “man-shaped” “dog-shaped” “car-shaped”... makes it pretty obvious they aren’t men, dogs, or cars, huh.
The code to Crowley’s safe is 4004. The year he “slithered onto this stupid, marvelous planet”... and the year he met Aziraphale, of course. Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt, Crowley, my dude.
Crowley consideres sticking Hastur into his car until he turns into Freddie Mercury but then decides even he isn’t that cruel
Actual text that I feel like nobody really agrees with: “Madame Tracy was by many yardsticks quite stupid”
“Do I look like I run a bookshop?” “...imagine me out of uniform, sir, and what kind of man would you see before you? Honestly?” “A prat.”
I’m crying. The fucking bookshop fire scene made me fucking cry. I’m literally crying.
“...on all fours in the blazing bookshop, Crowley cursed Aziraphale, and the ineffable plan, and Above, and Below.” “The police and firemen looked at him, saw the expression on his face, and stayed exactly where they were.” “...a crack of thunder so loud it hurt....” *the sound of Finley sobbing into their cat*
The shortest biker in the cafe thing is 6′2, what the fuck
War, Famine, Pollution, and Pop Trivia 1962-1979
“Pollution removed his helmet and shook out his long white hair. He had taken over when Pestilence, muttering about penicillin, had retired in 1936. If only the old boy had known what opportunities the future had held.” HMMMMMMMMMMM
“There were no bitches in Hell either.” I know it’s talking about female dogs, but I rather thought Hell was full of bitches.
“Why are you talking like a poofter?” “Ah. Australia.”
“gOsh, aM i on teLEviSiON?” (Basically Aziraphale gets passionate about stuff and likes to talk).
Crowley is actually an optimist and doesn’t dwell too much on how sucky the world is. He doesn’t go get smashed in a bar. He just finds Aziraphale’s notes in the book and heads to Tadfield. And also, his new pair of sunglasses just... materializes out of his eyes. And he likes to whistle.
“Death and Famine and War and Pollution continued biking to Tadfield. And Grievous Bodily Harm, Cruelty to Animals, Things Not Working Properly Even After You’ve Given Them A Good Thumping But Secretly No Alcohol Lager, and Really Cool People traveled with them.”
“on top of the pile a rather large octopus waved a languid tentacle at them. The sergeant resisted the temptation to wave back.” Honestly dude, if an octopus waved at me I’d wave back.
Wait Agnes was apparently talking to Shadwell and not God when she said yowe daft old foole. I dunno
Madame Tracy: You old silly. Shadwell:
Aziraphale does not know how to get rid of demons. Canonically. “Had never done other to get rid of demons than to hint to them very strongly that he, Aziraphale, had some work to be getting on with, and wasn’t it getting late? And Crowley always got the hint.”
The road to Hell is paved with frozen door to door salesmen, apparently. The question is where it is, because the demons always seem to just stem out of the ground.
“Heigh ho,” said Anthony Crowley, and just drove anyway. I love this sentence during that scene.
I bet Hastur gets really mad whenever he hears Aziraphale’s voice from now on
Crowley isn’t breathing the entire burning Bentley scene
ADAM. SAID. “But I reckon you can make your own side” AND WE FUCKIN IGNORED IT?
The temperature above the M25 was simultaneously 700ºC and -140ºC which makes me think of something I read about magenta not being real. The M25 is magenta.
I feel like “Agnes” is just going to become an inside joke between Anathema and Newt at this point, and it will drive Crowley insane because he knows who she is but somehow still doesn’t get the joke.
I’m six inches taller than R.P. Tyler, and apparently according to the back sleeve of the book jacket, I’m very similar in height to Neil Gaiman
R.P. Tyler thought Shadwell was a ventriloquist’s dummy, and then sees cows doing somersaults
“That’s terrific. Much obliged,” said Crowley. — “Funny weather we’re having, isn’t it?” “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” “Probably because your car is on fire.” .... Also the fact that Crowley looks like a young man which I find interesting.
“The Four Button-Pressers of the Apocalypse”
“Where is Armageddon, anyway?” “I’ve always meant to look that up.” “There’s an Armageddon, Pennsylvania”
Famine is the one that says “that’s one big avocado”, and also, I find it interesting that War, more than once, talks about love. (All is fair in love and war much?)
Anathema threatens the guard with a stick, pretending it’s a gun
Aziraphale, of course, asks Crowley to sort it out because he, Aziraphale, is “the nice one” and then proceeds to sort it out himself. Because of course he does. Because what else could he possibly do.
