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chimielie · 1 year

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girlfriend

summary: Iwaizumi x F!Reader. you might be his girlfriend—but she's his girl.

word count: 2.4k

cw: hurt/comfort. a lot of reader insecurity. fear/mention of emotional cheating but there is none

a/n: this actually fills @akimind's request for my 500 follower event one million years ago but the formatting is tooo hard so. here it is!!! iwaizumi + angst + college au + "that's not what i said." LOVE YOU SORRY HOPE IT HURTS AND IS ALSO ENJOYABLE. <<<<3333333

You didn't mean to fall in love with your boyfriend.

You hadn't gone into this expecting Hajime to become your boyfriend at all, actually. You liked him. Liked how easy it was to be with him. How warm he was when you let your touch linger on him and pretended it was more than a flirty friendship. You hadn't ever predicted it would become so, because Hajime was hung up on his ex-girlfriend.

They'd traveled over oceans to be together, coming to Irvine from the same prefecture in Japan. They had still been together when you met him, her head tucked beneath his chin, his arms wrapped around her waist. Your first thought was "oh, he's beautiful." Your second thought was "they look like they're made for each other." You shoved the first thought deep inside a secret crevice of your brain and stuck out your hand to introduce yourself with a bright smile.

The strain of new adulthood got to them, though, or so you assumed: you were never privy to the gory details of the breakup. They remained friendly, in the same friend group, and it just always seemed obvious to you that they would someday reconcile. It wasn't until two years after their break that you were able to start showing regular, platonic affection to Hajime without feeling like an attempted homewrecker.

It was just before graduation, having dragged him away for a late-night bite to eat so neither of you would starve to death studying for finals, when everything flipped on its head. Your plan to energize the both of you had backfired; you were yawning every other sentence and came close to laying your head on the table before Hajime put his palm down in front of your face.

"Come sit next to me," he'd said, so you maneuvered around into his side of the booth and been promptly pulled into his side. You had looked up at him, murmuring a sleepy question that was more wordless noise than actual English, and that was it. Something you didn't understand softened his gaze, and then he tilted his head to the side and brushed his lips over yours.

It was a perfect first kiss.

In the weeks following it, you had bounced violently between insisting to yourself that he hadn't meant for you to read too far into the kiss and your natural instinct to go after what your heart wanted. And the more he proved that it wasn't a one-off anomaly, that he could kiss you right out of drought into a superbloom, the more you were convinced. Iwaizumi Hajime wouldn't knowingly break your heart.

When Hajime asked you to be official, wildflower bouquet in hand, the lights of the now-empty graduation pavilion shining down on the both of you, you said yes, your whole heart and none of your brain in the matter.

As you entered your apartment hand-in-hand with him, greeting all the friends who had gathered there to celebrate the end of undergraduate school, you remembered that the key modifier in "Iwaizumi Hajime wouldn't knowingly break your heart" was knowingly. He seemed happy enough announcing the development to everyone else, and then she had walked in, carrying a bottle of wine that almost slipped from her grasp when she saw your proximity. He had dropped your hand—just for a second, but it had happened, and then picked it back up like his sentence hadn't died in his mouth at the sight of her.

He'd always gotten a little defensive when people mentioned their relationship, his features shutting down into a blank, tight expression. Though they obviously weren't as close as they had been for most of their lives, they were still both part of your friend group, and he always seemed to laugh just a little harder at her jokes, kept eye contact a little longer, got embarrassed more easily around her. You didn't want to be jealous or insecure or possessive, but it just felt more increasingly obvious that you were a rebound, a cheap, temporary dupe meant to fill in until Hajime realized and returned to the love of his life.

It was hard to be angry at him, though, because you knew with every fiber of your bleeding heart that he wouldn't do this to you on purpose. You knew he thought he cared for you, that he thought he had moved on. He did a good job almost every day coming very close to persuading you of it, enough to keep you from breaking up with him and leaving him behind, but never quite erasing your insecurities for more than a few weeks at a time.

One of the first mornings you woke up in his bed, well rested and sore in all the right places, he was missing. You got up, mourning the softness of his sheets and the scent of him on the pillowcases, and slipped into one of his shirts before leaving his room to explore.

He was cooking, shirtless in the kitchen, and if that wasn't one of the yummiest things you had seen in your life.

"Good morning," you said, leaning against his counter.

