#little personal in the tags so over here it goes
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KITTY KAT — art donaldson + reader : art has a tendency to show up late to your lessons.
tags: mdni, tennis lessons, coach!art donaldson, p in v sex, fingering, art is kind of an asshole, cheating (not on reader)
a/n: sorry to tashi… this goes out to my dear @murdrdocs
thirty minutes ago.
art donaldson was supposed to be here thirty minutes ago, your teeth grit against each other, foot tapping impatiently against the concrete floor below you.
art was a sweet guy, sure, but his time management was beyond infuriating. it almost made you feel like he thought himself above you, like you weren’t worth his time.
“one to talk,” you mumble to yourself, dragging your racket on the ground, “rich from the guy who was coached by his wife.”
ahem.
you spin around, and of course, he’s standing right there, looking the same as he always does. his dirty blonde hair was messed up and falling over his eyebrows, blue eyes, with a mix of brown, staring directly at you with an almost amused expression.
you blink at him, once, twice.
a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “sorry for being late.”
it sounds condescending, like he would never actually mean it, especially not after what he heard, it felt like a sort of karma for what you were previously saying about him.
and he knows that, of course he does, so he masks it with a sense of sweetness, one that would typically gaslight people into thinking they’ve been forgiven, but you know better.
you’ve been coached by art for a while now, and his little habits became far too predictable. this was odd, though, you couldn’t make out the glint in his eye, especially when you mumble a, “sorry, i didn’t mean—“
“let’s get started, yeah?” art cuts in, bitter, yet his voice still sounded like it was dipped in honeysuckle.
he whisks right past you with that same, tugged up smirk, he reeked of rich cologne and mint.
your lips press together and you silently, albeit ashamed, nod in agreement.
maybe silence will earn points back from your coach.
𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾
silence did not earn anything.
art served hard, hit the ball hard, it was as if he wanted to make the ball break through your racket and hit you square in the face. he clearly took your miniscule words personally, and he was testing you, trying to break you down, to see how much you could take until your bones turned soft and you felt like giving up.
the first time you called a pause, art smiled, “don’t tell me you’re giving up.”
“pause,” you repeat through heaved breaths, sweat sticking to your skin underneath the relentless sun. art had that same playful look in his eyes that he always did, he knew that what he was doing was working, he knew that he was getting under your skin, and as cruel as it sounds, he really did enjoy it.
if you ever were to ask him about it, he’d just shrug and say it’s all a part of the practice, it always happens in tennis, especially professional, he’s just preparing you. but deep down, he really just wanted to say that he was doing it for those reasons but for his own personal pleasures, karma comes in many forms, but art picks the harshest form first.
he watches you drink water with a desperate urgency, stifling his own chuckles, “you sure you’re okay?”
“‘m fine,” you speak after gulping down the last drop, finally satisfied, “let’s keep going.”
art’s brows furrow ever so slightly, but as soon as you’re back to being ready, he rolls the tennis ball in his hand a little, observing it, before throwing it up in the air and sending it your way. he’s so casual with every hit, despite his grunts and the way his nose scrunches whenever ball meets racket, he makes it look like it’s nothing.
to make it even worse, he starts trying to conversate between passes, “you know—“ smack! another grunt leaves his lips, “it’s really rude to—“ smack! “speak about people behind their—“ smack! “fuck.. backs.”
you’re so busy trying to decipher his words you almost miss the next hit, but thankfully you snap out of the trance quick enough to hit it last minute, which he chuckles at and quickly sends it back.
smack! “‘m sorry, art, really—“ your shoes scratch against the concrete below, smack! “i was being very—“ smack! “childish, i apologize.”
he hums, content with your apologies, but still not outwardly saying he forgives you, instead his hits start to soften, he’s less trying to kill you with the ball and now rather trying to actually play tennis. “you’re all good—“ he confirms, smack! “just make it up to me, yeah?”
ball meets floor, his words had completely caught you off guard, and you missed your hit on the ball he sent your way. you felt almost stupid, standing there, staring at him and trying to decipher what he meant by making it up to him.
and of course, he didn’t elaborate, he never did, he simply just picked up another ball, smiled at you, and said, “ready?”
𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾
art said he forgave you, right?
ever since that day, he’s been acting.. off. he was more focused on your figure now, not in a crude way, but in a way where he wanted you to position yourself correctly when playing. he watches you serve the ball, then his tongue prods at the inside of his cheek and he stands, “hey, hey, wait a second— your uh… your stance is wrong.”
“it is?” it was the fifth time he’s corrected you, today, and it’s safe to say you were getting annoyed, he picked up on the bitterness of your tone as he approached you.
“‘ts not my fault, kitty cat,” he shrugged simply, noticing the way your eyes narrow in frustration at his nickname, he only smiles. he leans in behind you, “may i?” his hands are ghosting over your arms from behind.
“whatever helps,” you remark.
“good,” it’s softly spoken at the shell of your ear, making you swallow thick, his fingers wrap around your wrist, other one holding your fingers grip on the racket’s handle. his grip is tight, yet gentle at the same time, veins flexing against his flesh with every movement as he helps you move into the right position. “just gotta.. do it like this,” he’s still whispering against your ear, nearly making your knees buckle.
once he’s satisfied with your position, which is far too quick for your liking, he backs off and lets you serve the ball again. he smiles once he’s gotten what he’s wanted, “perfect.”
eventually, after a while of hitting the ball, you decided to take a break. there was a silence between you and art, a tension you couldn’t place, you had nothing to blame it on, nothing to apologize for, and he constantly looked like he was trying to say something indescribable.
“hey,” he starts, before tugging his bottom lip under his tongue for a mere second before continuing, “remember when i said you had to make it up to me?”
you stare at him, curious, “yeah, of course.”
“you know,” his hands smooth over each other, skin underneath his right eye twitching as his pupils dilate in thought, “i’ve been having a.. problem, lately.”
“with tennis?”
“nono,” he laughs nervously, moving to scratch the back of his neck, “it’s personal, y’know? well— not entirely, since ‘m telling you, but uh— actually, nevermind.”
𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🎾
you and art hadn’t discussed much after the last meet, you found yourself standing in the court yet again, whilst he was no short of an hour late at this point. you wanted to ask him what his deal is lately, what his problem is, but he wasn’t even here to be questioned. it was almost ridiculous, like he was toying with you.
“i like your skirt,” it comes out of nowhere, but it’s the same, smooth voice that art holds.
yet again, you find yourself spinning around to meet him, he’s closer, now, clearly eyeing you— but that’s.. weird, is it not? he has a wife, he shouldn’t be complimenting your obviously short skirt, or eyeing you like that, or wishing to tell you things that he had apparently not told anyone else because it’s personal. but who are you to question his relationship? maybe he’s just.. being nice, really.
“thank you,” you offer, nice, short, sweet.
he rolls his shoulder, meeting your eyes, flickering his gaze to your lips for a mere second, then saying nothing and walking by. rich cologne and mint. that’s what wafts into your senses immediately, as if it was some sort of distraction from his odd behaviors.
“do you always call people kitty cat?” you eventually ask him, it was something you’d been wondering, truly, especially since you’ve never been called that before.
“to pretty girls with an attitude, yeah,” art says it so casually.
“like your wife?”
“like you.”
art corrected you.
he corrected you, and his correction didn’t annoy you like how they always did, it made your stomach churn in a way you couldn’t decipher, you couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. you liked it, maybe, but isn’t that so sickening? art seems to think no big deal of his own words, as he doesn’t even react, so you try to be nonchalant about it as well.
the whole entire test match you play with him, he has a certain glint in his eye, his grunts are louder, his shorts look tighter, he looks like he’s having some sort of reaction to playing tennis, to playing tennis with you. your tongue runs along your lips between breaks, noticing the way his eyes linger on it, the way his pupils widen at the shine of saliva over your lips with each swipe.
at the third break, art was convinced you were doing this on purpose.
“why do you keep doing that?” he asks as he’s walking over to grab his water bottle, right where you’re sitting on the concrete floor. you blink up at him, watching him hover the bottle near his lips and squirt the water into his mouth. did he always look this good when sweaty?
gosh, maybe you’re just tired, maybe your mind is just foggy.
“what?” you frown, confused.
“licking your lips,” he speaks after swallowing the water, towering over you. his muscles were nearly bursting out of his white t-shirt with every movement, especially when he puts his water bottle down and crosses his arm, head cocking to the side. sweat causes some of his hair strands to stick to his forehead, lips puffy from how much he bites them when playing.
“my lips are dry,” you explain, so simple.
“yeah?” again, another smile, he had to be toying with you, “do you need some other help with that?”
“what do you mean?”
art hums, not explaining anything when he opens his mouth and swipes his thumb along his tongue, moving down to rub the saliva from his tongue onto your lips, memorizing the pillowy soft touch. your eyes widen, slightly, “art, this is—“
“not helping?” art tuts in faux disappointment, mumbling a small, ‘why don’t i..’ before he leans down further, licking his own lips and getting closer and closer until his lips are brushing against yours.
“wrong,” you mumble out, but you sound unsure, like you don’t really believe what you just said, you don’t think this is wrong, you’ve always thought art was attractive, it was his wife that kept your crush on him at bay. you mumble against his lips, “you have a wife, art..”
“do i?” he smirks against your lips, a near chuckle slipping out, “i must’ve forgotten.”
“art,” it sounds like a warning, but again, you wanted nothing less than for his lips to fall against yours right now.
“make it up to me, yeah? remember that?” his hand moves to hold your cheek, tipping your head up at him, eyes meeting yours in such close proximity, “i’ve got some marriage problems right now, so why don’t you play wife for me, hm?”
you nod at him, ever so slightly, he clocks it immediately, and that’s his que. his eyes flutter shut, and he’s leaning in only a mere centimeter before his lips fall against yours. the kiss is soft at first, sweet, new, but then art starts taking the lead, and it quickly becomes something on the faint lines of cannibalism, he kissed you like he wanted to eat you, like he loved you.
when he said he wanted you to play wife, he wasn’t lying.
he pries your lips open with his own before his tongue makes it’s way inside your mouth, tasting the peppermint of your gum on your own tongue, memorizing the noisy breaths that leave your mouth and move into his. your nails are quick to run along his arms, making him pull back to speak, “hold on, kitty cat.”
“you call your wife kitty cat?” you watch him peel off his sweaty shirt from his skin.
he tosses the shirt to the side, exhaling a breath that showed he hated the feeling of the wet fabric on his skin, “mm, i call you kitty cat, ‘nd you’re playing my wife, so.”
“right,” you agree, letting his cold hands brush against your skin when he takes your clothes off of you, of course looking at you for approval beforehand, which you nod to.
“did you start wearing shorter skirts on purpose?” art questions when his fingers reach the waistband of your skirt, ever so slowly dipping underneath.
“no, ‘course not,” you speak breathlessly, feeling his fingers move under your underwear as well until his fingertips meet your clit. you swallow thick, lashes fluttering as he starts moving his fingers in an almost cruel slowness.
“look at me,” he whispers a simple command, free hand holding your chin and forcing you to look at him. his fingers move further down, immediately feeling how wet you are, he chuckles in surprise, “god, you’re this wet for a married man, huh?”
“for my husband,” you mumble out, playing the part.
“that’s right,” his middle finger circles your entrance for a second before ever so slowly dipping it inside. he watches your lips fall apart, the way your eyes get glossed over, the way your hips push up against his finger. “needy.”
he doesn’t take long to push another finger in, letting go of your chin so he could guide your hand to his clothed cock, hard and pushing against his flimsy shorts. as soon as you start rubbing his dick through the fabric, his breath shudders slightly, as if he’s been waiting too long for like, as if he hasn’t had sexual pleasure in weeks.
soon enough, only a mere minute or two in of foreplay, art gets antsy and he has to have his dick inside of you, he pries his fingers from your cunt and takes your skirt off next. “lay down for me, yeah?” he smiles at the fact that you do it immediately, even spreading your legs for him.
he hisses at the feeling when his bare knees meet the concrete floor below, harsh on his skin, he tugs his shorts and boxers down ever so slightly until his cock is finally freed. you inhale sharply upon seeing it, he had a big dick. he spits in his hand, coating his dick with a grunt before he finally lines himself up with your entrance.
“ready?” he hushes out.
“yeah, yeah,” you’re barely able to finish the last yeah before his dick is moving into you, his nose scrunching from the tightness of your walls around him, it’s like you were purposefully squeezing his cock with an attempt to milk him dry already.
“fuck,” he grunts out, pulling back, then moving back in, earning a pathetic moan from your lips. it sounds like music to his ears, so he keeps going, his thrusting was slow at first, gentle, kind— but just like the test matches, or the kiss, he gets hungry, and he wants more.
his thrusts turn relentless almost immediately, maybe even like he was taking out some sorts of sexual frustrations out on your poor cunt. whimpers, whines, moans, all of those leave your lips, matching up with the grunts and the occasional whimper from his own mouth as well.
sex was intoxicating for art, and there was something so dangerous, so forbidden about this, you weren’t really his wife, he was married to another woman, he was solely your coach. some sick part of art loves that, maybe that’s why he leans down and starts nipping at your neck, sucking at the delicate skin until maroon and blackberry starts blooming on the blank canvas.
“art, oh my god,” you moan out, hands moving to scratch at his bare back, and maybe art should be smart enough to tell you not to leave marks, but he lets your nails dig in as his thrusts get harsher, surely drawing blood, or at least noticeable scratches.
in fact, the feeling of you tearing into his skin only makes his orgasm come on faster, soon enough wracking his body and making his hips stutter. he keeps going though, despite the overstimulation that makes him pathetically whine softly, just until you’ve reached your own orgasm.
he pulls out, panting, smirking down at you, “thanks, kitty cat.”
#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ#art donaldson#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson x you#mike faist#mike faist x reader#mike faist x you#art donaldson smut#art donaldson challengers#challengers#challengers smut#mike faist smut#mike faist challengers
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but pervy roller derby coach joel and seasoned derby girl fucking in joels truck after a bout when ezra finds them with the windows all fogged up… ofc he joins in
You fucking know it!
Roller Derby Coach!Joel Miller x F!Reader x Boyfriend!Ezra
tags: unprotected p-in-v, double creampie, Ezra and Joel being spiteful towards one another. praise, degredation, use of the word "whore" but in a sexy way
--
He wanted to offer you a personal congratulations after helping your Jammer get point after point, resulting in your team's win. 157 to 163. It was a close one and your offense is what made the difference. Joel lost count of how many times you knocked the opposing Jammer off the track, running them back and killing their spirit. He's surprised you still have any energy left after all that work.
But here you are in his truck with him, bouncing on his cock like it's nothing. You got nothing on but your sports bra and youre soaked in sweat with your gear airing out in his flat bed.
Then Ezra’s wandering around the parking lot outside the rink, wondering where the hell you are because there's an after party to go to. And he already smoked a couple joints with the referees, and you still hadn't appeared. Then he sees the foggy window, the way the truck is bouncing, and he can't help but creep closer. His whole body floods with heat when he sees your gear. He looks around, sees if anybody has eyes on him before opening up the passenger door.
"Shit!" Joel curses.
You both stop in a panic. Your hands gripping his biceps to stabilize yourself.
Ezra's all smiles. "You don't think she's done enough work tonight, Coach?" He chuckles at your silent, shocked faces. He climbs inside and shuts the door behind him. "Our superstar here requires appreciation. Not more strain on her supremely effective musculature." He crawls closer.
"How 'boutchu--" Joel begins.
Ezra wraps his hand around the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss.
Joel’s hands are still tight on your hips. Watching Ezra's tongue meet yours makes his cock twitch and pisses him off at the same time. He grunts.
Ezra's hazy eyes slide over to Joel's after he pulls away from you. "How 'bout I what, Joel?"
Joel snarls and shoves Ezra back with a broad palm to his chest. "How 'boutchu see with your eyes and not with your hands?" He turns back to you. "She's mine right now, and I ain't gonna let you touch her 'til I'm done with her."
Ezra chuckles and undoes his pants, pulling his hardening cock out. "Go ahead and fill her up good, then." He smirks and begins to stroke himself. "Patience is a virtue, and although I am far from a virtuous man, I have been known to wander briefly on the path of the principled." He breaths deeply through his nose, taking in the smell of sweat and sex. "A path more easily endured when enticed by heavenly rewards."
Joel rolls his eyes. "Does he ever shut the fuck up?"
Ezra chuckles again. "You best make haste, old man, before that little blue pill wears off and you go softer than an ice cream cone in the Fourth of July sunshine."
Joel smirks at Ezra and shakes his head. He turns back to you, his hands slide up your sides, grip your breasts through your bra. "You ever seen me take a pill?"
"No," you shake your head. You're so overwhelmed by the situation, you're surprised you were able to say anything at all. And Joel's strong fingers are working your chest, working the muscles in your hips and thighs.
"I don't need no pill," he says with a haughty grin, thrusting up into you. "I don't need her to ride me, neither," he adds for good measure. "I can make her come with my cock alone." He holds you still and you angle your hips slightly as his own hips jump in the seat. "Come on, baby. Show 'im how good this cock is. Come on, now."
You wrap your arms around his shoulders and dig your face into his neck, moaning and keening with every strong thrust. You hear Ezra moaning, too. You turn your head to the side and see him panting, biting his lips. He goes from jerking himself off to squeezing his cock at the base and shaking it, staving off his orgasm with a desperate look on his face. It's all so much, you're sent over the edge--your orgasm barely noticable amidst Joel's relentless assault. How can you come down when everything around you is still building and escalating?
"Gonna fill this pussy up, now," Joel groans. His meaty claws close and spread your asscheeks as he begins to grind into you.
You try to remind yourself to breathe as you squeeze him tighter, whimpering and panting.
"Gonna give you all this come," he groans again and you feel a rush of warmth inside of you.
"Come here, baby," you hear Ezra speak up. "Lemme feel that." And before you know it, you're in Ezra's lap. His cock slides readily into yours and he pants and moans pathetically. "Oh fuck, oh shit, oh shit, baby. That's so good." His hips are barely moving as he holds you close against him, but the squelch of your messy pussy is loud. "Mmmm-that's so good. that's that good shit right there. Oh fuck, baby. Gonna fill you up, too. Mmhmm--gonna give you that sloppy cunt, huh? You like that, baby?" His eyes go wide and you're locked in, nodding and agreeing to whatever he says. "You like bein naughty? You like being filthy?"
At this point, it doesn't matter what either of them say. You'll agree to just about anything that comes out of their mouths--and their cocks.
"Fuckin filthy," he mutters with a snarl and brings his hand down to your ass with a harsh, solid slap. "Fuckin filthy whore. Nnnngg---" He comes inside of you.
You feel dizzy. Spent. Tired. Dazed. You should probably hydrate soon. And you wonder if anyone else on the team is looking for the three of you. You hope Joel has some napkins somewhere in his car, but you're not too worried because you have a pack of wet wipes in your gear bag. You never thought you'd use them for something like this, but... so it goes.
No one suspects a single thing at the after party. You throw back a few shots with your teammates and leg wrestle on the bar floor. You dance to the salsa music someone is playing on the juke box. You consider doing those pelvic floor exercises you saw on youtube once.
------------
a/n: I love life and I love being alive.
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homecoming | sam x reader
word count: 3.2k
tags: hurt/comfort , family struggles , reader and sam are married , set somewhere in year 2 (kent is back) , oneshot , intimacy
synopsis: Sleep evades you on nights like these, without Sam by your side.
a/n: i love sam but the allure of angst is too hard to resist!!! sorry babe i still love you 😔
Sleep evades you on nights like these, without Sam by your side.
Your feet are bare as you linger at the entrance of your room. The dimmed light of the living room washes away the darkness of the hour. It's late, the air is cool and damp smelling of night dew—you take a deep inhale. It feels thick as you breathe it in, like smoke is clouding around the room, restricting your breaths.
Sleepless nights were not unusual in your household. Before you married Sam, you hardly slept—the satisfying ache of collapsing into your sheets after a day at the mines was an addiction you couldn’t get enough of.
Now, you earn enough to afford coming home before sunset. No longer having to worry about how you’d afford the next day. And if you are being completely honest, evenings spent with Sam are far more addicting than the sting of a day’s work.
The ache is still there. It comes with the profession. Though not anymore the dull humming ache in the muscles and joints of your arms and legs, but a bone deep ache settled deeply curling around your chest.
Somehow, it stings even more.
It is as if it drags over your heart, catching on every ridge and edge of your bones. Daring to fill your lungs with ichor—hardening like stone around your ribs. No amount of stardrop you swallow can ever relieve the stinging soreness.
The cushions of the old second-hand couch groan and squeak as you twist and turn atop of them. Perhaps as restless as you are. The light flickers—on, off, on.
It doesn’t scare you, but it makes you uneasy. You’re long over the notion the farmhouse was haunted, but nights like these make that conviction waver. The nape of your neck prickles—like a person is staring from behind. Sam isn’t here to tease you about ghosts nor curl his arms around you in mock protection.
He hasn’t been here in hours, hasn’t been present in so long. It feels wrong. It feels like an omen. Your fingers find the back of your neck, brushing over the vulnerable skin.
You hold a tassel cushion tightly to your chest. Your knuckles whitening with the strength of your grip on it. The strength of your heartbeat is so loud you’re convinced it would be heard without the pillow to muffle the sound.
Little Vincent is sound asleep, snoring softly away in his dreamland. He looks like the epitome of innocence under the quilted blankets of your bed. It's soft, worn and covered in stitched cartoon-y lions and tigers. A temporary parting gift bundled up in his dinosaur backpack from jodi. Before he came to live with you and his older brother.
The separation was painful. there were tears—for both him and for his mother.
(Sam stood next to you then, gripping at your hand so hard you felt it prickling with numbness. You didn’t dare look up to see the tears you know are there, the crystalline tears dripping down his lash line.
It would’ve made the teardrops in yours fall over too. You’d stay strong for the both of you.)
The entrance door to the farmhouse creaks open and you immediately know it’s him. Relief floods your whole body—to your fingertips to your toes. He's safe, and home at last. You stand up and hurry to him, throwing the pillow to the ground, before the door creaks shut.
The air goes still, calm before the storm. The anticipation before potential terrible news.
(You expect there will be. You can tell by the way Sam slumps, like the weight is physically bearing down on his shoulders.)
Sam is still at the doorway, slumping over you when you wrap your arms around him. He smells of sweat and the cloying scent of rubbing alcohol—something must’ve happened, you think. It smells like the clinic.
The paper bag in his hand loses from his grip, it falls unceremoniously to the ground with a dull thump. You pay it no heed, mentally accounting to pick it up later. Though you note that it lands right over your ‘home sweet home’ doormat. Fitting.
“Sammy.” you greet him with a chaste peck on the cheek. He barely has the energy to hug back, more so stay steadily upright on his feet. you both sway slightly, suspended in the tranquility of the moment.
You try again, slowing the movement of your lips. “Welcome home, my love. you there?”
His lips move against the skin of your neck, a whisper of a greeting. It is enough for you.
Sam retracts his face from your jaw. There are blue-purple eye bags under his eyes, like bruises. The trademark twinkle in his brilliant green irises have dulled to nothingness. He looks so unlike himself like this, older than his years and so unbearably tired.
And you wish, with all your heart, to take his aches away. To wash them away like ink in water.
You pull him into the living room with you, the skin of his wrist enclosed in the firm guiding grip of your fingers. He's fragile like this, this sunshine of a man reduced to a shell of his usual demeanor.
He trails slowly behind you, silent. You say nothing, either; choosing to focus on the rhythmic sounds of your footsteps padding against the floor. In the living room, you dim the lights to a mere whisper of light.
These days, when he comes home, you’ve built some sort of routine.