I just ADORE THIS BOOK OKAY
I’M PROBABLY GOING TO READ IT AGAIN IN A MONTH
Aziraphale and Crowley are so fuckin married I can’t
#good omens#finley rambles#finley reads#I reread good omens and this is the result#live commentary#not even kidding I was typing this all down as I read the book and I noticed a lot more#aziraphale#crowley#Aziraphale and Crowley are married thank you have a nice day#book omens#book aziraphale#book crowley#aziraphale/crowley#aziraphale & crowley#anathema device#newton pulsifer#shadwell#madame tracy#the them#adam young#brian good omens#wensleydale#pepper good omens#fuck I can’t even write a tag novel cause I had to tag so many characters#anyways enjoy my rambling#so long and goodnight#*listens to paramore moodily*
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Matchmaker
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pairing || steve rogers x fem!reader
word count || 2.5k
summary || ever since bucky met you at your cafe he knew you would be perfect for steve. after telling the both of you about eachother for a few weeks, he decides it’s finally time for you both to meet.
warnings || a few curse words
author’s note || hii this is my first fic so I hope you enjoy reading it :) reblogs and comments are appreciated <3 ; do not repost my work
*gif does not belong to me*
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The ring of the door’s bell alerted you that someone had entered your cafe. You set your piping bag down and tried to unfurrow the deep crease that was set between your brows from concentration. You wiped your hands off on your apron and quickly hurried to the front counter to take the customer’s order. When you saw who was at the counter as you approached, a smile graced your face seeing it was your favorite customer.
“Bucky! I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away from our coffee for too long,” you teased Bucky.
“Doll, the stuff you guys make here is too addicting. And I thought you would want to hear more about Stevie.”
You laughed at this and playfully rolled your eyes. Ever since Bucky first came into your cafe he decided it would be a great time to not only start a coffee addiction, but also attempt to set you up with his friend “Steve”. Have you seen this Steve? No. Did Bucky bringing him up bother you? Of course not. Were you interested in finally meeting Steve after all Bucky has said? Definitely. A big, definite yes.
“Ah, are there any more details of the perfect “Steve” that I need to be aware of,” you said brightly as you wrote his order on a cup and passed it to another barista.
“Well, I’ve told you pretty much all that could be said by me, so I thought that he could finally tell you about him yourself.”
“So this is the second step of your master plan I suppose,” you laughed and mirrored him by moving to the side counter where he would wait for his drink, “well you know I’m game Mr. Barnes.”
“Well you’ll see him soon and that’s all I’m saying about that,” Bucky shot you a smug grin and attempted to grab his coffee before you smacked his hand away.
“Ow- what?”
“I don’t like when you speak all cryptic.”
“You act like I do it a lot,” he scoffed playfully.
“Touché Bucky, touché”
Your eyes were narrowed at him as you turned around and went to the back taking his coffee with you. You grabbed a quick sharpie and wrote something on his cup and grabbed a few of the cupcakes you previously iced, placing them into a box. You went back out, smirking at Bucky’s confused face. You handed him both his drink and the box.
Bucky looked at the cup and laughed at what you had written.
Fuck you.
He opened the box you gave him and laughed.
“How are you gonna give me this cup that says “Fuck you” but then give me these?”
“I’m giving you them so you're indebted to me, meaning you won’t do anything sneaky,” you batted your eyelashes, “and you like those the last time you had them, so there! Now leave. In a non cryptic, non-secretive manner.”
Bucky ignored what you had said and instead started to plan his next move. Getting his best pal and best girl together was going to be the greatest gift he could give either of them. And boy would the ego boost be good when you both thanked him later on. With those thoughts he gave you a boyish grin before stalking over to the front door.
“I’ll see you later Y/N.”
“Bucky! Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Can’t promise you that,” he turned back with a wink before finally going out the door.
Well fuck.
It only took Bucky 10 minutes to get back to the tower since your cafe was only a few blocks away. He went to the kitchen setting the box of cupcakes down before grabbing himself one. He couldn’t hear the sound of steps approaching him over his moaning as the delicious chocolate taste coated his mouth.
“I feel like you’re enjoying that a little too much, Buck.”
Bucky turned to his right seeing a sweaty Steve reach into the fridge pulling out an ice cold water bottle. He downed it in a few seconds and approached Bucky. He looked into the box of chocolate cupcakes before pulling one out.