"Very," he returned, flipping an egg in the pan. "Looking like that. I think—I mean, it seems like that shirt always gets chosen to be the boyfriend shirt." He had narrowly avoided saying her name, but you had heard it threatening to tumble out of his mouth. You bit back a response, but your smile still dropped, and he spent the next hour making allusive, sorry overtures without either of you actually acknowledging the slip.

You never wore that shirt again. He gave you another one, you accepted it, and life moved on.

Except you had somehow become mired in the past with a relationship that was long over, and without university or a job to distract you—you were starting at the end of September, which felt aeons away—it was eating you alive, especially as Hajime left for a preliminary return trip to Japan.

"Did you hear how Mattsun and Makki greeted him when he landed?" You sit in the car on the way to the airport, packed in with Hajime's ex, successfully hyping yourself up to see him again until she addressed the group.

"Oh, yeah," you laugh. "So funny." You haven't had a conversation with Hajime that had more depth than "how are u? miss u" for the trip's duration. She's your friend, too, though you've never been close, but there's something unbearable about admitting it to her now, when you're so unsure of your relationship's current status. It has to mean something that he was keeping her updated and active in his life, didn't it?

You find solace in knowing that you don't blame her at all. If you could find an ounce of resentment for her in your heart, you would probably have left Hajime by now—isn't that the mark of a truly evil plot-pushing girlfriend?

You cry when you see him again.

"Happy tears," you assure him, and hide your face in his shoulder.

Later, alone in his apartment, you bite your lip when Hajime asks if you want to sleep over.

"Okay, babe, I don't want to pressure you," he says, and you can feel yourself tensing up as he speaks. "But I feel like you've been—off all day. Is everything okay?"

You blanch and focus on the cowlick on the right side of his head, the one that's endeared him so much to you, so you don't have to look him in the eyes. Too much is bubbling up in your throat, your brain thrown into overdrive, and he's staring at you with so much worry in his eyes it's just not right to leave him hanging:

"No."

Hajime makes a noise you don't understand, low in his throat. "Is it because I didn't call enough while I was gone? Because I can explain that, I promise."

"No," you rush to explain. "I don't—it wasn't you, exactly. I've just—ever since we started dating—I think you still love her."

You're picking at your nails, a bad habit you've had since you were small, and he takes your hands in his, smooths his thumbs over the torn cuticles.

"I don't," he says, finally, neutrally, though his face hasn't formed into the cold mask you're used to seeing when she's brought up. "Ever since we started dating?"

"Before," you admit. "I always thought you would get back together. You just seemed so made for each other."

"But we weren't," a little pucker between his eyebrows forms. "So—what did you think when we started dating?"

"When you first kissed me," you say, "I thought maybe it was a one-off. That you wanted something casual. And then it got more serious, and I thought maybe I could just suppress my insecurities until they went away, and I mean, I really thought you liked me."

"I do," his voice grows more agitated, his lips thinning out.

"Yeah, but..." You trail off. "You would do things that made me think, oh, he's just the perfect guy, they just looked so amazing because I was jealous, and then every so often I'd see you interact with her and it wasn't like how we are at all. I know the insecurity is my own fault, that's not on you, but I feel like it's holding both of us back."

"What do you mean holding us back? You don't think you make me happy?" He snaps, and you wince.

"Not like you are with her! Every time she comes in the room you get this look on your face, like you're speechless. Like-like the songs, Haji, I just..."

He lets go of your hands, crosses his arms.

"Do you really think I'd do that to you?"

"No, Haji, I know you'd never cheat. That's why I fell in love with you! You're a good guy, but I don't want you to wake up one day and break both our hearts because she's meant to be your girl and I'm just your fucking girlfriend." Your eyes sting, your chest heaving by the end of the sentence.

"You love me?" He's quieter now, giving you a little more space to breathe.

"What? That's not what I said."

"Yes, it is," he says, a little smile growing at the corners of his mouth, as though he can't control it. "You love me."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand why you're focusing on that," you wipe at your eyes with the back of your hand. "It's true, I just don't get it."

"Because you make me happier than she ever did," he promises, crowding you up against the counter and motioning for you to jump up to sit on top of it after you can go no further. "I'm weird when she's around because she's my ex, sure, but not because I still want her. It... ended badly. It's a miracle we didn't pull the entire friend group into it, and I never wanted to make her look bad to them, so I'm always trying really hard to look, uh, normal around her. We're on better terms now, but I haven't wanted her in years, honey."