You drag him down to you, spread lying down on the length of the couch. Your thighs frame his hips as he melts into the warmth of body. He lays on top of you, his cheekbone against your chest. You watch as his eyes flutter shut, as he presses his ear to the epicenter of your chest—the sound of your heartbeat quieting the swirl of thoughts in his mind.
You gently remove the woolen beanie nestled on his head—revealing the stringy oily mess of hair under. A sign of how little care he has been sparing himself after his father’s homecoming. You feel your lips downturn into a frown. He hasn’t even been using that hair gel you like to tease and groan about.
(You lied when you’d say you hated it. You don’t, never did.
You miss it. You miss the things that make him, him.)
You don’t hesitate in running your hands through the softness of his hair. Your fingers scratch gently on his scalp, eliciting a soft sigh from your weary husband. Eyes watch raptly as his shoulders unwind and ripple. The tension in them melts away with the deft caress of your hands.
Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. Like a knife twisting. You love him, you love him.
Moments pass, the silence is almost comfortable when you ask, speaking it to the silence of the room. There’s a wavering lilt in your voice reassuring him. You aren’t going to push him for an answer. He doesn’t need to respond. Him being safe, home and warm in your arms is all you ever want. All you’ll ever need.
“How are they?”
(The first night, you and Sam stayed the night in his family home. squeezed in his twin bed with Vincent curled up by his ribs. The little boy couldn’t bear sleeping alone that night, not with the anxiety of his father being back making him pace a mile a minute.
The air in the household had shifted that day.
In the dead of the night, the fire alarm went off—a blaring loud beeping sound from the kitchen. Totally harmless, a malfunction. A disturbance to sleep more than anything.
Except it was not.
You still remember the blood-curdling scream that came from Jodi and Kent's room. The panicked sobs of Jodi as she tried to calm her terror stricken husband.
You remember the way Vincent clung onto you, like a koala to a tree. You cupped your hands tightly over his ears—he didn’t need to suffer the consequence of it.
Sam removed the fire alarm and Vincent from the house the next morning.)
His voice is hushed when he speaks. A pin could drop and be more clearly heard. “Mom's… getting better.”
Not getting worse than she already is.
You plant a kiss on the crown of his head, lips soft and adoring on his skin. You ache to take his burden, to take his share of suffering.
It hurts sometimes, to be right beside him but feel so faraway. Yet like this, feeling every curve and edge of his body—you can convince yourself that it doesn’t.
“Is Vince asleep?”
“Yes,” you reply, tucking a blond curl behind his ear. His head unconsciously tilts to the room where his younger brother rests. Ever so protective of him even like this.
Continuing you say, “He was looking for you,” you thread your fingers through the short blond strands at his neck. Sam untenses slightly in your arms, his arms going limp at your sides. “He's been fidgety lately. Restless.”
“He usually is.” his feeble attempt at a joke. Though the rasp in his voice only makes it sound resigned. You purse your lips, eyes tracking back to the cedar wood of your bedroom door on the other side of the room—and the sleeping child behind it.
You stroke Sam's hair, thinking. “More so than usual.”
(You know why. He knows too. Kent wasn’t the same when he returned from the war. He was vulnerable, not the fragile type but vulnerable in the way a ignited bomb threatened an explosion.
Vincent wasn’t either—grown much more from that thumb suckling toddler when he left.
“My dad is coming home soon,” Sam confides in you on that day on that day on the beach. Him standing a few feet away from the shore line, and you; next to him.
“This isn’t how I wanted him to grow up,” his voice cracks with vulnerability. “I—I want him to have a better childhood than I did.”
“He will, Sam. He will.” I know you’ll make sure of it.
His eyes are red-rimmed and raw when he looks at you. All you wanted was to wipe that anguished expression off his face.)
He is silent. All is silent. Tranquility is like a honey thick syrup poured over your chest, smeared all over the expanse of your body. The soft sounds of your synchronized breathing is the only sound you can bear to hear. It makes your eyes droop, the lethargic feeling dulling your senses.
Your hand reaches for his, intertwining your palm with his long-fingered one. You relish in the familiar feeling of his calloused fingertips, earned from afternoons spent with his guitar. His skin is warm, warmer than yours. You give his hand a tentative squeeze, he squeezes back.
“Mom told me to say hi to you both for her,” he tells you, his breathing slow and deep. “She misses him, and you. She’s coming to visit as soon as she can.”
“Vince misses her too,” you sigh, craning your head forward to peek at the top of his head. “It's affecting him, I can tell. Penny's getting worried. She tells me he hasn’t been himself at school.”
All that Sam can manage is a deep intake of breath, then a softer resigned exhale. There isn’t much nor enough for him to say. Your free hand goes to smooth down his back. The muscles there are tough—bunched up and tense.
He shifts between your thighs, baring down heavier on your pelvis. Even as tired as he is, Sam is restless. Always has been, whether it be on his skateboard or with his guitar. You ignore the growing ache in your lower back—it is not your moment, but his. The warmth of his weight on top of you overpower any discomfort you have.
Twirling the stray curl at his neck, you finally ask. Fingers featherlight against his shoulder. “How… is he?”
Sam stiffens above you, the lean line of his body rigid. He’s clearly distressed with talking about his father. You suck a breath through your teeth, knocking your leg gently against his, giving your silent push for him to continue.
“I can't even lie,” he squeezes his eyes shut and turns his face away. “It isn't good, Doc Harvey says dad’s got PTSD from the war. It's triggered by loud sounds. Remember the time he woke up because of the fire alarm?”
You nod, curling your fingers around his. You try to provide him any semblance of comfort—to reassure him. You love him, always.
It's painful to see, to watch what he’s going through only by the sidelines.
Sam looks up at you from your chest, eyes blurry with exhaustion. His jaw tensing ever so slightly, you see the patchy blonde stubble starting at the jut of his jaw. The wrinkle in his brow growing more prominent at the mention of his father. It's a fresh type of wound, raw and open. You dance around the topic, like poking a sleeping lion that threatens to attack at any given moment.
“We’ve transferred him to stay in my old room. He’s been holed up there most of the time. The nightmares are keeping mom up. He wakes up screaming most nights." Sam rasps, squeezing your fingers. He speaks lowly against the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, the heat of his body bleeding through it and into you.
His voice dissolves into a pained crack when he speaks. “It sucks.”
“It will get better, we can get through it,” you sit up slightly, elbows bent behind you. Sam's been out the whole day. You assume he must be starving and tired. “Do you need anything?”
Sam doesn’t let you up, though. He tugs you back down under him with the gentle pull of his arm. You still in his arms, looking down at him.
“No,” he pleads. “just… stay with me, okay? Let's stay like this, please.”
You swallow, nodding. “Yes, of course.”
You wish you could ease his worries. You wish you could tell him that it’ll be alright and he would believe it.
You love him, more than life itself. Like you are a planet that orbits around him, the sun. You show him so everyday—and will continue to do so with everyday that will come.
You just wish he’d be more selfish with you.
If he falls, you’ll piece him back together. Glue his bones together with your hands, relying on the familiarity of his being. Anything, you’d do anything.
The matching mermaid pendants resting over his and your collarbone symbolizes that.
“I want to help you, sam. You take all this burden up on your own. please?”
He sits up, back hunched over you. A dim shadow of him filtered over you. You follow him, like you can’t bear to be apart from him.
“You are, you always have,” Sam softens, gazing at you so reverently you could sob. He looks at you as one gazes at master paintings, like he is in wordless awe of you.
The room is dark with night. If you strain your ears hard enough, the cooing of the owls filter through the cracks of your windows. The moonlight is scarce, you can barely see the expressions painting his face. Though, you’re sure your expression is as lovesick as his. Practical hearts in your eyes as you stare.
“Looking after Vince is more than I could ever ask for, honey.” he whispers, pinching the hem of your sleep shirt between his thumb and pointer finger.
“No Sam,” you murmur, taking his face into your hands. your hands frame his face, warming the cool skin of his cheeks. Desperation fills every movement in a plea for him to understand. “I meant you.”
You inhale, relishing the smell of sweat, mint and rubbing alcohol on his skin. The scent smells so comforting, and so familiar.
You hope he finds that same solace in you as you do with him.
“I want to take care of you,” you say more firmly, stroking him on the skin of his brow bone. “Won’t you let me?”
He stares at you, enveloping your hands with warmer ones. You sigh contentedly at the feeling. They sear into your skin, warming you with the righteous heat of his devotion.
To you, he is the sun and you have the sun right in the palm of your hands. You know he won’t ever burn you, nor leave your skin red and raw from his intensity. His rays are gentle, a featherlight whisper of a kiss on the expanse of your body.
But the sun never stops shining. It is steadfast in its duty to provide. You worry, will he explode in a grand supernova or crumple into a black hole?
Either way, you will never allow it. You’d rather douse the sun in the water of the ocean to hold him in your arms. Maybe then, he can finally rest soundly.
You feel his thumb rub back and forth on the back of your palm, silent and considering. The brush of it melting you against him like a contented cat. A smile graces your lips, you can wait.
Though you do not need to. Sam turns his head and kisses your wrist. His nose bumping into the crease of your thumb. You feel honeyed warmth drip down your heart, collecting in the cavern of your chest.
That's all the confirmation you need.
(There are some days his words fail him. The days his mind is bursting with ideas, so much so it’s difficult for him to convey a singular thought.
That's alright. Perfect, even. Sam has always been better at expressing himself through actions.)
“I love you,” you kiss his forehead, then over each of his eyelids. You want to kiss every inch of his skin until there is nothing left to cover. “so, so much.”
You press your lips to the corner of his. Opting to speak your promise against his skin, to tattoo your undying love into the smooth expanse of it.
Sam tilts his head, causing his lips to brush completely against yours. He presses them firmer against yours, the taste of spearmint gum heavy on his tongue. You lick the seam of his lips—let me in, let me in.
“I love you too. more than you know,” he gasps, tearing his lips away. His breath puffing warmly against the skin of your cheek. He declares it as if he’s running out of breath, and it is his final words. A willing sailor drowning in the deep ocean that is you. “More than anything, more than life itself.”
You press your forehead against his. Your eyes meet the depthless green of his. The twinkle is there; flickering and faint but present.
Love is what brought him to you. It’s what keeps bringing him home to you every night. You want to be his refuge, his comfort, his partner for life.
Your eyes shut, eyelashes fluttering against your cheekbones. “Share the burden with me, Sammy. I can take it.”
At the end of the day, he is all you want. All that you need. If it takes him time, you won’t mind. even if it takes centuries.
Sam captures your lips again. Murmuring his agreement greedily against you. You love him, you love him and he loves you.
You are the one he comes back to, his spouse. The greatest love of his life. Home isn’t the farmhouse you’ve built a life in—
It’s you, always has been you.
#key’s-vault#stardew valley#sdv#sdv sam#sam stardew valley#sam x reader#x reader#sdv writing#sam stardew#stardew valley sam#sam x you#sam x farmer#stardew sam#stardew valley fanfic#stardew valley fic#stardew#stardew farmer#sdv farmer#sdv fanfic#sdv 1.6#writers on tumblr#fanfic#stardew valley writing#stardew valley fandom
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Hey peeps, so this is an idea that randomly came to me, especially since today April 26 would have been my dog Toni’s 17 birthday who passed away a year and half ago. I based the puppy’s appearance off of her as she was a blonde miniature poodle and she also loved cuddles too.
Now here’s the summary: You and your wife Melissa get a puppy for the first time. The puppy and Melissa form an instant attachment but slowly the puppy starts taking over all of Melissa’s time and attention and leaving you behind.
Now don’t yell at me and say I turned up the angst too much, I may have gone to the extreme but stuff like this does happen, especially with dogs who were found on the street or born with anxiety and they tend to overly bond with one person.
Puppy Crazy
Warnings: lots of angst but happy ending I promise *pinky swear*
Words: 3.3k
You and Melissa stare at all the puppies at the shelter. You both have always wanted one and now you’re here to adopt one.
“Any catching your interest?” You ask her.
“That blonde one who seems to like cuddling the other.” She says and you look at the one she’s talking about.
“You want a little cuddler?” You ask with a quirked eyebrow.
“Ya, that way they’ll like me cause I like cuddles too.” She says and you pout.
“I thought I was your little cuddler.” You tell her and she giggles at your response.
“You are, and there’s always room for another in the house.” She tells you and gives you a side hug.
“The blonde one is cute. What would you name her?”
“Eleanora.” She says and you look at her.
“It’s beautiful, what does it mean?” You ask, knowing her family only picks out names carefully due to their meaning.
“Shining light.” She says and you look at the little blonde cuddler and then back at her.
“It’s perfect.”
The person at the shelter goes and picks up the blonde miniature poodle puppy carefully and brings her out. The little puppy is a bit shy, understandable, but she lets you take her home, deeming you’re not a threat.
You stop at the pet store though and little Elea (her first nickname) was so excited. She met a few other dogs there and she attempted to play with them, a couple of them played with her. You got her a collar that fit and a name tag, you got a leash for her as well. You brought her down the toy aisle and Elea picked out a bunch, pretty much whatever she grabbed or pawed at you put in the cart. She helped pick out her new beds, although you drew a line at the ones that were meant for large dogs as you doubt Elea will be more than 15 pounds. You then got her food, food bowls, a toy basket and treats. You also bought a thing of pee pads as she isn’t housebroken yet as she’s 10 weeks old and some poo bags.
Elea stayed on your lap, cautiously, for most of the ride home. It was a nice day so you ended up putting the window down at red lights and she stuck her little nose out and she started sniffing the air.
Once you enter your home, Elea stayed near you or Melissa as it was a space she didn’t know. You guys got to work and you put out her food and water bowl, you filled the water bowl first. The worker at the shelter said she’ll need to eat as she’ll be skipping her dinner time, so you also filled her kibble bowl. Elea munched on her puppy kibble happily as you and Melissa got her things set up. You put the toy basket beside the couch and put most of the toys in there and brought the rest upstairs. You put the leash near the door with your keys and you put her name tag on the collar. You put the treats and kibble in the pantry, and you put 2 beds downstairs, one in the living room and one in the dining room, and the third one upstairs in your bedroom. You then placed a couple pee pads around but knew you’d put them down where she decides to pee later on.
Once Elea finished eating, she started sniffing around and found her toys and pulled most of them out. Melissa found the sight so cute as her little tail was wagging the whole time. Melissa got on her knees and stuck her hand out and Elea came up slowly and sniffed her hand before giving little nibbles on her hand to play with her. Melissa took a toy and started moving it around the floor and Elea chased it around. You couldn’t tear them apart so you made dinner instead. When dinner was ready, Melissa came in holding Elea in her arms and she was fast asleep.
“Aw. That’s so cute.” You whispered.
Halfway through dinner, Elea woke up and Melissa put her down as she got a burst of energy. You both ended up playing with her for most of the evening, although she seemed to go more towards Melissa.
At nighttime, Melissa carried her up the stairs as she got too scared to do it herself, and Melissa put her on the floor at the top and Elea explored the upstairs while you two got ready for bed. When you were ready, you called Elea but she didn’t come, Melissa called her and this time she came.
“That’s favouritism.” You complained and crossed your arms and Melissa giggled.
“Oh Amore, don’t hate me because she likes me more. You’ll always be my favourite human.” She tells you and you glare at her then get into the bed. Melissa ends up bringing Elea into the bed and you roll your eyes. Honestly you would do the same. Melissa spooned you and she whispered that Elea is cuddled into her back and you let out a little “aw”. She may prefer your wife but she’s too cute to hate.
The next day, Elea jumped in the shower with you two and then immediately jumped out and let out little puppy barks and ran around the bedroom until you got out. When Melissa was cooking breakfast, you filled Elea’s food bowl with some kibble and she inhaled her kibble. When she was done she went over to the dining table where you were eating and she sat down between you two and begged but mostly looked at Melissa. Melissa did end up caving and put a piece aside for her to which she put her bowl when she was finished.
After you decided to go for a walk with Elea. You and Melissa were both teachers but it was the beginning of summer break so you could stay at home and train and bond with Elea. Melissa ended up holding the leash and brought a couple treats to give to Elea and you held on to the poo bags. One Elea peed outside, Melissa pet her and gave her a treat right away. Elea wagged her tail when Melissa was petting her and swatted her little paws around as she hasn’t grown into them yet. She got on her back when her and Melissa were playing and she kept pawing at Melissa and giving her playful puppy nibbles. To which you took a bunch of pictures. You got her less than 24 hours ago and you already have 30 pictures of Elea on your phone, you realised that’s more than you took of Melissa when you were dating her for 4 years. But you shrug it off, I mean it’s probably accurate for all animal owners.
When you got home from the walk, Melissa carried Elea in her arms while she was sleep and went to sit on the couch. You brought Melissa a cup of water to which she thanked you for and drank the whole thing. 20 minutes later, Elea woke up and bounced out of Melissa’s arms and on to the couch. She got down after 2 minutes of trying and ended up slipping off the couch but Melissa congratulated her either way. Elea walked around and decided to drink some water then pulled the majority of toys out of her basket that you put away last night and you groaned.
“Why bother with a toy basket or putting them away.” You complained and Melissa laughed and came up to hug you. Elea saw you two hug and wanted in on it too. Melissa of course complied and went and picked her up, then you three had a little family hug. During the hug Elea licked you both on the face and you both laughed. You both played and ran around with Elea for most of the day. You then fed Elea her dinner kibble while Melissa got dinner ready.
“You fed her so many treats today, I’m surprised she still has room.” You told Melissa and she just shrugs.
“She’s a growing puppy, she needs to eat.” Melissa says and you laugh.
“I love you, you know. Never change.” You tell her and you wrap your arms around her waist.
“I don’t plan too Amore. And I love you too.” She tells you then turns around and gives you a quick kiss on the lips then finishes getting dinner ready.
And just like at breakfast, Elea begs, at Melissa mostly, for some human food, and again, Melissa caves and gives her the piece when finished in her food bowl.
After dinner, you both settle on the couch and Melissa picks Elea up when she whines and you put on a Disney movie. You chose the little mermaid and you kept glancing over at Melissa petting Elea’s head while Elea nuzzles her head in Melissa’s lap and falls asleep. You lean your head on Melissa’s shoulder and she wraps an arm around you. Halfway through the movie, Elea wakes up and starts barking. You pause the movie and get her leash to take her out. You take Elea out as Melissa did it before supper and she does her pees. You bring her back in and she goes right to Melissa to get picked up again, which Melissa does and she goes and falls asleep on her lap with Melissa scratching her head.
The rest of the month goes like this, and you end up bringing her to puppy class and teach her some commands, go to a dog park to introduce her to other dogs and introduce her to some family members that you’ll see multiple times a year.
Melissa and Elea end up spending a lot of time together and while it shouldn’t bother you, it is taking a lot of your Melissa time away. You knew you wouldn’t spend as much time with Melissa when you get a puppy but Elea is demanding ALL of Melissa’s attention and it’s started to make you a little jealous. Like you couldn’t have sex without Elea demanding Melissa’s attention. You’re starting to think that dog just wants Melissa away from you, cause maybe she doesn’t like you.
Like when you’re having sex, at the beginning, when Melissa is kissing your neck, Elea comes over on the bed and starts biting Melissa’s hair and doing her little puppy barks. Melissa eventually gives in and gives her attention to Elea and you end up having to use the vibrator.
It was cute at first but not being able to touch your wife, like sometimes not even a nice long kiss of like 10 seconds. Cause everytime you do, Elea comes over and gets Melissa’s attention. You’ve tried to get Elea to like you more but her and Melissa bonded exceptionally quick and you don’t know why.
Melissa thinks it’s funny when you complain that Elea is getting all her attention, everytime you bring it up.
“I swear it’s like she doesn’t even like me and is just separating us. Like she gets all your attention and I get the scrapes.” You complained one night and she just brought you to lean on her shoulder while Elea laid on her lap. Melissa rubbed your arm while she scratched Elea’s head. She loves her 2 girls, y/n and Elea and she wouldn’t change it a thing.
“Y/n, if you think about it, Elea went through a lot. She ended up at the shelter cause she was found on the street. When she was like 3 weeks old and spent 7 weeks at that shelter. Then she comes home with us and everything is new. She just bonded to one of us and wants comfort to help soothe her.” Melissa explains and you take a deep breath.
“I know, you’re right, it’s just a little annoying right now cause I can barely touch my wife, without little sunshine here interrupting us. And you always give her the attention.” You say and cross your arms. “Like I wanted a puppy too and I barely get time with either of you individually.” You say and before Melissa can say anything, Elea gets up and starts barking and Melissa gets up to take her outside as it’s her turn. You huff as Melissa carries Elea downstairs then outside.
When Melissa gets back, you’re asleep so she just climbs into bed with Elea, puts Elea in front of you, turns off the light and cuddles you. She sees Elea go to nuzzle her head into you and you unconsciously move your arm and she climbs underneath. Melissa smiles then falls asleep.
The next morning you wake up and Elea is underneath your arm and Melissa on your back and for a second you think you’re dreaming. You then fully wake up and realise that it’s real. For one, Elea and Melissa stayed apart and two, Elea is cuddling you instead of Melissa.
“I told you she likes you.” Melissa says quietly and you smile.
And as if knowing you’re awake, Elea wakes up and demands to be taken outside.
“I’ll take this one while you wake up.” Melissa tells you and you nod.
“Thank you.” You tell her and she picks Elea up who wags her little tail.
Another month goes by and it’s more or less the same, Elea cuddles and plays with you sometimes but still is overly bonded to Melissa. It’s starting to really frustrate you and you’ve ended up starting fights with Melissa to which you apologise to her later, and she always forgives you.
Melissa does start to clue in that Elea is taking a lot of her attention away from her wife but can never say no to those sad little puppy eyes.
When school starts back up, Melissa spends 10 minutes saying goodbye to Elea while you wait in the car on your phone. She finally leaves when you threaten to drive there without her, even though she knows you won’t. Due to barely being able to be physical with your wife or any physical touch, any kisses at school dropped drama from last year and even the Abbott crew notices and questions you about it at the end of the week.
“Melissa has a new wife now.” You grumble out and they all look at you confused.
“She’s talking about the puppy and she’s gotten a little jealous that Elea prefers spending time with me.” Melissa explains and they all have their mouths shaped in an ‘O’ form.
“That’s not what I’m angry about and you know it. I’m angry because she takes away all your time, I can barely kiss or hug you.” You grit at her and then you get up and walk out of the break room. You hide away in your classroom the rest of the day, you didn’t even let Melissa in when she came to check on you a few times.
Melissa was starting to get worried about you but doesn’t know what to do. So she went to Barb.
“I mean I don’t know what I should do, I mean we can’t give Elea back to the shelter because she’s our dog now and I know that no matter how angry y/n is, she’ll never agree to give her back anyway.” Melissa complains and slumps back to the wall.
“Melissa, you’re missing the point. Y/n isn’t angry she’s upset cause she feels she doesn’t have a wife anymore.” Barb states. “I’ve noticed how detached you both are from each other since you got the puppy. And I know that puppies require a lot of attention and time, y/n knows that too. But maybe you spend a little too much time on Elea.” Barb states. “Like Elea is like a child right. And sometimes you just have to let children do things themselves.” Barb explains and Melissa sighs.
“I know, I guess I got too wrapped up with Elea.” Melissa says.
“I know and I know y/n knows too. If she didn’t then she would be a lot more angry right now.” Barb says and Melissa chuckles.
Melissa plans to take you out on a date tomorrow to spend time with you but you immediately decline and Melissa frowns.
“Wouldn’t you rather go with Elea instead of me?” You tell her.
“No, I’d rather go with my wife.” She tells you and you scoff.