“Where did you get these from?” Steve inspected the cupcake before taking a big bite out of one. His eyes widened at how good the cupcake was.
“I can see why you moaned now.”
Bucky smirked before replying, “A very, very special gal made those. I bet you can guess who.”
The thought made Steve smile. Of course he knew you made them. After hearing about not only how talented you are, but also how sweet and funny you seemed, Steve quickly became enamored. He’s been wanting Bucky to drag him to your cafe so you two could finally meet, or maybe he’d even go there by himself and try to save himself from Bucky’s “I told you so”, but he’s either been too nervous or the timing was never right. But god, the thought of you made heat rise to his face and stomach do flips. He hasn’t felt this way in a long time and he liked the feeling.
“So Y/N made these, huh? How is she by the way? Just asking cause you know, I can.”
The way that Steve was awkwardly trying to get Bucky to talk about you made Bucky smirk at Steve. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes playfully at Steve.
“What? You talk about her all the time and you expect me to just not ask about her,” Steve asked exasperated as he annoyingly grabbed another cupcake shoving it in his mouth.
“Well speaking of Y/N, we’re going to her cafe tomorrow so you should be up bright and early,” Bucky said as he clasped his hand on Steve’s shoulder slightly shaking him.
Steve’s eyes widened and he cleared his throat, “Tomorrow? As in Saturday tomorrow? Does she even know.”
“Well what she doesn’t know won’t kill her. Are you saying you don’t want to meet her,” Bucky asked though he already knew the answer.
“Of course not! I’ve been dying to meet her since you brought her up. So you can,” Steve paused for a second seeing Bucky’s smirk on his face growing wider and even more smug, “You can wipe that smug look off your face and I’ll see you later.”
“Aw you don’t want to braid each other's hair and talk all about Y/N,” Bucky teased Steve as Steve walked away from the kitchen heading towards his room.
“Bye Buck,” Steve waved over his shoulder.
Steve had more important things to do today. Such as letting Y/N consume his every thought until he got to finally see her tomorrow.
Saturday.
A day that Steve couldn’t have been more excited for, for obvious reasons, and a day that you always dreaded.
Because you didn’t know that you would be seeing Steve, you trudged your way to your cafe, saying a hello to the other workers before setting your stuff down and getting ready for a day of hell.
Saturday’s weren’t only busy customer wise, but also because you baked every hour of the day. You only took a few breaks for lunch and so your hand wouldn’t end up falling off.
With the help of a few other co-workers, you guys got started on making batter while others tended to customers at the front. You wished this day could be over as quick as possible.
Steve on the other hand was feeling nervous. A good kind of nervous. If that was a thing. Though Bucky wasn’t making him feel any less nervous with his constant pestering like a worried mother.
“Are you sure you want to wear that,” Bucky questioned leaning against Steve’s door frame.
Steve looked down at his outfit: he decided on just wearing some jeans, a white t-shirt, and a jacket over it. He held his arms out in a confused fashion as his eyebrows furrowed.
“What do you expect me to wear then?”
“I think you look great pal, I was just making sure you thought you looked great. Since this is a pretty important day.”
Important wouldn’t even begin to describe how both Steve and Bucky felt about this day. They were both happy that Steve was finally meeting someone that they both thought could be good for him. Sure everything Steve has heard has been word of mouth, but his hopes were high and he knew they wouldn’t be crushed. Bucky knew this too. Exactly why he was so excited.
Bucky came up behind Steve, clasping him on his shoulder, “You ready to go Stevie?”
He nodded his head and grabbed his phone and wallet before he left his room behind Bucky.
As ready as he’ll ever be.
You had pieces of hair falling around and framing your face as your ponytail was getting looser and looser as the morning went on. You had some flour on your cheek and apron showing how the first few hours of the day have been treating you.
You were taking a couple of cake pans out the oven and setting them on the baking rack to cool off before you can ice them. Right when you were taking off your oven mitts, a worker walked into the back addressing you.
“Hey Y/N, there’s a guy in the front who says he’s looking for you,” they gestured towards the front and went back to the counter.
You furrowed your brows in confusion and thought of who could be looking for you. You could only think of Bucky and with that you carelessly took yourself out the back, looking a mess. It was just Bucky though right?
Wrong. You were very wrong. You first noticed Bucky and because you were tired, your focus was only on him for the time.
