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monzabee · 2 months

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pon de replay - cl16 (+18)

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Summary: The one where Charles decide to prove to everyone that it is him that you belong to, and only him.

Pairing: charles leclerc x reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: smuttt, nothing but pure filth, one might even say it is pwp, unprotected sex (cover your willy don’t be silly), oral (f receiving), kinda exhibitionism?, public sex, jealous charles, possessive charles, carlos being a little shit because he’s bored, poor lando, not even sure if i fulfilled the request or not, minors dni!!

Request: “HELLOOOO! i have an idea and you don’t have to write it but it’s been rattling around in my brain and im never gonna write it (i constantly have way too many ideas to write them fr) myself so i figured i’d send it to you cause you’ve kinda restored my F1 phase with your work. basically, reader being very goofy, funny, and maybe a little bit too loud at times. just like a very silly and bubbly personality and she hangs out with some of the f1 boys (maybe because she’s famous in her own right like a dancer or something) so naturally EVERYONE ships her with lando. like hardcore, almost as bad as one direction fans ships (iykyk), and it sorta makes sense cause when they’re together it’s pure and utter chaos and they both express themselves with physical touch B U T ! she’s actually with charles. to her it makes total sense to be with charles instead of lando cause while lando is definitely attractive he’s too much like her and it’d be like dating herself whereas charles brings out a new calm side to her and she can bring out a goofier side to him. opposites attract type shit😭. maybe a little angst cause charles hates seeing all the edits and also feels a little insecure cause lando and reader DO make sense together in his mind so why’d you pick him instead? then like soft fluff/smut reassurance that charles is literally the man of her dreams, a literal fucking prince, and the best person she’s ever been with. ANYWAYS, im rambling! again, you don’t have to write this if you don’t connect with it or don’t have time i just needed an outlet SOMEWHERE for all the F1 brain rot.”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! i first of all want to start by saying that i’m very sorry that this isn’t exactly like the request, like at all, but it took me a criminal amount of time to actually get this finished so we’re not going to focus on that. okay? okay, great!! in all and all it was actually quite fun to work on this at the beginning, it was just kinda hard for some reason to work on the actual smut part, but i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

Charles wouldn’t call himself a possessive person, not a chance. He might be ambitious, and competitive, but possessive? That, he is not. He’s never been the type of get jealous of his partner’s friends, whether male or female, because he likes to think that he is mature enough to understand that people have friends. It’s that simple. And he is most definitely not the type of person to comment on what you wear when you’re going out, he is just not that guy. He’s fairly certain that his mother would materialise out of thin air and give him a good beating if he were to do that. So when you asked him about the dress you have on earlier before you left his apartment, the one that clings to your body so tightly that he can practically make out the outline of your tits from across the room? He just smiled and told you to have fun tonight – because he’s there to make sure you’re not put off by anyone staring at you in it.

So yeah. He’s not usually the type to let the jealousy take over his ability to think things out rationally, but when his girlfriend is dancing her heart away in the middle of the dance floor while every red-blooded men watch her with the same look in their eyes? Yeah, it’s not easy to keep his emotions in check at the moment given the circumstances. And it’s not that he even intends to pout like a petulant child at the bar, making sure to keep an eye on you, it’s just that he is an expressive person and his face reflects what he’s feeling that well. Totally because of that. It’s scary how utterly focused he is on you, watching your every move to make sure no one is bothering you, though you don’t seem to be in need of his help as he watches you dance with one of the girls you met when you first arrived to the club – and with Lando, though he tries not to focus on that part too much.

It's fine, though, he tries to make himself believe, it’s fine as long as you’re having fun. Though that doesn’t necessarily stop him from throwing daggers into Lando’s direction as covertly as he can. The way he has a friendly arm around you is driving him crazy, and he is not above stomping over there to pull you under his arm, drag you to the nearest bathroom and– Well, maybe he shouldn’t get too far ahead of himself just yet.

“They look good together, no?” He hears someone ask him from the side. He realises it is his teammate when he turns to give the person a glare.

“Who?” He asks, deciding to play dumb, but he can’t help himself as he makes a face while focusing his gaze back on you.

“You know who I’m talking about, cabrón!” Carlos exclaims, laughing as he pats him on the back and points to the two of you with a tilt of his head, “I’m glad he’s finally doing something about it rather than sulking around like a geriatric toddler.”

If he would have turned around any faster, Charles is sure his neck would actually, possibly, break. “What?” he spits out as he turns around, “Do you mean her and Lando?”

Carlos gives his teammate a confused look, “Yes,” he drawls out, “you didn’t know he had a crush on her? I thought the entire paddock knew!” Charles feels a surge of disbelief and a tinge of anger bubbling within him.

He wouldn't call it possessiveness, more like a primal instinct to protect what's his. But this revelation catches him off guard, shattering his carefully constructed facade of nonchalance. With doing his best to keep calm under the situation, he asks, “Are you sure you’re not making things up? I feel like you’re misreading the situation here.”

That receives another confused look from his teammate, and though Charles is quite the perceptive person, he misses Carlos starting to put the pieces together – thanks to his overreaction. “I guess so,” Carlos mumbles, loud enough for Charles to hear him in the loud club, “he’s always talking about her, though. The way she smiles, her hair, her dresses; did you know he even went to see one of her performances in Vegas?” Carlos feels bad, really, but there is also something so fulfilling in confirming his theories as he watches his teammate’s eyes bulge out at the mention of one of your dance shows in Vegas. Because Charles knows what those entail.

“I-in Vegas?” He stutters out, eyes moving to focus on your dancing figure again. And at that moment, he absolutely hates Lando. He hates him for having his arms around you, he hates him for dancing with you to the beat in a rhythm he never seems to be able to keep up with, he hates him for the way everybody seems to think the two of you seem to make a handsome couple, and he absolutely hates him for the way he makes you smile.

Charles Leclerc is not a possessive guy – until it comes to you, that is.

“Charles?” He hears Carlos call out his name, but he’s out of his seat long before he can hear the end of his sentence. He doesn’t mean to stomp across the dance floor to get to you. He really doesn’t. He also doesn’t mean to grab you by your arm and put a pause on your fun. And the smile you give him and the way you wrap your arms around his neck while you call him ‘Charlie’? Makes his heart stutter in a way that makes him forget why he ever came over in this first place. Because this should be normal – you, having male friends and spending time with them should not make him insecure. He should be fine with you and Lando spending time together because you both love the hustle and bustle of a club. But at that moment, he doesn’t care about what should be normal, no. He cares about the fact that someone other than him has managed to make you smile, and that he needs to remind you that he’s the only one who should be on the receiving end of all your smiles.

So when he drags you away from the dancefloor (and Lando, for that matter), he doesn’t listen to your objections. He doesn’t care about the way Carlos is watching from his place from the bar, putting all the pieces together as he shares a look with Lando. And he most definitely doesn’t care about the fact that he’s about to fuck you in the club’s bathroom. Well, maybe he does care about that last part. “Charlie,” you whine, your voice clearly scratched from shouting along the lyrics of the songs playing throughout the night, and he doesn’t miss the way you slur his name ever so slightly – which tells him that you had at least two drinks. Cosmopolitans, if he had to guess. “Pleaaase,” you drag out the word, pulling on his shirt to get his attention, “they are playing my song!”

His first mistake is to look at you, because the way your lips form a pout and the way you’re giving him puppy dog eyes is usually strong enough for him to give in. Though this is no usual situation. So instead of moving the two of you back to the dancefloor, he grabs you by your cheeks and presses his lips against you. In the middle of the club, where everybody can see him doing it. The way his lips move against yours is aggressive, and you’re definitely out of breath when he does move away. Cosmopolitans, he realises after tasting you. You've had cosmopolitans. Then, he just gives you a look, threads his fingers through yours and raises an eyebrow. Then he asks, “Are you going to be a good girl and come with me now, or should I do this the hard way and just carry you on my shoulder?”

If this was any other situation, you would totally say something bratty back. Hell, you might have actually said something rude if it meant him being rough with you, maybe spanking you a few times just enough times for you to learn your lesson. But you understand that this is no ordinary situation from his voice and the expression on his face. Charles is like that, you suppose. He’s an open book – meaning that it is very easy to understand what kind of a mood he’s in just by looking at his face, or listening to the undertone of his voice. And right now? Right now you know he’s pissed. You don’t necessarily know what you did, nor do you care. Mainly because all you want to do is make him feel better simply because of the reason that he is one of those people who’s just meant to smile at all times, not frown.

And so you nod gingerly, squeaking out a thimble, “Yes.” You finally meet his eyes as you wrap yourself around his arm, pushing yourself closer to him in the crowded club. “I’ll be good.”

This thumb does that thing where he caresses your knuckle, and he starts moving you through the crowd again. This time, however, you try to stick to him by matching the speed of his steps rather than trying to stay back. You told him you’d be good, you intend to keep your promise. He’s quiet all the way to the bathroom, and he’s quiet when he motions you to get inside, and he’s quiet when he closes to door and promptly locks it behind your back. You think for a moment you’re just there for a chat, maybe about that something you might’ve done, but Charles takes you by surprise as he grabs your waist and pushes you against the door, causing your eyes to widen with realisation of what you’re about to do in that bathroom.

“Charles, what’s wrong?” You try to ask, but he shuts you up with another kiss. And if you thought the previous kiss was aggressive, this one absolutely consumes you. He doesn’t even give you a fighting chance as his tongue quickly dominates yours, and he is relentless as he nips at your lower lip. You can’t help the mortifying moan that leaves your lips, and you push him away to inhale deeply. “What has gotten into you?” You ask, eyes wide due to the adrenaline coursing through your veins, “What happened?”

“You, happened.” He growls. And by that, you mean that he actually growls. His voice is a few octaves deeper than his usual voice, and you can see that he’s snappy. There is this dark look in his eyes that would otherwise scare you if you didn’t know him, but you do. Because he’s your Charles.

And you know this because the quickly leans into your touch when you bring one of your hands up to cup his cheek, giving him a confused look. “Did I do something?” You ask, voice soft amidst the humid bathroom. “Oh my god, is it my dress? Is it too short?” Your eyebrows draw closer as you start properly spiralling. “I knew I should’ve worn the shorts, why didn’t you say something?”

Your mini monologue about your party attire must have struck a chord because Charles suddenly exhales heavily, his forehead resting against yours as he closes his eyes. “No, non, it's not about the fucking dress,” he lashes out, his voice strained, and lace with something else that you can’t quite catch. “I don’t care what you wear, though I do appreciate the easy access.”

“Easy access?” You repeat, testing out the words as you come to a realisation. “What?” You exclaim, quickly taking your hand away from his face to lightly slap at his chest. “No! We are definitely not doing that here, are you out of your mind? You pulled me away because you can’t keep it in your pants until we’re home?”

“And why not?” He asks, and this time, you can see the unbridled rage behind his look. “Would you rather go back to Lando out there? You looked quite happy in his arms after all.”

And the realisation dawns on you right then and there. That this isn’t about your choice of dress for the evening, no. It is about Lando. Though you don’t get that part, since he’s both of your friend, so why is Charles being like this? And you would ask him, of course. But the look he gives you indicates that he doesn’t want to be tested in that exact moment.

So instead, you attempt to calm him down, by dragging your hand gently down his chest and wrapping your arms around his middle. He is like that, your Charles, sometimes he just wants to be held to see reason. “Charlie,” you call out, voice soft as you give him a pleading look, “why don’t you tell me what this is about, hm?”

You think he’s going to finally give in for a moment, but then he just gives you a blank stare. “I don’t want to talk,” he grunts, pulling you flush against him by the hands he has on your waist. His lips are on your neck faster than you can say anything, working his way towards your collarbones. The faint whimpers that come out of your lips bring a small smile to his lips knowing that he’s the one causing them, not Lando or any other guy.

“Charles,” you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as his lips trail along your skin. Despite the confusion and frustration swirling within you, you can't deny the way his touch ignites a fire deep within you, consuming your thoughts and leaving you breathless with desire. But as much as you crave his touch, you know that there are unresolved issues between you, issues that need to be addressed before you can fully give yourself to him in this moment. “Charlie,” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper as you gently push against his chest, urging him to stop. “Stop, we need to talk about this.”

“Talk about what?” He asks, all breathy and with a wild look in his eyes. You can see that he’s trying to hold himself back, but at the same time his hands keep moving on your body in a way that makes you want to let him lose control and perhaps even join him. He successfully ignores your attempts at pushing him away, sliding his hands down on your body to grab the hem of your dress, clenching the material in his hand while dragging it upwards on your thighs until he reaches the soft skin of your stomach. “I have a thing in mind which might help me feel better.” Unable to take your eyes off of him, you take a stuttered breath as you watch him slowly get down on his knees, his lips pressing kisses starting form your sternum continuing down your body over your dress until you feel his lips on the exposed skin of your stomach. His kisses stop once he’s met with the top lining of your underwear, looking at you with a mischevious glint in his eyes as he nips at the nimble lace adorning the top. You call out his name in a weak whimper – though it is not clear to you, nor him, whether you’re asking him to stop or go on. Charles decides to go with the latter. “You know what to say if you want me to stop.”

You don’t really need his reminder, you realise, but it is a welcome one. Your cheeks blush even further when you feel his gaze on you as he lowers his face towards your core, leaving a sweet kiss onto your clit through the fabric of your thong. Suddenly, you want nothing more than to just rip to whole thing apart so there is nothing separating you from him, but you know the game, and you especially know that the ending is sweeter than what you could ever imagine at that moment. And so you wait – you wait until he eventually makes his move and gives your slit a generous lick through the fabric. Watching you is equal parts thrilling and painful, mainly because he wants to drag out his teasing as long as possible just to see you falling apart for him. It’s second nature to you, the way your hand threads through his hair to move him the way you want to, but it is of course not an option because it’s Charles who is in charge.

He makes this known by the way he pulls away, ignoring the way your hands scramble to guide him back to where you want him to be. He nips at the skin of your thigh in a warning manner, pulling a whine from your lips as he fixes you with a look, “You’re not in control tonight, mon bijou, I’ll stop if you try to take over. You got that?” It’s sobering to see him take control in such a way, you sweet little Charles. Usually, he has no problem just laying back and letting you take all the control, or even just making you believe you do. But now? With the way he’s looking at you with such hunger? You know you’d be soaking through your underwear if you weren’t so wet for him already. All you can do is offer him a meek nod, with your lips hanging open in shock, but he is not satisfied with your answer. No, he needs to hear you say the words. So, being the initiative person that he his, he tips at your skin again, this time earning himself a whimper along a grumble about how he’s being unreasonable. He isn’t, but that’s a topic to discuss another time, he decides. “I said, you got that?”

“Yes! Fine, yes!” You whine, grabbing your dress even tighter with your fist that isn’t buried in his hair, “Please just make me come.”

“See?” He asks, flashing you a sweet smile as he lowers his face back onto where you need him the most, “It wasn’t that hard now, is it?” The grumble about how he’s about to be the hard one, makes him chuckle to himself, the rumbling from it making you moan his name as he finally gives you what you want. His tongue works fast as he laps on the wetness through your underwear, soaking the material even more without a care in the world. If you weren’t wet before, you’re sure you’re definitely wet as he drags his tongue through your slit and back onto your clit to suck it through the fabric, causing you to let out a string of moans, each getting considerably louder as he works on your cunt.

The breath is knocked out of your lungs as the moments pass, as you become closer and closer to your impending release. You don’t even notice the fact that you’ve started to move your hips to match the rythym of his tongue, seeking something more to make you tip over the edge. You’re also very aware of the fact that Charles is letting you what you want to do, and though you’re scared out of you midn that he’ll stop like he threatened to do before, the little nod he gives you when you give him a pleading look assures you that he also wants you to come undone on his face.

Or so you’ve thought.

Because he knows your body so well that jus as you’re about to come he pulls back, leaving you high and dry, and even has the nerve to chuckle when he hears his name coming out of your mouth in a high pitched whine. You’re so lost in the moment that you almost miss the way he gently grabs your hands and removes them from his hair, pinning them above you and pushing you against the wall. “Why?” You whine, lips pushed out in a pout as your voice gets gradually whinier, “I was so close, Charles.”

“Oh, baby,” he cooes, “I know you were, I could feel it too.” He starts peppering your feverish skin with kisses, as if to say sorry for leaving you on the brink of an orgasm, and you find yourself arching your neck to expose more of your skin to his skillfull lips. You should stop him, some part of you screams to you in your head, because with the way he’s disguising the fact that he’s marking you with hickeys, but you don’t care at that moment. Your every breath and moan seem to motivate him to work faster, and harder, and when he eventually pulls back to leave a bruising kiss on your lips. A smirk finds its way onto his lips as he gives you an eyeing down, taking in how breathless you look. “Don’t worry, mon bijou, I’ll fuck you now, okay?”

You don’t even realise the nod you give him, too lost in his eyes to put words together to form a proper sentence. He’s gentle with you as he lets go of your hands and positions you the way he wants. With one of your legs wrapped around his hip he has better access to your soaked underwear, his fingers working quickly to pulling it aside. You don’t know when he managed to get himself free from his pants and underwear, but that doesn’t stop you from letting out a loud moan when you feel the tip of his cock circling your clit. “Please, please, please,” your voice cracks as you frantically beg him to do something more. You’d love nothing more than to scold him for the way he shushes you condescendingly, but any complaint you had evaporates when you feel him nudge your entrance. “Please,” you breathe out again, giving him pleading looks as you try to pull him closer somehow, “You promised me you’d fuck me.”

That manages to pull out a beathy chuckle for him, and as if he’s trying to console you, you feel his fingers gently caressing the skin of your hip. “Why don’t you do it yourself, hm?” A grin widens on his lips when you give him a look of confusion, and he leads one of your hands between your bodies for you to wrap it around his cock. “You want me inside you, right?” He rewards your tentative nod with a series of kisses down the column of your throat, “Come on then,” he mumbles into your skin, “put it in, pretty girl.” Exhaling a shaky breath, you keep your eyes on him as you guide him through your entrance. A gasp is torn from your lips when you feel his tip entering you, the initial stretch being more overwhelming because of the fact that you’re standing up. But Charles is quick to soothe you with his kisses down your neck, letting you control the rhythym and how further he can move inside you at first. With your hand making its way down to his hip, pressing him close to you, he quickly gets the message that you’re ready for him. “You’re ready?” He double-checks, raising his head to fix his eyes to yours.

“I swear to god if you don’t fuck me right now–” Your words are interrupted when you feel him move his hips back, just enough to have his tip inside you, and then he snaps his hips forward to thrust back in, making your breath hitch at the back of your throat. It doesn’t take very long for you to become a moaning mess, in fact, you’re more than ready to fall apart for him then and there, but you know he won’t let you until he gets his point across.

“Look at you, mon bijou,” Charles darkly chuckles, hips matching the rhythym of the song playing outside at the dance floor, “what would people think if they saw you being such a mess for me in a club’s bathroom?” And the whine you let out in response to his question nothing if pathethic, but you can’t find it in you to care because of how good he’s making you feel. “Yes?” He prompts you, mocking the whiny ‘Yes’, that leaves your mouth before you start begging him to let you come. But he doesn’t, because he knows you can hold it until he’s ready for you too, and he tells you just that.

“So good, Charlie, so good,” you can’t help the broken moans you let out as he fucks you to the brink of an orgasm. But that is not enough for him, no. He needs everyone to know the two of you are together now, needs to get out all of his pent up frustrations out.