“Like I said, wouldn’t you rather go with Elea.” You repeat and before she can say anything else, Elea comes running in and barks to go out. “Oh look, your wife is calling you.” You tell her and go upstairs.
When Melissa returns she sits on the couch and thinks about how to change things. She gets an idea and goes upstairs to where you’re on the bed, on your phone pouting. She brings Elea up with her and she sits on the bed and puts Elea on your lap.
You refuse at first and then Elea whines for your attention and you start petting her a bit but then she nuzzles into you and she falls asleep.
“Look y/n, I’m sorry that I put all my attention on her. I didn’t notice and I was so excited about this puppy and that she bonded to me more. I guess I didn’t kinda forget about my wife. I mean we did basically only accomplish sex completely probably 4 times this summer.” She says and you glare at her.
“It was never just the sex, I mean ya it’s part of it but I would like my wife back.” You tell her and cross your arms. “You’re gonna have to start giving less attention to Elea or I might leave.” You tell her and she looks at you.
“Isn’t that a little dramatic?” She says. You whip your head at her and glare. You then pick Elea up and place her in Melissa’s lap then you walk out.
You end up sleeping in the guest bedroom the entire weekend, to Mel’s very reluctant begging. She even tried sneaking in during the night but you caught her and was sent back to the main bed. She then realised that nighttime is pretty much the only physical contact you two still have, cuddling at night, and you're asleep for most of it.
So she decides to make some changes. She starts putting a fluffy blanket down at the foot of the bed and Elea starts sleeping on that, while you two cuddle. She got anti anxiety beds for Elea and you two are able to have sex and cuddle on the couch. She goes on walks everyday with Elea and you, and insists you hold the leash while she has an arm around your waist. If you two are kissing and Elea barks to get Melissa’s, you at first pulled away, thinking Melissa will give her the attention but Melissa’s starts pulling you back and ignoring Elea for a bit until giving her attention.
Little by little you start to get your wife back and Elea’s overly attached bond with Melissa starts turning into a normal bond and Elea even starts bonding with you now.
By end of September, Melissa has you back in her arms, where you should be and a cute puppy with a normal relationship bond with both of you. She fully admits she went a little puppy crazy and forgot about the other important person in her life. But now she’s back to holding you in one arm while Elea is snuggling on both of you.
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#melissa schemmenti x reader#melissa schemmenti x oc#melissa schemmenti x you#melissa schemmenti#x reader#fanfic
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Oh ho ho im going to play into my moments of apathy so much with mafia moshie on the bad days
Poor baby forgot what sleep is and everyone just thinks it is normal for them because they're part void
Everyone is in the dark, because they technically don't need sleep for survival so it should be fine right?
#for those that dont know the context when i dont get enough sleep or am overwhelmed by too many feelings#i basically hit what i call an emotion wall and my feels kind of just woosh#idk what else to call it#disassociating feels close but not quite?#mafia au#moshieee tales#little personal in the tags so over here it goes
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i love these tags this person is so right
actually, can you imagine if dave was raised by B1 roxy?
i wanna get into this actually
(ok i had to spend a few hours rewriting this because IT DIDNT FUCKING SAVE AFTER FIVE HOURS OF WRITING WHEN MY COMPUTER UPDATED WHILE I WAS AFK so it would mean a lot to show this post some appreciation. i LOVEEE hearing what other people have to say)
even though these things mom does are presented in an extravagant, kitsch, jokey way, her intentions always came from a place of sincerity. she is simply Funnie
but rose reads too far into it and assumes things that aren't there, that her mother is passive-aggressively feigning interest in rose's interests simply because the things she does are so extra. "why do all of this if not to mock me"
im telling you right now if dave lived in this household he wouldn't assume antagonism, he'd go,
don’t forget who LITERALLY patented tangible jpeg artifacts as their post-scratch adult self and scattered shitty scummed up statue of liberties all over the planet. theres no way some of that overboard artful shit wasnt post-ironic / circling back around to genuine funny sincerity
dave's natural state is funny sincerity like roxy. he's had the natural capacity for this type of humor from the start and this is the direction he goes towards when he grows out of his brother's shadow by the end of the comic. dave and roxy share an earnest “so bad its good” type of humor
(lots more under the cut; the length of this meta analysis just got unwieldly with all the pictures and whatnot)
despite the alcoholism, roxy is a supportive mother. she's not the ideal guardian but hells of a lot more supportive of her kid than bro is. if she knew dave's interests she would totally indulge in them with some over the top silly goofy haha shit as a genuine gesture simply because she loves him
rose isn't too keen on it though. but she is more similar to dirk in her natural state of thinking of overthinking shit and assuming the worst, like the tags said
and yes dave got the sweet cuddly yet sometimes backhanded ouppy gene from roxy, probably even moreso lol
roxy's even said rose "sounds like girl dirk"
side tangent here, but this is something i wanna talk about.
i dont think bro should ever be in custody of children ever but if theres anyone who would be up to the task it's rose probably. i know she'd be able to keep up with him. not only does she have a defined personality (dave is more malleable and absorbs his environment like a sponge), if anyone can pick apart B1 dirk's batshit brain and probably be right on the money it's her. lil cal has been pumping patriarchal nonsense into bro's head and rose would be able to bring the fucking facts to the table without losing her own and being a living example of a badass little girl. i also don't think bro would try to force masculine roles onto rose like he did with dave, seeing as she is a girl, so she would actually have more of a leg up and get some passes that dave was never afforded. and rose wouldn't stand idly and accept any bullshit; she is no doormat. and i think this would earn bro's respect
but anyway, from this, couldn't we conclude roxy "sounds like girl dave"?
yeah okay. we havent even gotten into their penchant for funny typos or misspeaks, deliberate or otherwise
so, dave's environment
the sentiment "god you hope you can be as good as your bro at this some day" might have been genuine at the time when he idolized bro but of course he's not able to express that in any sort of sincere fashion because he's in dirk's fucking household. and this level 10 irony shit isnt doing dave any favors
his role models were the Internet and a vague idea of what Bro was like. So he built up his facade based on irony–not the literary definition of irony, as Rose might be quick to point out, but a popular concept of irony based on the idea that things that didn’t make sense actually made sense in some roundabout way. As a master of irony, Dave probably reasoned, he could see in a way other people couldn’t why a world that was scary and didn’t make sense really did make sense, and could therefore convince those people that he was superior to them. And he would wield his knowledge to maintain the appearance of superiority by calling everything ironic and pretending he didn’t care about things that didn’t make sense, and he would use walls of vaguely rhyming words to keep everyone at arm’s length so they wouldn’t discover his insecurities
(source)
roxy's style is the embodiment of post-irony. being raised by mom lalonde would be like being raised by joel vinesauce ok
what can i say ….. (getting meta about this actually, hussie got these jpeg wizard wallpapers from a spyware website. link takes some time to load because internet archive)
rose is quick to read post-irony as actually being a joke/insincere, which in bro's case would be true. but i believe dave's natural instinct, outside of the influence of bro, is to read post-irony as genuine, which is exactly how mom serves it. we see this as early as act 3 from him; he understands her motives better than rose does herself:
and in act 6 intermission 2 i think it's pretty clear
but the thing is, it's always genuine from her. dave wouldn't have to second guess it because he's not one to naturally second guess someone's sincerity; that was learned due to his bro being virtually unassailable
there two types of ironies at play here:
seems like a joke, is actually genuine (roxy)
doesnt seem like a joke, is actually a joke (dirk)
you can make the argument that the second is is more psychologically destructive because it makes you question the reality of what is genuine sentiment and what isn't. dave never knew what was genuine and what was irony so he just sort of existed in this sincerity-ironic limbo and always did the opposite of what he genuinely felt on principle even if it always did originate from a genuine place.
"it just a joke bro i was just being ironic i dont actually x" is so much more trust-breaking and psychologically damaging than "wait are you being serious" / "i am being so fucking fr rn davy gravy" / "ok thats actually pretty fucking awesome. giant ass wizard statue" / "RIGHT"
how much about dave would change do you think? his character arc would be completely different for one thing, i think he'd have it good aside from mom's alcohol issues. he'd be left with the sweet and funny parts of him that we see at the end of the comic. the fake coolguy stuff is out, but this remains. this is dave in his element and we see it as early as act 1
he'd probably have no shades growing up in the lalonde residence* either cause those were given to him by bro straight out of the crater as an extension of his own cool image. and john gave dave ben stiller’s aviators for his 13th birthday to replace them so he could “spread his wings”
dave said he was wearing them for the ironies but i kind of doubt it. maybe post-irony but there was some reacharound to it being genuine because dave never put those pointy anime shades on his face again.
*though... it’s kind of hard to imagine him without his shades at all? B2 dave still got stiller’s shades from stiller himself so maybe getting them is a universal constant. i can imagine mom getting him them as a birthday gift cause shes pretty wealthy and probably could buy it out in an auction. but also itd be cool if john still gave him it as a gift
dave is actually a lot more genuine and easy to read than he lets on even when grappling with his upbringing with B1 dirk (again, see this post). this can be seen all throughout he comic but a good example is the evolution of thoughts about his interest in the preserved dead things in his room:
if B1 roxy was dave's guardian he probably WOULD have pursued paleontology because she wouldve indulged him in it and probably find it cool and worthwhile to pursue, instead of allowing dave to flounder under ironic detachment, being poisoned by irony to the point of gaslighting himself into believing he doesnt actually believe he thinks this shit is cool.
even if it was indulged in this such a way; a superficially kitsch and ironic appearing presentation, it comes from a genuine place and inspires genuine interest. just read the comments.
basically, i think if B1 roxy raised dave, their relationship would have a surface level appearance of being bizarre or over-the-top but they’d have an unsaid mutual understanding that it’s completely in earnest and just build on each other's funny and absurd gestures of affection. rather than seeing it as one-upping each other, it'd more like collaboration of some silly bullshit that you take a step back and look at full and just say, "fucking incredible"
speaking of paleontology, mom had the proto-ectobiology lab. maybe they'd be able to use the equipment to appearify paradox ghost imprints of the dead shit to create paradox clones of things from the cambrian era??? sounds like a fun mother son bonding activity. and theyd actually put the sciencey shit in the household to use
oh god i know exactly the kinds of music shed listen too also growing up as a teen in the 80s. she on that (post)-punk/art rock/new wave/new romantic mtv stuff. XTC shit fr. this is a B-52S HOUSEHOLD. maybe the associates for the campy melodramatic flair. so he gets to keep the record on his shirt cause he is an enjoyer of the shit in her vinyl collection. dave would still gravitate towards musical expression and music itself but of more variety outside of just rap, with an 80s-90s, even 70s flavor due to mom’s influence. see this for perhaps a glimpse. she probably visited new york city a lot for business trips and because the music scene was cool as hell around that time, imports came straight from jfk airport, she probably got in on that a bit and have remnants in the form of vinyls and cassettes. in this way she could be distributing void to dave (influencing him with forgotten / presently irrelevant music). now he can REALLY rave about bands none of his friends have heard of. “hey davy grvay watcha listenin to” (he holds up vinyl cover) “omg snakefinger”
btw dave lalonde would look like this to me
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strange perfections
in which spencer reid and fem!reader meet by accident at a coffee shop. and then they keep meeting there. they've really got to stop meeting like this. (no, seriously. hotch is pissed.) / do you believe me now? bonus chapter!
fluff!
warnings/tags: meet cute:) some dark humor, romantically inexperienced reader, spencer reid graduated from caltech, mit, and the derek morgan school of rizz
a/n: this can absolutely be read as a standalone BUT it was written as a prologue for my series do you believe me now? to explain how spencer and r met! completely optional, if you're only here for the smut no worries! reading this bonus chapter might make the next chapter better though as it contains discussions of how they met:) anyway, I LOVE YOU!! let me know if you like this silly little random thing! kisses
The café door opens again. A blustery wind raises goosebumps on your arms and makes your bones ache again. You look up at the latest intruder—a hobbling elderly man in a newsboy cap and a knit red scarf.
Stupid scarf, you think.
Stupid door.
Stupid wind.
Your mug is empty, and the table you’re sitting at is sort of sticky and rickety, and there are so many papers in front of you that you wonder why the hell you thought it’d be a good idea to print the PDF out and annotate it that way instead of just doing it on your laptop like a normal person in the 21st century. Nothing is going right today. It’s the third café you’ve tried in the past few weeks as you attempt to find some place that feels homey, lucky, but this one just feels… inconvenient.
You look at the stack of papers and sigh.
Stupid Lord Byron.
Stupid cafe.
Usually, cafés are relatively quiet and peaceful—a refuge for the overworked to bask in the luxury of quiet jazz and the smell of dark roast as they continue to overwork themselves. This particular establishment, however, today hosts a group of teenagers—presumably playing hooky—who have commandeered a big booth in the back and keep walking right past your table because apparently they couldn’t have just ordered their drinks at once and they all have to do it separately and loudly.
One of them has an incredibly irritating, gratingly pubescent laugh, and they think everything is hilarious. This whole situation is unbearable.
Just as you’re gearing up to go, of course the fucking door opens again. This time, it’s accompanied by a particularly strong gust.
Strong enough that Lord Byron doesn’t stand a chance.
Your printed copy of his works blows off the table, at first page by painstakingly annotated page and then before you can even process it, all at once.
Yeah. This is definitely not your lucky café.
As you curse and go to stand up, you run into one of those dumb kids. His huge ceramic mug goes flying, careening against the edge of your table and completely splattering you and all your stuff in 16 liquid ounces of scalding espresso and milk.
It’s silent for a second, save for a few drips from the puddle on your table to the floor, before the kid is apologizing profusely and turning red as a tomato. You can’t even respond—you look down at your ruined favorite sweater, and then around at the pages of Byron littered with color-coded sticky notes, overflowing with angry and purposeful red ink that you spent so much time on, scattered all over the floor.
Eventually the boy catches on that you’re not going to forgive him and he skitters away, back to his friends, who whisper and giggle profusely. Only a few of them get up to start gathering the fallen pages with you. Several other patrons end up helping as well, so the sheets of paper are gathered and returned into your sticky hands fairly quickly. You thank each person without looking up as they hand you their respective stack. All you want is to get out of here.
“Here—I’m really sorry about this,” someone says—a tenor-ish male voice, distinctly sympathetic as he holds out a rather larger stack of papers than anyone else had bothered to pick up.
“I’ll live,” you sigh, straightening up. “But thank… you.”
The man standing in front of you is the kind of man who makes you want to untuck your hair from its usual spot behind your ears, and to stand up straighter, and to try and not stare even though you want his attention. He’s gloriously beautiful in a way that repels and attracts you. He’s the type of man who wouldn’t have given you the time of day in high school and probably wouldn’t now. Instantly you feel both insecure and reduced to a former version of you who would simper and fawn over boys who wanted nothing to do with her. You feel like going to the other side of the café and sitting in the best light and staring out the window poetically and hoping he’s looking at you.
“On the one hand, I feel bad for being the person who opened the door and let the wind in. On the other… I feel compelled to say at least they’re not covered in coffee like the rest of your table is?”
You laugh vacantly, a second too late, positively coveting the awkward smile on his angular face. Then you make eye contact, and his eyes are so the opposite of angular—they’re huge and inviting and the warmest golden-brown you’ve ever seen, and they’re looking right back at you—and you have to look down. Fuck. You hate when you do that.
Think of something normal to say!
“Yeah, true. Now I just have to reorder 264 pages. That… that don’t have page numbers.”
You shuffle through the papers. They are hopelessly scrambled. Your heart sinks just a bit.
“Um… I might actually be able to help with that, if you want?”
You frown, glancing up. What kind of sex trafficking ploy is this?
“That’s okay. Might be easier with just one person.”
He laughs—it’s similarly awkward, similarly endearing.
“Do you mind letting me just… try? It’ll only take a minute.”
Only take a minute? Is this beautiful man deranged? Why are the hot ones always crazy?
But, perhaps because you’re a pushover who can’t stand up to people, much less beautiful people, much less beautiful men who are paying you undue attention, you find yourself giving in. You hold the stack out.
“Sure. Give it your best shot. I’ll be impressed if you can even figure out what page one is.”
He’s already flipping through the papers with a drawn brow, walking away with them, and barely looking over his shoulder as he mutters, “I have Byron memorized. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”
You follow him, because hello, he has all your annotations. He’s definitely insane, you think, as he sits down at a table and starts rapidly sorting the sheets into separate piles.
All you can do is stand awkwardly behind him as he stacks papers seemingly at random, barely glancing at them before deciding where they go.
Maybe a minute, maybe a few go by, each of which have you progressively more flabbergasted, before he’s tapping the edges of a stack of paper on the table and standing, handing them to you with his lips pressed into a thin pleasant line. There’s almost a glow about him—like he couldn’t be more in his comfort zone.
“There you go. Should be in order now.” You sport a frown bordering on a grimace as you take the stack and flip through it a bit. Sure enough, it seems that everything is in order. You keep looking between the man in front of you and the papers, incredulous as you wait for something to be in the wrong spot.
“How did you do that?”
His cheeks turn slightly pink.
“I know Byron really well. I know how each passage ends and begins so I put them together like puzzle pieces.”
“How did you read that fast?”
“Uh. I’m a speed-reader?”
You scoff, taking another look through the stack.
“I think that may be underselling it.” A thought occurs to you as you’re grazing over one of your longer annotations—full of expletives and strong opinions. “Oh, god. You didn’t… you didn’t read my notes?”
The man’s eyebrows raise as if he was waiting for you to mention that and he smiles like he doesn’t quite know how to break it to you gently.
“Maybe a few,” he eventually decides, laughing under his breath. “I appreciated the commentary on his relationship with Augusta. It was… colorful.”
Heat rises in your cheeks as you mumble.
“Yeah, I had a hard time appreciating the romantic poems. They’re less cute when there’s like a fifty percent chance he’s writing about his sister.”
“Half sister,” he corrects. You give him a look.
“Does that make it better?”
“… no,” he realizes. “Not even a little bit.”
You laugh, relieved that his face looks as warm as yours feels.
“Well… thank you, for the help,” you say after a silent second.
“Of course. Sorry, again. I, um—I hope your day gets better?”
“Yeah, well. I feel like statistically it has to, right? It’s kind of a low bar.”
He smiles, a perfect, perfect smile, and gives you a little wave as he leaves. Without coffee. Checking the clock on the wall, you realize it’s approaching one in the afternoon. If he’d been here on his lunch break, he sacrificed it to organize your stupid Byron texts. You smile to yourself.
He was totally in love with me.
And he can’t prove me wrong because I’ll probably never see him again.
All things considered—this coffee shop does seem pretty lucky. Maybe you’ll stick with it for a while.
The next time you see the mysterious sexy speed reader is four days later—though you’ve been here every day since. He catches your eye right as he walks in, and his brows jump in pleasant recognition. You smile. He smiles back, before going up to the counter and ordering a coffee with a ludicrous amount of sugar in it.
I should take note for when I make him his coffee in the mornings, you think to yourself, and then you snort at your own delusions, shaking your head at your book. Obviously you’re not that divorced from reality, but you’ll entertain the fantasy forever until one of you stops showing up to this café.
What you’re absolutely not expecting is for him to walk up to your table with his to-go cup.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi!”
Jesus. Tone it down, girl scout.
He gestures to your stack of papers: now secured in a three ring binder. The cup says Spencer.
Spencer. Spencer.
It feels important.
“I see you’ve upgraded.”
“Yes! Yes, I did,” you laugh self-consciously, still struggling to meet his eyes. “Thank you for the help the other day. I would still be sorting through all of this if it weren’t for that, so… yeah. Thanks.”
“Of course! I’m glad I could be of use.”
“Spence!” Someone calls from the cafe door. You both look up to see a stunning blonde beckoning him away.
Ah. Naturally. The girlfriend who is one trillion times prettier than you.
Spence.
Reality sets in.
“Coming!” He replies, with all the eager compliance of a child, before turning back to you. “Um… well… I’ll see you?”
It’s an awkward way to say goodbye to a stranger, but you suddenly don’t care enough to dwell. Instead you nod once, less enthusiastic now that you know he has a 10 waiting for him on the sidewalk.
“I am a creature of habit.”
Another wave as he walks away.
The two disappear from the doorway, but the perpetual breeze seems to carry a snatched bit of conversation your way.
“Who was that?”
“Uh… I don’t actually know.”
Yeah. Reality definitely sets in.
Over the next few days, you break your café streak. Life is busy. There’s not always time to artfully ponder Romantic poetry and drink a six dollar coffee while waiting around for certain people to show up.
Okay, so… maybe it has more to do with him than you’re letting on. But you’re not going to do that thing you do again, where you become limerently obsessed with a man you don’t know and who is way out of your league just because you can’t form an actual attachment to anyone to save your life. Besides, you remind yourself; we probably wouldn’t be compatible anyway. He’s probably a huge loser. Or secretly a douche. Or chews with his mouth open. Obviously nobody that attractive can also have a good personality.
Not to mention he has a girlfriend. That should put you off, too.
But you hadn’t been lying when you’d proclaimed to be a creature of habit—you return to the café once you feel sufficiently detached from this Spencer character.
He’s there. Of course he’s there. Why had you been expecting for him to not be there? It’s not like he was a figment of your imagination.
This time he’s accompanied by a different blonde woman—a bespectacled blonde with a big floral headband and a patterned dress and a red cardigan and tights and heels that look self-injurious. She’s quite eye-catching; you want to keep looking at her, but you seem to draw her attention, too. Her big eyes widen minutely and briefly you wonder if you’re supposed to know her, but certainly you’d remember meeting a person like that. She doesn’t seem easily forgettable. Both of you look to Spencer at the same time, who’s looking between you with an almost panicked expression.
“Oh! Th—” the woman whispers, cutting herself off when she realizes how loud she’s being in the otherwise silent establishment. “Ah! Okay, right. Never mind.”
Spencer sighs. You want to laugh, but you’re baffled by the whole thing. So you go back to reading.
Ten minutes later, they draw your attention once more.
“Go, go ahead! It’s more problematic for you to be late than me. I’ll be like, thirty seconds tops.”
You don’t look up as Spencer leaves the café—but are you supposed to gather that these two eccentric individuals are coworkers? And what of the first blonde woman, who you’d presumed to be his girlfriend? Where is she?
While you’re wondering all of this, the new blonde teeters her way over to your table.
“Hi!” She says pleasantly, waving a purple-tipped hand and wearing the biggest grin.
“Uh… hi?”
“I’m Penelope. You’ve met my friend Spencer. He just left.”
“Oh—sort of,” you smile weakly, closing your book. “Not formally. I didn’t know his name.”
That’s a lie, but maybe feigning non-chalance will make it real.
“Well, I just wanted to come over and say I love your bag. And your jewelry and your coat. I love your whole look. I bet you’re a really cool person.”
“Um—thank you!” You perk up, smiling genuinely now. The compliment warms you—you didn’t think your look was all that interesting today. “You too. I love your outfit.”
“Great! You’re—you’re great. This is good information. Um… just out of, like, sheer curiosity, could I get your name, age, and occupation? Oh—and your zodiac sign?”
What kind of convoluted sex trafficking ploy—
“Garcia!”
Spencer is at the doorway again, looking adorably miffed.
Adorable? Get a grip.
“Wh—I’m just making a new friend! Is friendship illegal, now?”
“This is the kind of friend-making that gets you a restraining order,” he urges.
You look up at Penelope Garcia, enamored by their whole dynamic. They clearly care for each other, despite the squabbling. What kind of job do they have where they talk to each other like this?
“It’s fine,” you smile, introducing yourself to her.
“That is such a good name!” She says, and you’re getting the sense she’s kind of always this enthusiastic. “So now we know each other’s names—we should probably definitely be friends, right?”
“Yeah! Um, definitely!”