“Bucky! You usually don’t come in on Saturdays,” you rounded the counter to come face to face with him.
“Yeah I know, but I thought it would be a great time for you to meet Stevie,” Bucky said with a shit-eating grin.
You could barely process what he said as he grabbed the tall, blonde man behind him and placed him in front of you. Your eyes widened when you realized just who was in front of you.
Steve. The Steve. The Steve that you were thinking about daily. His piercing blue eyes started back at yours. You found yourself wondering his face in the one second that seemed to feel like an hour. He had rose pink lips that looked a little swollen on the bottom. Maybe a nervous habit he had? His face and build reminded you of a Greek god statue. He had blonde hair that shined slightly with the help from the light piercing through the windows. And he was tall. Taller than any man you’ve ever met that to fully look him in the eye, you needed to tilt your head up at him. You didn’t think you could ever get tired of looking at him.
“Hello,” he said so kindly and he gave you a smile that made you weak in your knees.
You were thinking about how good he looked and how good he sounded that you didn’t even think about how you looked. That was until that one stretched out second ended.
You slapped your hands over your face attempting to hide how bad you looked. You heard Bucky snicker at your antics and Steve laughed lightly. You couldn’t believe Bucky. He just had to bring in Steve when you looked your worst. You felt so embarrassed that the first time you were meeting Steve you looked like a mess. Your voice came out muffled from beneath your hands as you spoke.
“I’m so sorry you have to see me like this. I look a mess and I really didn’t want you to see me like this. It’s just that it’s Saturday which is baking day, but everyday is baking day but it’s just so hectic and I’m just-”.
Steve cut your rambling off when he pulled your hands away from your face. You looked up at him with big doe eyes and a pout on your lips that Steve wanted to kiss away. He felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. Here you finally were standing in front of him. In all your gorgeous glory. And frankly, you were even more gorgeous than Bucky described. Your eyes seemed to sparkle and you almost glowed. It was like he was seeing an angel for the first time.
Steve put your arms down and brought his right hand to wipe some flour off of your left cheek. He then pushed some of your flyaways out of your face so he could see even more of you. His eyes were roaming your face until he made direct eye contact.
“You’re gorgeous, Y/N. Seriously.” Steve’s hands left your face when he took a small step back to put his hand out.
“I’m Steve. You already know that though,” Steve laughed and you giggled taking his hand.
“I’m Y/N.”
You and Steve just stared at each other with stupid love sick smiles on your face while slowly shaking each other’s hands. Bucky cleared his throat loudly, gaining the attention of the both of you. You narrowed your eyes a little at him and an angry pout found its way to your lips.
“You should’ve told me yesterday you were coming in today, traitor. Look at me,” you gestured to the Saturday mess that was you.
“Sorry, doll. But this was the perfect time to see you. And now you both can thank me so c’mon. Shower me with love.”
You and Steve just looked at him blankly before Steve turned to you. When your gaze met his, your face instantly lit up like a Christmas tree.
“If you’re free for lunch, I’d love to get to know you more,” Steve asked with a charming smile on his face.
“I can take my break right now so I’ll be all yours.” You saw from the corner of your eye that Bucky was smirking at the both of you.
“And you sir, can leave,” you grabbed Bucky’s sleeve dragging him towards the door. A few customers and workers were looking at this and laughing to themselves. Bucky looked at Steve over his shoulder and winked. Steve replied with a thankful smile.
“You know you’re happy that this happened,” Bucky teased as you leaned against the door frame narrowing your eyes playfully at him.
You pushed him out, but not before giving him the bright, grateful smile. You mouthed a “thank you” to him and Bucky smiled back and you returned back inside to Steve wanting to make your thirty minute break the best one it could be. Maybe you couldn’t hate Saturday’s as much as you did before, in fact, maybe they would become your favorite day of the week.
You and Steve grabbed a table. What you both didn’t know is that Bucky watched you guys for the first few minutes from outside and what he could see was better than what he was expecting. Steve was making you double over in laughter and the first couple of seconds and the smile that was on Steve’s face was the biggest that Bucky had ever seen in a long time. He was happy that he got two of the best people that he knew together. Who knew Bucky Barnes would end up being matchmaker of the century?