So when the opportunity presents itself with Lando knocking on the door asking if you are okay? A knowing smirk find its way onto his lips, and you try to silently plead with him with your eyes. “You want to cum?” He whispers in your ear, his thrusts becoming faster. “Say my name if you want to come, baby.”

“Please–” You gasp, hands grabbing the shirt he’s wearing. It’s no avail even if you try to keep your voice down. Because when Charles finds a way to slither his hand down between your legs and starts rubbing your clit in firm circles? You know there is no way you can stay quiet through your orgasm. “Why?” You manage to get out, “God, Charles please.”

“Tell me who’s making you feel so good, pretty girl.” He encourages you, his rhythym now almost brutal as he tries his best to make you come for him. “Come on, tell me who you belong to.” He chuckles darkly when he sees you shaking your head. “It’s not Lando, it’s me. You hear that?” Uh-huh, is the only answer he receives in return, but he is of course not satisfied with it. So, he gently pinches the inside of your thigh. “Tell me who’s going to make you come, or I’ll stop.”

“N-no!” You exclaim, too overwhelmed to see that his threat is an empty one, because he would never actually do something like that to you. “Please, please don’t stop.”

“Come on,” he cooes, the sweet words he whispers into your skin making you more and more malleable to his request. “Say my name baby, let me hear you.”

“Charles,” your loud moan cuts the heavy air in the bathroom. Cheeks flushed, breath unorganised and with that wild look in your eyes? There’s nothing Charles wouldn’t do for you. With every move of his hips, you moan his name louder, eventually tipping over the edge as he feels you squeezing his cock so tight that he almost loses himself then and there.

That’s not to say he doesn’t, of course. Because just as you’re about done with your orgasm, you feel him come inside you, chanting your name alongside mine, mine mine. It takes a long time for the both of you to get back to your senses, but he’s extremely gentle with you as he helps you down and fixes your underwear. You find yourself snuggling up to him when he eventually takes you into his arms after fixing his own clothing, nuzzling your nose to his neck. “You know, I think I like the jealous side of you.” You mumble, leaving a few kisses across his jaw.

“Yeah?” He asks, a breathy chuckle leaving him as he cradles your face with both of his hands, his thumbs caressing the apples of your cheeks.

“Yeah.” You nod, giving him a small smile, “But I need you to take me home, please, I can feel your cum dripping down my leg.”

“Oh baby,” he coos, tutting as he slides his hands down your body to grab you by the waist, “we’re not going home, it would be rude to leave our friends by themselves. Don’t you think so?” The flabbergasted look that you give him makes another chuckle come from his lips as he slowly turns you towards the door. His lips find the junction between your neck and shoulder again as he announces, “We’re going to go back out there, and we’re going to dance. We wouldn’t want you to miss your song now, would we?”

And when he opens the bathroom door and you hear the first words to a Rihanna song you love? You know it’s going to be a long night ahead of you.

#monzabee #requests open #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fluff

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gremlingottoosilly · 2 months

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Horsin' around (Centaurus!Konig x fem!Reader)

Konig is exiled from his people. You are exiled from yours. Together, you make about 6 legs and a perfect pair. Tags and CW: Size kink (duh), Centaurus!Konig(horse cocks), Konig is awkward, slight dub-con, power imbalance, belly bulge, praise kink, monster fucking. Thanks @kneelingshadowsalome for the prompt! AO3| Word count: 3016

Centaurus are not wild animals. You keep repeating it to yourself as you come deeper and deeper into the forest. You keep mumbling it to yourself as you feel the eyes watching you. judging you. Centaurus are not wild animals even if sometimes they behave like one. Not like you’re any different, any better – you’re a human, invading the sacred forests. You’re a human who is dumb enough to go foraging into the depths of their territory. Centaurus are not wild animals, but you don’t feel that repeating the same sentence over and over makes it sound any more convincing. You feel the danger in the air – with each step you take, with each fallen tree you’re stepping over. With every attempt to simply run ending up not working, you know you got lost. Long abandoned the basket you came with – you don’t recognize a single berry that grows here, not a mushroom or even some edible plant pieces to be found. This place is devoid of animals, of flowers – like something just snatched it all away. Ate it all, maybe. You don’t want to think what kind of creature could cause a migration like this. You don’t need to think though. Because the creature finds you first.

You yelp in a mix of surprise and horror when the arrow flies right in front of you, the skill of the archer is high enough to make the arrow cut down a few bits of hair in front of your eyes. If you were a mere millimeter closer, you’d be dead. If he wanted you dead, you’d be dead. This much is obvious. You freeze in place, not daring to move an inch when you hear it. Loud, not even bothering to conceal the sound of it – the creature was confident enough that the prey wouldn’t run. Not the creature, you correct yourself immediately. Centaurs are not animals, they are closer to humans than a lot of other monster types – with their strength and warrior culture, you’d say that they are even more humans than citizens of the village who forced you out.

The centaur doesn’t even bother to hide himself from you, concealing the sounds of heavy hooves on the ground or evading the branches that crunched against his body. This is exactly what made you surprised when you understood that instead of a rough, but mostly handsome face that most centaurus tend to have, you’re met with a black hood which only spared two holes for the icy-blue eyes staring back at you.

Is he a grim reaper? An executioner for other centaurus? Would that mean you don’t have to worry unless your lower part resembles a horse?

You take a quick look at your bottom half. Not a horse.

Centaur reapers the gesture, looking at his bottom half too. Definitely a horse.

You decide to speak first, hoping to find words that would work just fine to be your last.

— I am really sorry for intru…

— This is not the sacrifice season yet.

Ah, well.

The people from your village believe the centaurs to be sacred – despite them being monsters they knew a lot about, they were still given sacrifices. Food, some farm animals, especially fatty pieces of meat, and fancy jewels along with some weapons. Centaurus kept the worst predators at bay, herding the wolves to be their pets and sometimes driving deer and rabbits away to the village. They kept you protected from werewolves and orcs – with a meager payment of never touching the sacred grounds.

You just stepped into the deepest, most protected part of the forest. You wonder if you would deserve a peaceful death.

— It’s not. I…I made a mistake.

No, you wanted to be here. When the village decided to drive you out, you thought that foraging in the part of the forest, untouched by humans, would be the most profitable thing. Centaurus won’t take berries anyway, right? But they might just take your life.

— A mistake?

He tilts his hooded head to the side. It’s such a boyish expression, that you almost let go of a nervous giggle. Perhaps, you were going crazy…but the centaur seemed a bit nervous. As seasoned as he looked – with battle scars covering his body and a bit of silver mixed with his ginger fur on the horse part – he seemed almost awkward standing here. Tapping one of his hooved legs like a nervous child. Squeezing the bow in his hands with vigor that made you scared he will just snap it in half.

— I just wanted to take some food.

— Is there a hunger?

— No.

— Humans aren’t allowed in these parts. Why would you go if not out of despair?

You gulp.

— I…am not allowed back.

— Why?

Because you’re a forest witch who will doom them all, according to the village of a horse people worshippers. Because you’re a monster in disguise who keeps straling babies, according to the village that uses the best pieces of food to feed the horse people who can take of themselves just fine, instead of feeding it to the orphaned children. Because you’re a whore who refuses to accept the new type of sacrifices – the virgins of the village as a breeding material for the Centaurus, according to the village filled with people who would gladly push a poor virgin out in the forest once she turned of age, so she could be mauled by horse people.

— We had…mutual disagreement.

You stare at the mighty body of the centaur. You fight the urge to get your hands down his torso, play with its short hairs, and…you were always a bit of a horse girl. Wondering if he is strong enough to lift you up and get you somewhere safe, somewhere far far away from here.

Centaur has this weird, almost boyish tone. Deep and yet, sounds just a bit deranged. Unhinged. Like he is going to maul you any second – and judging by the bow and arrow still in his hands, he might not be wrong. You lick your lips. He stares at them – or at least you think he is. Hood only reveals his eyes and you can already get lost in them. Cold, like the northern sea, Like the snow outside. You thought all mythical creatures were supposed to be warm-blooded.

— You’re exiled then.

He isn’t asking. Centaurus are omnipotent and wise, they should know about human affairs more than humans themselves. You made them into sort of gods – you shouldn’t be surprised that this guy knows way more than he should. Somehow, you still feel safer around him than other humans – and maybe, it’s more of a you problem. Maybe, you ended up eating some of the weird berries and it’s just your hallucinations before you die.

— I am.

He takes a step back. He is big – all of them are, you suppose, but, somehow, he is bigger than he should be. Giant, muscular torso on top of an already muscular and big horse part – he can pick you up, throw you, and break you with one finger, probably. No, definitely. You don’t want to give him a reason to, so you just stay in place. Hoping he wouldn’t deem your trespassing as a matter worthy of a torturous death.

— My name is König, human. Repeat, ja?

The name feels weird on your tongue. Rude, sharp. You don’t want to call him wrong and receive his wrath, so you try your best to repeat this.

— Ko-nig. Ja?

You tilt your head to the side, a curious little bird. Centaur – König, König, König – squints his eyes like he is smiling. You made the god smile. The horse god. The horseman. Just…man. If you don’t look down, where you already see something giant and heavy standing between his horse legs, you could forget that he isn’t a man at all.

Suddenly, you feel light. Suddenly, you feel your legs dangling in the air as you were picked up and bumped into the broad chest. Suddenly, you feel hands everywhere. On your ass, under it, touching your chest, your stomach, trying to get to the best position so you would stop moving constantly and trying to get out. You don’t want to fight him because you’re already in the air and falling right now could result in a broken neck – but you don’t want to be suspended in the air either. You whimper, pathetic sound escaping your lips as you feel calloused hands pressing on your mound. Traveling down your stomach and touching, squeezing, petting your delicate parts.

You spend so much time without a gentle hand or a soft touch, you can feel yourself dripping on the fingers of a centaur. Embarrassing, yes – but you know that if he were to proceed, you wouldn’t really resist.

And oh, he proceeds.

— They finally send us proper sacrifices.

He mumbles it into your hair, taking in your smell. You’re nice for a human – not scared of him too much, not trying to ran away or fight. Humans are usually just annoying insects under his hooves, but König can feel your face growing on him. Your body, too. Too weird for other Centaurus, never being able to find a proper mate who could take his lack of social awareness, he found himself mounting a human. His tribe would call him pathetic. His tribe would laugh.

Then again, he is the first to get such a delicate little gift. Who is laughing now?

You aren’t crying in his hands, and he is a bit surprised. You smell like a proper mate, like a good bitch in heat just for him – yet, you’re not falling on your knees to present your dripping cunt. You’re just trying to whimper to ask him to be gentler, and he is happy to oblige. Calm enough to listen to you. Ripping your pants apart because this is such a useless piece of clothing – concealing your rich smell from him.

König doesn’t waste any time when he dips his finger across your swollen folds. Playing with the slick running down his wrist, smiling as you are closing your eyes and pressing your head in his chest. He is strong enough to keep you suspended in the air without a care in the world. Weak human, he would have to spend so much time preparing you for him – taking his cock would be a task no sacrifice ever competed before.

König stares at your dripping pussy that is already clenching around nothing just because his fingers are pressing on the hood of your little clit, and he knows you’d be the perfect wife for him. Taking him properly as his mate, moaning as his cum fills you up. he can’t wait – knows that he should, preparing you properly. His hooves are beating the ground in impatience as his fingers slide in and out of your pussy. You spread your legs, moaning louder. Such a filthy whore for him.

— Relax, human. Be a good mate.

— This isn’t what I wa…

— Quiet. Such a good…good girl, Schatz. Will bring me strong children.

— We can’t have sex. It’s im…impossible.

You whimper, trying to squeeze your legs, to shut his hand. You only moan louder, knowing that you would accept everything he gives you, and ask for more.

You don’t want to imagine his cock entering you over and over, forcing its way past your walls and making you round and soft with his children. It’s a foreign concept – centaurus shouldn’t mate with humans, it should be physically impossible. Yet, you almost want to try. A breeding mare, made for one and only.

König gets you on…something. It isn’t exactly a natural thing – a pile of stones and trees, perfect height for you to lay your back on, with some soft leaves and animal skins to rest comfortably. His hands support you on the perfect height and you immediately know what he construction is. A mating stand. Probably for other centaurus – but you feel almost fine laying on it too. Almost normal. Your muscles sting as you try to rest your legs and then spread them wide enough for König to stay between them. He is a big guy, after all. He turns you around, on your tummy. Ass in the air, you don’t like not seeing him. The heavy musk fills your nostrils, making you suddenly aware of what is about to happen – you’re wet, spread enough on his fingers, calloused fingertips scrubbing your gummy walls from the inside. He is fingering you with ease, but it doesn’t feel like a man with experience – he is touching and probing like he doesn’t know what he is doing and, honestly, you kinda like it. He is exploring your body with his and you moan, not caring that you sound like a whore. Humans have already abandoned you as part of society – you might as well just take it. — I will prepare you.

— It won’t fit… — It will, Schatzen. You’ll get used to it. — What if I break?

— I will be careful. Trust me, ja?

Even his fingers are a bit much when he enters your body with a third digit. One, two, three – you are about to burst when he is massaging your G-spot, when he is smiling in your hair and gets you so aroused just on it alone. You’re about to cum when he slowly extracts his fingers, deeming your sloppy cunt as explored enough. Your walls are clenching around nothing, a beautiful display of desire – maybe, it was the right call that humanity abandoned you. König looks at the perfect centraius whore on display and he can’t wait to claim you. To make you his.

He is exiled from other centaurus.

You are exiled from humans.

What a beautiful fucking pair.

He enters your body slowly deliberately. Regrets it immediately – you are wonderful. Too perfect to be this slow, being soft with you is torture. Your walls accept him with a stretch, like a warm glove around his cock. Slowly shifting, softening, straddling his cock with each inch he buries in the depth of your warm, weeping cunt. He can’t touch you, as unfortunate as this is – dumb horse body is making it impossible, even looking at you is hard enough on his neck. He wants to mount you properly, but you’re simply too fucking small. Wants to touch your hair, to whisper some encouragement that human women would probably love to hear – but he can only breath heavily and enter you, one painful centimeter after the other.

— T…too much, too much, please, I can’t, it’s… You whimper, you cry, it breaks his damned heart because you don’t deserve this. You need to be treated with care, with softness and yet, he can’t give you that. He wants so much to just put you in his arms and hug you, but that would be impossible. König will give you all the coddling in the world after you’re done. After he is sure that you received all the possible breeding and seed he could gave you.

— Quiet, human. It would be nice soon.

— It’s not…

— Touch yourself, please, bitte. I can’t…can’t touch you. But you will feel better.

Your hand goes between your legs, playing with yourself. Spreading your folds around his cock even more, fingers sliding past your clit. Touching the little button and hoping it would be enough to make you aroused – and it is. Your cunt is a mess of your own juices mixed with König’s pre cum, and you already know that you won’t be walking the next couple days.

König bottoms with a deep sigh, and you feel him in your stomach. Bulging with his giant cockhead, making the outline of his cock visible – you touch it with shock, not understanding how your organs are even in place.

He starts moving and you finally feel it – the burning pleasure setting fire in the pit of your stomach. the excess liquid pouring from your damp cunt, moans spreading from your lips. You never felt this way with a human before – then again, no human cock would ever be able to compete with König. He can reach the parts of your body that you never knew existed, and the mix of pheromones and musk is making you dizzy. Light-headed. You don’t even need to touch yourself more to feel the height of your orgasm, building in as rapidly as König’s thrusts.

In, forcing its way to hit your cervix gently, massaging the sore spots of your tight pussy.

Out, grazing over your inner walls, touching all the buttons.

In again, filling you up with his pre-cum. Moaning loud enough for the whole forest to hear.

Out, dragging you back with him, as you’re still impaled on his cock.

— S…so perfect for me. Scheisse, so pretty… He can’t touch you and it breaks his heart. König goes to praise you instead – words feel awkward on his tongue, but he knows you need to heart it. He wants you to hear it, wants you to fee wanted, entitled. Soft. He smiles when you whimper and moan, milking him for his orgasm. Your cunt is made for him and he wants to spend every waking moment buried inside of it. Gods, you are a perfect sacrifice.

He is coming embarrassingly fast, pumping his giant cock even deeper into your pussy. Filling you up with hot cum that can’t even stay inside of your cunt. Leaking everywhere, you two are making a mess – you breath heavily, not understanding what is right and wrong anymore. Only knowing, remembering the shape of his cock. Pushing in and out, forcing its way in. God, you feel full. And ridiculous. And so, so perfect with his cock slowly starting to pump you again. And again. Konig came embarrassingly fast, but only because this is just the first orgasm in a row. Forcing its way inside, you are overstimulated already – but you will take him, of course, obviously. You have to.

König is going to enjoy breeding a new clan out of you.

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ghostaholics · 8 months

Text

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone) ➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.) ➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries ➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this. ➸ WC: 2k

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.

“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”

You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”

“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”

“I would.” More than he knows.

It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.

Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.

You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.

The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.

You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.

He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.

You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.

The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.

And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.

He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.

Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”

His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”

You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.

(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)

And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.

Of course, you take your job very seriously.

You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.

“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”

“The verdict, then?”

“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”

Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.

You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“You gonna treat me or what?”

Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.

The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.

Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.

“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”

But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.

You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?

But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.

“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.

He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.

After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.

Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.

And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.

“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.

Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x you #simon riley fluff #simon riley fic #cod x reader #cod fic #call of duty fic #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw x reader #cod mw fanfiction #cod mw 2

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saltofmercury · 1 year

Text

Pairing: König x reader

Plot: Someone breaks into the house at night while you and König are sleeping.

A/N: Had a random idea about what would happen in this scenario.

“The Break in.”

Over three break-ins had happened over the weekend. All unfortunately 4 blocks away from your apartment. Break-ins didn’t scare you. You felt like your apartment complex was in better condition than most of the apartments surrounding the neighborhood. In addition to that, you weren’t too concerned because you were tucked away for the weekend with König.

You didn’t think a person who saw him would even attempt to do something, especially at his own house.

König, on the other hand, was worried sick.

“Maybe you could stay here for a couple more days. It wouldn’t be a bother, honest.”

You didn’t like the sound of it. Breaking into his routine which he then would be uncomfortable with. You knew how he liked his space. He needed a couple days to recharge, be with himself, and then come back to you.

You remember how antsy he got when you overstayed your welcome one weekend. He kept finding excuses to be alone.

“I’m going to read in my office. I’ll be back in about an hour.”

“I’m going to the gym for a workout. I'll be back soon.”

“I know you want to finish your show, I’ll be watching the game in my bedroom.”

It wasn’t until you were getting the shower that he had crept up and asked shyly if you needed company.

You laughed.

“Oh now you want my company?”

He traced his finger along the bathroom counter looking down.

“I never said I didn’t want your company, we just always shower together.”

So you knew keeping yourself here would only have him finding excuses in his own house to find privacy.

König would deny this. He loved your company, he loved waking up next to you with your legs on top of his. Seeing your toothbrush next to his on the counter. He loved seeing your products lined up on the bathroom shelf next to his. Your clothes piled on his dresser, your bras hanging on the doorknobs in his bathroom, or scattered around the floor after hastily getting to devour each other in bed. Small little pieces of you throughout the house reminding him you were home.

Sure he liked his space, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t distance himself from another room for him to recharge and come back to you.

He was adjusting rapidly to you being around him all the time. He wanted you around all the time.

Which is why he wanted you to stay here, in a house, where someone could protect you.