“Yes? Oh my god! I love this! Okay, um—we work at Quantico, so, we’re like, 10 minutes away—but this is better than the coffee shop that’s closest to the building, so we come here all the time. Usually it’s just us and five grouchy old men, which makes this is really exciting.”
“Quantico… that’s the FBI academy, right?”
“Other stuff, too,” she nods, still smiley.
Oh! Cool. So they’re FBI agents.
So that’s cool.
You’re cool with that.
Her phone starts ringing—she locks eyes with Spencer.
“Hotch?”
“Ooh, we are in trouble,” Penelope sing-songs, leaning down to write her number on your notebook without asking. Not that you mind, of course. She adds a little heart and a smiley face next to her name before capping your pen and toddling away. “Bye, new friend!” She calls over her shoulder, waving goodbye with just her fingers.
“Bye,” you manage, though it’s probably too quiet.
Spencer flattens his mouth into an approximation of a smile and waves again.
You accidentally find yourself mirroring his goodbye, facial expression and all. Fuck. You hope he doesn’t notice. You hope he doesn’t read into it.
Nah. Boys are dumb.
You text Penelope later that afternoon—a simple greeting so that she can save your number—and then you forget about it.
It’s not until five days go by without sign of any of them—the two blondes, Spencer, this mysterious and foreboding Hotch figure—that you start to seriously question your sanity. Did they drop off the face of the planet, or what?
But of course, just as you’re sitting at your usual table, Spencer walks in. Alone.
He sees you immediately, but instead of the wave you’d come to expect, he immediately flushes, looks down at his shoes and hurries into the small lunch-rush line.
Weird.
You corner him at the coffee bar, where he’s adding more sugar to his coffee. How are his teeth so nice if he does this to himself every single day?
“Hey,” you say, affecting casual confidence as you bus your empty mug. “… Spencer, right?”
It’s comical how you’re pretending you haven’t turned that name over and looked at it from every angle hundreds of times since the first time you heard it.
He nods, only glancing up at you as he stirs. To your surprise, he knows your name, too. When you give him an odd look, he smiles almost apologetically, finally looking at your face for longer than half a second.
“I heard you introducing yourself to Penelope. Sorry if that’s…”
“No, no! Is she around, today? I texted her last week, but she never responded...”
“Today is operating system update day, so I don’t even really have a way of knowing if she’s alive in her office.” It’s funny to him, but you just smile, baffled. He notices your silence and catches on, scrambling to explain himself. “She’s our tech analyst. There are 243 computers in our building and she has to update them all remotely, which requires getting every agent to agree to not touch their computer at the same time for an hour or so.”
“Oh… does the FBI not have, like… an IT guy, or something?”
He laughs again—the way his eyes crinkle when he does it makes you a little breathless.
“You should say that to her. I think you would become her favorite person.”
It’s hard not to smile when he’s smiling because of you—however indirectly that may be. Quickly you realize you’ve both been standing in front of the coffee bar for too long.
“Alright, well… tell her good luck, for me?”
“I would, but I’ve been kicked out for an hour while she does the updates.”
Your brow furrows and you laugh.
“From the whole building? You just can’t keep your hands off your computer for an hour?”
“Not if I want to do my job, no. And I am kind of obsessive about my job. I’ve been the reason she had to start the whole process over again before and I’d rather not be that person again.”
You say it before you can think too hard.
“Well, if you have an hour to kill… there’s an open seat at my table? No pressure, obviously.”
And that was the first of thousands of hours you would come to spend with Spencer Reid.
After that, it sort of becomes a regular thing. He comes almost every day—except for occasional week or so long stretches, which you have discovered are a part of his absolutely fucking insane job—and sits with you, sometimes with Penelope, once with the other blonde, JJ, who you’ve since deduced is not his girlfriend, most often alone. Usually he can’t spare more than ten minutes, but he begins pushing it, little by little, until thirty minutes go by and you think surely his boss (the great and all-powerful Hotchner) must be beginning to notice.
One day, during your usual lunchtime rendezvous, his phone rings. He talks right on through it, like it’s not happening.
It ceases. And then it starts again.
Your head drops to your shoulder, something like pity or regret softening your features. He catches your eye and melts slightly, mid-sentence—like he knows you’re about to tell him to be responsible.
“Do you think you should…”
His hands drop from where they’d been enthusiastically positioned mid-air.
“They’ll be fine if I’m late from lunch one time. I’m usually more punctual than any of them.”
You roll your lip between your teeth—it’s not that you want to tell him to go; in fact, those delusions you’ve been harboring about your future life together are only getting worse with each inexplicable minute he entertains your company.
But his job is important.
“What if you have a case?”
“Then I would have gotten more calls from more people by now.”
Your head tips back as you laugh lightly at his unwavering insistence.
“I’m flattered that you so enjoy my company that much. But I can’t with good conscience keep taking up your work hours like this.”
As the laughter fades, he just… watches you, lips slightly parted, eyes intense but not entirely present.
“You’re probably right,” he finally breathes. “Maybe… you should start taking up my other hours, instead?”
Spencer Reid, you unexpected charmer.
You balk.
“Like… we would hang out? At a different time of day? Not here?”
“Those are the basic premises, yes,” he chuckles, nodding affably. “I’ve never actually seen you anywhere else. For all I know you could be a ghost eternally tethered to this building.”
“Where would this hanging out take place?”
Fuck, you’re totally being weird. His brow knits.
“I don’t know. Where else do people hang out?”
He’s not genuinely asking you, he’s gently turning you in the right direction. You charge forward blindly.
“Restaurants.”
There’s that pretty smile of his again, the one that makes all the thoughts drain from your head like cold bathwater. Though, there’s a sort of mischievous edge to it now that you haven't seen before.
“That’s certainly an option. If I asked you to hang out with me at a restaurant... would you say yes?”
You look down. God, your face feels warm.
“Would you be asking me out on a date? In this hypothetical scenario that we’ve constructed, I mean.”
Spencer seems to think about it for a moment, which fills you with unexpected panic. When you look back up anxiously, he has the same smile on his face, but his eyes are a little softer now.
“I would.”
More panic sets in—just a bit. But you don’t let what is undoubtedly a tidal wave of anxiety break through the emotional guard-dam. Keep it together. This is a good thing. This is what you wanted.
Unfortunately, you are perhaps more transparent than you’d realized. Spencer begins to look slightly worried, leaning forward in his chair.
“You don’t have to say yes. I know we don’t know each other very well, I just—”
“No!” You find yourself assuring him, though you curse yourself because you kind of want to know what he was going to say. “I would say yes. I’ve just, um—god,” you laugh gustily, self-consciously. “Sorry I’m being so weird. I’m out of my depth. Nobody’s asked me on a date before. I don’t really know the etiquette.”
Spencer chuckles.
“You’re doing great. Don’t worry about it.”
Not, what?
Not, you’ve never been on a date before?
Not, that’s crazy, or that’s weird, or how have you gone your whole life without being asked out?
With the implication being, you’re odd. Different. Maybe not in a good way.
He says none of that.
“But I should probably actually ask you, huh?” His cheeks turn pink as his laughter is redirected inwards.
“Sounds like a good first step.”
Spencer is still smiling as he says your name and it sounds so good from his mouth. It makes you sound so real.
“Will you go on a date with me?”
Butterflies in your stomach doesn't begin to brush what you're experiencing—your entire abdominal cavity is like a Monarch sanctuary.
“I’d love to.”
He seems genuinely relieved as he beams, slumping back in his chair.
“Oh, thank god. I was so nervous you’d say no. I never do that. Thank you for not saying no. Not that you couldn’t have said no—it would have been completely fine and obviously within your rights to—”
His phone rings again. Both of you are relieved that he was interrupted—but admittedly you thought his rambling was super cute.
“I should—”
“You definitely need to go.”
“Yeah,” he agrees with a still-breathless smile. “Um—what’s your number?”
You look around fruitlessly for pen and paper.
“I don’t—”
“Just tell me. I’ll remember.”
He’s so weird.
A breeze hits your skin as he opens the door. You’re already writing your wedding vows in the back of your mind as you watch him go.
#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid#criminal minds#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x you#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fic
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His Favorite Used Toy
Pairing: Valentino x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, porn work, watching, overstimulation, aphrodisiac use, marking, body cumshots, degradation, name-calling, orgasm control, eye-contact, creampie, very brief gangbang, free use, aftercare, cockwarming, protective Valentino
Word count: 0.7k
A/N: The result of horny thoughts at 3AM. I have no excuse, I won't make up excuses and I'm not sorry lmao.
All of your co-stars had their eyes on you, eyeing every inch of your naked body, but the only person you looked at was him. Valentino. You were the only one he looked at as well. Out of everyone on the set you alone held his attention. Your body, bent downwards, with three cocks already in you, your mouth, moaning before taking a fourth, your eyes glazed over from coming so many times in a row.
You kept looking at him, sitting in his chair, grinning at you and mouth one final "Come," for you to obey. Despite your body protesting from overstimulation it obeyed him, as always.
"Oh shit. There she goes again. You really want this cum huh, slut?!" The demon behind you growled out as he pushed his cock all the way in, flooding your insides with more cum. The salty taste was almost too much but you still swallowed it, much to the delight of the lankier demon in front of you.
You couldn't move when they all pulled out and moved away to give Valentino space to walk down to you. You felt his hand fist in your hair and force you to look up at him, "Hmmm. Looks like you broke her. Come here dollface." His arms picked you up and cradled you close to him. Your body bucked against him, head against his neck, your mind so fuzzy you barely registered his words. "Stop coming, you're getting jizz all over my clothes. This shit is worth more then your pussy. Or any of your holes for that matter."
His words reached you but your body wouldn't listen. You kept rolling your hips against him, "Don't stop, please more, I need- mmnh!" Valentino pushed his middle and ring finger in your mouth to shut you the fuck up. But all you did was suck on them.
"It seems like you've had a bit too much. The aphrodisiac's still in your system." He pushed you too far. His other two arms tightened around your body while the third one picked up a sheet from the bed to cover you with.
"We can take care of her Boss." One of your co-stars supplied. You shook your head and held onto him tighter. Valentino sighed, but couldn't let them know he was playing favorites.
"You had your fun with her." His sharp gaze could silence anyone instantly, except for you, who moaned upon seeing it. "Travis. Send the footage to be edited. I'm gonna take this pretty little thing to my office. No one is allowed in."
The owl demon nodded, "Understood Valentino, sir."
At least Travis was harmless. Valentino walking to his office was a bit of a blur for you, you heard him whispering in your ear, you felt his hands on you, stoking the fire deep down in your belly, rendering your hips incapable of staying still.
"Take a breather, darling." He sat in his chair and pressed you backwards by your shoulders. His heart-shaped glasses obscured eyes, but you new of the care in them. "You took a lot today."
"But Val... more..." As you grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss he didn't hesitate to kiss you back, his taste washing away the taste of cum on your tongue. Instead of salty you started to taste the sweetness. "More cock. Your cock next." You grinned up at him and rolled your hips against the bulge in his pants, "I know you wanna. You always wanna fuck me after. Claim me. Come on, what are you waiting for?"
"If I fuck you now I really will break you. Can't break one of my favorite cocktoys. I make good money of your sexy body, but I love that mind of yours too. So stop being a cumwhore and listen to me. Rest. Understood?" He used his dominating voice this time, his glasses placed away on the desk and his hands digging into your thigh.
"Yes, Val." You complied with a shaky breath.
"Good girl. Tell you what, to make sure you behave I'll give you this." Two of his hands lifted you up, the other two unzipping his pants and pulling out his hard cock. You smiled down at him, your lips parting more and more with every inch that filled your abused pussy. "There. Will that make you calm?"
You nuzzled further against him, your pussy finally feeling good again. "It's a start."
"Needy little slut." Valentino kissed the top of your head. Affection was rare for the Overlord, but not non-existant.
#hazbin hotel x reader#valentino x reader#hazbin hotel imagine#valentino imagine#hazbin hotel headcanon#valentino headcanons#hazbin hotel fanfiction#valentino fanfiction#hazbin hotel smut#valentino smut#hazbin hotel x you#valentino x vox#hazbin hotel x female reader#valentino x female reader#hazbin hotel#valentino#hazbin hotel valentino#hazbin valentino#smut drabble#x female reader
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Portgas D. Ace Headcanons 01
Excuse me Oda-sensei, but that 40 year old Ace is simply criminal.
Thank you so much for blessing us with him
Anyway! Have some Husband!Ace headcanons
For more Ace content please head to my Tumblr MasterList
Ace is, respectfully, a huge simp for his wife
To the extent that the Whitebeard crew straight up jokingly awarded him with a “Biggest Wife Simp” Award
They made it look official and had Whitebeard sign it and everything. There's even a stamp.
Ace has it framed and hung proudly on the wall next to your bachelor’s degree / college diploma / degree in general.
I feel like despite his own personal insecurities, Ace still manages to be an amazing father
I imagine Ace originally setting out for like one or two kiddos at most (because y'know...what if he's not good enough) and ending up with 3 or 4 kids
Thing is, that’s both your faults.
Ace is tender and goofy with his kids, and he’s so friggin caring: to the extent that…well wouldn’t it be neat to see him with maybe another 2 or 3 kiddos of his own?
(Your husband is hot okay?)
In his case, he swears you have a unique glow about you when you’re pregnant. But more than that when he sees you with your first born, he suddenly wants a big family with you.
I imagine his kids are an eldest son, then his princess, then the youngest boy who takes after his uncle Luffy.
His kids aren’t parentified. He keeps his issues far, far, away from them. Besides, he’s got you by his side.
He was dedicated to making sure they got as much playtime as possible.
He heard about learning through play, and he is DEDICATED to doing that as much as possible
Ace’s kids are spoiled with affection, but not spoiled brats.
While it’s true he’d give them the world, he’d rather let them go get it themselves.
For example: when they asked for a tree house, he gave them the greenlight immediately.
But they had to build it themselves.
It was a super fun project lasting a little over two months with the whole family involved.
Oh and the Whitebeard crew helped too.
It took a while to get the design down initially, then the shopping logistics and whatnot (they used a lot of math here - see education via play)
Building the thing took maybe a weekend or two because the Whitebeard Crew and even the Strawhats came over to help
(It was mostly Franky and Usopp doing work, Sanji was cooking with Thatch)
Uncle Luffy was not allowed near the construction zone after an accident.
They almost destroyed the tree house with their partying once
Ace’s kids were not happy and no one was allowed in the backyard for the rest of the night
He makes sure they have proper manners and self-defense skills
You had to help out here, no lie.
He admitted he needed your help, especially after a dinner with Garp where Makino tagged along to see Ace again
He puts all of his kids into martial arts classes
especially his princess - he’s so proud of her when she beats up bullies
He’s not great at discipline though to be honest. He probably goes about it similarly to Garp.
Ace will not tolerate any of his kids being nasty to their mother. No matter the phase.
You will have to hold him back if you want to let them get their frustration off their chest.
He’ll let them talk, but you’ll have to keep a hand on him somewhere, his arm, his hand, his knee, his shoulder, his back and rub soothing circles
Let’s just say, “talk shit, get hit,” is Ace’s attitude towards anyone being demeaning towards you (more so with adults, not his kids, but that's why they get a scolding)
"Ace my love" (he melts every time you call him that) "the kids’ll start thinking you love me more than them if you do that"
"My kids won’t disrespect their mother though!"
"They’re just venting darling, and when they say or do something that violates my boundaries, I'll be sure to reinforce it. Lead by example right?"
If they ever feel like pissing Ace off for fun they can just say something kinda not nice about you and he'll get mad and they'll flee from him giggling like the little gremlins they are
Ace is veeeeeeeeerry physically affectionate and he isn’t shy about it at all.
At gatherings with the Whitebeard family, he will gladly seat you in his lap, he will happily hug you as you are seated.
His arm is on your waist most of the time.
They tease him to make him tone it down, he does not.
He, in fact, dials it up. Turns up the heat lol.
You have kids? Not in front of them? What do you mean, not in front of the kids? It’s important they know just how much he loves their mama!
So he will continue to be playful with his hugs and kisses and other displays of affection.
It’s nothing too over the top. Just hugs and quick pecks wherever.
Your entire head is fair game for his smooches, your arms (he loves kissing your pulse and then making eye contact, sneaky guy that he is), your shoulders.
Maybe lifting you and spinning you around. Cuddles. Little bites.
He will play-wrestle his kids to “fight” them over getting to cuddle you, and then he’ll just put all his weight on all of you in a group cuddle
Just to let you know, your kids also receive all the warmth and love of his affections.
When his sons are still tiny and adorable, he smooches them all over. The kisses grow less frequent as they grow older, but the hugs do not stop.
Oh no, hugs galore.
Ace still pecks his little princess on her forehead though
When they’re all under ten he’ll wrap them in a hug (after he chased them down and caught them so they’re laughing and screaming) and start smooching their cheeks while they laugh and try to get out of his grasp
Also yes she’s his princess, but that girl has no problem throwing a fully grown man twice her size around, he made sure of it.
I reiterate: Ace is not remotely shy about displays of affection
Like his eldest could have a friend over, and Ace would still launch a full scale hug attack using the rest of his troops (daughter/youngest)
It's complete with screeching, screaming, and a lot of laughter
His kids used to get teased for it, but it didn’t take more than a few conversations for them to instead jeer at the kids that teased them.
"You’re all jealous your parents don’t love you like ours do"
"How sad, your parents don't hug and kiss you"
Their dad, grandpa, uncle - uncles really, are all gremlins - it's in their DNA
The kids are really physically affectionate with each other as a result
Deadass they’ll be kicking the shit out of each other one second and the next they’ll be all cuddled and huddled up playing Mario Kart or something
Ace is his kids’ hero.
His sons aspire to have his level of fitness.
His daughter, when she’s older, uses him as a standard for dating
You're relieved
Ace is touched and a touch nervous, because he is aware of his shortcomings, though he works hard to keep improving
Of course when you look at him, a twinkle in your eyes, and tell him, “I’m so proud of her, I’m so proud of you!” He feels better
When you continue: “if she can find a guy like you, who cherishes her as much as you cherish me, I’d be so happy.”
Ace loves you so much he swears
#portgas d ace x reader#portgas ace x reader#portgas ace x you#one piece x reader#one piece x you#portgas d ace x you#portgas d ace fluff#portgas d ace#portgas d ace fanfic#one piece fanfiction#one piece#ace one piece
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Sin Summer (Ghost)
Rating: E (MDNI)
Words: 3.8k
Tags: Ghost x f!reader, tinder au, oral (f!receiving), piv sex, fingering, dirty talk, meet and fuck, pwp, reader sleeps around and no one blames them
Summary: You finally meet up with your faceless tinder guy and he quickly takes the number 1 spot on your hookup list.
a/n: When I say nothing is abandoned I mean NOTHING.
Part 1, Part 3
You're a little nervous when Saturday rolls around, but not any more nervous than you usually are. You're meeting in a public place, and if things break bad you can always scream. Hell if things break good Ghost promised to have you screaming. So one way or the other you get to be loud.
You don't even know who you're looking for, standing outside the bar and waiting for someone to... grab you? Usually you have a photo and can look around but Ghost was insistent that wasn't going to happen. You stare at your phone, at the open tinder dm and the promise from Ghost that he'd find you. He better not be a catfish or you're going to have to do some serious soul searching on your ability to be fooled on this app.
A large firm hand touches your shoulder and you quiet your startle response to something more reasonable for someone camped outside a bar.
"Easy love," his voice is so deep and rough, you pray this is Ghost, because you have to hear this voice dirty talk you. You have to look up to meet his eye. Which is just about the only thing you can meet since he's wearing a mask. You recognize the bottom of it, sort of, from one of his pictures. If nothing else the skeletal jaw print sort of lends itself to a name like Ghost.
"Ghost?" You ask hesitantly, if it's not him you'll sound like an idiot but the way his brows raise at your question give the same answer his voice does.
"The one and only."
"Faceless in person too, huh?" You really don't know what to say, never know what to say at the initial meeting. You both know what you're here for, but it's not like you can really say it.
"Try to be. Still got a mouth under here though, don't you worry." You feel the heat bloom over your cheeks at the same time you notice his eyes crease at the corners. You think he might be teasing you.
"You pull it up to drink I guess," you fish for something to say. Ghost shakes his head.
"Only comes off for one thing tonight sweetheart, and it's not drinking." His voice, God his voice, you think he could read the ingredients on a shampoo bottle and you'd get off on it. Your stomach clenches, eyes darting to his army fatigues. You really hope those are just for fashion.
"What the fuck are we at a bar for then?" You ask a little breathless. Ghost stares up at the bar sign.
"Gotta at least pretend I'm a gentleman," he tells you, "you said we were near your hotel, yeah?"
You grab his hand and very nearly drag him back to your hotel. Fuck it. If he is army you're not getting fucked in a barrack when you've got a perfectly good mattress at the hotel. You're sure he'd appreciate a shower with just the two of you in it as well. If he even wants to spend the night... do you want him to spend the night? If it means morning sex then absolutely.
It turns out Ghost's mask goes up for more than one thing, though you're given very strict instructions to keep your eyes closed for at least half of them.
Eyes closed when he kisses you. His hands are so big, rough with scars and callouses when they cup your face and tip your head back. You think you feel scars on his lips too, the softness of them cut with a raised lines of something, but you can't bother paying too much attention to them. His kissing leads you to believe some very promising things about his head. Lips sliding against yours firm and hungry before you try to get a breath in and he doesn't let you, deepening the kiss with an insistent tongue that makes your head spin from more than just lack of oxygen.
You love a confidant man. A man who kisses you like you're all that he wants, that he needs. You both know you're more than willing, but he still kisses you like you need convincing. His tongue slides against yours, licks into your mouth; he groans when you suck on the wet muscle. Ghost makes a quiet noise into the kiss, soft and a little desperate. You don't know if you'd considered how much he might want you when you'd started this.
"Ghost," you sigh when his lips leave yours and attach themselves to your neck. He hesitates, like it's the first time he's heard his name said like that, before diving in to bite you, hard. You tip your head back further with a gasp, the ache of his teeth against your skin makes you squirm, makes heat pool between your legs. You shiver as his tongue rolls over the bruise, his hands tugging at the bottom of your tee. You're careful to keep your eyes closed when he lifts it over your head. "Pants too," you hum.
"Don't gotta remind me," he tells you, fingers already skimming your belt. He barely gets it undone before he pushes his hand into your pants. His tongue clicks admonishingly, fingers skimming your wet panties. You do your best not to follow the firm strokes. "You're really desperate for me, aren't you?" His low tone hits you right where his fingers do. You're glad you're looking at the ceiling and not him, the way he makes your skin heat.
"You're my type," you tell him honestly, hips following the rub of his fingers. Screw it, if he's going to tease you, you're going to enjoy it.
"You should get better taste." You wish you could argue with that, but considering who you brought home he's probably right. You settle on humming, not willing to make a solid noise of agreement or disagreement when he's got his hand down your pants.
You close your eyes when he moves, when he hauls you up to position on the bed. His hand covers your eyes, warm and calloused, and big. It's firm, steadfast, you're almost enjoying the makeshift blindfold situation. Ghost's lips latch onto one of your nipples, sucking and rolling his tongue over the hardening bud. The heat of his mouth makes you squirm, the bite of his teeth just at the edge of too hard. He sucks and laves his tongue over you like he can't get enough of the feeling. You let a whine slip free and he moves his attention to the other one.
His fingers rub you through your underwear, working you up to soaking with practiced precision. Three firm fingers dragging up and down your slit, stopping to circle your clit with each stroke. It's warm pressure that makes your hips cant, chasing the movement. He's teasing you, keeping you just at the edge of eager while he enjoys himself with your breasts. You squirm a little and his touch slides further up to occupy itself with the waistband of your panties. You pull your legs up to help him get them off.