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#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x you#steve rogers fluff#steve rogers#steve rogers oneshot#steve rogers one shot#steve rogers imagine#steve rogers imagines#captain america x reader#captain america oneshot#marvel#marvel fluff#༊‧₊˚. dest writes
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Oh, My Precious Whore
A/N: didn’t really think I’d ever be posting fic on here again… but I am tired and need a distraction so… have this as a treat
Pairing: Claire Underwood x f!reader, implied Duncan Shepherd x f!reader
CW: derogatory pet names, implied smut (will not occur in full until the next part)
Description: idk this is just pure filth bc there’s a severe lack of f!reader fic and… Robin Wright is hot af. Also had to throw in some Duncan in there bc I love Cody Fern
Maybe you should feel worse right now about what you’re doing, but you don’t.
You, at the very least, should feel scared. The Underwoods, or well, Underwood... she was a powerful woman and if you stepped a millimeter out of place your life was likely in danger. Or so they said. Your in-laws were wary of her, you know, but she was wary of them, too. You think. She’s a difficult woman to read.
The rumors concerning the crimes her late husband supposedly committed are lengthy and convoluted, but you suspect they hold some truth to them. Most rumors usually aren’t based totally in fiction. Her husband was truly a ruthless motherfucker. Claire... Claire doesn’t seem to be ruthless. Nor does she seem to be what you would describe as a motherfucker.
No, she’s a cold hearted bitch. A bitter, sociopathic cunt.
But you never wanted what was good for you.
Sometimes, you swear you love Duncan and you wish it was easier to convince yourself. He a good husband, all things considered. Perhaps a little too focused on work, but... he treats you well to make up for it. He is loyal to a fault, if anyone ever was. You met him through a friend, and though it makes you feel guilty you used him in a vain attempt to get closer to Annette.
But Annette didn’t swing your way, as she told you in not so many words. Or, rather, she said, “Just be a good pet and marry my son. You on his arm will do well for everyone all around. Your dalliances on the side are no one’s business as long as you keep them secret enough that not even Duncan finds out.”
So you agreed, and accepted his proposal you figured she no doubt hounded him into. It’s not so much that you don’t like men, you do, and Duncan is such an attractive man, and he’s a thorough lover... it’s just you suppose you have a preference for women. Older women. You used to joke in high school that you wanted to be a high-end escort for rich older women getting away from their CEO husbands for the weekend.
But your parents would have never approved of that plan. So you went to law school instead. Which was fine. You make decent money without Duncan, but with him you’re somewhat of a young, hot power couple. You’re not really interested in policy the way his family is - you just like ingratiating yourself amongst these people with influence. You get off on brushing shoulders with the powerful. Parties don’t mean much to you. Everyone is truly an evil son of a bitch, no matter what they say when the cameras are on. No one cares about progress, not unless it’s self-serving.
The first time you met Claire, you thought you might die. She barely gave Duncan a second glance but you? She stood and chatted with you about your latest case your firm had taken - how she knew about it among all the other things on her mind, you don’t know - but it was a pleasant conversation, all things considered. You know her and Annette used to be close. You wonder how much Claire does know about you.
You know you can’t trust her. At all.
But after that incident, Duncan grinned and shook his head. “Wouldn’t want to give credence to those rumors. She might have it out for you.”
“Rumors?” You asked, panicking already. Did he know?
“That Claire is a lesbian. It’s been floating around some circles, that that’s why she wasn’t truly upset at her husband’s death, that that’s why she’s pushing so hard for female rights. It’s interesting. It is the first time I met her, but having done so it wouldn’t entirely surprise me.”
You can tell. That woman probably isn’t a lesbian, or if she is, she’s very good at utilizing her charm to make it seem as though she’s not. If anything, you’d peg her as asexual. She uses sex as a weapon. Fair enough. You’ve seen even weaker women feel the need to use it.
You wonder if she’s ever had sex purely for herself and not for manipulation purposes.
You wonder if she could even do that. You reckon you don’t really care if you found out the hard way.
It’s a few weeks later that you receive a message stating the President required your audience. And you know you should tell Annette, or Duncan at the very least, but you don’t. You know you shouldn’t show up at all. But Annette said to keep your dalliances secret. So secret they will stay.
“How loyal are you to the Shepherds?” Claire asks when you arrive. Straight to the point. Good.
“As loyal as I have to appear,” you tell her.
Claire smiles a little. “Why did you marry Duncan? He doesn’t seem quite your type.”
“And what do you presume my type is?”
“Perhaps more feminine. Older.”
“Mm. And what is your type, Ms President?”
“Why did you marry him? Did Annette threaten to out you?” she repeats.