König never told you the missions he was on. You sort of preferred that way. He would just tell you the gist of the mission. He was very careful about not scaring you away with what his real job was. He was good at what he did, but he preferred to keep what he was out on the field away from you.

Calmly, while watching you, he gave you just enough to not try and scare you.

“It was a room of about 15 people. I was first one in.”

You stared at him. You knew he was hiding the real him. “Mercenary” was the word he used, however he never described the things a mercenary did.

There was nothing scarier knowing König was a shark at sea but there could be a bigger fish that would one day end it.

Part of you was glad he could protect you and himself from anyone and anything given his training and ruthless alter ego out on the field, but another part of you was worried someone out there would be quicker or one step ahead of him.

You packed your overnight bag with your dirty clothes.

“Where are you going?” He stepped out of the bathroom watching you collect your clothes.

“Home, I have a lot of work to catch up on and do laundry.”

“Okay we bring your laptop back here and we can start a load of colors here.” He replied so casually.

You laughed.

“Although that is tempting, it’s fine. I’ll be back this weekend.”

He didn’t like hearing that.

“Baby please, you know how dangerous it is around where you live right now. Just stay one more night. I’ll go pick up your laptop and —“

You cut him off:

“It was 4 blocks away, König. It wasn’t even my apartment. I know I’ll be safe.”

“Well I don’t care if it was in another town, I don’t like the idea of you staying alone when someone is out there like that.”

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

“You don’t like the idea of someone robbing houses when your job is ten times scarier?”

He leaned against the bathroom doorway, raising his eyebrow at you.

“Exactly. What if this guy is like me and he’s out there attacking houses because he knows how to do it so well that he’s not getting caught?”

You rolled your eyes

“I'm sure a trained military man is out there robbing houses for fun.”

“y/n!” He stopped you. “This is serious, would you want to run into me?”

You smirked, stood up, and went over to him.

“Yes I would actually, because I know your weaknesses.”

You gently ran your fingers down his stomach.

“I would know how to take someone like you down so easily.” You whispered.

You stood on your tip toes and kissed his chin.

He didn’t like the idea of you flirting when speaking about your life. With that, he took your bag and shoved it into the top shelf of the closet.

“You’re staying here and that's final. I’m not going to risk anything.”

He ended up taking you to your apartment, telling you to get extra clothes, your laptop, and anything else you needed. You settled back into his house again.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” You asked one last time.

“Of course not. I can never have enough of you.”

You both had dinner, showered, and got in bed.

He pulled you against his chest and held you close.

“Thank you for staying here. It gives me peace of mind. I enjoy your company.”

You blushed, leaned in for a kiss, and mumbled “if it’s not bother then okay…”

You settled into the night routine you both had. He watched a show on his iPad, while you read through a book before both falling asleep.

It was around 3AM when you heard the speakers in the living room turn on. Your eyelids still closed, you searched for König with one arm. An empty space in bed. You sat up, fear crawling up your throat.

König was already up and placed himself by the doorframe, a bat in hand, mask covering his face, and shoes on.

Had someone come inside the house? Another crash, scratches on the floor, and some scrambling.

König looked back at you, told you to stay put.

“Do. Not. Leave. This. Room.” He said it low, his accent had come out. He looked at you, but you didn’t recognize this König. He stood different, sounded different. You felt your stomach turn, the hair on your neck rise.

Where did he get the bat from?

Now you were scared. You weren’t ready to see this kind of person he was.

You heard his calculated footsteps as he checked the hallway bathroom and guest room, slamming open the doors so hard and loud they bounced against the walls. He continued to stomp all the way down towards where the sound was.

You suddenly felt safe, how thorough he was checking all the rooms and how bravely he went into each room announcing himself with just his body. You were now glad you stayed with him.

… then out of nowhere, you heard him laughing. A loud, boisterous, breathless laugh.

You shouted from the room “Who is it?!”

You hear him drop the bat, the bat clinking on the floor. Footsteps followed closer to the door.

“Not who schatz, but what.” His voice had come closer. Standing there, he was holding a small baby raccoon. The raccoon was being held up by his neck with one hand, and his other hand placed underneath him.

You screamed —“Becareful! We don’t know where it’s been!”

König tilted his head at you and then mumbled “it’s only Monty’s baby.”

Monty?

König went to the backyard and placed the small raccoon outside. He came back into the house, washed his hands, and walked into the room.

What just happened?

“What was that?!” You were confused, at a loss for words.

He settled himself back into bed and pulled you close.

“Monty is the raccoon that lives in the backyard. She had babies.”

You looked up at him still confused.

“All this time you’ve been staying here and you haven’t seen Monty and her family?” He asked innocently.

“I’ll tell you all about them.” He turned the light off.

What was happening? Was this a dream?

Part of you was still confused but you settled in and relaxed anyway. The other part of you was secretly relieved that because of him, you felt safe enough to go back to sleep.

#könig #konig x reader #konig x y/n #konig x you #konig #konig call of duty #konig mw2 #konig cod #konig modern warfare #könig cod #könig imagine #könig mw2 #könig x reader

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sweetimpurity · 2 months

Text

"I Think I'll Keep You"

NSFW MINORS DNI

“That’s it- c’mon deeper, you can take it” Miguel smirked from above you. He had you right where he wanted you. On your knees on his dorm room floor, his dick deep in your throat as he thrusted deeper, making you gulp and whimper around him.

“Fuck~” He curses and his hand in your hair gets a little tighter, holding your head in place, taking your mouth for his pleasure. Your eyes close in concentration, trying to just relax and take him as deep as he was going. There was no use in trying to stop him. And you didn’t really want to stop him. You had dreamt of him, had a crush on him… for so, so long. Everyone in school did. But you never expected it to actually happen, especially not like this. Him taking your mouth so ruthlessly.

You were a very good student, a nice person, a little too nice sometimes. Too nice to know when to trust people and when they were just taking advantage of you. Miguel had noticed you one day. You had been in a bunch of classes together but he had never really noticed you before. You were in the library tutoring a classmate for a big exam. That's sort of how you were known around school… smart… helpful… innocent. He saw this as an opportunity, ripping your number off of the flier in the hallway and inviting you to his dorm to study. It was a shock to you at first when his text popped up asking you to schedule a session with him. He was definitely the most popular person at school, athletic, captain of the soccer team and you recalled him being very smart. You thought he got good grades but maybe he had just fallen behind, needed some extra help. It wasn’t in your nature to turn people away when they were asking for help. Even if you were a little nervous to be alone with him.

Miguel saw this as a challenge for himself. He challenged himself to get you on your knees as soon as he possibly could. This was never about studying for him. You just barely placed your textbooks on his desk before he was whispering in your ear about how he heard you liked him. Even if he was lying, he was confident enough to know that you did have feelings for him, how could you not? He knew you wanted him, or he could make you want him, and that made him excited. He didn’t want you, he just wanted one thing from you. And he was sure he could get you to give it to him.

He had many people in rotation who would gladly give him what he wanted, but he wanted it from you, he wanted you, this sweet innocent thing, to give him exactly what he demanded.

So here you are, right where he planned for you to be, looking up at him with glossy innocent eyes as he abuses your mouth with his thickness. Drool drips down your chin as he smirks and tilts his head back, relishing in the pleasure he’s able to take from you.

“You look so pretty like this, so… so pretty..so…” He mumbles half-genuine praises as he moves his hips steady, his mouth agape and brow furrowed, eyes closed, gritting his teeth at the feeling of your plush lips and your warm mouth around him. His praises make you smile and moan around his cock, looking up at him so cockdrunk and happy that he would praise you like this. Even when he's taking advantage of your feelings for him.

You smile around him, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he picks up the pace, fucking your mouth. Your wet eyelashes flutter as you try to look up at him, see him writhing from all of this pleasure you’re able to give him. The pleasure he’s taking from you.

“Fuck- fuck- fu-” He groans and gasps and you can feel his warm release down your throat. Swallowing multiple times so that you don’t choke. He stays in your throat for a few seconds, his chest heaving with labored breath. You try your best to breathe through your nose, waiting for it to be over, but never wanting it to end at the same time. He finally pulls out of your mouth, you gasp for air and swallow thickly again, a thick string of spit still connecting him to your mouth.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, placing your hands on top of your thighs as you look up at him. He knows he has total control.

He looks down at you with a stern expression, he looks angry, but inside he’s just confused. He was looking at you in front of him, he had never really looked your way in the past, he only knew you as the smart, perfect teacher's pet. Not his type at all… right?

You gaze up at him trying to figure out what he’s thinking as he stares down at you with a frown. “Stand up.” He commands and you listen like the obedient little one you are. You stand up and he’s still so much taller than you, so you keep looking up at him to try and understand what’s next. Does he want you to leave?

Your mind races as you watch his stern expression, observing as he steps closer and places his hands on your waist, moving them down to your hips. He decided that you were obedient and you deserved something in return. He didn’t usually do this but he was feeling strange right now. He was caught off guard by how well you just took him, how good you made him feel even when he was being so rough and ruthless. He can’t help but wonder what your moans sound like when his cock isn’t in your mouth to muffle them. He wants to taste your lips and he wants to be inside you to feel you gush on him and feel your legs shaking as he sinks deeper and deeper. He needed to know what it felt like to be inside you like that, how you’d react when he thrust his heavy cock inside your tight walls. He wanted to make you scream.

His hands on your hips grow strong and dominant as he turns you around, your back pressed into his broad chest as he uses his body to push you towards his bed. He felt conflicted, he wanted to keep up this rough invincible exterior, he was trying to make himself take you from behind so he didn’t have to see your face. He feared what would happen if he looked at your pretty face as he fucked you. But he couldn’t help but crave it.

For now he pushed you to the edge of his bed, pushing you so the front of your thighs hit the edge of the mattress, your body squeezed tight between his body and the bed. The action almost made you fall forward but you grabbed his forearm to steady yourself, feeling his warm breath on the back of your neck as his fingers ran across it, pushing some of your hair back, exposing your neck to him. Your breathing grew heavier as he started moving his hand to your thigh, your hand still grasping his forearm as he did it. He liked the way your hand squeezed his arm as his large hand ran up your thigh and under the material of your clothing. He loved the way your pelvis squirmed when he squeezed the joint of your hip between his long fingers, your ass rubbing against him so perfectly. He’s determined to stay dominant, no matter how your small gasps and soft fingers suddenly make him want to kiss you softly and keep you for himself.

To take himself out of his thoughts, he moves his hand suddenly to your underwear, not letting himself be gentle as he dips his hand under the material, making you whimper and squirm. He wraps his other arm around your waist to keep you still as you grip his tortuous arm and gasp at the contact of his thick fingers on your sensitivity.

“Relax baby, you’ve done so well, don’t disappoint me now.” He hums soft and still somehow rough in your ear as two fingers plunge knuckle deep inside you, his arm tightens again around your waist as you melt and moan. “M-Miguel- ah!” You moan and gasp his name and a pocket of heat bursts in his stomach upon hearing you, waiting to bloom into a raging fire. But it was different this time, he’s not determined to take something from you like he had been planning, like he did successfully just moments ago when he forced his cock down your throat. He’s determined to make you moan his name like that over and over again. He’s determined to make you feel better than anyone ever had or ever would in your life. He can’t explain it, he just needs it… he needs for you to feel what he can do.

The force of his fingers and his broad chest against your back makes your knees buckle, making you almost fall forward onto the bed, but Miguel isn’t done with this yet. His hand moves from your waist, snaking up your chest and to your throat, lightly putting pressure there just to keep you upright, keeping you against his chest as he plunges his fingers roughly into your sweetness. His fingers are thick and experienced, expertly finding the spots that make your stomach muscles tighten and pretty moans rumble in your throat.

“M-ah! Miguel…” He knows you’re getting close. From the way your hand tightens on his wrist to the way endless urgent moans vibrate against his hand that’s still clasped around your throat. When he feels you squirming he adjusts his grip, moving his arm so his fingers can reach even deeper depths within you, pumping his thick digits faster and harder. His hand on your throat splays out, his fingertips on the curve of your jaw, spilling onto your face and holding you in an iron grip.

He can barely hold himself back seeing you like this. His arousal is growing once again and his cock presses against your lower back, heavy and needy. His head dips down to your shoulder, sucking and licking dark hickies into your soft skin. Marking you, even though he told himself this would be a one time thing, he’s not so sure he can keep that promise to himself any longer.

“Mig- ah! I’m- I-“ You writhe and moan in his grasp, rolling your hips into his hand as your orgasm hits you. Your stomach burns and tingles, little snaps of pleasure going off like fireworks in your shaking thighs. Your sweet, grateful hole pulsing around his fingers, unable to fathom how you could feel this much pleasure. Your back arches involuntarily and he loves to see you so undone, pressing his lips to your shoulder as he fucks his fingers into you through it all, heightening every sensitivity.

You’re nothing but a teary, shaking mess by the time he pulls his thick, hot fingers from you. Giving you time to breathe and come down as he starts to strip you. He needs you bare, he needs to feel your skin. Miguel continues taking off your bottoms and your underwear completely, the liquid of your arousal dripping onto his hands and your inner thighs as he pulls them down and off of you. Your mind is fuzzy at this point, letting him do whatever he’s going to do. He pulls your shirt over your head and runs his warm hands down your arms softly, almost affectionately, bringing goosebumps to your back. He pushes his clothed, hardened dick deeper into your back, making sure you feel how badly he wants you. To take you.

You feel the movement of him taking off his own clothing behind you, feeling the chill of the air on your back as he pulls away, only to be brought back again. This time, the warm bare skin of his chest presses into your upper back. His head dips down into the crook of your neck, blessing you with one kiss on your throat before humming low and deep in your ear.

“You’ve been so good for me, little one… such a sweet baby…” His words send a shiver down your spine, and his hand moves to your neck again, giving it a light squeeze. His voice drops to a whisper. “I’m gonna take you… you’re gonna be mine…” He whispers almost like he’s talking to himself as his thumb rubs circles into the pressure point on your throat. He’s trying his best to keep this up, this dominant, rough exterior. But he can’t help it, you’ve managed to make him a little weaker. “But I want to see your pretty face…”

Your eyes flutter and a slight blush fans over your cheeks at his words, feeling his hands as they rest on your hips and start to turn you around to face him. When you face him, it’s almost like you’re reminded of what’s happening right now. As if your mind has been made so mushy that you suddenly remember you’re here with Miguel O’Hara. It’s something you never thought would happen and best of all, he wants you. Badly…

And he looks ever so handsome with his face slightly flushed and some strands of his dark hair falling down over his forehead. Your eyes travel from his hair to his furrowed brow, down the bridge of his nose and to his perfect, parted lips. Makes your heart skip a beat seeing his perfect face this close up and knowing he was just knuckle deep inside you, making you squirm and cum with just his fingers. Your eyes flick up to look in his darkened eyes. His gaze is so piercing as if he’s trying to read your thoughts.

And you’re surprised when he does that successfully, tilting his head down and softly kissing your lips for the first time, your lips parting in a small gasp of relief, feeling his plush lips against yours. Your shaking hands find a home on his chest, feeling his muscles move with every expansion of breath and his heart beating strong and steady under your palm. You feel as his hands splay out on your back, one hand moving up to the back of your neck as his tongue swipes your bottom lip and enters your mouth, dancing and tangling with your tongue in rhythm.

Within a moment he anchors his arm around your lower back and lifts you up, not breaking contact with your lips even for a second as he moves you up onto his bed. Your knees naturally pull up a little and spread to the sides of his waist, squeezing his hips slightly to hold onto him as he lowers you down onto the sheets. You can feel some of his weight between your thighs as he hovers over you, resting on his forearms on both sides of your head, kissing you deeply, passionately. He cradles the back of your head in his large hand, it makes you feel so small and fragile in his hands. And it’s not because you are so tiny by any means. You’re not even what you yourself would consider skinny. But Miguel is just so massive, so big himself that it’s fun to feel small, even if you’ve never felt that way in your life. He makes you feel things you’ve never felt before.

And he loves this. He loves being so massive that he can make you feel so tiny, it makes him feel powerful.

His kisses deepen and move to your cheeks, your jaw and your neck as his hand moves down your body, squeezing at your soft skin and ghosting his fingers teasingly across the expanse of your soft, supple, fleshy stomach. Sucking hickies into your neck now, he presses his palm to the fat of your stomach, feeling the muscles of your abdomen clench and tighten. He knows you need him… and he can’t help but crave your body, which is just utter perfection in his eyes.

The tension is building and neither of you can wait much longer. He moves to kiss your lips again, this time rough and breathy. He lowers his hand to your thigh all the way down to your calf and pulls your leg around his waist, doing the same with the other leg until your ankles are locked behind his back.

Staring deeply into your glossy eyes he rests on one arm, his other hand slowly pushes his dick down onto your sensitivity. Not inside you. Not yet. But close enough to have you moaning right in his face, desperate eyes locked as he massages his big dick through your sex.

He kisses your lips once more, ghosting his lips over your cheek as he whispers to you. “You want my cock?… you want me to fuck you?” His words make you moan against his ear and grasp at his biceps, feeling his muscles move as he keeps slapping and rubbing his cock where you need him most. “Mm… yes… please” You whisper in agony.

“You want to feel me right… here?” He asks softly, looking in your eyes and pressing his palm to your lower stomach again, right on the place where your orgasm bloomed just minutes ago, making you shudder and tremble. “Yes… yes please” You whine softly, creasing your brows in frustration and need, his questions making all of this harder to bear any longer.

“You want me to cum inside you?” He whispers so softly, kissing the corners of your lips as you can feel the gummy tip of his dick pressing at your entrance, making your eyelashes flutter and your fingers dig deeper into his muscles. You whimper, almost a sob, with tears in your eyes. “Yes.”

With your words of permission he nestles his hips between your thighs and uses the pad of his thumb to plunge his thick, heavy cock inside you. Stretching you with every inch while you whine and squirm beneath him, held still by his large hand pressing down on your tensing abdomen. Hot tears roll down the sides of your face as you gasp and moan at the feeling. He wraps an arm under your lower back and pulls your hips up a little so he can sink in deeper, watching your face as your eyes roll up into the back of your head. Once he’s buried inside as deep as he can manage, he pulls out entirely and pistons his dick back inside you, earning a pleasant cry from the back of your throat. Your legs tighten around his back in reflex and your head tilts back, whimpering in a beautiful mix of pain and pleasure.

He does this a few more times, just to see how you react. Loving the urgent almost painful cries that come out of you when he does it. Over and over he does this, pulling out and then pumping back inside you, deep and hard. Maybe he just wants to see you cry more… maybe he just wants to hear you moan louder… maybe he wants to hurt you… He’s not quite sure himself, yet, but all he knows is that you’re squeezing him just right every time he does it, and he can’t bring himself to stop. With one last sob from your perfect flushed lips he starts a more steady rhythm, putting a stop to the torture he knew he was inflicting on you and giving you want you want. He wants it too.

Your moans grow softer, dreamier as he starts this rhythm. His hips moving against you with just the right amount of pressure. He’s really good at this, you think to yourself.

Rubbing his hand over your thighs as he pumps his dick into your sweetness, he leans down over you again, getting closer, grabbing both of your shaking hands in one of his big hands and pinning them above your head, causing you to whimper softly, eyelashes fluttering as you try to look up at him, only to see his brow furrowed, a stern expression on his face as he fucks you breathless.