Ghost seems to switch gears as soon as they're gone. His hand leaving your eyes to grip under your knees, settling your legs on either side of him and pushing them up towards your chest. He trails his mouth down your stomach, nipping and licking at the soft skin, leaving his mark against your hip before he slips between your legs.
Keeping your eyes closed makes it hard not to flinch when his tongue drags over your slit. Broad strokes as he tastes you, his fingers spread you open so he can wiggle it between your folds and you press your hips into his touch. The hot drag of his tongue as it circles your hole makes you squirm, which makes him chuckle, deep and dark.
"You want me to hold you down?" He offers, the sound of his voice making heat rush over your skin. You shake your head and feel his broad shoulders shrug, you slide your legs over them and squeeze your thighs around his head. You feel him turn and bury his teeth in the soft flesh of your thigh.
It distracts him, you think, when he releases his teeth he runs his tongue along your skin, kissing and sucking at your thigh. His lips are appreciative, even when you squeeze him again. He's teasing you, he's so close to where you want him, working you up without ever touching your pussy. Your stomach jumps, warmth from his breath ghosting against your wet cunt. "I know baby," He groans, "gorgeous-" He cuts himself off, his lips pressing against your leg again before they leave you.
You almost open your eyes again when he fastens his mouth over your clit. You're so on edge waiting for him to touch you that you curl into his mouth, your fingers gripping his short cropped hair. His tongue rolls over your clit sending shocks up your spine. Your stomach jumps and you gasp as he sucks at your cunt, tugging at your clit and kissing your slit. He stirs heat in the pit of your stomach with each stroke of his tongue. Ghost's mouth is like a furnace, one that seems desperate to avoid parting from you. You hardly get a break from his insistent tongue, the sucking kisses, and the groans of deep satisfaction.
Ghost doesn't stop for a second, and the constant attention winds itself tight in the pit of your stomach. You whine, tug at his hair to pull his mouth closer, to keep that delicious suction that makes you want to writhe. He hums around your clit as you feel pressure build quick, before you can even warn him. Your whining grows more insistent as everything goes tight then spasms against his tongue as you come. Ghost doesn't give you a break, tongue stroking your clit as you clench and shake under him.
You jerk your hips when you feel his thick finger circling your hole, and his mouth leaves you. Only long enough to click his tongue and settle a hand on your stomach. He pushes your hips down against the bed, and eases his finger into your still fluttering cunt. "Gotta open you up love, relax." He tells you.
His finger is thick, thicker than some of the guys you've slept with, and you let out a soft noise at the gentle stretch. Ghost hums his encouragement, pumping his finger in and out of your cunt. He kisses your thigh again; you tip your head ever so slightly down and he clicks his tongue again. "Eyes up," He reminds you. You tip your head back, though you ache to get a look at the mouth that so expertly took you apart. The mouth that seems to still be trying to take you apart, because as soon as your head is back he's licking your clit again.
Your too sensitive, you have to force yourself to stay still, though his hand holding you down helps. You can hear the wetness between your legs, from his mouth, from his fingers, from your drooling cunt. Ghost hardly gives you a moment to adjust to the feeling, crooking his finger to stroke against your walls while he sucks. You clench around his finger and feel his tongue lap a broad stroke over your cunt in return. He waits for you to relax again before easing a second finger into you.
The burn of the stretch, just a bit too soon, is perfect. His fingers tug at your hole, sliding slickly in and out of you. It's just enough to make you feel full without filling you. Fuck it's good. Ghost strokes your walls, his fingers easing the stretch with gentle movements. He presses up against your soft spot and you let out a breath. You can hear the smile in his voice when he mumbles,
"There she is."
It's the only warning you get before his fingers are thrusting into you with a purpose. Short, quick, and precise, hitting your sweet spot with every stroke. Your stomach jumps and you clench around his fingers. He sits back, his hand leaving your stomach to hold your legs up, keep you from gaining any leverage as your back arches and you moan. He seems to have a direct line to your pleasure center. Each stroke of his fingers tightens in the pit of your stomach and makes your hips squirm to try and get away from the unrelenting jab of his hand. He's quick and experienced, and your legs shake over his shoulders.
You suppose it should be a relief when he removes his fingers just before you come a second time, and settles your feet on the bed. "Wanna watch you squirm," Ghost's voice is rough, deeper than you've heard it before. His fingers are the same, only this time when you try to get away from them he follows you. You were already on edge but this pushes you over. You buck and squirm, forcing him to fuck his fingers into you harder and faster until you shake apart with a shout and a flood of wetness. It coats your thighs, you know it coats his hand. It makes him groan. It doesn't make him stop. "Again," He tells you, his fingers still working you up quick. You don't have time to recover, your legs only pull up against your chest, desperate to curl in on yourself as the pleasure turns to pain and then pleasure again.
You come with your head thrown back and your fingers gripping the sheets. You shudder as it rips through you without warning, and once again coats Ghost's hand. He draws his fingers from you, and you hear him suck them clean. Somehow the sound makes you shiver.
Catching your breath takes priority over trying to sneak another peak at your partner for the night. You're sticky with sweat, three orgasms in, and you haven't even been fucked yet. You're buzzing just at the edge of enough. A good dick would make your night. To your side you hear the rustle of fabric being discarded. Ghost getting undressed you assume.
"Can look if you want," Ghost's voice is ever so slightly muffled, and when you do tip your head to find him he has his mask on again. You must look confused, because he shakes his head with a chuckle, and glances down to unclasp his belt. "Wanna look you in the eye," He explains, "Hard to do that with your eyes closed."
It's hard to look him in the eye anyway when he looks like that. Your eyes scour over the swell of well maintained muscle and the soft layer of fat that covers it. There are scars too, a whole host of them. They cover every inch of him, slashed over his chest, stabbed in his side, bullet holes in his shoulder and thick biceps. If you had any doubt this man saw combat it was gone now. He must be military, maybe special forces, it explains the mask.
Ghost pushes his pants down and you... well you need to rethink some things.
In your experience men who are criminally good at giving head are making up for something. Men who know how to "open you up" even more so. You swallow looking at the cock hanging between his legs, so long and heavy that it didn't spring up when he shucked his boxers. His fingers wrap around it, giving it a few good strokes with your slick as lube, and you watch the motion hungrily. He's not compensating for anything, he's just a great lay.
"How do you want me," You ask, eyes focused on the movement of his cock as he bends to grab a box from his discarded pants. He hums, tugging a length of condoms out and ripping one off.
"I'll move ya," He responds, rolling the rubber over his dick. A little shiver rushes down your spine, you like a man who knows what he's doing.
Ghost does, in fact, move you. He grabs your hips and drags you to the edge of the bed, the movement so quick and self assured it makes you giggle. His eyes crease at the edges, he's smiling you think, and he keeps smiling as he settles a knee on the bed next to you. You're quick to wrap your legs around his hips, and he's just as quick to pull them off and settle them over his arms. His big hands knead at your thighs, the extra leverage lining you up perfectly with his cock. Despite the angle, you're not using any muscles to hold yourself up, that's kind of him. Less kind when he positions himself at your entrance and tells you,
"Need you to be a good girl and take it," You gasp as he pushes into you, splitting you open more than his fingers could ever hope to, "Think you can do that?" You nod quickly, warmth dripping like honey to pool in the pit of your stomach. He didn't stretch you enough, but you think that might be the point. The ache of his cock stretching you open lets you feel every fat inch of it, every vein that drags against your walls, eased by the slick of your orgasms. Your eyes roll a little when he stops and pulls out a little. You whine, clenching to try and keep him inside, to keep that delicious stretch. Ghost groans, swears under his breath and shakes his head.
You should have anticipated him thrusting the last few inches inside. The hard thrust slapping his hips against yours forces a moan out of you. You arch in his hold, shivery, and glance between your legs as he gives you just a moment to adjust. The thick curls around his cock brush against your overworked clit and you do your best not to squirm. Not that you have much opportunity to squirm when Ghost fucks his weight down onto you. Each deep thrust hitting something achingly good inside you that makes you moan and claw at the arms holding you.
Your brows draw together looking at Ghost, he holds your gaze, his eyes piercing, dark and hungry. He's almost daring you to look away as he pounds into you. You're pinned under him, your legs forced back as he leans over you and treats you to a fountain of praise: "squeezin' me so good," "takin' it so well," "pretty little whore," "made for my cock." Your eyes roll back, the hot punch of his cock against your cervix almost too much for you. He told you to take it, you can be good for him, let him use you after he got you off so many times. That doesn't stop your legs from shaking or your voice from screaming.
There's something covetous in his eyes, something animalistic in the way he fucks you. This round is just for him, and you can take it. You tip your head back, trying to arch your back. Ghost releases his hold on your thighs and grabs you by the back of the neck, folding you back onto his cock. "No, no, sweetheart," He rumbles, leaning to press his forehead against yours, "told you, you gotta take it. Show me how a proper slag gets fucked."
Somehow this angle makes his thrusts more precise, and you truly cannot move to try and escape. You can hardly breathe, his cock fucking all the air out of your lungs. His pace just keeps getting faster, and you can see the way sweat sticks to his brow. You dig your fingers into his biceps, his thighs, anywhere you can try to get a grip as everything starts to hurt too good. You let out a squeak as the heat compounding in your stomach drips out of you. A slow trickle of orgasm that breaks into a flood on the next stroke of his cock.
It's worth it the way he growls when you clench and flutter around his cock. Ghost's thrusts becoming sharp and uncoordinated as he groans out his own orgasm. He rocks his cock into you more gently, letting your greedy pussy milk him before he lets you go to pull out. You feel like a rag doll, the way you drop and splay on the bed to shiver.
You turn over onto your stomach in an attempt not to slide off the bed as you get your bearings. Ghost is quick to scoop you up and deposit you against the pillows, the condom tied off and tossed towards the trash. You're once again moved, positioned how he likes so Ghost can pull you against his chest. You sling a leg over him and cuddle close. He smells like sweat, musky in a way that makes you want to drag your tongue along his collar.
"Twenty minutes," He tells you roughly, "I'll talk about anything but work." You hum, occupied with dragging your fingers over his squishy pecs. He flexes a little and you tip your head to look up at him.
"What?"
"We still got a dozen condoms, no sense takin' 'em home." He raises a brow. You think you're getting better at reading him, you think he's smiling. The offer is light, but sincere.
"Long as I can walk in the morning," You smile. He tips his head, like he's thinking about it.
"We'll see."
When you wake up in the morning it's to a pounding at the door. You grumble and sit up to check the time. You're alone in bed, but the shower is running. Good, he hasn't left yet. Around round six you decided you were getting Ghost's number in the morning, maybe asking him out to breakfast, perhaps even dinner. The clock says six but your brain says it's ass o'clock and whoever is banging on the door needs to gtfo.
You drag yourself out of bed and swipe Ghost's tee from the floor. A souvenir, and a nasty habit you've picked up. You root around for a pair of panties and manage to tug them on as the shower shuts off. You're making your way for the door when Ghost pops out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. You don't have time to admire the way drops of water trace over his back, or the way his hair sticks up at odd angles. He opens the door and leans against the jam.
"Dinnae dae that," Another low voice fills the room, there's something familiar about the accent, "Ya ask for a wakeup call, ya dinnae get ta glare at me."
"You're early," Ghost grumbles.
"Aye, was just so eager to see yer face LT." You pad behind Ghost and peak around his shoulder at the man in fatigues and an army green tee. You could recognize those eyes even if you didn't still feel his smile like an arrow through the heart. Icy blue in a way that makes you think he's from a different planet. Though you know it from your time in Glasgow.
"John?"
#cod x reader#x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#ghost mw2#simon riley cod#simon riley#simon riley x reader#ghost cod#ghost mwii#ghost x f!reader#x f!reader#f!reader#Sin Summer#john soap mactavish#cod smut
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the morning after • reiner braun
mornings with your husband are always fun but the one after valentines is rather eventful!
playful banter, flashbacks to heavy smut, chubby reiner, plus size black reader, mentions of anal play/toys, breeding, squirting and other slutty tings, daddy’s used, reiner being aggravating as hell 😭
word count: 1.6K
📝: goes without saying but this is so self indulgent bc why not? I need him biblically, carnally and physically. I also need to engage in hand to hand combat with him one good time.
. °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° .** . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° .** . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆
the scene was a chaotic one..a messy one indeed!..
once crispy white sheets strewn about the floor, pillows tossed to the wayside. Expensive clothing with designer tags torn to shreds as they lie in a pile in the corner near the nightstand. All a result of one thing or rather..one person in particular.
“Mmm, good morning, sugar. You look beautiful—“
“Mm, good morning to you too, sir.”
two very starkly contrasting reactions from a couple who shared equal blame in this very erratic mess that was the master bedroom of your two story ranch home. You stood before the bathroom mirror, silk robe tied around your body to match the bonnet atop your head..plumpness swaying with each step underneath as you picked at your face. Examining the aftermath of last night’s wild antics. It was Valentine's Day and to say it was your most eventful yet would be a gross understatement. Dinner in the city, giant bouquets of roses, a night at the theater, lavish gifts provided by your doting husband and of course…intense, filthy love making to end the evening. You couldn’t have asked for a more ideal night. However, you had felt the effects of what transpired and saw them too.
“What’s with the grumpy face? Why do you sound like that?” The thick country accent spouted before it was quickly overcome with loud cackling as he doubled over into the sheets. The doting husband in question was none other than Reiner Braun. Retired NFL star turned rancher and the source of your early morning headache. That was the beauty of marriage. Having that one person you could not live without but definitely could use a day or two of break away from them! And this man was no exception to the rule. “I don’t know, you tell me! You must know since you’re laughing so damn hard.” Already, he had worked you into a tizzy and you hadn’t been awake more than ten minutes at this point. Getting up to relieve yourself and examine the damage he had done. You had lash extensions that had seemed to sweat out, a slight indentation in your neck from the collar you so quickly allowed him to place around your neck and your hair? God only knew what bird’s nest was underneath this bonnet. You could’ve killed him for his little cacklefest and making light of your very distressed condition. But truthfully, you had no one else to blame but yourself. Truth was, you two brought out the absolute worst in one another. Not by way of toxic behaviors or tumultuous fights but your filthy desires. Things that you would’ve never tried or even thought of prior to meeting each other in the bedroom, all manifested once you were together. Sexual fantasies beyond anyone’s comprehension and your dirtiest secrets all shared right here. You let it all happen and consequences be damned. Enjoying each other in such carnal ways, often led to things like this transpiring and Reiner found it more and more amusing each time.
“Just pull it off, I’m sure it’s not that bad. I bet you look adorable.” “Oh, kiss my ass, Reiner! You know my hair is messed up and you’re to blame.” Shouting at your husband as he tried to conceal his laughter behind a pillow because he had already caught a glimpse of your very altered state and decided to commentate the occasion with a photo of you all disheveled; hair tousled like that of a rooster, one breast dangling from your tank top and drool coming from your mouth as you slept set to his Lock Screen..needless to say, you were not moved! “Oh it’s defintely fucked up. But ya’ look so cute! And your tits?..look amazing.” Which was of little consolation to you! But just how had this insane night come to pass? Well, you guys could only attribute it to one thing..
flashback: the night before
“Right there, baby? C’mon..moan for me.”
“Yes! Right there, take it! Fuck..”
loud, rambunctious movements sounded off from beyond the walls of your bedroom. The heavy headboard smacking against the wall as your husband’s rough hands grasped at it for leverage. Holding himself steady as he slammed into you repeatedly. Consistently deep yet sporadic thrusts filled your core with no plans to cease anytime soon. Sweat beaded from your forehead and your makeup coursed down your face like that of a stream as it melted off from the intense session. That thick, burly frame stood over your own..perspiring as well but still as energized as ever and determined to put you through this mattress! In his opposite hand, he brandished a pink leash to match the collar tied around your throat and tugged tighter to keep you reigned in. His own gift for the occasion. Along with that skin tight, latex lingerie you were sporting. Thrashing you around on his cock with brute force but you didn’t complain and in fact, begged him relentlessly for more!
“Give me that fucking pussy..open it up—thereee ya’ go.”
nodding and gliding his tongue across his lips as you placed those long acrylics to your asscheeks and spread yourself open for more working room and his viewing pleasure!…exposing that bejeweled, heart shaped plug that your other hole was sucking on at the moment. Fluttering with each thrust as those creamy strings leaked down onto it. He couldn’t get enough and neither could you, quite honestly. It felt incredible and Reiner was going to spend all night if he had to..making certain that you were well fucked and satisfied. Even if you had to crawl the next morning. Tugging that collar once more, he’d prompt you to open your mouth before filling it with spit and demanding that you rub it on your center. “That’s right, look at me when you rub that clit, sweetheart. I wanna see your pretty face when you come on this dick.” Watching and listening to you writhe and whine as you worked yourself into yet another orgasm. “I’m gonna come, daddy! Please…keep—fucking me, just like that. Just like that!” Your leg trembled whilst it dangled over his shoulder blade. Being laced with soft kisses on both your ankle and instep. His lips curled into a maniacal smile as he watched his dumb, fucked out little slut work herself into another climax. Having come a total of three times already. Once by his fingers in the living room, for a second time when he ate your pussy until tears dripped down your face and for a third now.
“T-take some ou—“ “Not a fucking chance, baby. If you wanna squirt, I suggest you do it with me inside you or hold it in. Your only choice.”
he was pounding into your core, swallowed up by that overwhelming tightness that was your cunt and Reiner did not want to pull out. Having already stuffed you with one hefty load, he wanted—no, needed to give you more! More of that healthy nut that spilled down onto the sheets and your little asshole as he fucked it out of you and brought you to your peak again. He could sense the sheer desperation on your gorgeous face; heaving and crying as you pawed at his once toned six pack. Replaced by a solid yet rounder core but still just as sexy as ever. Blonde stubble grazing your cheek as he leaned down to shove his tongue into your mouth. Sloppy, nasty pecks complete with light taps to your cheek and a palm residing on your forehead as he continued drilling you. “I said come, princess. I know it’s big but you can handle it, right?” Nodding profusely to sate his desire but alas, he wasn’t finished..not by a long shot. Rubbing profusely, (y/n) released a shrill cry as you let juices splatter all over his torso. The sounds of flowing liquids going on in spurts as he pumped that squirt out of your body.
“Good girl, I knew I could depend on you.” Cackling once more as he made one more move, one that would send shockwaves throughout your body. Tugging out that plug, he’d swiftly take its place before you had time to react both mentally and physically. Whispering into your ear:
“So I’ll reward you by fucking this pretty little ass of yours. Let’s see how you take it.”
end flashback
“You’re impossible, you know that? Got me looking a fucking mess…” mumbling off to yourself and smacking your teeth as you picked at your eyes in the mirror. Even so, he was still getting his fair share of cackles from your suffering! “Nonsense, you’re beautiful, poundcake..no matter what. Nothing could change that. If it makes you feel better, you can just take the black card and whatever you need redone, just go get it.” his statement seemed so sincere but alas, it wouldn’t last long and your adorable pout soon shifted to a deadpan scowl. “Thank you, papa—“ “..yeah, it’s something about the way you slobber when you’re snoring all loud that’s just so..sexy.” Mockingly chewing at his lip and narrowing his eyes. “Please, go to hell.” Tossing a nearby roll of tissue in his direction before he shielded it with a pillow. “I can’t yet. But I can go to Krispy Kreme. You want something?” It was official, you were locked in for the long haul with this man but you wouldn’t want it any other way!
#cherry’s works ✦⭒#selfship fic#aot x black reader#reiner braun#reiner x black reader#reiner braun x black reader#and yes he went and got my fucking plan b <3#black fem reader#aot au#cowboy reiner#reiner brainrot#aot reiner#reiner smut#reiner snk#aot smut#crack post#aot drabbles#reiner braun headcanons#reiner headcanons#reiner imagine#reiner braun imagine#attack on titan#attack on titan au#attack on titan reiner#attack on titan smut#snk smut#snk drabble#snk x black reader#snk imagines#cw smut
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I NEED YOU EXCITED, I DON'T WANNA FIGHT IT | Y. OKKOTSU
✵ tags ; established relationship, friends to lovers, afab +fem!reader, forward!reader, back and forth power dynamics, dry-humping, hickies / marking, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, riding. fingering, dirty talk, 18+
✵ wc ; 7.3k (good lord)
✵ a/n ; written with my beloved @princess-okkotsu in mind!! i hope i did your boy justice </3 and thank u for everything literally wouldn't have passed chem w/o you
so not used to have such little warnings on a fic. lol. title is from fire and desire by drake.
✵ synopsis ; yuta wants to do right by you which is why he's so determined to take your relationship slowly. well, he tries too, anyway.
Yuta Okkotsu is a believer of doing things the right way.
He repeats this to himself like a mantra as he hangs out alone in your bedroom. He closes his eyes, elbows resting on the little table, face buried in his palms. Maybe it’s closer to a form of manifestation - like if he says it with enough hooplah it will mean something more than a jumble of words and syllables.
He must clarify that he is trying to do the right thing right now. He is trying so very hard to do the right thing because Yuta Okkotsu wants to remain righteous where possible.
It’s part of his job as a sorcerer, now well into his 20’s and more conscious of the world around him. He’s strong enough to put his money where his mouth is and experienced enough to know that trying to maintain some ethical code is part of staying alive in this business.
And it’s not that Yuta considers himself particularly upright. His friends and colleagues often tell him that he’s a bit unhinged and hard to get a read on. His morals might not always align with greater society, but he never does something that goes against his own beliefs. A lot of which can be summarized quite easily ; anything to defend his comrades.
It really is so important for Yuta to try and be civil in these aspects. Lest he fall into something truly dark. Even he knows what he’s capable of, at least a little.
That’s why he’s left with no choice than burying all of his thoughts of you and using every ounce of energy he has to suppress it as deep as it can go
You know, with all the love that’s influenced his life and all of the years he’s spent learning to be less timid - none of it seems to matter when it comes down to you and him. The logistics of a relationship and the idea of one are two very different things. When it comes to your relationship, he’s been keen in adhering to his strict timeline of milestones. First date, first hand-holding, first deep kiss. It’s a matter of honoring you - because before being boyfriend and girlfriend, you were Yuta’s comrade and companion. Before your relationship status, you're his cherished and valued person.
So because he’s chivalrous. Because he’s romantic. Because he cares about you.
And also because the sheer magnitude of his desires for you perpetually leaves him in a state of distress and disarray. It’s all of the above, all at the same time. And sometimes it leaves him a little overwhelmed.
He barely manages in his daily life but this? This is torturous.
Being in your bedroom unprompted is destroying every ounce of self-restraint he’s built through these last three months. He’s made it through your relentless bullying without giving into his Earthly desires.
It’s just too ideal in a way, being in here. Everything feels like you. There’s pictures of your friends and family around the room. Everything has your scent. Your clothes are littered on the floor and hung over the back of your desk-chair. It’s so you and Yuta loves you and he’s not going to survive being in here despite it all.
It’s embarrassing. Yuta is not the timid teenager he once was. But for all the ways he’s good at standing his ground, his demeanor is all but worthless when it comes down to you.
You’re a few years his senior and you’ve always been a slippery character. He’s enriched by your curiosity of the world. You’re a researcher and archivist of cursed information, coming out of the Kyoto branch. You have plenty of accolades and always manage to teach him something new and come out of difficult things on top.
Mostly, Yuta recognizes all of the good in your heart. He really thinks very highly of you.
There was an obvious passion for your work that Yuta was endeared by in the initial stages of your relationship. Plus you were easy to talk to. You’ve been a good friend to Yuta for years now, ever since you called on him to do some research on him and Rika. And, as the years passed you became closer until one night it hit him that his feelings of admiration were a little closer to something like love.