“Not in so many words,” you say.
“Hmm. Interesting. He has no idea, I presume?”
“Why did you call me here?” you ask, your anxiety getting the better of you.
“I need information on the Shepherds. And I believe I have something you’d want in return.”
Your head starts spinning, but no, spinning is an understatement. It’s fucking doing somersaults. You cannot believe what she’s proposing.
“You want to prostitute yourself to me for information?”
And Claire does the last thing you ever expected the bitch to do. She walks across the room and slaps you across the face. Hard enough to sting, but not as hard as you bet she could. You feel the cold metal of her wedding ring press against your cheek as she grabs your chin, her cold blue eyes piercing through to your soul. “Don’t you dare fucking accuse the president of the United States of debasement, and don’t ever assume you have the upper hand.”
“Claire—“
“Are we on first name basis, slut?” she asks, her hand slithering down to your throat. Holy shit, you think. This bitch might actually fucking kill me. You think you’d care more if this wasn’t possibly the hottest thing that ever happened to you. “I didn’t think so. Now. What are your loyalties? Who are you closest to?”
“Duncan, obviously. Annette lets her guard down around me because she likes that I think she’s hot, but she still doesn’t like me. Bill and I don’t get along.”
“Interesting. How much does Duncan know?”
“I know more than Duncan.”
“Really, now? Are you just saying that? Because if you don’t prove to be useful...”
“What? You’ll kill me?”
Claire laughs. “No, you’re much more fun to me alive. But tell me… do you know where Duncan came from?”
“I mean, I truly don’t know how Annette’s cunt could birth anything, given how much of a bitch she is, but…”
Claire smiles. “Yes. Much more fun alive. Duncan is not her child.”
“Well, that’s a relief I don’t have any chance of keeping the Shepherd bloodline alive,” you snicker. “Where did he come from, then?”
“I’ll tell you… in time. But you have to tell him, too. In front of Annette and Bill. I want them all to know.”
“They’ll skin me alive if they knew I was here.”
“Do you want to fuck me or not? These are my terms.”
“So that is why I’m here?”
She only smirks at you, the wrinkles around her blue eyes crinkling as she does. “Your attraction to me is far more interesting than... well, men are pigs, right? I’m sure you are well aware. But you, you look at me like you want to fuck me, sure, but you also know your place. You respect me, even if you try to talk back. Men don’t know any better.”
“Have you ever slept with a woman before?”
She only smiles. “Does it matter?”
“Just wanted to know if there was credence to the rumors.”
“Rumors? You’re quite bold. I’m the one with my hand...wrapped around your throat.”
“It’d be pretty messy for you if you killed me right now,” you retort, wincing and rubbing your legs together as she increases the pressure on your neck.
“You’ll learn not to talk back, whore. To think you’re a married woman...”
“Yeah? Did you hold your marriage sacrosanct?”
There’s that smile again. She’s beautiful, ethereal, but there’s something so inhumane about the way her lips move upward to smirk at you. Maybe you should learn to shut your mouth, but you always were a brat. Besides, it’s more fun this way.
“I did.”
“Liar,” you accuse, smirking at her as you do, and she lets go of your throat and before you can miss the feeling too much she slaps your face again, the right cheek this time, much harder than the first time. You let out a startled, strangled moan on impulse, stumbling back a little against the wall.
“Oh, did that hurt?” she coos at you condescendingly, fixing a piece of your hair that fell out of place as you stand back up, pressing your back flat against the wall for stability. Claire crosses her arms and stands directly in front of you.
“I can take it. I can take more than that,” you say boldly.
“Oh? What else do you like, slut?”
“You name it, I’m game.”
“Anything? Handcuffs? Whips? Knives?”
You nod at everything she comes up with. Jesus, you would let this woman carve out your heart if she wanted it.
“If I make you bleed?”
“Better.”
“Interesting. Does Duncan play these little games with you?”
You laugh. “No.”
“You only want a woman to do these things to you?”
“Precisely. Are you kinky, Madam President?”
“Whatever my partner requires... I make certain I provide.”
“But what do you want?”
“I’m a hard woman to please.”
“Oh. Is that the kind way of saying Frank wasn’t good in bed?” you ask, feigning sympathy. She only smirks again. “I’m surprised you didn’t slap me for that. He must have really been awful.”
“You think you could do better?”