Supporting himself on his elbows, he keeps your hands above your head with one hand and moves his other hand under you, to the back of your neck. His fingers are so long that he wraps his hand from the back of your neck, to the sides, managing to put some pressure there. His thumb presses to your pressure point softly, knowing exactly what he’s doing. And he’s got you completely at his mercy. Trapped between his broad chest, his big hands and his greedy cock, all you can do is receive and let him take you. He won’t let you do anything but that.

“Oh my- M-Miguel!” You moan and cry out as he changes the way his hips are moving. He tightens his grip on your hands above your head and starts rolling his hips into you. No more back and forth. Your stomach muscles tighten as he stays deeply buried within you, his thrusts getting slower but much, much deeper. Almost painfully deep.

It makes you hiss, gritting your teeth and your brow creases looking at him. Your breathing gets heavier and more labored as he keeps pumping as deep as he can. “Mi- I- it’s-“ You start to say, you don’t know if you need him to stop or keep going.

“Just take it… take all of it… it’s yours…” He says in his deep, smooth voice. You moan at his words and his head dips down to your chest, sucking into your skin and biting you anywhere he can. He breathes hot and urgent on your chest and you know he’s close too. You can only imagine what it feels like for him to fill you up with his offering.

“I can feel it, baby…you’re so close, squeezing me so perfect…” He pants and picks up the pace, bringing both of you there. A raspy cry rumbles in your chest and in the back of your throat as your head tilts back. He takes his hand off of your hands, but you're too delirious to do anything with them so you just keep them up there for now. He moves both of his hands to your waist, holding you and pumping into you as fast as he can. One of his big hands splays out onto your tummy, pressing down slightly and it drastically increases the pressure for both of you.

“Coming! I’m c- I’m com-“ You yelp urgently and your thighs squeeze his hips tightly. Your back arches off the bed and he leans down, kissing down your chest as it rises up off the mattress. He groans into your skin and you could have sworn you heard him growl. Deep vibrations reverberate in his chest.

As your second orgasm of the night hits you hard you clasp your hands over your mouth, blocking the loud moans from escaping. You’re sure the entire residence hall could hear you if you let those sounds escape.

Miguel watches you and his brow slowly furrows again... He shakes his head and looks down, your eyes are closed so you don’t even notice all of this happening. He closes his eyes and thrusts into you hard, chasing his own release.

Pretty soon his fingers dig into your hip and he’s spurting his hot cum inside you. Pumping you full and raw. It makes your eyes shoot open at the feeling. And you notice his narrowed eyes and clenched jaw, almost scowling as he pumps his load into you. When he comes down he stops moving. You look at him nervously, catching your breath and not understanding why he looks so angry. He just came inside you. Did you do something wrong?

The tension is high all of a sudden, his silent stare making you a little nervous. Slowly he leans down again, his hand coming out to press down on your upper chest hard, pushing you into the mattress. You look up at him almost fearfully, him overpowering you completely right now. It’s in this moment you realize how strong he is. You knew he was tall and big but you had sort of forgotten he could snap you in half… hurt you if he wanted to.

He lowers his face to be close to yours, his gaze piercing. When he speaks his voice is surprisingly soft and gentle for the way he’s glaring at you right now. “Now why would you do that, baby?” He asks you seriously, and you can’t seem to understand what the hell he’s talking about.

“Do- what?” You ask innocently, you really didn’t know, you poor little thing. He shakes his head and his voice becomes sweeter, like honey. But there’s still a darkness to it.

“You have a perfectly perfect throat, baby…” He says as his hand on your chest moves to wrap around your neck gently. “I would know…” He smirks to himself.

“So I suggest you use it” He seethes, almost in a whisper. His fingers increase the pressure ever so slightly on your neck, causing you to instinctively grasp his wrist. “Don’t ever cover your mouth again, do you hear me?” His hand loosens on your throat and moves to the back of your neck, lifting your head a little bit to have complete eye contact with him.

“Yes… I-I won’t” You say softly, your anxiety levels all over the place.

He smiles at you softly and brushes some fallen hairs off of your forehead. Then he leans down and kisses your lips softly, then your cheeks. Whispering to you between every kiss.

“Such a sweet baby for me… but I need you to give me everything… wanna hear those pretty sounds I work so hard for…” He hums deep.

“Okay…” You breathe out, your hands running down his triceps absentmindedly. You want so badly to give him everything. To be louder for him. You were just too nervous before. Scared someone would hear. “N-next time… I promise I’ll- I’ll try…” You breathe, your nervous darting eyes ping ponging between his steady stark stare. Would there even be a next time?

“Oh no, baby… you’re gonna give it to me now.” He whispers and leans down to kiss your neck. You’re shocked, and you’re already so sensitive. How could you possibly take any more? “Well, I-“ You start to say, not really knowing why you’re saying it, maybe you’re just nervous you’ll mess it up again. You know you shouldn’t have covered your mouth, you should have just kept your hands up where he put them. You know he put them there for a reason.

“Shhh… it’s okay… just one more, baby that’s all I want. One more, okay?” He whispers and kisses across the expanse of your collarbone and your shoulders. He’s still inside you, he never left. And you can feel him getting harder, the pressure building up, stretching you out again even though he’s already fucked you once. You move your hips a little bit to relieve the pressure and maybe make him move a little bit. He feels this, smiles to himself and moves his hips too every so gently, tiny thrusts deep inside as you squeal and whimper softly from the heightened sensitivity you’re experiencing.

You close your eyes and try to relax, you want to be good for him, give him what he's asking for. And suddenly he stops.

“Not like this. I want you on your stomach.” He says in his normal voice and it makes your eyes open to look at him. He pulls out of you and the feeling makes you reach out and grip his bicep, whimpering at both the slight sting and the loss of him inside you. “C’mon…” He commands and puts his hands on your hips, helping you turn over as your head fills with a slight dread. You thought this was gonna be sweeter, but it seems like he’ll be even more rough than he was before.

He flips you over completely and situates himself between your legs, his hands on your ass and running up your back as he leans down to kiss your shoulders. He grabs a pillow from behind your head, causing your face to lay flat on the mattress. Folding the pillow in half, he places it under your hips, angling your hips up a little bit to make it easier for him, and for you too. This way you won’t have to try and support yourself on your shaking knees, it’s actually a nice gesture you think to yourself.

“Miguel…” You say softly, leaning up on your elbows and looking over your shoulder at him, he looks like an absolute predator right now, but his voice is like sweet melted chocolate.

“Yes, baby?” He coos and leans over you to kiss your cheek. His hands massage your hips and your ass, moving down to your pelvic bones and pulling your hips up a little bit more. You’re surprised that he can do what he does and say the words he says all with that sweet gentle voice. It makes you think about what kind of boyfriend he’d be. Probably not a nice one, but would it really matter if he can fuck you like this?

“Can- could you be gentle… I- I’m sensitive…” You request and your cheeks flush a little, feeling slightly embarrassed.

He thinks for a few heavy moments, looking back and forth between your glazed, shining eyes before kissing your cheek again. “I know you’re sensitive, baby, that’s good… it’s gonna feel so good…”

“But-“ You start to say, he never said yes or no explicitly.

“Shhh…” He leans forward and captures your lips in a kiss. Maybe to soothe you, maybe to shut you up, you’re not really sure and you don’t really care when his tongue is down your throat.

“I’ll be gentle, if you’re good for me.” He suddenly says and it makes your nerves go up. You want to get it right this time, he’s not giving you any other option. You nod to him and let your head relax onto the mattress. His hand comes up to the back of your neck and into your hair, grasping slightly at the strands and forcing your head all the way to the side so he can see the side of your face.

You breathe out gently and try to relax. You know it’s gonna feel good but you’re nervous about getting this wrong. You want to be good for him.

He trails warm wet kisses down your spine, running his hands over the soft roundness of your ass, squeezing gently with his big hands. You close your eyes and relax into the mattress, your senses fill with him. The warmth of him, the feeling of his fingertips, the sound of his breathing, the smell of him invading your senses, calming you as it emanates from his bedsheets. He smells so good. He smells like a man.

You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you hardly notice he’s kissing your cheek softly. His hand tugging your hair gently to keep your head to the side so he can see the side of your face.

“You ready?” He hums softly next to your ear, his fingers brushing the side of your face softly. Your eyes flutter open, surprised by his words. A small smile crosses your lips and you nod your head. “Yes…” You reply.

“Sweetness…” He whispers and kisses your jaw once more before receding back behind you. You feel his hands adjusting your hips and the pillow propping them up for him. You feel his fingers softly caressing your sex, almost in a soothing way. He knows you’ve had a lot already.

Then you feel his hand on your back and the head of his dick at your entrance. Slowly he sinks himself into you to the hilt. Your knees bend and feet come up into the air at the feeling, your hips instinctively wanting to press down, escape him. But he keeps you in place. Whining and squirming, your hands grasp into the sheets, wanting to be good for him.

“Oh, baby…” You hear him moan and feel him massage your ass as he sinks as deep as he can. He watches as his dick disappears inside you. His hand squeezes your ass harder. He’s holding himself back from doing something else. Something he doesn’t know if you’d like. But you feel so so good, it’s almost like his hands have a mind of their own.

He slaps your ass hard. A strangled gasp and a slight growl leaving your lips and your hands gripping the sheets harder. He rubs over the red mark on your skin with his fingers tenderly.

“You like that?” He asks and your mind is hazy. You hum absentmindedly in response and nod your head against the mattress. “Do you actually like it or are you lying?” He asks and you can hear the smile on his lips. You open your eyes, realizing that he’s actually asking you, not just saying that just to say it. He leans over to look in your eyes and you’re surprised by the soft look on his face. “I-I… I don’t know…” You say sheepishly and he nods his head. “Okay… that’s okay…” He reassures you and leans in to kiss your lips. You’re pleasantly surprised by his sweetness at this point. Resting your head back down on the mattress and feeling as he presses his lips to your shoulder. He draws back his hips and pumps into you. The feeling of his cock squeezed in your sensitive walls makes your jaw drop. He moans into your shoulder and the sound gives you chills.

Your hands flex and squeeze down on the handfuls of bedsheets below you, soft whines coming from the back of your throat as he thrusts into you, his hand pressing down on your lower back, arching your hips up to him.

He speeds up, the rhythm of skin on skin filling the room, your whines turning into small squeals, music to his ears. Your hand flexes and grabs the sheets, flexing again and hitting the mattress three times as your only way to release any sort of energy building up. He grabs your wrist and pulls your arm into your side, pressing your wrist down into the mattress so you can’t move it. This only builds the pressure inside you, making all of this harder to just take. Needing some sort of release, and he's making you hold still.

You gasp and clench your teeth, pushing your face into the sheets, soft cries of overwhelming stimulation threatening to rip from your throat. It’s all too much, and he knows that. He’s panting like a hound behind you, holding your hair in his hand and your wrist to the bed.

“C’mon baby… c’mon let me hear you” He pants and dips his head into the crook of your neck. “I- I can’t…” You whisper and gasp against the bedsheets. Your knees bend, your feet coming up between his thighs as you squirm. Without even looking behind him, he pushes them down with his legs, holding you down completely.

“Just scream for me… cry for me baby… please” He breathes out and presses his mouth to your shoulder as he pumps you ruthlessly. “I need to hear you…” He demands and your breath is tight in your chest. Your words stuck on your tongue. Your moans caught in your throat.

You’re doing exactly what you told yourself you wouldn’t. You want to give him what he wants but it’s like you don’t know how. He feels so good inside you, so perfect, so full, it’s all you can think about.

He growls at your silence and leans down, bringing his mouth to your flushed shoulder and biting down hard. His sharp canines and teeth leave a mark on your skin. An urgent squeal of pain and surprise escapes you and your eyes shoot open, a growl of your own vibrating in your chest. He smiles to himself and bites you again, harder this time. You moan loud and whiny, pushing yourself up completely on your hands in reflex and in turn your back arches further. And it’s like the bite unlocked something that was stuck inside you- now you just can’t stop moaning and crying over his cock no matter how hard you try. “Oh my god! Oh Miguel! Fuck me, ah! Ah!” You whine and cry and he smiles.

At this change in position, Miguel supports your stomach with his big hand, finally letting go of your hair. He pulls you up, slowing his thrusts for only a moment as he pulls you flush against him. He’s kneeling on the bed now, your legs spread over his thighs and your back flush against his chest. Your head falls back against his shoulder, jaw slack and moaning out his name as he keeps pumping up into you, the feeling making your eyelashes flutter and your stomach muscles clench. He wraps his big arms around you, nestling his face in the crook of your neck, breathing hard and hot on your chest.

“Oh, god…” You pant and whine, your head leaning to the side to rest on his head. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good…” He curses through a heavy breath against your neck. A high pitched squeal escapes your throat as your back arches against his chest and your orgasm hits you hard and fast. Your squeals turn into screams and cries of his name, how good he feels, how big he is, how much you love his cock. You’re babbling and thrashing in his arms and Miguel smiles, finally getting what he wants. Hearing your sweet innocent voice screaming out the dirtiest things as he’s plunged deep inside you. His climax is building up fast and you can feel his thrusts getting sloppier, his hands wrapped around the front of your shoulders and at this point he’s pulling you down onto his cock to keep the feeling going. Your orgasm has passed and you’re a soft moaning mess as he chases his own release. Snapping his hips up a few final times before his hips stutter and he’s shooting ropes of hot white inside you. Filling you up again completely, the extra dripping out and back down his shaft.

He holds you tightly against him as you both stop moving and start panting to catch your breath. You’re glad he’s still holding you because if he let go, you’d surely face plant into the mattress. Your head rests back on his shoulder and he places small kisses on your shoulder as he snuggles his face into the crook of your neck, breathing deep and sighing out in relief.

“Will you be mine, little one?” He asks softly and kisses your cheek. “Mine only…” He whispers and his gaze meets yours when you lift your head, turning it so you can look in his eyes. His finger strokes your cheek softly and it’s like he’s looking at the sun. He can try to close his eyes but the memory of you will always be seared into his mind. “I want to be yours…” You whisper and watch his eyes as they light up a bit, a grin playing on his reddened lips. “Good. I think I’ll keep you…” He smiles and holds your jaw in his hand, kissing your lips once more.

#miguel ohara #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara smut #smut #spiderman smut #i need him so bad #i want him so bad #miguelito

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sixosix · 4 months

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PDA W/ WANDERER — fluff

Admittedly, you were one of the many people who thought that Wanderer recoiled at the thought of even holding hands in public. Yet, you realized you were so wrong not even a week after dating him.

It wasn’t exactly holding hands, but he insisted on keeping an arm snaked around your waist or over your shoulders. You could find yourself distracted, and you wouldn’t stumble into anyone, with him navigating you through crowds with his hands on you.

You took advantage of this a lot.

“Watch where you’re going,” he grumbled.

“Sorry, Kuni.” But you still kept your eyes fixed on the book, and he didn’t comment on it again. He simply slid his hands down to your waist and led you himself. He didn’t like admitting it, but he liked taking care of you.

It was nice. Touchier than you expected, but it was not uncharacteristic for him. He did seem like the type—somewhat handsy but in the most endearing way possible.

Yet when he kissed you in public, that was when you started piecing it all together. It was short but long enough for his hands to have moved to your cheeks to deepen it. You could feel eyes and even hear gasps around, but he didn’t pull away until you seemed out of breath from holding it in surprise.

There was also when he reached for your hand and kissed the back of your palm, an old lady nearby cooed and said, “What a cute couple you are!”

Wanderer had damn preened and was smirking the whole way back home. Like— like a dog that had been told how a good boy he was. Or a cat who was fawned at for catching a fish.

“Are you actually into PDA?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“What?” Wanderer looked really cute, with his brows furrowed like that. “What’s that?”

“You know, kissing in public. Holding hands in public. Affection in public.”

Wanderer raised a brow. “Why does it matter?”

What does that mean? It was a very Wanderer-like answer, but that didn’t satisfy you.

Maybe he found joy in showing off that he was your boyfriend. That seemed absurd enough to be true. Maybe he didn’t care about the attention that came with PDA. Maybe—

Wanderer stared at you incredulously. “Was this seriously what’s been bothering you the whole week?”

You huffed. “It wasn’t bothering me! Your answer was just really vague.”

“So it was bothering you,” he deadpanned, pinching your cheek long enough to make you whine. “Didn’t I already say so? Why does it matter?”

“That’s not a good answer—”

He kissed the pout of your lips. “It doesn’t matter to me if it’s in public or if we’re in the privacy of your room. If I want to kiss you, then I’ll kiss you. Isn’t that an answer enough?”

You flushed, and he flashed a victorious smile. Wanderer can be so romantic without meaning to be.

#genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche x you #genshin impact x you #wanderer x you #genshin x reader #genshin drabble #wanderer fluff #genshin impact #kunikuzushi x you

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bluerosefox · 7 days

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Gray and Graysons

One of the Bats has a secret. Something they never told to the others.

They were so very young but they have memories of a sibling, so small and tiny. They remember the burst of warmth they had in their heart when they held the tiny baby for just a moment.

But they weren’t allowed to keep them, their family couldn’t raise them. Money was tight, just enough for three but not for four, despite their shows always bringing in a crowd it was getting harder and harder for the world to be wowed by them in the new age and their sibling was too small and tiny and needed to be cared in a single place than for them to be on the road. Their lifestyle was not good for his tiny sibling apparently.

They had to watch as their parents gave his sibling away to people in suits, them promising to give his baby brother to a loving family when they find a ‘home’ for him. He watched his parents try to be strong only for his mother to break down once the car left down the road, his father holding her and apologizing, the rest of the circus troupe all silently coming over to give the heartbroken family condolences.

Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson had tears running down his face when he last saw his baby brother.

A brother he got to name before he had to be given away.

Daniel ‘Danny’ Grayson.

-x-x-

Dick never told the others. If anyone dug deep into his past they might find his brother’s birth records maybe, if someone got around to digitizing the paperwork for him but given the fact he was placed in the US childcare systems just a few days after his birth and the fact that Dick was still pretty young they most likely believed he didn’t remember his baby brother now. Not after so many years.

But they were wrong, Dick remembers. And he kept the secret close to his heart and memories.

And the only physical evidence he had was a single picture of him holding his brother, a smile on his tiny face towards their father who had taken the photo of them together. When he had lost his parents, lost most of the things that connected him to them, to his past in the circus that had been his whole life, had been taken from him in Gotham’s ruthless childcare system, he held on tight to the picture in secret. Hid it away from anyone trying to rip it from him, hid it from Bruce when the man took him in days later, hid it from Alfred despite how gentle the butler was towards him. He couldn’t, wouldn’t risk losing his photo at the time, he hadn’t trusted anyone and by the time he did he didn’t have the heart to reveal it.

So yes, the existence of his baby brother Danny was his most guarded and best kept secret.

So that’s why Dick, as Nightwing, nearly died from a heart attack when leaving a Justice League meeting he spotted a familiar face among one of the new engineers working in the Watchtower.

It was like seeing a young version of himself. Only, Dick could see that the young man was more than a copy of him, so much more than a clone. He held many traces of John Grayson but also had a bit more of Mary Grayson than Dick did. Small details that Dick foggely remembers taking note when he had held his baby brother.

“Hey, hurry up with that report Gray!” Shouted the head engineer from down the hall, his hand beckoning the young adult to come over.