And with big, wet tears in his eyes (and a fair bit of liquor in his system) he blubbered about his feelings for you. He isn’t sure what reaction he was expecting at the time. You were happy which was great, but there was also something so lax about it all. Yuta remembers it so vividly. The way you waltzed up to him, tucked some hair behind his ears and kissed him gingerly with all the confidence in the world. Like it mattered but it didn’t. Like nothing could be more obvious than your feelings for each other.
“I’m pretty crazy about you too, Okkotsu-san.”
After asking if that meant you were dating like the bumbling, lovesick fool he is - you officially began going out as a couple. And at first, it was smooth sailing. It wasn’t too different from your usual hangouts.
Eventually though, you had pointed out that it doesn’t really feel like you were dating. Suggested that maybe sleeping together would help break the ice a little. That was what started this moral dilemma.
Being honest, it wasn’t like Yuta hadn’t considered it. What thoughts he cooked up while alone in the sanctity of his bedroom is between him and the heavens only. It was just the way you suggested it. You saying it made it all feel so real. And Yuta wasn’t sure how to deal with that. He wants to cherish you so much that he felt like he couldn’t consider your offer too lightly.
And he told you as much, hand in yours and red-faced to which you only blew some hair out of his eyes and laughed. A simple okay, a nod, and a kiss.
Of course, if everything had been smooth sailing this would be a different thing altogether. While Yuta had declined sleeping with you too soon, you had absolutely no plans to make his life easy. He’s not sure how much of it is on purpose. Knowing you, probably a lot. You’re a smart girl, after all.
So all of your bending over and tongue kissing before going home and selfies that just border on boudoir are probably very purposeful. But he’s endured it all. He should cherish you more. He’s been determined to not give in.
The fact he’s all but ready to blow his load over just being in your room makes him feel pathetic. And maybe he is, a little. But only for you.
Yuta likes to think of himself as a collected individual. Really. He knows being this worked up over something as innocuous as his girlfriends room is ridiculous. He knows he’s being ridiculous.
But he really, really wants to uphold his beliefs here. So he’s stiff, sitting with his hands clasped and holding it together just barely.
He practically jumps out of his skin when you return to your room with a tray of refreshments.
“Woah, Yuta. You okay?”
He turns around to look at you. A mistake, apparently. His eyes land on the sight of your bare legs before he forces himself to meet your eyes. You’re so pretty to him. Always so beautiful without any effort.
“Huh? Yeah. Sorry, just got lost in thought.”
You put the tray down on the table in front of him before sitting on the edge of your bed - facing him. The distance between you is minimal. You reach out to pet the top of his head with the palm of your hand, scratching his jaw tenderly. Yuta feels loved by the touch.
“You sure? Looks like you saw a ghost.”
Your genuine worry makes his spine feel like it’ll melt. He puts his hands over yours, rubbing his cheek against your palm.
“Promise I’m okay. Just—it's nothing serious.”
“Mm. Even if it’s nothing serious, I wanna know what stuff you’re worried about, ‘kay? So tell me if you want.”
He feels unsteady but so happy.
“Thank you, my love.”
“Yeah, of course. You wanna keep sitting on the floor or…?”
The minute you ask him, he feels the hair stand up on his neck.
“The bed…?”
You give him a look of confusion before you break out into a knowing grin.
“Oh, I forgot. I mean to remain chaste, my liege. Just wanna cuddle a bit.”
“Are you making fun of me?” He asks, not masking the pout in his voice.
You tilt your head to one side, leaning back on your palms.
“A little,” You say mischievously, shrugging “I’m used to your lifestyle of celibacy.”
He frowns at you. “It’s not like that, I just want to—“
“I just want to cherish you because I love you and want you for more than sex yadda yadda yadda. I know. And I respect your wishes even if I think it’s silly.” You say, taking the words right out of his mouth. His frown deepens.
“It’s not silly to me.” He says, almost petulantly. At this, you grab his face in your hands which catches him off-guard. You knock your forehead against his, bent over to do it.
“I know that too, you dummy. The point is that I’m not trying to get in your pants right now.”
He can’t help but smile, pulling away to kiss at your wrist. You giggle.
“Well, what do you want?”
“To be wrapped up in each other like otters.”
“So romantic.”
“Right? So get up here.”
He gives in sooner rather than later. You scoot till your back is along the wall next to your bed and Yuta wastes no more time in joining you. Your bed is crazy comfortable. Just laying it in makes him want to fall asleep almost immediately. He gets cozy before directing his gaze to you in front of him. He feels like he’s gonna throw up and the only thing that’ll come out is his heart. You give him a look of amusement.
“Enjoying the view?” You tease. He laughs, leaning forward to tuck his face into your neck.
“Yeah. Smells like you,”
“So cute.”
“Don’t know how to feel about being called cute.” He says honestly. He peers up at you and you’re giggling and he can feel his heart rate sky-rocket. You twirl a piece of his hair around your index finger.
“You’re cute and cool and handsome. Better?”
“Yeah. Yes.”
“Mm,” You respond. He looks at you as your expression drifts off somewhere. He can’t take his eyes away from your face “Sorry you had to stay over.”
“It’s fine. It’d be a shame if you didn’t get anything to look over while we were there. If you make any breakthroughs, it’d be good for Gojo-sensei.”
“You still call him that even though you graduated so many years ago?”
He flushes slightly.
“Force of habit. My point stands.”
“Mhm. Thanks for being so supportive. I didn’t think it was that late, y’know? I would’ve tried to hurry if I knew,” You say thoughtfully “But I like having you over.”
He gives you a once over as he pulls away, eyes flitting to your lips. You give him a small grin.
“Kiss me.”
He looks at you apologetically.
“That’s not fair. We can’t kiss? Making out doesn’t count as intimate relations, Yuta.”
“Okay, but it can lead to them.”
“If it’s that serious, I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Wait, no.”
“Then kiss me.”
He sighs.
“Just kissing, okay?”
“Okay, you monk.”
He laughs at the comment before pressing his lips to yours tenderly. You have no such intent of leaving it that way - your hand on immediately on the nape of his neck. The softness of your tongue makes Yuta feel like there’s fizz in his head - like the water inside of him is seltzer. He thought you would at least try to give him some mercy.
He probably shouldn’t expect that from his favorite girl. He pulls away, out of breath. A little line of saliva breaks off between you. Your grin is eye-catching, like glass in the sun. Yuta wouldn’t mind burning in the magnitude of your light.
“Just kissing,” He emphasizes, trying to be firm. You hum, hand on his cheek. You rub your thumb on his lip tenderly, looking at him square in the eyes. He’s stronger than this, he swears.
“We are just kissing though?”
“Baby.” He frowns. A laugh bubbles up from your stomach and he’s so entranced by it he nearly forgets what he’s trying to convince you of.
“Since when is making out too naughty? Teenagers do stuff like that, Yuta. We’re grown-ups.”
“That’s the whole problem.” He says back in faux exasperation. You look like you’re going to kiss him again, but you lean into his ear instead. Your breath is warm and ticklish against his skin.
“Yuta,” You murmur with such clear intent he feels himself break down under the weight “Can’t we have sex, hm?”
Blood rushes down to his dick so fast he’s embarrassed. He stares at you as you pull away, a look in your eyes that makes him want to collapse. Of course he does. He wants to have so much sex with you so often it’s starting to drive him up a wall. Is there anyone in the world other than him masochistic enough to turn down the offer? He’s doubtful to say the least.
“I want to,” He admits. You beam and nod. Your hand slides down to squeeze his waist. He swallows thickly.
“Yeah? Then why can’t we?”
“I just..don’t want to rush things,” He replies with as much conviction as he possibly can. The sincerity must reach you because you soften a little “We’ve known each other for a long time. And it was already hard to get here. I just want to make sure it’s right.”
“You’re so thoughtful,” You murmur to him, running over his hip bone with your thumb “And that makes you really sexy, you know?”
“What if it gets all messed up?”
“Our relationship is stronger than that, yeah. It can withstand a handjob.”
He groans at your vulgarity before laughing.
“I’m being serious!”
“I know and that’s so sweet of you. But I really, really don’t think it’ll be that bad if we have sex. We might fuck like rabbits for a few days but that’s not really the end of the world.”
He feels heat creep up his next as you nuzzle your nose against his, whispering softly.
“And doesn’t that sound nice? Cooped up in this little room, fucking each others brains out. Just you and me.”
He feels his dick steel against his will. He looks at you seriously, a fire in his expression.
“You’re being unfair.”
“Who, me? Never. I’m just telling you what I think.”
He groans in complaint. Is this the right thing to do? He doesn’t think so. But it’s not like he doesn’t want to. He really, really wants to have sex and there’s never been such a perfect opportunity. You’re a little too good at turning him on and he’s a little too pent up to think about it more clearly. It feels like the only thing he can think about, a side-effect of this whole conundrum. There is a right way to go about this and he can’t say for certain yours isn’t the one.
Plus the vivid picture you’ve painted of the two of you fucking in a room for hours is making his whole body burn up with lust. Fuck, the things he could do to you in all that time without it ever being enough.
Yuta didn’t know he was aching for you so badly until he was this close to having you.
“Baby,” He can feel how deep his voice is getting. It’s taking all of his strength to keep it in.
“How do you want me? Tell me. You’ve been thinking about me right?”
“Always,” He confesses, staring at you without any restraint “Always thinking of you.”
“Doing what?”
Oh. This is…
Oh.
“I’ve never seen you naked.”
“Then you daydream about seeing me naked? How tame.”
“It’s more than that, it’s—I want to make you feel good. You’re so good to me. And I wanna…”
You stare at him. You’re so cheeky.
“You wanna?”
“Want you to feel good. But because of me. All because of me.”
A wave of heat passes through him. He looks at you and you look...different. You look turned on, fingers carding through his hair. Right now all Yuta can think about is how much he wants. A word with so much weight behind it he can hardly keep up. God doesn’t Yuta want you more than he’s ever wanted anything.
The room feels like it’s hotter than it was a few seconds last. A thick tension spreads over everything like jam. Yuta is too dazed to do anything. He can only watch as you sit up. You guide him to lay on his back and climb on top of him with ease. Your thighs feel warm and soft as you straddled him, taking his hands to put them on your waist.
He slides them up underneath your shirt lightly, enough to feel the warmth of your skin on his calloused fingers. Your eyes lock as you lean forward the slightest bit, caging Yuta in with your hand next to his head.
“So possessive,” You tease, seeing right through him like you usually do. He really is. He thought he was a little better at hiding it “Already all yours, Yuta.”
That makes his dick twitch. You must feel it because you laugh at him about it and his hands grip even tighter. He’s gonna lose his mind, being swept up by you so easily. He’s gotten so used to forfeiting restraint. Always goes in head first because that’s how cowards have to learn to fight. But he’s forgotten how to hold back. How to suppress.
Right now, he feels like an animal. He feels like a restless hound dog, straining against the spiked collar he’s tried to keep himself in place. What does that make you, he wonders?
In an attempt at transparency, he looks at you and says “I want you so much.”
And your reply is about all the permission he needs.
“Then take me,”
Yuta heeds your words and takes. It’s easy to flip you both over from where you are. He mumbles an apology as you yelp in surprise - and he hopes you’ll forgive him for his impatience. He’s been picturing this for months now. He knows what he wants, and that’s you on your back with him on top of you - making you feel so fucking good you can’t stand it. He slots his legs between yours, hovering over you as your bodies press into each other.
You wrap your arms around Yutas neck with ease and he leans in to kiss you passionately. Despite where you are, it’s clear you're helping set the pace. Yuta is eager to follow. It starts off slow enough but when you pull away once, you're opening your mouth enough to let him in deeper. You stick your tongue out and Yuta follows suit. Everything is so hot he feels like it’ll burn, and you taste like mint toothpaste. He likes swapping spit with you like this, the messy way the drool runs down his chin and yours like you can’t get enough for each other.
He has no idea how long you stay like that. Just kissing is a dangerous game. The nip of your mouth and the press of your incisors in his lower lip leave him shuddering. His hard cock is pressed against your abdomen, and he can’t help himself but hump into the soft plush of your tummy. Even through the stiff material of his jeans he can feel you.
He quivers and whimpers into your mouth but you swallow the noise with delight. Your fingers find themself at the nape of his hand reaching up, tugging at the root. You pull away to give him a chance to breathe. He sounds pathetic, he knows it, but fuck he can’t hold it in anymore. Your voice is cool and collected yet rich and heady. It feels like a salve to his raw nerves, calming to him. He closes his eyes and humps into you and everything feels like it’ll disappear. Yuta just wants to give into his base needs. He wants to be all yours as much as he wants you to be all his and everything is so tangled up in his mind.
“That feel good, Yuta?”
“Y-yeah. Yes. Oh, yes.”
You giggle at him a little and Yuta looks up at you. Look at the swell of your lips and the flush and sheen on your skin. Too much, too much, too much.
But not enough at the same time, he rubs his cock against you again, harder.
“So pent up,” You comment smoothly and Yuta groans in agreement “Why don’t I help you a little?”
Unsure of what you mean, he stares at you hazily. You push him off, making him stand to his knees and he watches you as your hands come to the ends of your shirt. You pull it off over your head and toss it somewhere. You have nothing on underneath. His mouth dries out almost completely. Bare skin of your shoulders and the curve of your neck and your chest so open. Your nipples are hard against the cool air, standing to attention.
Your b0dy is so much sexier than he could’ve conjured up in his head. The real thing doesn’t even compare, and the way you move as you take off the rest is so fucking mesmerizing. Yuta watches you take off your pants next - you put your legs up to slide them off.
There’s not a single part of you that Yuta doesn’t want to claim for himself. He traces the outline of your legs, the bend of your knee and the arch of your foot. He should worship you, after all - he was right for trying to restrain it before. If he had this in the beginning, he’s afraid of what kind of person he might become. He’s scared of it even now.
Yuta is of course the type of man to get sick on his own devotion. He’s always been like that. That’s what the rings on his hands always mean. He wants to make himself sick on you.
Nothing could be more intense than just watching you undress, he doesn't think. You toss your shorts somewhere, but leave your panties on. Yuta still has his clothes on. The only barrier between you now is a thin layer of cotton. There’s a damp spot on it. He can’t stop his hand from reaching out, pressing into it with his thumb as gently as he can. You gasp. His eyes go wide.
“It’s okay,” You assure, a smile on your face “Just wasn’t expecting it.”
He hums, dumbstruck, and smooths his thumb over the seam. There’s something salacious about the boundary itself. The material that’s keeping him from just taking you.
“C-can you leave them on..? For a bit?” He asks. You blink twice. Even if you’re confused, there’s not any judgment. Yuta really does love you.
“Uh-huh. If you want me too,”
You give him the floor this time, Yuta thinks. He takes his shirt off too. He doesn’t take his jeans off completely, though. Only unzips them, pushing them down past his boxers to give him some breathing room. And with that he’s back on top of you. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips but moves down towards your jaw. The little fluttery sigh that leaves you makes everything close in around him. Like it’s only you two in the entire world. He leaves them down your neck, down your collarbone and sternum. Warm open mouth kisses trying all over every inch of you.
His hands shake as he reaches out for your chest. You chuckle and reach for him. Guide them to squeeze your tits firm, a cheeky look in your eye. He tries to take more confidence in it now. Gropes the fat between his fingers, palms over your nipples in appreciation. He’s entranced by it, pushing them together and teasing the hardened buds with the pads of his fingers.
“So pretty,” He mumbles, mostly to himself “You’re so pretty,”
“You’re pretty too, Yuta.”
He can feel a blush crawl up his skin. He ducks his head down to take your nipples into his mouth. You let out a soft moan of pleasure that encourages him to suck harder on one and use his fingers to tease you where his mouth can’t reach. Your sighs are shaky and you're gently losing your composure.
He wants to shatter you completely.
He grabs your thighs and encourages you to wrap your legs around his waist. And you do with his guidance, a well of desire about to burst within him. He adjusts until his cock is snug against your clothed cunt. A broken oh, leaves your lips and Yuta humps into you, shifting until he hits the sweet spot. Your voice sounds again, pitchy and melodic like a wind chime and that’s when Yuta knows he has it.
He has you right where he wants you now. Bodies pressed into each other and so involved, so together. Yuta can feel you everywhere. He’s always been in sync with you but every notch is turned to ten. The shallow rise and fall of your stomach, the slightest tenseness in your spine that melt away when he gives you a little attention. He has you in his grasp but he wants to hold onto you tighter. He feels like he’s been struck by lightning, the way his nerves are revved up.
He focuses on where your lower bodies meet, tongue poked between his lips and furrow in his brow. Drives his clothed, hard cock against your cunt, catching the crown into your clit until you’re shaking underneath him. There’s something so primal about it that Yuta can’t take it. He can’t think clearly anymore, lost in the feeling of dull pleasure. If it feels so good like this, being inside you might be too much. You’re both naked mostly except for where you both need each other. So close in proximity that Yuta can hear each of your short pants. Erratic and almost thoughtlessly driven by one single thing, pleasing you. Feeling each other, all wrapped up together. There’s something romantic about the mutual desperation.
Drawing out those moans as he sucks at your tits, making you feel how hard he is. How pent up and needy and fucking horny he is all for you.
Just humping your soft, sweet little cunt through your panties makes Yuta want to risk everything he’s got. The push and pull of too much and not enough at the same time. It’s so fucking euphoric. Your fabric keeps wetter and wetter, and Yuta doesn’t know if it’s you or him - his pre-cum dribbling through his boxers. Mixing together so that there’s less friction than there should be, material all soaked through and tacky.
He can feel your pussy pulse and tremble. Your spine goes stiff and Yuta pulls away to look at you. You’re beautiful. You’re on edge, in complete bliss and so fucking beautiful.
“Oh, oh, Yuta - shit, like that. G-gonna, gonna,”
He doesn’t know what overtakes him, but he babbles on pulling away.
“Cum for me, please—fuck, baby, p-please, need it,”
You cum the first time just like that. For Yuta, humping each other like two lovesick teenagers. All for him you get all broken. He can’t help but burn the image of you underneath in his head forever. He needs to see it all again.
“Oh, that felt so fucking good,” The praise feels like it’s being injected into his bloodstream“You make me feel sho good,”
The slight slur in your words and praise all together makes him too happy. He kisses you, sloppy and lovedrunk, tongues touching and teeth chattering.
“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” Yuta says with as much conviction as any one man could have. You laugh so loud it makes him smile. “I don’t wish well for anyone you dated before me.” And you laugh again even louder.
“You sound polite even when you’re threatening people.” You say with nothing but affection. Yuta wants more. He wants you. Even with this quiet lull, he’s thinking about how he can get you to cum again.
He nudges his nose to your cheek, kissing the corner of your mouth before he talks.
“I want you to do it again,” He states, slow and steady, trying to feel out your willingness “And then I want to fuck you,”
“Wanna fuck me after you make me a mess?” You say, much more bluntly than he has. You’re not wrong “Are you a sadist after all, Yuta?”
“You look good when you’re messy. ‘s not my fault.” He replies, a little bite to his words. This delights you to the point he's proud. He does his best not to look uncool and this one time he’s succeeded.
“Make a mess of me, Yuta,” You encourage, probably because you know he needs it. And he does “I want it.”
“Yeah,” Comes his reply, as he pulls himself off of you “Me too,”
The pace slows down now. The room smells of sex and Yuta can still feel the blood rushing in his ears but nothing so frantic. He lays you back, your legs undoing from behind him and resting. Yuta kisses your sternum first, a wave of emotion running through him. He puts his hands on your sides, sliding them down to meet your hips and squeezing tight.
He kisses his down your body like it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. He can feel you curl in above him - not completely. But you seem a little astonished, and he'd be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel like he accomplished something. He works his way lower slowly, rubbing small circles into your skin as often as he can. Caressing you and committing your body to memory. He wants you to feel him as much as he’s feeling you, to feel his touch. The tension in the air is strengthened by his silence.
If he were saying anything it’d be something like this. Like can you feel it? how much i love you? or i want all of you. Things he can’t often muster up the strength to say. He’s good with his words but not good enough to communicate all of it so bluntly. Yuta is brave in areas other than love. Sometimes your adoration makes all the words clog in his throat. This is better for him, the physicality brings him peace of mind.
He likes how you feel. Your skin is much softer when he compares it to his, feels so different and more plush and comfortable. Yuta likes taking you in his hands and kneading the skin gently enough to relax you. Lower and lower, a trail of wet marks until he’s close to your clothed cunt. He stares at the sticky material, kissing it feather light before redirecting his attention to your thighs.
He starts again, at the bend of your knee - and works his way inward. He’s rougher now, taking time to mark up your inner thigh with precision. Yuta can’t help himself, placing kisses in the last places his teeth bit you. He does it again and again, up along one thigh and then moving to the other until you’re covered in them.
You’re trembling with anticipation. A sense of contentment washes over Yuta as his breath fans over your cunt, so completely soaked the fabrics a different color. His tongue runs over the material, a shameless moan of pleasure leaving his mouth. You arch your back, hands reaching to take root in his hair. The sensation of tension on his scalp makes his cock twitch. It’s salty and a little bitter, the mix of his pre-cum and yours altogether. Yuta goes to do it again anyway. The mess of it gets him excited, unconsciously rubbing into the sheets underneath him.
“O-oh, Yuta.”
He shivers, hands planing over the tops of your thighs as he brings him down close to him.
“Yeah, yeah baby. Just me and you,”
A soft laugh leaves your mouth. Yuta can feel how worked up you are. You’re quiet and tense. Some part of him wants to leave you like that waiting, but the other part of him wants to give you everything you’ve ever asked for. He gives into the latter, because that’s what he wants more. Rolls the fabric off of your legs with a deep sigh, a pleased hum. He loves the way you smell, the scent of sex and arousal mixed with the fancy soaps you keep in your bathroom. Your pussy is as pretty as you are, a sheen of arousal all along your slit. Your clit peeks through, swelled from need. Yuta kisses it without thinking.
He starts slow. Lays his tongue flat against the seam of your cunt before dragging it up. The taste of you covers his mouth, tangy and slightly sweet - Yuta can’t get enough of you. He moans in appreciation, repeating the gesture as he pulls your pussy close. His nose bumps into your sex. He peers up at you with his lashes. You’re so pretty it makes him want to please. He repeats this over and over - licking at your clit with enthusiasm. Your clit is hard and needy, throbbing against the soft, smooth muscle of his tongue as he gains a sort of rhythm. He gauges your reaction when he tries something new, adding pressure until you’re squirming underneath him. When you start growing noisier, Yuta knows he’s hit the right pace.
And he stays like that, your pussy soaking his mouth and chin. He adjusts himself slightly, rubbing his fingers between your folds. You let out a soft oh above him, making him want to laugh. He keeps at it, his fingers sliding far enough to tease your entrance. Your hole is twitching without him having done much at all, his middle finger teasing and prodding.
“Don’t t-tease so much,” You pant.
Yuta nearly blows his load listening to you talk like that. He didn’t think you could be so cute. He listens though, pushing his middle finger into you with ease. It doesn’t take too much effort. Your insides are so incredibly wet for him. Your walls are so soft and inviting, syrupy to the touch. Yuta loves feeling them. He gives you time to adjust to the new sensation, fucking in and out slow enough that the tension melts. He gets knuckle deep with his middle finger and when it doesn’t seem like you’re tense anymore - he goes and adds another.
He does both in tandem - and there’s a period where it’s all a bunch of sensation for you. Eventually it stops being just a feeling, turns into pleasure. He curls his fingers up against you hard, rubbing the soft and spongy area and he can feel you practically lurch forward. Your spine arches, mouth dropped open in a soft ‘o’. Another feeling of pride spreads through his chest, his whole body. He wants you to let go again just like this. While he fingers your weepy cunt and with your clit in his mouth - he wants to see how far he can push. How wet you can get before he ever gets inside.