“Women do everything better,” you laugh, earning perhaps the only genuine smile you’ve gotten from this woman the whole time. “That’s why I wanted to know if you’ve been with a woman...”
“No. But I’ve thought about it. Never had a woman as interested as you.”
“I find that very hard to believe. Maybe you just never noticed. What gave it away?” You’re aching for her to touch you again, give you anything, even pain, but she stands still in front of you.
“I can just tell. Besides, I was interested to meet you. You’re the Shepherd’s weak link. I knew Annette didn’t vet you carefully enough.”
“Are you saying me being gay is an issue?”
“Are you so naive to think it wouldn’t be, given the state of this country?” she retorts. “But that’s not all. I can tell you don’t like them. I could tell you were easy... on more than one account.”
You roll your eyes. “I fucking hate Bill. I mean it’s awful to say, he’s not doing well physically, but he’s just made life a living hell for me.”
“Why?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.
“I don’t know. Maybe he hates gay people. Maybe he hates women. Both. Don’t know.”
“So everyone knows but Duncan? Funny how he’s kept out of all the good family secrets that concern him.”
You sigh. “See, sexuality’s a funny thing. I like Duncan. I do. And sometimes sex with him is good if not great. He’s a good partner. But I just prefer women.”
“Must be nice to have it figured out. Your generation did have it easier.”
You look at her questioningly. You never thought someone like her was human enough to struggle with such a thing, but perhaps that’s an unfair assessment.
Or she’s playing you.
Still. She’d have to be quite a good player - not that you should underestimate her skill - to talk about something as personal as her struggles with sexuality. Straight people just don’t get it. Would she really be this easily well versed if it was a game?
“There’s still a long ways to go,” you say.
“I intend to rectify that.”
“Of course you do.”
Her eyes narrow at you and she tilts her head. “Do you think I should be doing better?”
“Yeah. Come out, for starters.”
“Says the woman in a sham marriage.”
“It’s not a sham. I love Duncan,” you protest.
“Then why are you here, selling out his family just for a chance to fuck me? You’re not much better than I am.”
“I don’t think I’ve told you anything yet. Besides. It’s not his real family… as you say.”
“No. You haven’t told me anything I didn’t already know. But I haven’t fucked you yet either, have I?”
“Touché.”
“Come over here,” she beckons, leaning against the desk and once again it strikes you where you are - the fucking Oval Office. Are you seriously going to have sex in the Oval Office? Conservatives would be disgusted by this (although it wouldn’t be the first time this office was defiled). “Don’t look so scared now. You can’t back out at this point.”
You nod, trying not to look as nervous as you feel and walk the few steps over to her, your legs inches from hers. God, you’re practically dying from the anticipation alone.
“Does Duncan ever tell you how beautiful you are?” She asks. You’re absolutely shellshocked. There’s no trace of sarcasm in her voice.
“Sometimes,” you murmur.
“Just like men to not appreciate what they have.”
“Mm. Frank didn’t appreciate you, Claire? Didn’t make you feel good? I would. If you were my wife I’d make you come every fucking day,” you say, and boldly you decide to punctuate that statement by pressing your lips to hers.
Mistake. Or maybe not, you don’t know.
Her hands tangle in your hair and you feel her stand up, press against you firmly before backing you into the desk, pushing you onto it until your back is flat on the wood, and she’s hovering over you, her lips ghosting yours.
“I’m a hard woman to please,” she reiterates and you realize she never fucking lost her breath while you feel like the wind was knocked out of you. “I’m ambivalent about attention in general. But look at you, whore. You crave it, don’t you? Just want someone to tell you that you’re a good girl... oh, look at you squeeze your thighs together. Are you wet for me, slut?”
“Why don’t you see for yourself?” You ask, spreading your legs slightly for her.
She shakes her head, her straight platinum locks shifting as she does so, brushing against your face. “See? You’re not a good girl. You’re a dirty filthy whore and you just don’t know when to shut that whore mouth or close your fucking legs.”
You stay silent - you’re not sure what to do now. Do you antagonize her, push her further, see if it will rile her up again? Or do you try and kiss her again?
Claire has other ideas. “Beg,” she hisses in your ear. “Get down on your knees and beg for me.”
—- and I am evil and ending it there! Plz let me know if I should continue this!
#claire underwood#Claire Underwood x reader#duncan shepherd#duncan shepherd x you#Claire Underwood x you#duncan shepherd x reader#house of cards#hoc#wlw smut#wlw fic#robin wright
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