“Coming! And boss, I told you Danny is fine!” Danny shouted back before hurriedly leaving a stunned Nightwing.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #crossover #dp x dc #blue rambles #danny phantom dc #writing ideas #random idea #dpxdc #Danny and Dick are siblings #Danny is a space engineer #he worked hard and now gets to be in space #dick grayson #Dick’s parents couldn’t care for Danny because of money and the fact he was tiny #they wanted him but couldn’t keep him #his paperwork got a tiny bit lost and damaged before it got digital #so there isn’t much for either brothers to find each other #Dick did look but found next to nothing about where his brother went #Danny still had the original papers but the papers got damaged bad and his last name is a little lost #he knows it’s Gray something #small what if in this AU but what if he married Val and took her last name #and later finds his old papers and is teased he was always meant to be a Gray some way #BUT he doesn’t have to married in this #just a tiny what if #BUT he has changed his last name to Gray after a bad fall out with he Fenton’s #it wasn’t even because of him being a half ghost or even because of Vlad #nope it was because he didn’t want to be ghost hunter

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sweet-as-an-angel · 5 months

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Father’s Friend! John Price Headcanons

Warnings: 18+, Forbidden Romance, Age Gap, Implied Smut, Brief Descriptions of Smut, Cock Warming, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Cum Inflation, Stomach Bulging, Teasing, Older Man/Younger Reader, Pet Names, Profanity, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

He tells you to keep quiet when you’re being intimate; he silences you with a sibilant “Shhh,” when your moans get too loud, telling you to “Keep your voice down, Sweetheart. Wouldn’t want your dad to walk in on his precious little angel getting fucked by his best friend.”

He’s a tease, too. “Or, maybe that’s what you want. Want me to fill you up and send you out there with your belly pumped full of me. Show em all how much you like getting speared by an older man’s cock.”

And if he finds it you’re going on a date with someone who isn’t him — WHOO, that will NOT end well for you.

He’ll bend you over the nearest sirface and pound into you. Gently enough that you can still walk after the encounter, but hard enough to remind you who you belong to.

“Can he fuck you like this?” John pants, teeth gritted and eye twitching as he feels you clenching around him, speechless. Drooling onto the cover of your bed beneath you. His hand slides up your front. Presses into your stomach. He growls as he feels himself there, his tip throbbing inside you. “D’you think he can make you feel like this?”

And when your date arrives to pick you up, he watches you walk, a hand placed over your stomach to hide the bump formed there, your thighs together pressed together to try and stop John’s semen from leaking into your underwear. And John watches you, a thin, sly smile on his face as your gaze finds his. He waves you off, knowing you’ll back. For more. For him.

For the rest of the evening, all Price can think of is you trying to go about your business knowing that you harbour a secret in your stomach; namely his cum sloshing around inside you. He can just imagine the surprise on your date’s face if you decided to get intimate with him, only for him to tear your underwear off and find you already wet with another man’s cum oozing from your hole and rolling down your thighs in thick globs.

John’s life has been a series of high-action, adrenaline-filled moments. But none of those compare to when the two of you are hiding your forbidden relationship from everyone around you.

Price’s unwavering love of cock warming has almost led to the two of you being caught multiple times; namely when you’ve been sat on John’s lap, squirming as his dick lays nestled deep inside you, only for someone to come bursting through the door, making you jump, tighten around John. He has to try and stifle the guttural growl clawing up his throat you’re squeezing — milking — him in your moment of panic.

Luckily, John’s ridiculously large desk - the one you’d often remarked he only got to comfortably fuck you on - hides what lays beneath the surface of this particularly dark and colossal iceberg. It conceals the outline of John’s cock inside you, the material of your shirt seemingly too thin for the job.

John dismisses the person who rudely interrupted you. Sure, they gave the two of you a strange look upon seeing you sat in John’s lap, but as far as that person’s concerned, that’s all it is. Flirting at most.

John’s interest in you isn’t purely sexual, though. He cares for you. Truly and utterly. You remind him of the feeling of first love — the one he never got.

He takes you out to fancy restaurants, ones far enough out of town that nobody knows who either of you are, letting you act open with each other. Hand holding, forehead touches, fingers running up your thigh, quick kisses, slow kisses, kisses that stray into dark waters.

Speaking of a hand running up your thigh; John’s classic, default move whenever you’re at a crowded event together (especially in the presence of people you know). You and John always sit beside each other, which always leads to his hand slipping beneath the tablecloth and up your leg, stopping only when he reaches the warmest spot — the inside of your thigh.

And he does this all while maintaining conversations with other people while you’re left mute and wanting.

Of course, he always delivers.

He’ll pull your underwear to the side and start toying with you. Gently, at first, his pace slow as not to attract attention. Then, when your face starts to get red and your voice is but a string of whimpers, he leans in, closely, so you can smell his cologne that charges hundreds by the drop, feel his beard tickling the side of your face, and whispers: “Don’t get yourself all worked up, Love. We’re with guests, after all.”

John will never let you cum under these circumstances. He’ll take you to a nice and isolated room and have his way with you until you’re having to lean on him for the rest of the evening, his arm about your waist and his semen pooling in your underwear. Heavy. A mistaken gesture of friendship.

If anyone ever did get suspicious of your relationship, John would tell you immediately.

“I can’t risk losing you,” he’d say, stare solemn. “We’ll have to keep our distance — just for the time being.”

God forbid you start crying, otherwise he’s on his knees, taking your hand in his and pressing long, deep kisses to your knuckles, his breath nigh-frantic and hot against your skin.

“I promise, Darling, this is only temporary.”

It would have to be, because John can’t go two minutes without thinking of you, needing you.

He sees something that’s your favourite colour in a shop window ? There you are, in the forefront of his mind.

You still interact with each other, of course, but you can’t be as close to one another as you’re used to being. As you’d like to be.

John can only watch you as you fraternise with other guests, party-goers, your father’s lawn party a hit. And yet all he can think about is having you by his side, fingers interlocked and looking down at you with all the love he’s never been able to give to anyone else.

These avoidant periods usually always end with John coming to your door and knocking profusely, his visage that of a man who’s seen nothing but ghosts all his life. And he takes you in his arms, pressing kisses to every inch of your face, leaving the two of you gasping for breath by the end of it, his eyes filled with adoration he’s never known and will only ever know for you.

Usually, you can expect a mountain of gifts to be waiting for you after your suspicion avoidance era ends - a collage of everything John collected that reminded him of you in your absence.

Some of it he purchases solely for you to wear for him and him alone, to put on a show for him. Sure, it’ll get torn off shortly after, but John can’t deny that you look like a present wrapped up just for him to unravel, to ravage.

Clothes, jewellery, accessories, shoes; he watches you wear them out and about. Something about seeing you wearing things he’s bought for you sends him feral — the fact that you’re drenched in his wealth while nobody else knows what lies beneath the surface. Beneath the layers of satin and silk and silver are the remnants of the night before. Teethmarks, bruises, scratches; the etchings of hours of pure, uninterrupted love-making. Breathless confessions, promises of a life together where you don’t have to hide your love.

Every outfit, every coat, is the disguise for many a night more.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

#mw2 x reader #mw2 #mw2 smut #mw2 fanfic #john price smut #captain john price #john price #john price x reader #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price smut #captain john price smut

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introloves · 8 months

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𝐎𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

money tied to love shouldn’t feel this good.

old money! gojo x reader + dom! gojo + petnames (angel + princess) + reader gets doted on + reader also gets spoiled with money and gifts + heavy petting + messy sex + kinda public sex + size kink + praise + overstimulation + breeding + frotting + embarrassment + slight, very slight humiliation + slight degradation + squirting + f! reader

— word count; approx 3.2k

gojo knew the promise of his immense amount of wealth was what drew people in. knew that his name carried weight- and the look of his face itself was enough to get him out of most conflict, but it felt different with you.

he knew you were not as interested in the circle of opulence that he was born into- but that didn’t mean you didn't dislike it.

he figured it out ten months in, decided to indulge in a restaurant that had been bought out for the night and settled you right in front of him- sparkling in the dim candlelight with jewels he had dropped off right before picking you up. watching with crescent eyes as you squirmed in your seat, lips pouty and propped open to let just a sliver of warm exhale through before tucking your bottom lip into your teeth. wondering if you knew he could see the subtle shift of your thighs- tugging the satin dress across the swell of your thighs.

“you like it?” satoru wondered, sitting back in his seat while your trembling fingers reached and curled against the stem of the wine glass- knowing you tried so hard to keep an air of nonchalance against his always watching eyes.

“it’s… beautiful.” you finally giggled, letting the sweet liquid inside your mouth- making the already expensive wine look just that much more delicious against your lips.

it pleased him, knowing you were enjoying yourself, knowing how much you fought against his incessant push to throw gifts your direction left and right, a feeling of guilt twisting in your stomach that made you feel like maybe he thought you were using him. but he knew different, the slight frown on your lips when he first gave you a necklace that looked like it could pay for your rent for a couple of years was dropped off at your doorstep with no further pretense or condition to let him know this was different.

he simply thought it would look good on you- and his expenses were explained to no one but him alone as the only heir to his family wealth, it's not like it would make a dent in money that sat there unused and was older than both of you two put together. it looked better draped around your neck, or hugging the curves he could seemingly long for forever, felt better when the simmering heat in your stomach was worn on your cheeks- liked leaning down and feeling the warmth painted on the curve of your face, nearly burning against his lips.

sitting back, he let his knees fall apart- spreading his legs open, crossed his arms over his body to look at you from the glint of his lower lashes. a stance that at first glance would look like it was him getting comfortable, but the way his lips kept a small upturn at the corners- the way he really looked at you felt like there was a crushing weight pinning you down right in front of him. his chin tilting up to ask without a word being said if you felt it too, if the weight of his cock in his silk pants was reciprocated by the thrumming of want nestled between your legs. silence that had you shakily press the crystal back down against the table to bring a hand up and shield another small giggle from your lips, and it took everything in him to not reach over the table and tug your hand away. his own heart thumping heavy in his chest, a lowly mumble of ‘cute’ that sounded mean falling from his lips before keeping quiet once again.

broken only by the sound of the music changing- the slow whine of a sleepy note seeping off into a moving waltz, seemingly snapping out of his stupor for a second- wondering if he could keep his hands to himself for the entirety of the meal. giving you a wink before straightening back up, elbows placed on the table to close the distance just a little bit.

“beautiful, huh.” he repeated, wondering how to proceed with the delicate swing of want that was tipped back and forth between the two.

“how hungry are you, angel?” gojo breathed, sighing something heavy out of his lungs. letting your answer pick for the both of you, eyes caught against the delicate glimmer of diamonds reflected back with every rise and fall of your chest. luring him in even further with just the way you sat there, trying not to groan at the singular thought that he had brought them for you- that it was from his own hand that placed the delicate metal and diamonds fasted against your skin right there. wondering if you would wear his name just as pretty right there.

the question struck a chord in your stomach- tingling with the thought, with the offhand chance that he was just as desperate for you as you were him, food be damned. there were always other nights, and the events leading up to this whole show of glamor and wealth were already way too much for you to bear.

“hungry?” you wondered out loud, “not very hungry.” you shrugged, truthful and shy. knowing you were wanting something else, but finding it hard to really vocalize just what you wanted in fear of reading the signs wrong.

“but it’s not about the food, is it?” you sighed, motioning with a small circle of your hand to the environment you found yourself in- finally letting your finger rest against your newly found tennis necklace resting along your collarbone.

and gojo laughed, knowing you were going to say something in regards to this whole show. because you were right.

“no princess, it's not about the food, but i am a gentleman and thought i'd ask before i do this-” satoru nearly keens before sitting up straight, and with a wave of his hand ushered over the waiter. motioning for the man to lean into him, whispering words lost to you no matter how much you strained to hear before handing him a black card, rimmed with silver trimming. smile still plastered on his face even when he turned to look at you, before finally standing and extending a hand out towards you, bowing his head to avert his eyes to the floor like the so-called ‘gentleman’ he claimed to be.

it made it so easy to lean into the grandeur that he was cloaked in, giggling before letting a hand reach for his arm, traveling up the softness of his button up shirt (with too many of them undone to realistically be called one) before looping your other arm around his bicep, shivering with the feel of muscle taught and so big against your body; expecting him to tug you to the front door, but instead took long steps to the back, dimmed lights only illuminated sparsely by satoru’s request. walking past leather seats and heavy oak counters, his eyes glued to the doors of the bathrooms nestled away in the back even when you tipped your head up to look at him as he tugged you away.

“gojo?” you whispered, even though there was no need to.

“hm?” was all that was responded back to you, hand pushing the door open and finally grabbing you. hands shaky while they pressed against the warm curve of your body, barely letting the door shut closed before leaning down to kiss you, sighing like he was tasting the sweetest thing hed ever had- and with every pass of his tongue against your glossy lips it might as well had been.

rendered speechless, too busy trying to guess where the path of his hand was finally going to land against you, your own hands reaching up to anchor themselves into the fabric of his shirt- fisting the material like it was the only thing keeping you standing.

“satoru!” you cried, in between a kiss that didn’t feel all consuming, letting you think for just a second.

pulling away with the slight urgency to his name, finally paying attention to the way you shook against him, wondering if he took it just a little too far.

picking up your chin with a curled finger on one hand, the other prying your shaking fist from his shirt before kissing the back of it. wondering how you had gotten so sweet.

“angel.” he sighed, finally thinking straight now that the heat he had felt all night was satiated just a tiny bit, finally attentive to what you wanted.

“i dont want kisses.” you breathed, blinking back tears for the sake of the time it took to get ready, wondering if it was any use granted just what you wanted.

“no? ah, baby.” satoru sighed, leaning in to lick your cheek like it was the most normal thing- like it was something to do when trying to soothe someone, ready to apologize, to let you know that he really was a gentleman and there was no excuse for tugging you along for the sake of calming down the throbbing in his pants.

“no, i-i want more.” you finally cried, thankful for the fact that his piercing eyes weren’t staring directly into yours, finding it hard to think when they were pinning you down.

and in a second, it felt like he could finally breathe. tilting his head back to stare at the lights illuminating the bathroom, thankful that they were not generic fluorescent lights- it was much softer, painting you in a color that made you look worth more than anything he could think up.

“more? what’s more, baby. tell me- i’d give you anything.” gojo murmured, shaking with the painted restraint that didn’t come easy, too indulgent, wanting to hear what you had been pining for the whole night. with what he knew you wanted from him, finally letting yourself be indulgent with the grandiosity he could so easily give you.

but it felt too real, all of the courage you had seconds ago wasted away with the way he held you in place- thumb and pointer finger pressed on either side of your face while he leaned down into you, breathing hot and heavy into your open mouth, just waiting for the words like he was going to eat them up. draped in expensive fabric thanks to him, jewelry clasped around your neck and wrists thanks to him, propped up against the cool wall in the restaurant you could never get into by yourself thanks to him. and all you could do in return was cry and shake like a baby against his ever imposing stature. breaking into the mess he wanted you in.

“c-cant. i can’t.” you finally breathed, closing your eyes and letting the tears that had clung so desperately against your lashes fall down your cheeks, nestling against the dip of your cheek his fingers made.

and he shouldn't have felt so good about this, shouldn’t have; so ardently burned with lust at the way you gave it all to him, but he was a creature of lust and opulence- and there wasn’t anything as tempting and delicate as you.

“oh, angel- it’s okay, i’ll take care of it, it’s my fault- isn’t it?” he reassured with a lilting voice that felt like licks of stinging heat against you, letting go of your face in favor of reaching down lower- pressing against the pulse point of your neck instead, making you even dizzier than you had been already.

and he supposes the reason why he liked you like this, dizzy and dependent on him, was because it made it so easy to turn you around- letting you miss his touch for just a second before entangling his fingers against the back of your head and pushing you forward- silently apologizing for his heavy hand before swallowing it all back when your mouth popped open and you whined a sound so raring it made him blink before returning fullforce.

leaning to search for the cheek that hadn't been plastered against the cool marble to bite into the softness there, while his free hand wandered down to the crux of your legs. prying your soaked underwear to the side and sinking just the tips of his fingers against your slit, openly groaning at how hot and wet you were. his cock straining against his pants, throbbing and swelling with every shaky breath you panted, pressing it against the thinly clad curve of your ass, letting his hips rut desperately against you, fingers sinking further into your cunt when the feel of him against you like that had another wave of wetness make a mess right there while he touched you.

“youre so, fucking- wet.” he murmured, making it sound like a complaint, before leaving the grip of your head in favor of reaching down between the two of you- fisting at his cock for just seconds until the heavy press of his body against your own waned in the want and need to have you made him dizzy too. finally letting the heaviness of his swollen cock free, letting it rest against your lower back, nestled like it belonged against the swell of your ass, painting your pretty dress in a messy string of precum.

normally, he'd shown more restraint, would have strung you along until you couldn’t take it anymore and then give it all to you- but the singular thought of you finally basking in what he had to offer, in what came with his name made him already too weak.

“too fucking cute, i really have it all.” he breathed, prying his messy fingers from your cunt before grabbing the equally soaked piece of fabric hiding you away from him and pulling, tugging until the lace and cotton gave way, falling down onto the floor between your feet- not even bothering to move your dress, shifting his hips away from you in order to guide the thickness of his head into your heat. too hard to need a guiding hand, and finally letting out a strained groan when the mushroomed tip of his cock popped inside.

open mouth panting once the initial churn of his stomach went away, heavy balls constricting with the need to dump a heavy load of thick cum inside you.

a slave to this singular thought- chasing it with closed eyes, reaching for it before it left the forefront of his mind. towering body bowing down to meet you, to hiss expletives against your ear, wanting you to know what was racing through his mind the second his cock finally sheathed itself right where it belonged.

“i’ll give it all to you.” gojo whined, hiccuped in desperation while his hips twitched to give you one good thrust, pushing a mirrored sound of utter shock from your own pouty lips.

“the money, clothes, anything you want-“ he grunted, working to lessen the clutch of your tight pussy around his throbbing cock, barely able to move, to fuck you. “you won’t have to work a single day in your life, princess.” satoru murmured, words clipped short, his pet names for you spat between gritted teeth when his hips finally found a frantic rhythm, balls slapping against your clit so hard it felt like pads of fingertips tapping the swollen bud there- only further adding onto the searing pleasure.

trying so hard not to completely collapse, your hands found his forearms, wrapped tightly around your stomach to keep you there- close and unmoving while he humped away, letting you know in his own way to let go, he had you in the midst of dirty, filthy words.

“just give me a baby, yeah?” gojo finally breathed. pitching forward to nestle his nose into the space between your shoulder blades, arms keeping you so close you could hardly breathe.

the singular sentence making you dizzy, thighs squeezing together in the sudden heat wracking your body at the implication of it all- at the fact that you wanted it more than anything.

knees snapping shut, barely keeping any weight of your body against your toes, putting all your faith in his arms before seizing up. stomach clenching so hard it ran on the precipice of hurting, cunt closing down around his dick so hard he fought to keep it inside- knowing that’s where it belonged. wishing more than anything he could turn you around to see you cum, wanting to watch your pretty eyes roll and head tip back- but the sharp sound of liquid splashing down along the glistening floor was enough.

an exasperated laugh knocking the wind out of him with the realization that you just came all over the front of his expensive pants and the floor.

head tilting back to laugh out against the vacant room, wondering why you were so cute, why even in the midst of cumming you mewled and pleaded with him to cum inside- pushing past the overwhelming exhaustion from it all.

and it only takes seconds longer for satoru to oblige, wanting to do right by his part- to give you anything you wanted, finally pressing against the curve of your ass, shivering with the final constrict of his stomach before relenting.

cock swelling, spilling inside of you with a fervor that makes him loose any semblance of composure he has left, letting himself picture you tied to his side, happy and content- smiling and asking him for things he’s more than happy to oblige with, wanting you to be selfish and greedy with him, just like he is you.