Yuta isn’t one for competition or ego. He’s always been easy-going. But something about you being underneath him like this, moaning for him like this - makes him feel like he should put in a little more effort to prove himself. He wants to make you feel so good, wants to see your composure break down steadily. He wants you praise him for it, to fuck each other like animals in the thereafter of your second orgasm. He pushes towards that goal steadfastly, and soon enough your body catches up with him.
Yuta can practically feel your stomach tighten. You let out a noise, a string of mismatched syllables like a warning. Yuta only hums in encouragement, keeping his pace exactly the same. Feeling it is incredible. His fingers can feel the way your walls tighten up so hard and the tremors of the aftermath.
Your back curves in a C as you cum, hard for him and he can feel it. He can feel you cum. He can see you, see the pleasure crash into you like a tidal wave. A second. Yuta made you cum twice in a row and he’s already itching to do it a third.
You practically pry him off as you ride the wave of your high. You sigh deeply, and Yuta licks his fingers. He waits for your adoration, pleased to receive as you pull him up for a kiss.
“You’re so fucking good, Yuta,” You say and Yuta feels his resolve crumble. He needs to fuck you immediately “So, so good to me baby.”
He whimpers into your mouth. “I need you.”
You laugh breathlessly, your hand reaching between your bodies to squeeze his cock. Yuta shudders and you giggle to yourself.
“Yeah. Bet you’re feeling pent up, Yuta. How about I treat you this time? That okay?”
“Treat me?”
“By riding you,” You say, smiling at him. He gets chills from the offer “You want that?”
“Oh. Oh, fuck - please. Please?”
You smile at him.
“Lay on your back, sweet boy.”
Sweet boy. He swallows thickly but does as you say. Lays back and watches you climb over him a second time tonight - this time with a much more obvious intent. He can’t stop thinking about how gorgeous he finds you - no matter how many times he sees you, it’s not easy to get used to.
You sit up on his lap, naked and beautiful, your hangs tugging down his boxers just enough to free his cock. He hisses at the sensation of air, then moans because your hand squeezed around the shaft. Yuta watches, bewitched, by how you spit into the palm of your hands and let it drip down onto his cock. You stroke until he’s covered in it, saliva making a mess of him. When he’s all wet, you scoot forward just slightly. A hand ends up on his chest as you pull your hips up.
Guiding the tip to your hole, you sink down on Yuta finally. He can only recognize loosely that there’s no condoms to be seen but he doesn’t find it in himself to care. There’s a slight sensation of tension that quickly gives away to nothing but slick, white-hot pleasure. You feel amazing. It’s not like anything he’s ever felt in his entire life and each time you drop down another inch - he’s biting his cheek trying not to cum immediately. That’d be such a waste, even if you’ve promised to fuck like rabbits - Yuta wants to make this last long.
You lower yourself steadily until all of him is inside. Your expression is slightly pinched, and your whole body trembles before you finally seem comfortable. You lean forward, your hand next to Yuta’s head as you look at him.
“Cum when you feel like you need to, ‘kay?”
Yuta just swallows.
Before he gets a chance to adjust to the feeling, you pick your hips and slam them back down on his cock without breaking a sweat. Yuta nearly screams, his hands immediately shooting to your hips to try and slow you down. You give him a wry grin, He almost wants to plead for your mercy.
“Want me to go slower?”
“Please be nice.”
You giggle but heed his request. Repeating the motion but slower as promised, you rock yourself steadily onto Yuta’s cock. The pace is controlled and smooth, a rhythmic pass of your hips over and over. Your insides feel like they’ll melt him completely, make him liquid from the inside out. You’re picturesque riding him, tits bouncing and leaned forward enough that Yuta can see the concentration on your face. He watches you find your own pleasure in it too - somewhere half-way between grinding and bouncing that makes you look so good. He feels so incredible like this.
He moves his hands so they’re grabbing your ass and only moves with you slightly. Not enough to change the pace, but to meet you. The room is filled with the sound of skin hitting skin - a tacky smack as your bounces hard enough to hit Yutas thighs. Something about is so vulgar, but something about is so sensual. He can feel every nerve in his body standing on edge. Your hand moves gently between your bodies to tease your clit as you ride and Yuta can’t help but be impressed by your stamina. He feels so spoiled. Feels so mind-numbingly good he wants to go brain dead while you drain for everything he’s got.
Your expression is blissed out as you hit your stride, absolutely debauched. He can feel you again, another rush of arousal. He’s getting better at telling when you’re close. Your pussy is so sloppy all for him, because of him. So messy that it’s dripping down his cock onto his balls, all over the sheets underneath you. He can feel you clench in anticipation - the sudden spasming in the build up.
“Gonna cum again and I want you cum right after me, yeah baby? Can you do that?”
Yuta groans.
“Pleasepleaseplease.” Is all he can make out. You laugh, breathy. Your pace is still the same as you rub your clit. The third time you cum is less intense. It’s a shorter wave, a softer sort of orgasm that seems to ease you more than it does anything else. Even still, you clench around his cock hard - getting so much wetter than you were a minute ago.
It’s in the tremors that Yuta finally feels in touch with himself again. He loses himself completely. Finally giving into the sensation that’s been drowning him, He feels it in his entire lower body. Every atom of him finally catching up to the high of the release. It’s so intense when he opens his mouth nothing comes out. His eyes shoot open then go back closed. The coil in his stomach loosens more slowly at first than all at once, like a car crash. When Yuta finally cums he sees nothing but white stars in his vision. He can’t scream, can’t speak - so he holds onto you tight and finishes to the sound of your gentle coaxing. Your voice is shot hoarse as you coo to him.
“That’s it baby, cum for me. That’s it, there you go.” Echoes around in his head. Cum spurts out of him, thick and hot in your walls and he doesn’t even try to pull out as he goes completely limp underneath you.
When he opens his eyes back up again, you're both just as ragged as each other. Yuta can’t stop himself from laughing. He hugs you tight to his chest as you lay on top of him - naked bodies and tangled limbs.
“I love you,” Yuta says blearily. You laugh.
“I love you too, Yuta.”
__
After you and Yuta manage the energy to shower, you find yourselves back in bed. It’s late when you’re finally ready to sleep, being in the same positions you were before. Only this time with new sheets.
Yuta lets you into his arms, wrapping them around you as you nuzzle into his chest.
“So. Was it worth breaking your rules?”
Yuta can’t help but break out into laughter at your question. He nods his head, a flush on his expression.
“Yeah. Yeah it was.”
#yuta x reader#yuta okkotsu x reader#jjk x reader#jjk smut#yuta okkotsu smut#writing tag#i was NOT going to post this until i woke up later#but due to unforseen and horrendous circumstances i am alive#i wrote this for miss aleks i am literally so grateful for u kdsjknkjsd thank u sm#i hope it is okay!! its been a while since ive written him
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Dad!Cod Scenarios
I had thoughts on these racked up in my brain about CoD characters having kids and what type of parents they'd be in a scenario or drabble manner.
Tag list: @puff0o0, @simp4konig, @blingblong55, @azereus, @rustic-guitar-notes, @shadofireshinobi, @anonymuslydumb, @skeletalgoats, @icarustypicalfall, @ghosts-cyphera,@connorsui is at it again, making me blush over her words, AHHHHH I LOVE HER. Did I tag almost everyone I know here? Yes, yes I did 😭
Characters Included: John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Gary "Roach" Sanderson.
(Implied?? Wife!Reader, Parent!Reader. Not really specified, so gender neutral!Reader)
❥ Dad!John Price is the type of dad who'd fondly tell your kids about how you met, tell them stories about his time in the army, his experiences with their uncles and aunts from 141. Enjoying how their little faces express something great, admiring how cool their dad was for being so brave to constantly and willingly put his life on the line in the means of saving people. They tried telling him that they want to follow in his footsteps but that is a big no no. The last thing he wants is them willingly throwing themselves in danger and the risk was far too much.
❥ Dad!Johnny MacTavish is the type of dad to make his kids laugh by blowing raspberries on whatever body part his kids are ticklish on, he enjoys hearing their laughter and giggles. Definitely is the man who grew up with quite a big family so he'd love to have a full house if you were up to having it with him. He's such a family man to the bone, knows how things work around and mostly knows what to say and do when it comes to the kids.
❥ Dad!Kyle Garrick is the type of dad to dance with his kids, letting them have their little feet on top of his, letting them pick the music and guiding the little one. Having them smile and look up at him, his little one thinking it was just the best thing in the world to spend quality time with their dad. Swaying them around while they call him giggling, letting out squeals after he spins them. (I NEED GIRL DAD!GAZ 🥺😭)
❥ Dad!Simon Riley is the type of dad who absolutely HATES it when his kids cry, always doing his best to console them, depending on what made them upset. Being the one to patch them up when it's because of a "boo-boo", god forbid it's because of another person, he'd either make that kid piss themselves or that adult will NEVER see the light of day again. Because of that, the little one always finds themselves looking for their dad's comfort.
❥ Dad!Gary Sanderson who is the type of dad who finds so many ways to make his kid feel appreciated, whether that'd be through letting them help out and make them feel needed, thanking them and returning the favor for handmade gifts on days like Father's day or Valentine's day. The little one is always so eagerly awaiting for their dad to come home, knowing he'd be bearing so meaningful gift that goes in the memory box.
❥ Dad!Alejandro Vargas who is the type of dad who's strict but also not at the same time. Safe to say he did not have fun when Soap taught his kid to curse in Spanish when he first met the kid, that was probably Alejandro's fault for teaching Soap Spanish curses anyway. That kid is going to be loved I tell you, Alejandro has taken them to work just so they can see what he does and safe to say they loved being around everyone that Alejandro works with. (More likely that they still do this together however Alejandro is VERY strict since it's dangerous for the kid to even be out there)
❥ Dad!Rodolfo Parra who is the type of dad whose domestic, he has many memorabilias and scrapbooks of his kid's milestones, even kept the teeth that fell out. Always finding ways to spend time with the kids, whether it'd be through something as simple but meaningful as teaching them Spanish or taking them out to eat. His kids love and adore him, finding that the best time they spend with him is when he lets them talk about their day, listening in and validating their thoughts.
❥ Dad!König who is the type of dad who finds himself absolutely terrified that he's responsible for such a tiny thing. He's extremely protective of them, seeing his little kid whimper and point at something that caused them pain (even if it was by their own accord), König finds himself comforting the little one by soothing their crying and kicking whatever inanimate object it was just to make them feel better. He already hurt himself once or twice doing that and it did make his kid laugh, anything that makes them happy right?
❥ Dad!Kim Hong-Jin who is the type of dad whose a bit irresponsible at times, he tends to roughhouse with his kid a lot. There's definitely a lot of physical and playful activities with him in the means of spending time. He doesn't mean anything by it, just quality time, his kid is one of the reasons behind him stopping his gambling addiction. He wanted to set an example for them. The last thing he wants is for his kid to remember him by something negative so he does his best to spend time with them a lot despite him getting deployed.
Sidenote: I wrote this at 1 am and it was fun but my eyes hurt now, I have plans to go out tomorrow with a friend. Now regarding your guys' requests, ISTG I'm not ignoring you guys, I'm just not in the right headspace to write them except for a few I'm currently working on.
#cod x reader#aethelwyne lia writes#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#cod headcanons#simon ghost riley x reader#konig x reader#price x reader#soap x reader#roach x reader#rodolfo parra x reader#alejandro vargas x reader#horangi x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#dad!ghost#dad!price#dad!gaz#dad!soap#dad!roach#dad!rudy#dad!alejandro#dad!konig#dad!horangi
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Old Money, Bratty Honey
pairing: bodyguard!Wonwoo x heiress!reader x bodyguard!Vernon
genre: smut - minors dni.
warnings: car sex (a limo specifically), public sex (the windows are tinted but still), mean dom!wonwoo, switch!vernon, brat!reader, sir kink, edging, hair pulling, blowjobs, facefucking, degradation, masturbation, voyeurism, cum swallowing, reader is rich and spoiled (yk how the rest goes)
requested by @onlymingyus
word count: 1.7k
summary: being born in money gives you the chance to try pretty much everything in the world - that includes fucking your two hot bodyguards in your dad's limousine.
Author's note: hello <3 this fic was requested by beloved mars - the unesco forum pics did a LOT of damage
tagging: @gyuwoncheol @wonwussy bcs they asked to suffer so here we are
©multi-kpop-fanfics, 2023. No reposting allowed. No translations allowed without permission.
“Do you remember your speech?”
“Tch, of course I do.” You roll your eyes. “I wrote it myself, remember?”
“I know you did. Just wanted to check whether your brain cells are still active.” Wonwoo smirks.
“Unlucky for you, they are very much intact and in better shape than yours.” You bite back.
“Is there any time of any day where the two of you don’t argue?” Vernon groans from behind you. “Can we just…enjoy the little time we have left until we arrive at the venue?”
“Mmm, of course we can, Nonie.” You turn your attention to your other bodyguard. “He’s never fun, either way. But you are way more fun, right?” You make yourself comfortable in his lap, your manicured hands smoothing over his chest.
“Anything for you, honey. You know me.” Vernon smirks and leans in the crevice of your neck, lips and tongue gliding over your skin.
Wonwoo sighs in defeat and averts his eyes from the unfolding scene, trying to ignore it.
If it wasn’t for the hefty salary that gets deposited every month in his bank account, he wouldn’t even be here. He would rather be walking at a dingy bar, rather than have to babysit a rich brat like you.
And the worst thing of all? You’re smart and hot as fuck - to the point where he wants to stuff your mouth full of his dick and make you cry.
You’re aware of how uptight and cold Wonwoo is towards you and you can’t really blame him for his attitude - being head of security under your dad basically requires that attitude. Which makes messing around with him even more fun for you.
Vernon, on the other hand, is your assigned personal bodyguard and would fold in half for you, if you asked him to. One bat of your eyelashes is enough to make him cave to any request of yours, thus giving you the perfect cover for your night escapades.
But of course, he always gets rewarded for his secrecy and faith to you - in the form of letting him fuck you dumb more than often.
This is one of the occasions where you want to mess around with both of them at the same time.
You throw the fabric of your gown backwards to uncover your legs and give yourself enough space to grind your clothed pussy over Vernon’s slacks.
“Careful with your gown, honey.” He reminds you.
“It’s just fabric, I could have tens of that.” You grin towards him.
“How rich and bratty, coming from you.” Wonwoo comments with a venomous tone.
“Yeah, that’s because I am rich, bratty, pretty and smart and you want to fuck me so bad.” You reply boldly.
He slides next to Vernon and grips your jaw with his right hand, keeping it steady directly in front of his face.
“You’re right, little bitch. I want to fuck the brat out of you, to the point you’re crying and begging me to stop.” His voice feels deeper and colder than the ocean, his eyes burning holes in your skull through his horn-rimmed glasses.
You almost hate how hot and fuckable Wonwoo looks today - but you’ve always wanted to know what’s hidden under his professional attire.
“I would like to see you try, you fucking nerd. I bet you’re still a virgin-”
He cuts you off by dragging you off Vernon’s lap and pushes you down on your knees, between his thighs.
“Dude, what the hell!” Vernon glares at the older man.
“Shut the fuck up, Vernon. You have gotten plenty of time with her since you got your job. Now sit back and watch.” Wonwoo orders him as he unbuttons his pants and lets his cock spring free.
Your eyes widen at the size and it makes your mouth fill with saliva and your pussy dampens your Victoria’s Secret panties.
“Tell me, Vernon - Does the pretty brat over here like to suck dick?” Wonwoo asks with a dangerous glint in his eyes as he runs his fist over his shaft.
“Y-Yeah, she does.” The younger man stutters.
“Does she swallow?”
“Yes, she does.”
“Yes what, Vernon?”
“Yes s-sir.”
“Hm, at least one of you can behave.” Wonwoo turns his attention to you again.
“Enjoying the power trip, Wonwoo?” You place your hands over his thighs, rubbing them up and down.
“It’s Sir for you, little brat.” He puts his hand behind your neck and brings your face close enough to let his cock slap against your cheek. “Now put your smartass mouth to good use, will you?”
“And what if I don’t want to?” You rile him up even more.
Wonwoo threads his hands in the back of your hair and forcefully slides his cock in your mouth. You gag when the tip hits your throat, but you manage to suppress your reflex with ease.
“Fuck, honey…” Vernon curses under his breath and starts palming himself over his pants.
“No need to be jealous, Vernon - I’m sure you have experienced this already, right?” Wonwoo chuckles as he uses your hair as leverage to fuck your face.
“I could get used to this, Y/N - this cock-stuffed version of yours is quite likable.”
You grunt in response and purposefully drag your teeth over his cock, eliciting a hiss from him. He drags you off his cock and pulls you upwards, forcing your back to arch.
“Do that one more time and your daddy will find out his precious daughter is a fucking slut.” He threatens you.
“You don’t want to do this, Sir.” You slur the title on purpose. “You’ll be at loss in the end, especially after fucking me like you wanted to,” you grip his wrist, “So, I suggest you keep your mouth shut and I’ll let you fuck me stupid. How does that sound?” You grin.
“Little bitch.” Wonwoo scoffs and puts your mouth back on his cock.
“Fuck, Y/N, you look so damn pretty.” Vernon moans on the side, his own pants long unbuttoned, hand stroking his pre-cum coated dick.
Your eyes flit to the younger man and you send him a wink, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by Wonwoo.
“Eyes on me, brat. And you,” he snaps his head towards Vernon, “You better not fucking cum until I say so.”
“S-Sir, I won’t-”
“Don’t. Fucking. Cum.” He repeats with something akin to a growl.
“Fuck, I won’t!” Vernon whines in defeat, a bead of sweat rolling down his neck, his hand slowing down to keep himself on edge.
You moan around Wonwoo’s cock, nails digging in the fabric of his pants as you hollow your cheeks and do your best to bring him closer to his orgasm.
“Shit, I’m gonna cum- You better swallow every last drop like you do with him, princess.”
You bat your eyelashes to let him know you’re ready and he presses your head until you’ve taken him till the base. You can feel the saltiness of his cum coursing down your throat. You pin your eyes on Wonwoo and stare at him until you’ve sucked his cock clean, swallowing till the last drop.
He retracts his hand and lets you get off his lap, whispering a few words in your ear, low enough to not be heard by anyone else.
“I don’t mean to interrupt but I really need to fucking cum and I don’t want to bust my nut all over the suit.” Vernon half moans, hand gripping his cock tight.
You move between his legs with a sultry smile and engulf his cock with your mouth. It only takes him a few harsh sucking motions of your lips to make him cum, a string of heavy breaths and moans coming out of his mouth.
You release his shaft with an obscene popping sound, opening your mouth to show him the amount of cum in it. You swallow it in one gulp, licking your lips clean.
“Filthy little slut.” Wonwoo clicks his tongue as he tucks himself back in.
“Couldn’t agree more.” Vernon clears his throat and tidies himself as well.
“That was definitely fun,” you sit back on the leather seats and open your purse to take out a pack of wet wipes and clean your hands. A small hair brush follows right after and you fix your hair, as if they were never touched in the first place.
“How is your makeup still intact?” Vernon asks you with narrowed eyes.
“Ever heard of waterproof makeup?” You side eye him.
“As long as Daddy is paying, everything must be on point for his pretty little heiress.” Wonwoo comments. “We’re here, be ready.”
“No need to remind me of my job, Wonwoo.”
As soon as he opens the door of the limousine to help you out, you’re welcomed with countless flashing cameras and microphones shoved in your way, but Vernon rushes next to your side to keep them at a safe distance.
You put on your finest smile for the cameras, knowing which way to turn your head so the gossip magazines will have only your best shots.
The noises of the crowd are drowned out once the three of you enter the venue of the gala and your bodyguards double check that everything is okay and you can proceed.
“How ironic to see the two of you being so professional while you were cumming like highschool boys just a few minutes ago.” You giggle.
“How ironic to see you acting like a proper lady after sucking off your security entourage in your daddy’s limousine like a cheap whore.” Wonwoo smirks and you fight back the urge to hit his head with your purse, as you walk over to the table with your assigned seat.
“You didn’t have to be so sassy about it.” Vernon covers his mouth to hide his grin.
“And you should have been more discreet with your visits in her room.” Wonwoo almost snaps at him with a stern look on his face.
“You’re not actually gonna snitch, are you?” The younger man looks at him partially horrified.
Wonwoo’s lips curl in a dirty smirk and he leans into Vernon’s ear.
“As long as you’re willing to stand guard in front of her door all night long while I’m teaching the little brat some manners, then your dirty secret is safe with me.”
Vernon pokes his cheek with his tongue, wishing he was able to shove his fist in Wonwoo’s face.
“So? Are you willing to do that, Chwe?”
“.....Yes sir.”
“That’s what I thought.”
#svthub#wonwoo smut#vernon smut#hansol smut#svt wonwoo#svt vernon#jeon wonwoo#hansol vernon chwe#svt smut#seventeen smut#seventeen
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clouded judgment / clear mind
Joel Miller x f!Reader
Summary: it was a long time since Joel had felt a maddening rage like this, but he weren't about to let anyone who dares to hurt you get away with it (based on this ask)
Tags: Joel goes apeshit, angst, a bit of comfort at the end, established relationship, protective Joel (REALLY protective lmao), basically he goes feral
Warnings: uh. VERY graphic descriptions of violence (I'm not good at writing action sequences but it is graphic), swearing, kinda torturing 😬
Word count: 4.5K
A/N: this one was really challenging, but i hope yall will like what i came up with :) i really didn't expect it to be so difficult to write buuut i tried to focus on the "giving-his-brother-nightmares" side of Joel and i think i succeeded. anyway !!! happy reading ❤️
He should have never left you alone.
Which was a ridiculous thought, of course, because how are you supposed to patrol efficiently if the other person refuses to leave your side even for a moment? Besides, he didn’t want you to think he didn’t trust you – he saw multiple times what you were capable of first-hand and he knew you were able to take care of yourself.
He put it forward once – to not split up and patrol the same area within the eyeshot of each other. You sent him a crooked smile at that, saying something about him being a little too overprotective before you gave him a kiss and went on your merry way, leaving him alone and slightly annoyed (but with a faint, stupid grin on his face).
So he tried to rein in this ‘overprotectiveness’ you mentioned. He never brought it up again, even though a cold shiver ran up his spine every time he lost sight of you beyond the safe walls of Jackson. Each time you two went on a patrol, he had to take a second to calm down and remind himself this is not one of his dreams when he loses you.
That’s why at first, when he heard your voice screaming his name from a distance, he wasn’t sure if it was really happening.
The instinct, however, kicked in the next second and he rushed back to where he saw you last, to the interior of a resort around which he was scouting. This was supposed to be one of the safest options for patrolling – no one ever saw any signs of life here besides occasional infected, and Joel was never that worried when you went inside alone to check the place.
He had a feeling his cautious (he really didn’t want to call it ‘overprotective’) nature was gonna become a nuisance again after this incident.
The goddamn downpour outside made listening for any noises aggravatingly difficult. Joel yelled for you, but he didn’t hear any answer and the driving rain beating against the windows of the resort absorbed all the sounds.
He made his way inside the building and up the stairs when he noticed your hat lying discarded against the wall. A wave of ice-cold dread washed over him. The stairway was dark but even with the little light he had he could see a couple of wet, almost black droplets on the dirty floor.
What he felt next reminded him of falling asleep – his shoulders relaxed and from head to toe a cool, silent equilibrium crept over him. Joel gripped his rifle firmly and pushed on soundlessly. It didn’t seem like you were stabbed or shot – there would be much more blood present – but you were hurt. Someone must’ve laid in wait to ambush you, and now…
It didn’t matter. Whoever it was, they made a grave mistake.
Joel reached the second floor, listening intently for any clues as to where you might be or how many people are in the building with him, but he didn’t even have to check the rooms one by one. A faint light, which couldn't have been left by the previous patrol, was spilling out from underneath the doors at the far end of the corridor . He did consider the possibility that it was a decoy and your attacker was hiding in one of the other rooms, but the closer he got to the sliver of light on the dusty floor, and the more doors he passed, it became clear that whoever got you, they weren’t that cunning.
And then he heard it. A sound of a blow from the other side of the door, and then a strangled cry.
It was you. Your voice.
Joel took a deep breath, gritted his teeth and kicked the door open, bursting into the room with his rifle held high – only to find himself surrounded by six men, five of whom were holding him at gunpoint.
The sixth one, a ragged-looking blond, stood over you and the second he saw Joel, he grabbed you by the hair and pressed a knife against your neck, making both you and Joel freeze.
“You’re from this town nearby, right?” asked the man with a heavy accent Joel couldn’t place. “The one that fucking shoots off any newcomers.”
Joel didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at this man. All he could see was your bruised and battered face and the blood running freely from your – probably broken – nose and down your chin. You had a black eye and a split brow, but your gaze was sharp and alert when you looked back at him.
He felt like his insides were boiling.
“Hey, dickhead!” the leader of the group yelled, gripping your hair tighter and making you hiss in pain. “You deaf or something?”
Joel finally managed to take his eyes off you – your blood and your bruises, and the concealed fear on your face – and glared at the man standing over you. His jaw was clenched and nostrils flaring, but he quickly collected himself. He couldn’t let his emotions get the better of him when you were in danger.
He lifted his hands slowly, showing that he was no threat to them. The thug tilted his head at one of his friends.
“Put down your gun and slide it over.”
Joel watched you following his movements with your eyes as he carefully put his rifle down and kicked it in the direction of one of the men. The blond holding the knife nodded twice.
“Now. You two are from the town, aren’tcha?”
“Let her go,” said Joel, trying to remain calm and not use – quoting Ellie – his ‘asshole voice’. “Then we’ll talk.”
The man shook his head and chuckled.
“Oh, no, no.” He pressed the blade harder against your throat. “We have the upper hand here. You understand?”
The man was looking at him expectantly but Joel’s eyes were nailed on the trickle of blood now running down the column of your neck. He remembered kissing that same neck this morning and tickling it with his nose, and the thought of this fucking bastard cutting your soft skin and leaving such a mark on it made him feel like he was about to burst.
“Fine,” he ground out with his jaw set. He looked over at the leader of the group. “What do you want?”
Had any of them been smarter, they would have picked up a dangerous note in his voice. But just like he suspected, they weren’t that bright.
“You go back to your town and bring five more horses here,” said the blond. “And ammo. My buddy here,” he used his chin to point at another guy, standing behind Joel, “will tell you what kind. You try anything or come back with someone else, and I’ll slit her throat right open.”
“She will go get that shit for you and I will stay,” Joel negotiated strongly, but the leader of the group shook his head again.
“No. No way. You go and bring back everything we ask for, and I’ll let your little friend go.”
Joel’s eyes once again shifted to your form and something inside his chest twitched. You noticed it – of course you did, you were always able to read him like no one else – and tried to offer him a half smile.
“I’ll be fine, Joel,” you reassured him. “Nothing I haven’t–”
“Shut your trap!” The shorter man standing to your right yelled and raised his hand, making you flinch.
Joel could almost feel fire burning in his veins and through his skin, peeling it off his bones.
“Hey! There’s no need for that!” he said louder, taking a step forward, but the gang lifted their guns higher. He stopped and spread his arms wider. “I’ll get you the stuff you want. Just leave her alone.”
“You better hurry, then,” said the blond with a nasty smile, and Joel nodded while trying not to look too desperate. He looked at his friend. “Tell him what we need.”
Joel didn’t give a shit what they were saying – it was him who needed to think of something, and fast. He had a suspicion as to who these men were – he heard from Tommy about a larger group trying to gain entry to Jackson several times. Apparently they threatened the patrol which found them when they were denied permission to join their community. It was before Joel came to the small town for the first time with you and Ellie, but the word around was that any rogue group around this terrains wasn’t to be trusted.
And everything from the description Tommy gave him fit: ragged looks, traveling on foot, low on ammunition.
While one of the men listed what kind of guns they had and how much supplies they wanted, a motion in Joel’s field of vision caught his attention and his eyes darted to you – or more specifically, to your left hand.
You stared right back at him, moving your fingers slightly so the others didn’t notice.
N… O… A… M…
No ammo.
None? That’s probably why the one standing next to you wasn’t holding you at gunpoint but with a knife to the throat. The rest of them must’ve had their pistols drawn just for show. Joel had no idea how you figured it out, but a thought struck him and he surveyed the members of the group. He remembered which one held onto his rifle, but you were armed, too…
As if reading his mind, your fingers started to twitch again the second he looked back at you.
U... Left… B, E, H, I…
Suddenly the man to your right bowed over you again and punched you square in the stomach, knocking the wind out of you.
“Fucking bitch,” he snarled with contempt and glared back at Joel. “No funny games, you hear me? You come back with a gun or anyone else, and I won’t hesitate to fucking kill her, man.”
Joel’s heart was pounding in his chest. All he could see was your face contorted in pain, all he could hear were your coughs and grunts.
Two of the men came forward – the one on his left had a loaded gun from what you managed to convey to him in sign language – and pushed him towards the exit. Joel shifted his icy stare at the man standing next to him, and then at the two situated near you.
They were all going to die.
When he gets back, he’s going to kill every one last of them, and he’s going to enjoy it immensely.
Joel sent you one last look before turning around and slowly walking out of the room with both men close behind, pointing their guns (and only one of them loaded) at him.
It was going to be alright. He had a stirring of a plan and when he comes back, maybe with Tommy or someone else…
You gasped and coughed again behind his back after the sound of another punch.
Joel came to a dead stop, not registering the gun barrel digging into his back, and he felt like his jaw was going to snap if he kept clenching it like that.
You murmured something he didn’t quite catch and Joel turned his head slightly just in time to see the short man kicking you in the ribs and your form lying on the wooden floor, spitting out blood…
“You think you’re so clever, huh? I swear to fucking god, if you pull something like that again…”
Joel didn’t even let the man finish.
In a split second he elbowed the man behind him, grabbing his hand holding the gun – the one they took from you – and shooting the blond standing over you. He fell backwards and the knife fell out of his grip. Taking out the guy Joel grappled with was embarrassingly easy, and once he had a good grip on the pistol belonging to you, he spun around to face the other thug with his gun, standing on the opposite side of the room.
The ragged man fired at him, but Joel didn’t even need to duck, for the bullet missed him by half a meter at least. The man was lying dead soon after, shot twice in the head, and the remaining three took out their weapons, ready for a fight.
None of them reached for Joel’s rifle, lying under their friend’s corpse.
“That’s even better,” he murmured to himself, unloading the gun and throwing it against the far wall.
If looks could kill, they’d already be lying on the ground and writhing in agony. But Joel was more than happy to do it himself. And with his bare hands.
He strode with confidence to the nearest man who swung a machete at him. Joel avoided the attack and pushed him back, quickly darting to the side and decking the other man coming at him.
A sharp pain ripped through his body from the back of his arm when the third thug cut through his clothes. Joel blocked the second strike and twisted the opponent's arm, applying so much pressure that the bone in the forearm snapped and the man’s scream pierced the air.
He lurched back to dodge the machete aimed at his neck and picked up a knife dropped by the previous guy. He surged forward, driving the blade into the thigh of his current attacker, which made the other man lose his balance. Their friend, the last one still unharmed, managed to punch Joel’s jaw, making something crack and reverberate inside his skull, but he only wiped the blood from his face.
When the last thug came closer, Joel used his own momentum and grabbed the back of his skull, bringing the guy's face down onto his own knee. After that his movements were practically automatic when he grabbed the dazed man from behind and broke his neck in a swift motion.
Breathing heavily, he made his way to the first man he knocked out and took your gun from, picking up the machete en route. That son of a bitch wasn’t even conscious, but it didn’t stop Joel from bringing the weapon down and through his head.
The next one was the bastard with the broken arm, but his screams quickly died away when he, too, received a deep and lethal wound from Joel – this time aimed at his chest, almost cutting it open.
Your yelp ripped through the roar of blood in his ears and Joel turned around just in time to see the blond he shot in the shoulder sitting on top of you, trying to stab you with his knife. You managed to dodge it and before that idiot could try again, Joel came up to you both, grabbed the man’s hair and all but threw him off of you and onto the floor.
The blond was still holding the weapon in his hand, but didn’t get another chance to use it – with all his strength Joel brought the heel of his heavy boot down on the injured man's fingers. The man screamed when the satisfying crunch of the bones in his hand breaking echoed throughout the room and Joel couldn't hide a smirk.
He deserved it. All of them deserved it.
He again saw before his eyes the way this motherfucker kicked you and how his friend threatened to cut your throat. Again he saw red.
“You piece of shit,” Joel whispered, still blinded by rage, and gave the man a taste of his own medicine by kicking him in the stomach as hard as he could. The bastard coughed and yelled in pain but it wasn’t enough.
Joel’s focus was sharp and clear when he stood over the battered and bleeding man, staring down at him with hatred. He thought the blond tried to say something – his lips were certainly moving – but he didn’t concern himself with any begging or threats the thug had to offer. Instead he gripped the front of his sweater and punched him in the jaw, letting the limp body fall to the floor and relishing in the sounds of his curses, his grunts of pain, his blood dripping onto the floor…
Not enough.
Joel did that several more times – grabbing the idiot’s clothes, hair, whatever – to pull him up and hit him in the jaw, temple, nose and wherever else his fist landed. The face of the man was bloodied and he was barely conscious at this point and still all Joel could see was the look of sadistic glee on this man's face after finding an excuse to hurt you.
Joel didn’t have much strength anymore, but he ignored the biting pain from the cut on his arm and the raw wounds on his bloody knuckles, and straddled the lying man. The survival instinct must've kicked in and the blond started to tussle, reaching with his not-broken fingers to Joel’s face, scratching his brow and cheek.
And just like the glee he saw in the thug’s eyes earlier, Joel was more than happy that he gave him an excuse – and an idea – how to hurt him more.
“I saw how you looked at her,” he said in a low tone to the unlucky man, holding his left arm in place with his knee and pressing his own thumb to that fucker's swollen eye. “You like hearin’ people screamin’ in pain? Because I just know this is going to bring me great joy.”
Blood was flowing from under Joel’s finger and down his hand when he gouged the blond’s eye out and the man was shrieking. He was writhing and struggling under Joel's weight, and his voice became guttural and hoarse soon after when the dark blood started to flood his mouth. Joel pulled his hand away, panting heavily, and soaked in the suffering of that bastard whose face now resembled a smashed, bloody goo.
Not enough.
It was unfortunate that the blond was the only one left Joel could take it out on, but he couldn’t find any compassion in himself at the moment. So he punched him again, staining the floor with the scumbug's blood.
And again.
And again.
And again.
“Joel.”
Joel turned around sharply, grasping the thug’s knife. He could still feel rage churning inside of him and he was breathing heavily, trying to contain the fury filling him without screaming out loud. His hands were covered in blood – not his – and he subconsciously knew that the man lying motionlessly under him was long since dead, his face completely destroyed, but he wished that son of a bitch was still alive so that he could feel the suffering Joel longed to inflict upon him.
Everything because he hurt you.
You…
The ringing in his ears stopped suddenly and the knife fell out of his hand when he ran up to where you were still lying on the floor. You were curled up on your side with your arms wrapped protectively around your stomach and your face twisted in pain.
Joel’s breathing got quicker, now for an entirely different reason, when he noticed that the cut on your neck was bigger than he originally thought, and still bleeding. Your face was bruised and he knew your whole torso will probably turn green and purple soon, too.
“Oh, babygirl,” he whispered tenderly, his trembling hands hovering above your body, but not touching it. “It’s…” It’s alright, he wanted to say. Or maybe, where does it hurt the most?
He had trouble finding his voice, though. In his fury he completely forgot that you were still here and in need of his help.
You took a deep breath and turned your head ever so slightly to look at him in the corner of your eye. A sad smile appeared on your face.
“Hi, Joel.”
Joel breathed in. Out. In again.
For fuck’s sake, what was he thinking?
He quickly wiped the blood of the people he killed on his pants and cursed at himself mentally.
“Hi, darlin’,” he murmured in response, focusing back on you. “You’re gonna be alright. How are you feeling?”
“I think I might have a broken rib or two,” you breathed while Joel pulled out a clean piece of cloth he carried in his jacket for cases like this one and pressed it against the cut on the side of your neck. You winced and he felt a pang of pain in his own chest.
“Can I check?”
You let go of your stomach with a strangled gasp. Joel started to gently feel your torso, trying to discern if he could feel any broken bones or signs of internal bleeding. He kept his touch as delicate as he could, not wanting to hurt you even more, or worse – scare you.
He couldn’t stop his hands from shaking, though, no matter how much he tried to calm his breathing. He wished he could hold you as securely as he held his gun, with a quiet heart and sharp focus, but the fear of accidentally hurting you made his fingertips recoil at times.
Although you two knew each other for years now, you were never a witness to this cruel side of him. You knew about it, of course, of horrible things he’s done before he got to Boston and met you. A couple of times you even saw with your own eyes snippets of these primary emotions of fear or anger overtaking Joel’s mind and body.
But never like that. Never with such ferocity, hatred and satisfaction from hurting those who did the same to you.
He just really didn’t want you to be afraid of him. You were so precious to him and often he thought those brutal hands of his, which he knew were guilty of inflicting unimaginable pain and suffering, weren't worthy of touching someone who in his eyes was so delicate and pure.
But it never stopped you from seeking his touch, and although Joel could be stubborn and tough at times, he didn’t have it in himself to ever refuse you anything – even when he knew better.
That was always the case. His judgment and mind were clouded when it came to you.
“I don’t think anythin’ is broken,” he finally said in a quiet voice, cupping your cheek gingerly and turning your head to look at it better. “But the nose probably is. How did it happen?”
“They jumped out on me in the hallway,” you answered, not meeting his eyes while he gently touched the base of your nose. Then you looked to the window against which the still pouring rain was beating. “One of them punched me when I shouted for you. I thought you might have not heard me.”
“I heard you,” he murmured and sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. You came for me pretty quickly, so–”
“Not that. M’sorry you had to see… this.”
To that, you didn't say anything. Joel felt his heart clenching on itself and almost stopping from the wave of terror that washed over him.
His treacherous mind was rushing him to defend his actions or make excuses – because if he doesn’t, if it turns out you’re scared of him and the things he’s capable of…
You might leave him. And if you leave, Joel won’t survive that.
But he didn’t give in to those cruel thoughts and silenced the voice in his head.
“I’d do it again,” he said quietly, making you lift your head. “In a heartbeat. I’m really sorry you had to see that, darlin’, but I… just know I’d never hurt you. And if I can help it, no one else will either.”
“Hey.” Your knuckles brushed his cheek and you looked at him with sad eyes. “You don’t need to explain yourself. I know you did it to protect me.”
“I wanted them to suffer,” he continued as if you didn’t say anything, but at the same time he soaked in the feeling of your soft touch on his face. “I don’t know how much you saw–”
“Joel.” You sat up with a wince after interrupting him, and your gaze turned sharp. “Why are you telling me this?”
Even though the bloody, battered mess that he made of the blond man seemed to push itself into Joel’s field of vision, he refused to look away from you.
“‘Cause you need to know. I feel like I’d be lyin’ to you if I didn’t explain that it wasn’t an accident or a one-time thing,” he answered, his eyes flickering from your neck to your face, and down to his own stained hands. “Couldn’t think of anythin’ else after I saw you like that, on the ground and…”
“Listen to me.” You took his head firmly in your hands and your gaze was unwavering – like you wanted to make sure that your every word will reach the depths of his soul. “I’ll say it again: you don’t need to explain. I get why you did that. And don’t even think you’re gonna drive me away because of that.”
You knew him too well. Sometimes it was slightly annoying, sometimes even scary.
This time, however, it felt reassuring.
You looked to the side where the body of his last victim lay, and Joel grimaced, gently touching the edge of your jaw and tilting it back to him. “Don’t look,” he whispered, realizing with surprise, as well as a horrible lump in his throat, that he felt almost ashamed.
Your bright eyes met his again and he briefly wondered if your gaze always was so scrutinizing.
“I’m not scared of you,” you said sternly, like always knowing what was going on in his head. “I'm not, so stop thinking that.” You shook him by the arm a little and when he didn’t answer, the corner of your lips tugged upwards in a teasing manner. “I’ve seen you multiple times in the morning. I know you’re secretly a big softie.”
Joel really didn’t deserve this kind of kindness and understanding from you. That didn’t stop him from craving it, though.
He didn't say anything – just leaned in and kissed your cheek tenderly, lingering there for a moment but paying attention not to brush your nose. You exhaled and closed your eyes, your eyelashes tickling his skin, and he decided not to drag this conversation on any longer.
“Come ‘ere, sweetheart. I’ll help you up.”
He stood up and held out his hand. It was rough and covered in blood, but even after you saw what he did to those men and heard their screams, you didn’t hesitate to take it.
“Joel,” you said gravely after standing up. There was no trace of your previous smile on your face. “If you were the one in danger, I’d do the same thing.”
You were looking at him expectantly, clearly waiting for an answer, and after a couple of seconds he nodded slightly. Apparently it was good enough for you, because you just squeezed his hand and tugged him after you and out of the room.
Joel didn’t know if he believed you.
But your words made him feel calmer and cleared his clouded mind nonetheless.
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x y/n#the last of us#pedro pascal x reader#joel miller x you#joel tlou#pedro pascal#joel miller#tlou hbo#the last of us fanfiction
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it's been 15 years and you can see better than ever
(design notes under the cut) (there are spoilers)
ok this got really long. here you go
sif:
ditched the cloak. it was collecting dust in their closet until recently, but they realized they don't need to cling to their grief so much anymore. someone else will need it more soon.
ditched the eyepatch. the prosthetic eye is a labor of love designed by isa, as is literally everything else they're wearing.
they cut their bangs finally and started braiding their hair back so it wouldn't obscure their vision as much anymore.
they like darker/tighter clothing and prefer function over form but unfortunately their gay ass boyfriend keeps treating them like a dress up doll so they're stuck wearing waistcoats and a fancy cloak. (they don't mind. it's designed to look like loop.) they keep flowers in their many pockets to give to people.
they're a woodworker in their free time. they don't usually talk about being any sort of savior so he just becomes sif the guy who's really good at carving birthday presents for people and also tags along with isa to charity parties and fundraisers
41 year old 5'1" they/he absolutely zero intention of Changing. bonded to isabeau. they adopted a kid who leo or i might post about some other time i think. her name is estelle.
isa: i'm not taking credit for the design that's by my friend @fembard /@leoweooo. i'll include his design notes
isa dresses mostly for comfort, he doesn't like wearing stuff that might get stained or ruined when he's dyeing clothes or chasing stelle around in the mud or something, all his fashion sense goes into his handiwork
he Changed a few more times over the 15yrs, eventually settled. picked up she/her pronouns again on the side but was never really able to ditch the name isabeau and he kinda ran out of names anyways...
kept the long hair, kept a few inches in height, very happy to fulfill the role of male (space) wife
can't ditch the kimono jacket it's the piece de resistance. odile influence and Wisening Of Age means its made with a little more knowledge of ka buan technique but still very clearly an Isa Design. the fabric is imported silk sif!!!!!!
39 year old Tall with a capital T he/she "i swear i'm not a weeaboo i'm just really into ka buan fashion" vaugardian indie clothing designer in your area help support this man in his attempts to use his family members as living advertisements for his brand
mira: with design input from @jastertown thank you my friend
i took a lot of inspiration for the sparkly, sheer fabric on her dress from euphrasie. she's not head housemaiden yet because she doesn't feel like she's ready but everybody knows it'll be her
speaking of inspiration. she's been taking a lot of fashion cues from a certain lady in dormont that she thought was kind of scary, but it turns out she's very nice? they're besties now.
she got rid of the earrings for a little bit but then she realized she just liked how they look on her. so now they go ding ding! it's for her and nobody else, and that's how she likes it.
moved her ornaments to her skirt because they ding ding more often there. her necklace also jingles with merriment.
38 year old she/her advanced cisgender+ legend who's realizing that people are trying to get her to be the pope but all she really wants to do is write yaoibait fiction that looks like it came straight off of ao3
odile:
my glorious hag. she started shrinking about 3 years ago. all those years of bending over books has finally caught up to her. her hips are fuuuuuucked. but she has a sick cane that sif carved for her so everything's okay
she was already pretty comfortable and settled in her sense of style when she was nearing 50 so i don't think she would change much. darker clothing maybe. ditched the high-waisted pants for some looser slacks.
she's started writing a familytale of her own. the only person she's told about it is bonbon, who caught her up way past their bedtime, and scribbled all over one of the pages. she'll pass it on to sif when the time's right, after she's written down everything she can remember about their family.
64 year old she/her wasian researcher recovering from hernia surgery who's getting really into things like "political activism" and "body craft law reformation in ka bue" and "making sure people aren't sourcing their hrt from back alleys"
bonnie:
prefers to go by boniface these days. it's cooler. more mature. please stop calling me bonbon that's a nickname from when i was 10 guys c'mon guys ugh fine frin you can still call me bonbon but not around my girlfriends ok (nobody calls them boniface except for odile)
speaking of which they have 3 butch lesbian girlfriends. this got established as a joke but i think they have it in them. they're still young!!!!!!! they should be at the club!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
they traveled for a while with everybody but eventually settled down back in bambouche to start a little family owned restaurant with nille featuring dishes from all over the globe. people travel from all over to get a taste of boniface's good eats... bambouche is bustling. (they have a few recipes that are sourced from the country. they meet people every once in a while who find something achingly familiar about it, and they usually direct those people to jouvente to get in contact with frin.)
26 year old they/them "i dont know how tall i am but i'm taller than za" chef cooker whose restaurant keeps lighting on fire because this time i swear nille i can figure out how to do cooking craft i swear i wont explode the kitchen this time please i promise
loop:
ok. this is where lozy gets to just talk about what he thinks happens post game. i think they stick around for way longer than they really should and follow the crew around on their travels (mostly invisibly) because they're sooo fucking scared of change they're sooo scared and they're so scared of their wish fucking up beyond belief. they're kind of incapable of aging or dying in this body and theyre like permanently 26 which is what spurs them to finally move on.
i think they go back to their timeline eventually after making a Brand New Wish to "go back to their real family." alas the universe leads and we can only follow. and it turns out loop has actually made a real family in stardust's world also. this is my justification for why they can pop in between sasasap and isat worlds without much repercussion. i think they're always permanently loop shaped in isat but i imagine they can probably go back to their original body in their home timeline... might design that later. who knows. i'm fucked like that
i just think they deserve a chance for their own happy ending you know. isat's a game about how it's never too late to communicate and how you shouldn't punish yourself forever and ever. and i think theyve punished themself enough you know.
ok tank you for reading if you read this far. it's really big and long so i would understand if you didn't. but i hope you liked it. thoughts appreciated. here's a little something for the people who read all the way through.
#isat#in stars and time#siffrin#siffrin isat#isafrin#isat game#postgame isat#loop#isabeau#mirabelle#odile#bonnie#boniface#spoilers are only under the read more#my drawings#etoile tag
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