“ah, messy.” he finally breathes, like it’s your fault- snickering when you whine and throw back a mean look at him, smile bitten back just a little when the final pulse of his cock hits him. trying to let the lowly groans simmering in the back of his throat lessen just a little, wishing he didn’t have to leave you, wanting to stay in the heat of your creamed cunt, dick surrounded by the mess he made there.

but the shake in your legs doesn’t let up- and he knows you’re tired, and with a small sigh, he leans down and kisses your cheek sweetly, sliding his spent cock out and furrowing his eyebrows at the wetness coating it, a pearlescent string of mixed cum falling down onto his already ruined pants- huffing with just the slightest tinge of pride.

reaching to gently shift the crumbled up seat of your dress down back where it belonged, seeing the ruined state your attire was in too- rolling his shoulders back to soothe the strain of being bent down around you just a little.

“satoru.” you whine like he wasn’t already doing everything for you, but you couldn’t help it- he’d made you like this, always wanting more.

and he comes down like the singular ring from his name from your lips pulled him itself- pressing kiss after kiss along your heated cheek, shushing whines when he lets you try and stand by yourself, wanting to make it home to properly give you everything.

smiling like he wasn’t about to pull you out of the bathroom with cum soaked thighs and expensive silk that made everything shine so elegantly despite what was wetting the material- but he only assured you it was okay. there was no one here after all, he’d paid everyone out to sit in the back and enjoy a break on him.

further stoked by the way you simmered even more at the realization that with money like his, he could do anything.

he could do anything for you.

#gojo #gojo satoru #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut #jjk smut #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk #jjk.txt #smut

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shibaraki · 18 days

Text

OUT OF MY HEAD, HALF BURSTING ┊ MIDORIYA IZUKU

synopsis: japan’s sweetheart and saviour is in a quirk induced coma. you’re the only one that can bring him back.

tags: GN reader, post canon au, pro hero deku, quirk accidents, fluff + angst, hospitalisation, mutual pining, intimacy, technically doctor/patient but they know each other, friends to lovers, reader has quirk (‘dream walker’), memory/dream sharing, referenced depression, getting together, kissing, cheesy idc idc

wc: 5.2K

In your years wading through patients' memories, you’ve found that people have the most uncanny ability to resign themselves to their fate. You’ve wondered time and time again whether it’s instinctive to ruin things—if humans couldn’t help but stumble and make a mess of the things around them.

You recall that thought process now with a weary sigh, as your eyes skim over the patient's name for the tenth time in as many seconds. Midoriya Izuku.

“Well? Are you gonna do it or not?”

You’ve been staring at the medical file for long enough that an uncomfortable silence has dawned upon your office. Two weeks prior, a villain named Catatonic used her quirk to force Deku into a comatose state, that which he has yet to wake from. Even after the liberal use of quirk inhibitors, countless visits from Eraserhead and the administration of various stimulants, Deku would not stir. Realistically he should’ve roused from the coma naturally as soon as the quirk was cancelled. But he hadn’t, and his doctors can only assume it’s because he can’t, or refuses to.

Thus the case in your lap. A last resort.

“I’ll do it,” you intoned, thumb flicking at the corner of the manila folder. There’s already a deep crease there. The file itself is the heaviest you’ve ever had in your hands. Dense in a way that makes you ache. You and Deku are good friends—the kind of friendship that forms mainly because you frequent the same places. That place in particular being the hospital, except you were there to work, and he was often wandering the hallways listlessly to burn off the dregs of whatever sedatives he’d taken or visiting with patients.

Awkward small talk eventually blossomed into real, fulfilling conversations, and you started to like him, a lot more than you should. You kept the memory of his small, sincere smile close to your chest; nothing like that dazzling grin he wore on duty, it was softer, something private, and you relished being on the receiving end of it.

He was skilled at talking around his injuries. Sometimes if you felt especially bone-weary after a shift you’d be so relieved to see him that you forgot to ask. That sits with you. Deku is a hero. A good one, the best one. He’s brilliant at what he does—keeping people safe, protecting them from harm. In the entirety of his career, it appears he rarely, if ever, turned that care and consideration onto himself. You’re not a licensed therapist, and barely a doctor. Still you contemplate his medical history with a cold sense of regret.

“You realise there’s a large possibility I’ll end up seeing a lot of confidential stuff while I’m in there”.

“Don’t care. S’not like you can tell anyone”.

“I don’t think you understand how invasive this will be. I’ll see personal things. Private things, Bakugo. He won’t be happy”.

“Don’t care. If he doesn’t like it then maybe he should fuckin’ wake up”.

“This might not work, you know,” you finish tiredly.

Bakugo arches his brow at that. Despite the shadows under his eyes there’s no defeated slope to his shoulders, only a fierce scowl. “Either you can do it or you can’t,” he says, voice unsteady as if reeling between rationality and outright aggression. “You’re supposed to be the best at what you do”.

“I am the best at what I do, Bakugo. I can promise you I’ll find him”.

“Then what’s the damn problem?”

The file feels heavier. It feels like a foregone conclusion. You swallow, your throat dry. You don’t bother attempting a smile. You’ve lost the will to maintain your professional veneer.

“I can’t promise he’ll want to come back”.

Dream walker.

At twelve years old you thought it made your quirk sound whimsical, and gentle, and not at all the invasive thing that it actually is. After all, your reach didn’t end only at dreams. You were able to project your consciousness into another’s mind if it pleased you, parse through every memory, ambition, fantasy, trauma and fear, and manipulate them however you liked. Back when your control was non-existent you would drift into people’s heads whenever you slept like some wayward soul and saw far too much far too young.

The need to understand yourself and your quirk is what drove you to studying medicine. Neuropsychology, mainly. You carved meditative techniques into the very recesses of your own brain and learned to keep your consciousness tightly moored but had no real ambition beyond that. After the war and the complete upheaval and reform of hero society, it was difficult to find your place.

Until Okumura Yukiko.

At the small age of eight, Yukiko fell under the effects of a severe nightmare quirk, and despite the quirk being canceled she couldn’t wake up naturally. You had carefully walked through the delicate threads that made up her young mindscape—quirk-infested by formless shadows with knife-sharp teeth and worse, eerie figures that wore the appearance of her father—you found her trembling inside her mothers figmental wardrobe, took her hand, and guided her out.

When you came to she was curled up in the swaddle of your arms, trembling still, but awake. Her timid incantations ring true in your ears even now. Those tiny little thank you, thank you, thank you’s inspired the person you are today. Not quite a doctor, or a therapist. A specialist for special cases.

Something in your gut told you that traipsing into Midoriya Izuku’s mind wouldn’t be simple. That it would permanently change things. This isn’t some stranger, or a patient you’d never cross paths with again. He’s important to you in a way others aren’t.

Your hand hovers over his face, fingertips brushing his temple. You push your fingers into his thick green hair, rich in colour and soft, no knots to catch on your knuckles. His friends have been visiting in shifts, keeping him comfortable and presentable.

Bakugo had managed to keep the Hero Commission at bay for the time being, but if you came back without Midoriya tomorrow there would be far more than one scowling man looming in your office. Though the possibility left a bad taste in your mouth you can admit, in the privacy of your thoughts, that you’ve contemplated prolonging his recovery for the sake of allowing Midoriya rest. There must be something keeping him under, his genuine reluctance or worse; you’ve been reassured repeatedly of All for One’s death and the absence of the previous quirk holders but it’s best to exercise vigilance.

Midoriya does not react, not even a twitch of his nose, but there’s a flutter beneath his eyelids and a sleepy-sweet warmth to him that has you smiling, fond. Tucking your feet around the legs of your chair, you scoot it forward and bend closer, elbows resting on the edge of the hospital bed. “I’m not sure you can hear me in there. Maybe not. But I hope you won’t hate me for this,” you tell him.

Midoriya’s face remains serene as ever—more so than you can remember. It makes you wonder how much pain and discomfort he’s been hiding throughout your interactions. The tension has been sapped from his expression, lashes fanning over his cheeks. You’re close enough to count each individual freckle. Lightly, your thumb taps the space between his brows. “There are a lot of people out here that love you. They’re waiting for you to wake up, so I’ll have to have a look around your head a bit. Okay?”

Nothing. Heartbeat monitor pulsing a healthy rhythm, broad chest rising and falling, Midoriya continues to sleep. You sigh and cast a final glance around the private hospital room. The clock reads 18:22. Outside the window you see a single cloud, wispy as a dandelion, slowly disintegrate across the dusky sky. You make a cradle with your arm, head resting in the crook while you take Midoriya’s hand and try to relax. Anticipation turns in your gut. Years of experience aside, you’ve never really acclimated to the feeling of that first step into another’s subconscious.

Pressure gathers inside your skull as your quirk activates. You inhale a quick, wounded breath at the sensation. Your eyes roll back, vision swallowed by abrupt darkness, and you jerk against the distinct sensation of falling as your stomach roils. You’re overwhelmed by a cacophony of images and sounds—a determination that happiness would come, then moored to the burden of expectation, any optimism muffled under exhaustion and pain, replaced swiftly by a sense of discontent, grief and regret that swelled over time.

And then everything stops.

Your arms feel empty. Your chest feels hungry. You ache with it, the disquieting loneliness. Fog leaks into the memory, surroundings concealed beneath a thick mist. Behind you is a small pond. There’s a notebook soaking in the water. The koi are mouthing curiously at the weathered corners, faint black tendrils of ink curling off the charred pages. Scrawled boldly across the top is ‘Hero Analysis for The Future: No. 13’. Your strikingly young reflection ripples as you plunge your hand in and fish it out, holding it at arm's length as you shake the excess away.

Sufficiently less soaked, you draw the notebook to your front and carefully turn the cover to read the first page. You can feel the slight indentations on the back where a pen has been pressed hard enough to score the words through the page. Written inside, smudged but undeniable, is Midoriya Izuku’s name.

“Uh—excuse me…” a shaky, pitched voice comes from behind you, belonging to a very familiar pair of teary eyes. Midoriya is not just small, he’s scrawny. His hair is longer, unable to decide on which direction it wants to grow, and his middle school uniform is slightly ill-fitting, as though his mother bought it a size bigger for longevity. He ducks into the higher collar to hide his reddened face when you look at him.

The urge to bundle him up and hide him from the world is fierce. The situation is odd, but you offer a smile and his blush worsens. “Is this yours?” you ask, holding up the notebook. You try not to grimace at your own childlike voice. Midoriya nods frantically. His hands flex around the straps of his backpack. Smaller than the broad palms you’re familiar with, neither scarred nor crooked, trembling where they motion to clasp around the notebook. Your fingers brush and he attempts to swallow the yelp that bubbles in his throat.

“Thank you,” he stammers, pressing the notebook flat to his own chest. Midoriya swallows. His gaze never strays from you, growing brighter with each passing second as the idea in his head takes shape.

“Do you go to school here?”

“Oh,” you blink and the shadows have elongated. The pond is now hugging a school building. You recognise it despite never having seen it before. Aldera Junior High. “I don't,” you answer, sounding sorry. He predictably deflates. “I live close by, though!”

Midoriya perks up again. He shifts his weight between each foot. Red faced and unsteady, he quietly asks, “Do you think we could be friends?”

Your mouth slacks a bit, answers dying in your throat. You look down at your hands, palms upturned and unblemished. The dappled sunlight passes through your incorporeal form. Interaction with anything aside from the true patient during your work is incredibly rare though not entirely unfounded; people who daydream in vivid detail or ruminate chronically on old regrets usually had false memories in excess. Their minds seem to naturally meld around your intrusion, but they never went so far as to seamlessly incorporate you. Which can only mean one thing.

You fit because Midoriya has imagined this numerous times before—befriending you as a child.

Before you can respond you’re being dragged abruptly into a memory, the echo of a blinding flash of pain rippling through you. A reflexive gasp has your chest heaving and you curse at your lack of control. There’s barely a shard of light. Behind you is a hard, jagged surface but below is loose, uprooted. Attempts to move are futile, and agonising. You slump into the displaced rubble, silt and icy embrace, and listen. From above there is only a haunting silence but only a few feet ahead you hear muffled crying and Bakugo’s strangely tinny voice.

Your vision adjusts in increments, from pure darkness to a soft outlined blob to a comfortingly familiar silhouette. Midoriya is poised like an Atlantean statue, holding up the creaking structure and keeping it from crushing the young girl cowered in front of him.

Another wave of pain washes over you as the rubble groans. Midoriya bites back a whimper. His body is sinew and bone pulled taut, skin stretched over a drum. Everything seemed to swell dramatically around him.

“We’re almost there, kid. Two minutes,” Bakugo’s voice spills jarringly from the bulky earpiece hugging Midoriya’s ear. “Now look at Deku for me. You lookin’?” the young girl does as he commands. You see her trepidation falter at the easy smile Deku is wearing. “Bet he’s got a big dumb grin on his face right now, yeah?”

“Y—yeah,” she echoes, clutching the dirtied hem of her dress.

“You think he’d be smiling if there was anythin’ to be scared of?”

Her shoulders slant, the tension released, and she offers a tremulous smile of her own, “No”.

But you can feel, quite viscerally, how scared Deku was in that moment. The nauseating pain in his arms has dwindled into numbness and he daren’t spare himself more than the occasional shallow breath, as if the bloating of his lungs alone might disrupt his balance. Not once does his smile falter.

The surroundings warp again. You struggle against the whiplash, flung unwillingly into another memory. Breath forced from your lungs, the echo of Izuku’s pain dissipates in a blink and you land on unsteady feet, coughing and spluttering in the middle of an eclectic café covered in tinsel.

A sign written in cursive above the chalkboard menu reads ‘Mean Mug’. Melodious Christmas music plays quietly overhead, and the bell above the door is soft enough to get lost in the smooth notes. You’re cocooned by heat and met with bold patterned wallpaper. The unifying palette seems to be warm-toned colours; red, orange and brown come together amidst the mismatched decor to create a cosy atmosphere.

A half heartedly disguised Midoriya shuffles awkwardly by the counter, looking up at the door with trepidation every time the bell chimes to signal another customer. He grins once Uravity arrives in a casual disguise of her own, eyes still bright beneath the shadow of his cap.

They order and settle in a quaint alcove away from the windows and any prying eyes. Neither hero notices your presence as you seat yourself at their table and listen to their conversation. There are things you don’t understand. Code words to be used when discussing sensitive matters outside of their agencies. Inside jokes that you weren’t there for. But most curious of all is the knowing look on Uraraka’s face when Midoriya mentions that he saw you at the hospital that day.

“You’re hopeless, Deku-kun,” she says, as fond as she is amused. “What was your excuse this time?”

Midoriya clears his throat. He grips his cup, pressing until his knuckles turn white. It draws your attention to the thin cast splinting his ring and middle fingers together. “I broke my fingers sparring with Kirishima”.

You remember that, though too entrenched in his memory to attempt receding into yours for details.

“So you leapt halfway across the city to have them stuck together despite the fact that your agency has an on-site infirmary,” Uraraka’s hair falls in a gentle swoop beneath her jaw as she laughs. Midoriya shrinks into himself ever so slightly and her eyes soften. She pokes at his forearm. “C’mon Deku—why haven’t you asked yet? Do you really think you’ll get rejected?”

Glancing back and forth between them, your heart beats a tattoo across the inside of your ribs. You feel as if you’ve both missed something quite important and heard too much. You push your chair backwards and fall away from the table, and the memory, before Midoriya can respond.

With renewed determination—and heat rising to your cheeks—you reign in your quirk, steering cautiously through Midoriya’s subconscious mind as you should’ve in the first place. Images flicker in and around your periphery, each as desperate to draw you in as the last.

You see Midoriya crying, bleeding, lashing out in anger. You see him in a sterilised room, lulled by monotonous beeps, flesh stitched back together. You hear the doctor's voices coalesce into white noise. You watch as he’s handed crudely drawn thank you cards, coffee-stained police reports and thick manila envelopes marked as confidential in large red letters.

You turn away as Eraserhead approaches, a solemn expression, a quiet clink accompanying his footsteps, unnaturally heavy to one side, a young girl with silver hair following right behind him.

Your heart leaps to your throat when he screams in agony. You look down. There’s blood running down the street in rivulets, skin coming apart like wet paper.

You close your eyes. Next you risk a glance All Might is there, thinner than ever. He’s sitting in a wheelchair by a large window swaddled in a thick knitted blanket, watching over the city, smiling.

You turn away, feeling a pang of grief. Midoriya is expressionless, examining his battered body in the mirror, condensation still lingering on the glass, tendrils of heat curling upward as the shower drain gurgles.

Then he’s in a dark room bringing a stranger's hand to his mouth, kissing the centre of their palm, drawing the finger into his kiss-bitten mouth and sucking with a hazy gleam in his eyes.

It’s overwhelming. You stumble and suddenly Shouto is eating across from Izuku. He brings his chopsticks to his lips, noodles hung limp between them. “It’s obvious you like each other. You should just confess,” he says before shovelling his food.

Too private. You turn on your heel and find a patient of yours on the bed, unresponsive. Izuku is beside you, muttering under his breath, thumb pressed to the shadow beneath his lip. He reaches back to brush your wrist and offers a tentative touch of reassurance. You watch yourself lean against him for a moment and then retreat, grateful for his consideration, unneeding of it, and desperately wanting it, all at once.

The scene ripples violently. A reporter is staring up at Izuku with sparkling eyes. Her hair cycles through an array of colours as she shakes with excitement. “It’s amazing, Deku-san,” she insists. “For your spirit to be so heroic that it physically steers your body… that’s special!”

Izuku conceded with a strained laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. You feel how his stomach knots. “I used to think so too,” he says, sounding far away.

It’s the middle of the night somewhere when your search finally comes to a halt. You find you’ve landed on an empty street, in that dense, heavy darkness that makes you feel like the only person in the world who’s awake. There’s a tall residential building hugging the pavement. Intuitively, you know this is where Izuku lives.

Your footsteps are made heavy by Izuku’s lingering hurt and exhaustion. It’s disconcerting, the way he feels about his apartment. Coming home should be effortless. People come home in the same way they draw breath. But to Izuku, it's a weary, miserable journey that he must consciously think about and do. His perennial loneliness is overwhelming, a near physical force repelling you from opening the large glass door.

One foot in the lobby and the surroundings undulate. You’re dropped in the middle of his living room. It’s vacant. There’s a large box of case files tucked under the coffee table, an old takeout box left out on the counter, a blanket strewn haphazardly over the couch cushions. You pinch the soft fabric and rub it between your fingers, bringing it to your nose as you’re overcome by the urge to smell it. Izuku’s warm scent floods your senses.

Something thuds outside, followed by a tinkling of keys on a chain. Your blood runs quicker as the front door abruptly opens. Izuku looks harried as he ducks into the genkan, quite visibly frayed. The upper half of his hero suit is unzipped, pushed down to hang over his hips, littered with debris and dry mud. You hold your breath as he kicks off his shoes and lifts his head, meeting your wide-eyed gaze. The air around you is charged. Trepidation prickles at your nape.

Then the shadows over his stormy face recede. Izuku gentles, light returning to his previously empty eyes. “I’m home,” he breathes. “I missed you”. His voice shivers down your spine—you know in your gut that this is him, the real Izuku, but that fact is hard to believe while he’s looking at you like he wants you.

“Welcome home,” you smile back, slipping the blanket around your shoulders as you move toward him. “Hard day at—?”

Your intentions are to sit him down, keep him calm so as not to be ejected, and explain what’s happening, but before you have the chance his larger body crowds you against the wall—the dull impact reverberates through your ribs, knocking the breath from your lungs and he’s kissing you as if it’s something he always does.

Though it’s more of a collision than a kiss. The sensation is indescribable. Information spills into your mouth, your quirk reflexively absorbing his every fantasy, ache and want. Your knees almost buckle. The blanket puddles at your feet. Fingers snake into his thick hair, nails dig into his roots where skin becomes earth as you try to reciprocate his fervour.

Under your tongue you feel the cut on his lip, under your palms the dark swell across his cheek. You shake off the cloud of desire. Too many lines have already been crossed. “Izuku,” you whine. His name comes naturally now; you know him deeply enough. Blunt teeth graze at your jaw, your throat. You lean away for air only to catch a glimpse of another angry ivory-red bruise peeking from beneath his loose collar. “Izuku,” you tried again. Then louder. “Izuku, that’s enough”.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Izuku rasps as he rears up from the crook of your neck with wide, glassy eyes.

“No—I’m,” your heart beats hard in your ears. Dread sinks low in your belly. “It’s me. I’m really here, Izuku. You’ve been away for too long. I had to use my quirk. We need to wake up”.

“Wake up? You’re… oh,” his eyes grow wider, then shutter closed on a shaky exhale. The cut on his bottom lip has started bleeding again. Rivulets seeped into the cracks between his teeth and stained his gums red. You yearn for the searing heat of his hands as he releases you and staggers backwards to scrub at his face. “Oh my god”.

“Wait. Please don’t throw me out,” you say quickly, reaching to clutch at his wrist in case he panicked. Izuku tenses at the contact only to relax a beat later, his fingers spreading over his eyes so he can get a peek at you. “It took me forever to find you here. There’s a lot of stuff in your head”.

“I won’t. I wouldn’t,” he mumbles. You could collapse in relief. He’s not angry, he’s embarrassed.

“Thank you. I promise I tried not to look at anything too private”. Your mind didn’t make it easy, you think. It was almost like he wanted me to see everything.

Izuku groans and lets his hands drop to his sides in defeat, revealing an entirely pink face. You keep your fingers curled around his wrist, his pulse light and fast. “Okay. I’m okay. We should probably sit down for this,” he eventually croaks, a tremulous smile working its way across his lips. “Drink?”

You pick up the blanket and make your way to the couch while he briefly disappears into the kitchen. Around you the apartment takes on a rosy sheen. A dull clink shudders through the silence as Izuku sets a cup on the coffee table in front of you. It’s your favourite work mug down to the smallest details.

“You remembered this old thing?”

Shaped like a cat, the handle curved in and away like a feline’s tail. It’s piping hot, steam already curling up from it like a crooked finger, like the invitation he meant it to be.

Izuku nodded awkwardly, perched so far forward that it stretched credulity to say he was on the couch at all. He tracks your movements with intensity when you lean to pick up the hot drink. The initial sting to your palms quickly dwindles into numbness as you bring it closer and realise what’s inside. Hot chocolate. The surface sprinkled with those small, cube shaped marshmallows that he likes.

You swallow and feel the warmth spread through your body. A smile pulls at the corner of your mouth as the thick, saccharine flavour floods your senses, washing back the bitterness and thawing your anxiety. You can hear the tension in Izuku’s shoulders snap as he slumps forward, arms hung over his knees and head low in relief. His reaction is oddly vindicating, if not contagious.

“How long have I been asleep?” he asks. “Time is weird here”.

“You’ve been comatose for over two weeks,” you reply. “They tried everything they could before Bakugo insisted on bringing me in. You have a lot of people waiting for you”.

Izuku inhales sharply. He makes an aborted motion to scoot closer before thinking better of it. Your attention strays to the nervous wringing of his battle worn hands. Endeared, you put your mug down and close the distance yourself. Pressed thigh to thigh, you envelop his tightly curled fists, bringing them into your lap. The shaky breath he takes is loud in the otherwise quiet room.

“Honestly I’m surprised you’re still working”.

He looks at you with an unsure, watery smile, sunlight caught in glassy eyes. His voice is thick as he asks, ��What do you mean?”

You smile sadly and run your thumb over his knuckles. “You’ve been on patrol. I thought you might’ve locked yourself in your head because you needed a proper break—and who could blame you, really. But you’re working yourself thin even in your dreams”.

Izuku huffed a laugh, more breath than humour. “I love being a hero. It’s what I’ve always wanted,” he says, his voice tight. You sink into his side and feel his diaphragm stutter. “But it isn’t everything. It felt like I was suffocating and I needed something more. Something to come home to for a little while…”

His red-rimmed eyes quickly return to his lap when you meet them. “I still can’t believe you’re here. Your quirk really is incredible”.

You can feel the shame swatting at you like a summer-born heatwave, reminded of just how deeply you’ve invaded his privacy, and how easily you overstepped your bounds.

“I’m so sorry,” he continues, at the same time that you tell him, “I’m sorry, Izuku”.

“Please. Let me go first,” he murmurs like a question. You nod your assent. “I’m sorry I forced myself on you. I thought you were a part of my imagination, like the rest of this place. I should have realised you weren’t. I’m sorry,” he rambles on. “I wanted to be closer to you but I got carried away and I’m sorry”.

“You couldn’t have known. I should have told you it was me as soon as you walked in,” you firmly interject. Izuku doesn’t look any less stricken in your periphery, cheek sunken where he’s gnawing at the flesh. “And you didn’t force anything. I hardly pushed you away,” your brow wrinkles and you smile despite yourself. “I got a little lost in your head, too. Not my most professional moment. But I wouldn’t want to leave either, if we were cuddled up in here all day”.

“Really?” Izuku blinks. Hope colours his cheeks. He clears his throat and shifts in place as he tries very hard to appear unaffected. “You don’t think it’s creepy—me picturing all this with you?”

You think of that young boy yoked with the burden of expectation and feel your heart crack. You can still taste his desires. They’re insipid, belying their age, as though they’d lingered long enough to stale. Izuku treasured his friends and fans', their love and loyalty; yet he felt guilty for allowing them to foster such a blind faith in his goodness. He was a man with faults like any other, capable of making mistakes, of inflicting harm. More than anything Izuku longed for someone to see the darker, uglier corners of his life, and make room for all of him. You wanted to be the one to do it.

“I’ve imagined this with you. This and more,” bolstered by everything you’ve seen, the confession spills out with startling ease. Your eyes squint above the curve of your smile. “I like you too,” you coaxed his fist open as you spoke, mapping out the carved furrows, shallows and depths on his palm. “A lot”.

“Oh,” he exhales, slowly entangling your fingers.

You give an emphatic nod.

“How mad is Kacchan?”

“Pretty mad. But when is he not?” you laugh at his grimace. “I’ll be there as a buffer when you wake up. It’s my professional opinion that you need a few more days to recuperate and take me out for crêpes. So will you come home with me?”

There’s a gleam in his eyes—a combination of warmth and weight that tugs at your chest. His gaze flickers across your face, from your lips to your eyes in askance. You lean in and he kisses you again, sipping gently at your mouth, firm and slightly sticky with congealed blood. Strange. It feels so real. You suppose it is, in all the ways that matter.

“Okay,” he whispers after one last peck to your lips. You get to your feet as he stands and gestures nervously toward the genkan. “I, uh. I don’t really know how to get out of here so… lead the way?”

You laugh and take him by the hand. “Don’t worry. The way back is always a lot faster. It’s a little disorienting—watch your step,” you warn as he follows you through the front door. Rather than the lobby, or a stairwell, both bodies are swallowed up by darkness.

Spat out just as abruptly, your senses return to you piece by piece. Breathing through the vertigo you peel your eyes open to the rapid rise and fall of Izuku’s chest as he reorients himself. A crick in your neck, a knot in your spine. The clock reads 07:12. There are already nurses bustling around the hospital bed, likely alerted by the frantic heart monitor; that which does little to hide the way Izuku’s pulse stutters when you lift your head to get a look at him.

“I’m home,” he says, throat rough from disuse.

Your hands are still entwined, albeit a little sweaty. You smile, “Welcome home”.

#deku x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #q’d

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edenavari · 3 months

Text

On the Matter of Mirrors

Eddie is still trying to convince Steve he and Nancy are made for each other. It comes up, like, everytime they hang out, which is all the time, because Steve couldn’t stay away if he wanted to. He doesn’t, but he also wishes Eddie would quit trying to set him up with someone else.

‘Cause, like, here’s the thing. Steve likes girls. He also, he realized sometime after Robin came out to him, quite likes boys. He likes Eddie. Like… Really likes him. Practices pick-up lines in front of the mirror kind of like. Wears a little more black and tousles his hair just right to give himself a subversive edge he never used to have, just the right amount to trigger a subconscious response without appearing to be tweaking his fashion sense at all. Has mastered the art of wearing eyeliner without looking like he’s wearing it, and it took him a fucking while to work up the nerve to go out like that, not that anyone but Robin noticed.

But Eddie just will not drop the Nancy case, no matter how many times Steve tries to stir the conversation away from her, and between his budding crush and the crushing fear that it’s never gonna be anything but one-sided, between the slightest of sore spots Steve still sports about the way things with Nancy ended in the first place and the bitter edge of never managing for something to start with Eddie after weeks of efforts, it’s beginning to grate, right?

“So what’s the problem?” Eddie insists, bounding circles around Steve like an eager puppy, and something in Steve’s ribcage snaps.

They’re in Steve’s room studying when it comes up once a-fucking-gain. Eddie is taking accelerated summer classes so he can finally graduate by September, and by some inexplicable fuckery of fate, despite Steve’s own dirt poor records, he’s turning out to be a decent tutor. Something about Eddie managing to focus in a way a classroom environment never allowed him to. Maybe because most teachers and over half the student body were openly hostile at worst and aggressively ignoring Eddie at best, all because of his last name or his tattoos or his loud brassy cheek.

All the same, Eddie does get distracted fairly easily, and an hour in, he’s bounced off the bed and started rattling reasons Nancy Wheeler is definitely Steve Harrington’s soulmate. Steve groans noncommittally, gets up to grab his water from the desk and takes a long swallow as Eddie keeps needling him.

“You’re the problem, Eddie,” he all but snarls, when he really meant it to come out exasperated at worst.

He snarls, though, and Eddie stiffens, his eyes going cold and hurt and the corner of his mouth turned down in anger.

“Right,” he says, and it sounds so casual Steve thinks he won’t make a big deal of his tone after all. Fool’s hope. “I’ll get out of your perfect hair, then,” Eddie spits out as he makes for the door, only Steve stands in his way, hands up in surrender.

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that,” he starts.

“No, you’re right, it’s none of my business,” Eddie interrupts, but he steps back, gesturing wildly as he speaks. “It’s not like we’re even friends, you just got saddled with me because of Dustin. We saved the world together? Big deal! My involvement was incidental, really, more of an inconvenience than any kind of help. Why would you want my opinion, of all people’s, right? Even by this point. Get out of my way, I’ll quit stepping on your toes. Go on!”

“I don’t want you to go, Eddie,” Steve tries again.

“Just want me to shut up, is that it? Not really my strong suit, you might have noticed.”

Steve can’t help smiling. “I have noticed.”

It only seems to rile Eddie up even more, throwing his hands out and making to step around Steve again. “Man, what do you want from me?”

“Is this allowed?” he breathes out, extending the last word beyond its scope.

Which puts him within reaching distance of Steve, who grabs him by the lapels of his jacket and presses him, careful not to jostle him too bad but firm enough to counter his manic strength, against the wall. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything, just presses a touch too close, lets himself imagine that he’s going to close the distance entirely, cocks his head and licks his lips and hangs there in a way he hopes spells it out for Eddie without inducing any kind of panic.

Eddie, hands still up at shoulder height, lets out a little huff close to a whimper when his back hits the wall, bracing himself for a hit that would never come, and maybe some part of him knows this, because he doesn’t look scared or angry anymore, just kind of confused with a side of grief, and it doesn’t take two seconds for him to start to look intrigued, maybe even, if Steve allows himself a little optimism, interested.

His lips part on a sharp inhale, and they’re close enough to smell each other’s skin, and Eddie’s eyes drop to Steve’s mouth, a little watery and out of focus, edging forward in a way that could just be a twitch, just a consequence of holding his breath the way he is, plausibly deniable, subconscious no doubt, only when Steve mirrors the movement, he does it again, gaze moving up and down from Steve’s eyes to his lips and back and back again without blinking, until twitch by twitch their noses graze and their mouths connect and Steve closes his eyes and concentrates on maintaining that seal over Eddie’s plush, pliable pout, because if he didn’t focus, he’d be way, way overeager for a first kiss.

He moves back after several seconds with a shaky exhale, swallows as he finds Eddie’s eyes again. His blood is thrumming in his fingertips, somehow he feels both cold between his shoulder blades and warm down to his toes, and if Eddie looks at all put out he thinks he might never manage another mirror in his life.

The look on Eddie’s face is pure disbelief.

Steve shrugs, not quite settled on the matter of mirrors. “I thought you made a point of breaking the rules?”

A glint starts to wake in Eddie’s eye that’s looking more delighted by the minute.

“Just as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“We’re in the clear, then,” Steve whispers, leaning in, just a smidge.

Both of Eddie’s hands sink into his hair as he pulls him into another, much steamier, kiss. Steve lets his fists fall from Eddie’s lapels and knot over his back instead, lets his mouth drop slightly open, an invitation Eddie wastes not a second to follow through on, teeth scraping and back arching like he wants to sink all the way into Steve, and by the time they’re parting, breathless, cheeks flushed, mouths stinging, Steve’s one hand is braced against the wall, holding himself up, knees too weak to do the job on their own.

“I thought you could barely stand me,” Eddie heaves.

“I can’t,” Steve admits. “You drive me nuts. Just not how you thought.”

Eddie frowns, suddenly serious.

“You should forget all about Nancy.”

Steve frowns too. “That so?”

“Hm-mm. She’s taken, man. And not all that. You need to move on.”

“Damn,” Steve sighs. “Am I being desperate?”

“Pathetic,” Eddie nods, barely a whisper against Steve’s lips, and they break into smiles in tandem. “Forget all about her,” Eddie repeats.

“Who?” Is the last word Steve gets out. Then he’s busy enough he really does forget.

When he fixes his hair in the bathroom mirror in the morning, he walks away with a wink.

Give us a kudos, if ye dare x

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #steddie oneshot #first kiss

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ghostofhyuck · 22 days

Text

NCT Dream when you go out on a club with them.

AN: While writing this, I forgot Dreamies' alcohol tolerance, so I apologize if there might be inaccuracies.

Mark Lee

You know that girls night out where one girl always brings their boyfriend? yeah that's you with Mark. All your girl friends love Mark though. He knows the great and money-worthy clubs in your area. He pays half of the bill and watches not only after you but also to your other friends. He's the type to just sit at the couch, with a beer in his hand, keeping an eye on your bags and you dancing on the dance floor. Sometimes he dances with you, if you drag him to the dance floor.

Huang Renjun

Renjun isn't that fond of clubs. It's too loud and sweaty, especially when there's a lot of people. But since you love clubs, he insists on going with you so that he can take care of you. The most frequent thing that he does is hold onto your glass while you dance on the dance floor. He makes sure that you won't get spiked or anything. He's also the type to take a sip on your drink first before giving it to you, just in case it taste weird, (he does that despite not liking the taste of alcohol!)

Lee Jeno

SCREAMS. Okay, *breathes* but this man is overprotective of you when it comes to clubs. You know those sickening couple that's glued together on the dance floor? that's the two of you!! But that's because Jeno makes sure that you're not being touched or uncomfy around people. He's the type to pull you closer to him when you're dancing or has his arms wrapped around your waist so that you wouldn't be bumping onto strangers. Although he still gives you space to have fun, he just makes sure that he's around before a stranger approaches you.

Lee Donghyuck

This is so hot but I believe in Haechan who would take shots for you. You have very low tolerance in alcohol, so you could only take a few drinks and shots. That's why whenever you're already tipsy and your friends insist you to take a shot, Haechan will snatch it and drink it on behalf of you. Like you can see that the alcohol doesn't matter to him and just takes it with a blank expression, and despite taking a lot of drinks, he would remain sober.

Na Jaemin

I think that whenever Jaemin joins you in your night out with your friends, he's just there to take care of you. He's not going to touch any drinks or alcohol, maybe a glass of water or juice if he's feeling it, BUT he's there for you. He lets you get drunk and let loose as long he's there to bring you home. He doesn't get tired of taking care of your drunk self since when you're drunk, you're just sleepy. Jaemin's probably the type to help you sober up first before bringing you home too.

Zhong Chenle

Just like Jaemin, I think that Chenle is the type to join you in a club only for the purpose of bringing you home. He has his own car so that means he has to drive safe. I feel like Chenle can still let himself let loose, taking a shot or two, maybe a bottle of beer, just enough to vibe with the club and sober enough to drive you two home!! AND he always brings you home safe and sound, especially when you're knocked-out drunk.

Park Jisung

NOW Jisung is the life of the party. He's probably the type who will hype you up, dance with you, and go drunk with you. He knows his alcohol tolerance and honestly he doesn't fucking care, he's there to have fun with you. You two are probably those giggly drunk couple who at some point made out on the dance floor, or maybe outside the club or inside the bathroom. Still, despite being drunk, you two still have senses to go home, (sometimes you two would sober up at a near convenience store.)

#nct dream #nct imagines #nct dream fic #nct fic #nct #nct x reader #nct dream imagine #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct jeno #nct mark #nct renjun #nct jaemin #nct haechan #nct chenle #nct jisung #nct dream reactions #nct drabbles

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baddiewiththebook · 7 months

Text

ONE OF THE BOYS [PART 2]

-> While you pine hopelessly over your best friend, Eddie Munson. You hear the sentiment 'one of the boys' one too many times and you've decided to change that. All in the name of the one boy who won't even look at you, or so you think.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language and suggestive themes [no smut]

-> a/n I tried to tag everyone I saw, but some of y'all weren't linking. Also, there is a part three because part two became so long. Whoops!

[Part 1] Part 2 [Part 3]

-> <-

“You're eventually going to have to talk to them,” Robin shimmies her backpack into the empty chair next to her rather than being strewn across the lunchroom table. “As far as they know, you changed your hair and your clothes and now you hate them.”

You place your lunch tray onto the open space, then sit across from her.

Distancing from your friends was cruel, and you knew that. Robin is also right. Still, you wake an hour early to get to school ahead of them. Taking windy pathways past the gymnasium that stunk of socks to avoid Eddie on his way to his classroom that is two doors away from yours. You carry all of your heaviest books now because Gareth’s locker is across from yours. You do regret leaving that sandwich in your locker though. Gross.

With a routine schedule, two months have flown by without a hitch in the plan. Robin likes sitting with you at lunch, but she does wish you chose to sit here rather than watching you screw away at a tight bond with the boys over at the other table.

Things were desperate by the first week when you shoved toilet paper up your nose in order to fib to Eddie that you were too sick to go anywhere. You missed two days of class just so you could keep away from him.

Then, there was the band performances. You never missed a single night that Corroded Coffin played music at the scrappy biker bar at the outskirts of town. The boys had stopped inviting you after “missing two,” but you snuck into the shadows in the back of the bar. No one really bothered you there. Stage lights distracted the performers enough to where they could only see the front row of drunks.

All of the practice in Gareth’s garage paid off. Corroded Coffin was good - no, excellent. You were so proud of the boys.

You wish you could tell them.

And, so, maybe Robin is right. All of this running around is silly and reckless. You miss all of your friends dearly. Even Eddie, who still you find absolutely and undoubtedly the most complicated soul you ever met in your entire life. Your friendship is more to you than desperately clinging to his ankle like a shaken chihuahua in heat.

Maybe there is a part of you that still wishes he’d see. All the effort you put into your hair, your skin and your nails isn’t just about proving that you aren’t just one of the guys. You knew this from the very beginning. Still, even after your conversation with Gareth that one night, you still play out this plot a little longer.

You like the shiny bling and the tighter clothes that get you a bit more attention. But, you didn’t have to change yourself completely - right?

“Isn’t it time for me to mingle with people who have similar interests as me?” You say finally out of your head. Snagging one of Robin’s fries, you drop down in the seat across from her.

“You've proven you can be a chick with or without that frizzy haired freak. Don't act like you don't like the same stuff they do,” she flicks your jacket, which has hours of patchwork done. You had sewn on patches of your favorite bands. Most of the bands, you had learned from Eddie, himself.

Hours of listening to music together in his trailer, while sharing a blunt. Eddie would get a wind of energy and then he’d leap onto his bed for a solo performance. Fingers stroking a guitar that never existed. You laugh as he tumbles over his mattress, and he tells you that’s when the crowd will carry him - to victory!

You warm at the memory.

Eddie is the only person at his lunch table. Kicking his foot up onto an empty chair, he lounges and he waits for his friends. He’s always the first to get there because his class is so close to the cafeteria. It takes Gareth and Jeff a longer time because they come from the gym. And, the freshman come from the opposite side of the school, so they take the longest to get to the cafeteria.

“Go on,” Robin nudges you. “I’ll see you in math later.”

By the time Robin kicks you thrice in the shin, you get over your worries. You want to patch your friendships up with the boys, but you’re not sure what to tell them. Explaining the truth felt horrific. That you like - er - liked Eddie. Gareth’s confession in the kitchen.

Yeah, the truth seems far fetched.

Your second option is to beg for them to quit calling you ‘one of the guys,’ but that too came off risky. You've never had a problem with their comments before, or their disgusting antics and habits. Once you smell a Jeff fart, then all of the other farts seem forgiving. Seriously, no one should ever give him cheese again. Yet, they do.

Anyway, talking to Eddie first feels less daunting then to come up to all of them at once. But, with your stalling, your wish comes to late. The boys rush the table, hollering and whooping like unkept animals.

You stop in your tracks fully when you see two women beeline for the table. They never invite people to their table. Or at least, they never invite just anyone.

Roxie is easy to recognize. Candy coated red lips meet that of Eddie’s pale cheek that blushes a deep crimson at the affection. Eddie hangs his head, so he can smack a wet kiss to her lips. She uses a free hand to swipe the spare lipstick from his mouth.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie cooed.

Roxie touches his hair in a way that makes his eyes droop low, and he rests his head on her chest. All while he keeps his conversation with Jeff going.

Meanwhile, the other woman is her opposite.

Brunette hair cascades down her back, and tangles amongst her woven sweatshirt. Arms wide open with her slender fingers covered by the net sweater she hid under. She sneaks up on Gareth, and hangs over his neck. Gareth cranes his neck, and whispers in her ear making her laugh sweetly. He touches her wrist with gentle fingers and he pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose with his free hand, before they have a chance to slip further down her face.

“Indie!” Dustin shouts.

The girl hanging from Gareth picks her head up, and grins with a shining sparkle in her eye at the young freshman. She reaches over to ruffle his hair.

You panic.

Slamming into someone’s shoulder, you apologize and you retreat like a mouse being stepped on. Time slows down. You move around people as fast as your feet will carry you.

You can hear your breath in your ears meeting up with your heart banging against your ribcage.

Robin calls to you, but you can’t hear her. Blood rushes through you, and you swear your can feel the swimming and the tingling. Your fingertips tingle when you push open the door into the hallway.

Technically speaking, you couldn’t be out here if you're on our lunch period. A few classes still go on, but mostly the teachers didn’t want anyone to catch them smoking in their classrooms where they shouldn’t be. It’s not like the smell lingers.

Somewhere down the hallway, a classroom is having a heated debate. Voices bounce from wall to wall. Echoing into your eardrums. All. Too. Much. You aim for the big showy doors at the front of the building.

Cool damp air hits your cheeks. Trees stand tall. Birds hold meetings on their branches. They sing soft melodies. Outside smells earthy.

Immersing yourself in the sourness of the damp remains of rainfall, you slow your jagged breathing. Your heart beat regulates.

Keys trembling in your fist, you find your car parked not too far away in the parking lot. Some asshole has blocked your passenger side in, so even if you wanted too you wouldn't be able to get in that way.

Kicking yourself for taking the cowards way out, you catch a tearful glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Mascara slips down your cheeks. Your drowning in two inches of water.

Eddie's bandana sits in your glove compartment. It still remains his with the lingering tang of old cigarettes and sweat. You told him if he left that nasty thing in here that you'd wash the stink out.

You haven't.

Clinging to a tissue, you use that to pat your face dry. Dabbing at your eyes, you don't want to disturb your makeup. Funny how a few months ago, you would be scrubbing your cheeks raw to get anything off of your face.

The tapping on your window startles you because you think a teacher has seen you. However, you find only Robin with a pitiful expression on her face. She waves for you to roll down your window, then holds out your backpack and your jacket that you’ve left behind in your scurry to get out of school.

“You left your things,” she looks at your puffy eyes and your worn out makeup. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you reach out for your things, only to put them in the passenger seat next to you, “I think I’ll go home.”

“Indie is a really nice girl-,”

“I’m not worried about Indie.”

Robin winces at the sharpness of your tone slicing through the air like butter. You apologize to her.

“I’m going to go home, Robin.”

“Roxie and Eddie are only going to last for a day - I guarantee,” her shoulders bobble. “It’s Roxie.”

“Yeah,” you say thinly.

Robin taps your car. “Get home safe.”

“Will do,” you say. “Thank you.”

-> <-

When you arrived at school the next day, you're in class for less than fifteen minutes before your name blasts on the intercom to report to the main office. Robin salutes you from her seat in the back of home room like you’re taking a final walk, before they take you around the back and shoot you between the eyes. Well done, soldier.

Although not as dramatic, you were served a detention slip for after school. You suspected as such, since you left halfway through school without an explanation. Next time you'll go to the nurse, and heat up the thermometer with your tongue. Give her a cough, or a sneeze and she would send you home.

You tap your fresh manicure across the etchings in the desk. Profanities. Markings of once was, and forever will be.

Low rumbles cause for distraction. You pick a desk next to a window where you see the gray clouds clustering in close. They spit at the ground. Droplets of water slip across the glass. You guess which droplet will get to the bottom first, and silently cheer the winner.

Your eye drifts to the front of the class where your chest rises and falls at the next person to walk through the door. All those months of hiding your head felt worthless when Eddie shows up.

For a moment, you think, he’s looking right at you. You swallow, but you try waving. Eddie does ignore you and plops himself into a chair at the front of the classroom. His backpack drops with a thunk.

Tipping your attention back to the window, the rain comes down harder in flashes of wet thunder and lightening. Dark and stormy weather is your favorite. Because, after the rain stops, you like splashing in every puddle until you can’t see the color of your boots anymore.

You can’t do that in your new sneakers. Not a speck of dust on them. Barely out of the box.

“Everyone in their seats,” a man in a blazer walking with an arch to his spine tells us. He hovers at the front of the classroom with both hands on his desk, while peering just above his square framed lenses. Wild gray hairs stick out on end near his ears. You wonder if he’s done this on purpose to accentuate that despite he’s bald on top of his head, he still in fact has hair. “I’m Mr. Clark, and this will be an hour long detention session.”

You came prepared with notebooks and homework to do for the next hour.

“I’ll be taking attendance, and then you may quietly do your homework or read . . . for all I care, bang your head against the desk just be quiet,” he aims the metaphorical bullet at Eddie and misses, and hits the wall just over the top of his head.

Eddie clicks his teeth. “You got it teach.”

“Mr. Munson,” Mr. Clark groans. “Will I ever get tired of seeing your face?”

Eddie grins famously. “Oh, you know you’ll never get tired of me, Dick.”

“It’s Richard,” he clears his throat, then straightens his tie, “Mr. Clark to you.”

You miss the banter. The smart mouth Eddie that has you drooling. Oh, God, please resist getting sucked in again.

The notebook in front of you has pages of blank white paper. You focus on filling in the lines with your math equations.

“Solve for E,” you tell yourself in a hushed whisper. “What ever happened to X?”

So, you solve for E.

You raise your hand when your name is called for the attendance. Pretending that Eddie didn’t whip around at your name, instead you solve for E. You solve for E because E is the equivalent of- E is the equivalent of-

Eddie can’t help, but watch your eyebrows get closer and closer to your nose. You get frazzled easily when you know you’re close to an answer that’s on the tip of your tongue.

You’re breaking now. Keeping your head down, as Eddie burns holes into the top of your head. E isn’t an equivalent of anything. E is the most complex and confusing letter of the alphabet. You swore up and down that you would avoid E. E’s in front of you. There’s no way to escape E for an entire hour. Even when you think you've solved E, you still have to see E living in a trailer across from you. E’s lights still on. Eating. Watching TV. Changing. Sleeping. Dreaming.

Crap, you are not thinking about the fifth letter in the alphabet. And, you are certainly not thinking about math.

You throw down your pencil in frustration.

Eddie waits for Mr. Clark to finish his attendance taking. In mere moments, the old geezer passes out despite his fifth coffee of the day. He rocks back in his chair, arms at his side with a trail of drool spilling out down his chin.

That’s when Eddie moves.

“Hey,” you have your head down on your desk by now, but Eddie doesn’t care.

He doesn’t understand why you’re avoiding the group. Obviously, he misses when you would sit at the table and you correct his homework from the night before. You’re too smart for him. Eddie knows this. You’re more than a brain to him, though. The way you speak with your hands more and more when you get excited.

Eddie likes to pretend not to understand why he gets nervous when you lean over his shoulders to show him how to work out a problem in one of his classes. He pretends to not notice the scent of your soap that smells so sweet and delicious. That the smell lingers when you leave.

What he can't shake, however, is why you haven’t been speaking to him for the last two months. Darting into empty classrooms when you think he’s not looking. When your home, you'll keep the lights off or low enough that he might forget you’re home (he doesn’t). And, you think you’re clever sneaking into the back of his performances with the band, but Eddie sees you there dancing by yourself with a grin on your face that could break apart the gray days and bring back the sunshine. You haven’t missed a single performance yet.

So, where have you been?

You bring your head up from the table because you know Eddie is smarter than to think you’ve fallen asleep. Sometimes you talk, or you twitch your arms - Eddie’s seen this when you knock out after a long day. He'll let you sleep there, but he'll take off your shoes so that you're comfortable. And, he'll even place a blanket over you because you'll start to shiver. But, he never stays. He doesn't want you to wake up because Eddie is notoriously clumsy. Instead, Eddie would sneak into the living room twiddling his thumbs making no noise until you wake up. He wouldn't turn on the television. He wouldn't warm anything up in the microwave. He wouldn't even open his fridge. He would sit on the floor of his living room kicking his feet together, and plucking at the carpet fibers.

You never sleep long - thirty minutes at most.

Eddie thinks about how much time you spend together in his trailer at this moment. You’ve shared everything. Clothes. Towels. Blankets. Toothpaste. Food. Secrets. You've made a mark on him when he wasn’t looking. If there is a way to tattoo someone into their brain, into their heart, you're there.

That terrifies him.

“Hi,” your voice melts him.

Eddie stumbles over his words. “Erm-,”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. “I just-,”

“How are you doing?” Eddie wants you to keep talking. He’ll ask about anything to keep you here with him. Tempting you like a rabbit, and him holding onto a carrot, he waits for you to bite.

“Good,” you reply. “You?”

“Yeah, good.”

You can’t hold back. “You’re with Roxie, now?”

“Hm?” He hums. “It’s casual.”

“Casual,” you repeat. “Like I said- erm- I’m sorry that I haven’t been around. My classes-,”

“Don’t lie to me,” Eddie’s eyes swell, and you fall deeper into the trap. “What’s happening to you?”

Okay, truth time.

“I liked a boy, and he didn’t like me back,” you stretch out your top. “I even tried changing my look, but that seems pretty pointless now. But, I guess I just got tired of being compared to a boy.”

Eddie could faint. You're infatuated with someone so much that you changed your entire wardrobe. Guilt rubs at him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Eddie's denying what he already knows about himself. That if he kept comparing you to one of his guy friends that certain emotions couldn't grasp hold of the surface for air.

“Who's comparing you to a boy?”

He had to be sure.

“Seriously?” you frown. “Everyone. You. Gareth-,”

Confirmed.

“Is this about Gareth?” Eddie clenches his fist around the back of his chair. “I swear to God, I’ll pummel that little sack of shit.”

“Eddie,” you scold. “It’s not Gareth- never mind.”

“Wait, who’s the guy?”

You hum. “What?”

“You said you liked some guy?” Eddie pieces together. “It has to be one of us, right? I mean you stopped talking to all of us specifically, so which one of us is it?”

“That’s not important,” you suck in a breath. “Eddie, I’m doing homework.”

He snorts, the flips the page so he can read the question, “you’re doing it wrong.”

You roll your eyes. “Aren’t I usually the one who’s correcting you?”

“Gareth’s girlfriend has been helping me since you- never mind,” Eddie sees the tension in your jaw. “Okay, so to solve for E, you plug in this number here and then you take the square root there.”

You’re irritated, but Eddie is right and you mark your paper up how the equation should be.

“Thank you.”

“So, it’s Gareth,” Eddie presses on.

“What?”

“The boy you like that doesn’t like you back?”

“No,” you write another math equation out on your piece of paper. “Actually, Gareth liked me, and I didn’t feel the same.”

Eddie knows this, but he just needs to hear you say you don't like his friend.

“The plot thickens,” he gets comfortable. “Is it Jeff? Come on, Jeff is a catch.”

“Eddie, please drop it,” you beg.

Eddie throws a few more names out that you can ignore over your homework. But, slowly he begins to run out of ideas. You know where he’s going, and you’re not sure how to react when he says,

“It’s not me is it?”

Your pencil stops scribbling, and if you’re careful you can pretend to be thinking really hard about - what two plus two equals. Oh, damn.

“It is me.”

Those three little words trip you up more than Eddie’s jaw being on the floor right now. You stammer for a little too long. Tripping over the right words to say to him.

This is it.

The moment you’ll lose him for good.

You want him to just tear your heart from your chest and squeeze it until it pops. Make the pain of an aching heart go by so much faster.

“Mr. Munson,” Mr. Clark rose like a zombie from the afterlife. “Is there a reason that your seat is empty?”

Eddie whirled around. Still stunned, he replies,

“Uh. . . right, sorry.”

Without making too much noise, Eddie puts himself back into his original seat towards the front of the classroom. Fidgeting with his pencil, someone might mistake that he’s doing homework for the first time.

Eddie lives across the trailer park from you. How could he not see this coming? All the nights he's spent rescuing you from the clutches of your mom, who, despite being a wonderful host, has this unnecessary plea that you embrace your ‘femininity.’ That’s what you call it, he thinks.

Oh, and now to let you down.

Eddie’s seeing someone great. Roxie. She’s - she’s - she’s not as much of a slut as people say. And, he likes - no he loves that thing she does with her tongue.

Okay, he’s getting distracted.

You’re one of his closest and longest friendships he’s had. And now, you, have to go and change that.

Eddie’s mad. Angrier than angry. How dare you bring this to him.

Two months you kept away. You ran around the school like a chicken with your head cut off trying to avoid all of your loyal friends. And, you brought Robin into this mess?

Robin, at the very least, is a sweet and a neutral party. Okay? She doesn’t involve herself with anyone’s drama. She just sticks to the side of the drama like she's riding in a sidecar, and she takes notes. She lingers.

Eddie rubs his eye.

Maybe if you and he went on one tiny - the tiniest - date. As in, he doesn’t pay for food, kind of dates then you’ll get whatever you want out. You can go back to being friends, and Eddie can still see Roxie. Because, he likes Roxie.

He doesn’t like you like that.

Eddie wants nothing more than to forget the conversation you two just had. Yet, you’re lodged in his brain like a damn tumor. Yeah, a tumor. Growing at an alarming rate, he wants to smush your pretty little face. Not in a violent way - no, he’s not like that. He just wants to get out the tension, and - and hold you for a night? Does that make sense?

No, Eddie it does not.

Eddie wishes you didn’t smell so good today . . . and all the other days. If you smelled like an ogre, he could stop thinking about taking you on that ‘barely-call-it-a-date’ date. Although, if you were an ogre and you did smell as good as you do right now - ugh, that doesn't matter!

None of this matters. Why is he thinking like this?

In theory, he’ll take you somewhere romantic. To release you of your crush faster, he’ll spend the money - okay? He decides to break the bank for you.

Only once.

There’s a little spot outside of town that has the most delicious steak dinners. They have a dimly lit dining room, so Eddie wouldn’t have to see the dress you spent hours deciding on wearing. Your bare skin softened by the scented lotion you bought just for the night. He can hear your laugh like a song he knows by memory. You tilt your head back, exposing the flesh of your neck.

After your dinner, that he pays for - not you, he’ll walk you down the street where he parked his van earlier. He’ll have cleaned out and scrubbed the seats until every stain kicks the bucket. Driving you home, he’ll feel that knot in his chest that he knows from watching cheesy romantic comedy movies as practice for when that crap happens to him (he doesn't do that . . . shut up.). That knot tighten a little more by the time he gets to the trailer park. And, by the time he gets out of the car his fingertips start to shake.

Eddie will open your door, if he can get there before you. Taking your hand in his, he’ll feel the warmth of your skin against his. How right the moment feels. How nervous your breath is against his. How close you are to him. He’ll be the one to learn in first - you're too nervous to make that leap.

Lips as sweet as milk and honey. He would kiss you for a long time, always coming back for more. Eddie won't find himself getting enough of you. You’re touching his hair, and he melts.

Eddie will never want the night to end.

“Munson!”

Eddie doesn’t recall falling asleep. Yet, his eyes snap open. Mr. Clark’s slobbering from the side of his mouth. He’s so close that Eddie makes out the patches in his face where he’s forgotten to shave.

The classroom is emptying. He only catches a glimpse of you leaving.

“Go home, boy,” Mr. Clark begs. “You and I both know you don’t want to be here for any longer.”

No, Eddie does not.

In fact, Eddie would much rather be wrapped in your arms in either his bed or your bed.

Eddie shoves his notebook and his pencil back into his backpack knowing full well he heard something crunch unhappily in there. Racing out of the classroom, he sprints after you in the hallway.

But, you’ve already gone.

-> <-

tags: @hellfirenacht @queercodedcharacter @ogoc-19 @littlewinchester1 @stardustingold @ghost4love @spenciesprincess @animechick555 @foggyfooz @aactuaaltraash @loves0phelia

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson preference #angst

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