"She knew about what you were doing when I didn't," you mumble, feeling small in the stormy release of emotions. "And she knows so much about you I don't in general."

"We grew up together," Hajime reminds you. "It would have been one of the guys. I know I didn't tell her anything. You can check my call history, my texts."

You shake your head. "I believe you."

"Really?" He arches a brow, and you laugh and push gently at his shoulder.

"Yes, really."

"You know how long I had a crush on you before I did anything about it? I thought you weren't interested, and then you finally started being even more affectionate with me than you were with our other friends, and I took the chance."

"Rookie numbers," you preen under his gaze. "I liked you... pretty much as soon as I met you. But I suppressed it 'cause I didn't want to be a homewrecker."

"You're sweet," he chuckles. "I promise, you have nothing to worry about there. I'm never gonna wake up and not be grateful to see you drooling on my bed."

"You're the worst, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah," he looks at you fondly, swiping his thumbs under your lower lashes. "You love me, though."

"Oh," your lips part. "And the not calling in Japan?"

He scrunches his nose. "I was trying not to spoil anything. I wanted to, uh, discuss it with you first, but you should know my friends and family are all waiting to embarrass me if I have to turn everything around now."

"Okay? I'll consider your dignity, but I make no promises," you tease. He drops his head to your shoulder for a moment, taking a deep breath, and you wind a hand into his hair, petting him until he straightens.

"So, you know how I have that paid internship opportunity back home?" You nod, not wanting to be reminded. You'll do it for him, but... long distance sucks. "I went to their office and turned it down. I want to go through with my doctorate."

"Oh, that's huge!" You gasp. "That's incredible, I'm so happy for you!"

"So the part that has to do with you is, um," he says, "you're planning to stay here, right?"

"Yeah," you say, "my next step is like a twenty minute commute, thankfully."

"I want to finish my schooling in the States," he tells you, "and then after that, I want to go wherever you go."

"Hajime," you start, but he puts a shaking hand on your knee, and that shuts you up.

"I love you," he says seriously. "It's like I said, okay? You make me happier than anyone else. I know you're the one for me, if you'll have me. If not, I get—"

You grab his face and smash your lips into his, and if that doesn't get the message across? You don't know what will.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #hq x reader #hq!! x reader #iwaizumi x reader fluff #iwaizumi x reader angst #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader fluff #iwaizumi hajime x reader angst #iwaizumi x reader angst to fluff #haikyuu hurt/comfort

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ackermai07 · 30 days

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Hi! Could you write a one shot for Bakugo, Todoroki, and Kirishima where the class is watching a movie or something at the dorms and their crush falls asleep on them? I can see the boys getting all blushy when she unconsciously snuggles up closer to them 🥰🥰

Thank you!

ᵗʰⁱˢ ⁱˢ ˢᵒ ᵃᵈᵒʳᵒᵇᵃˡᵉ ⁱ ᶜᵃⁿᵗᵗᵗᵗᵗᵗᵗᵗ ᵘᵍʰʰʰʰʰ ᵃⁿʸʷᵃʸˢ ʰᵉʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍᵒ ˢʷᵉᵉᵗⁱᵉ ⁱ ʰᵒᵖᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵉⁿʲᵒʸ ⁱᵗ

wearning! : pure fluff

Don't repost please!!

"Is everyone ready?"

Mina shouted, making sure everything was set and everyone was prepared.

In short, what was happening was that tomorrow is a holiday, and after a tiring week, the girls suggested the idea of watching a movie (the kind you like), staying up late, and enjoying themselves to compensate for the positive energy lost through training and studying, and of course, everyone agreed.

𝗕𝗮𝗸𝘂𝗴𝗼𝘂 𝗞𝗮𝘁𝘀𝘂𝗸𝗶

The surprise was how this early-to-bed, serious guy had actually agreed to this silly movie night offer, but of course, no one dared to comment on it (they didn't want to be the reason for him changing his mind).

"Tsk... why on earth did I agree to watch this stupid movie in the first place," Bakugo muttered to himself, his eyes fixed on the TV screen where the movie was playing. Truthfully, he knew the reason he was here- 𝘆𝗼𝘂.

Bakugo had always admired your confident, composed, and intelligent personality, to the point where he found himself gradually falling for you, struggling to break free from its grasp.

Another annoyed sigh escaped his lips, feigning irritation as usual, but deep down, he was genuinely happy to be sitting next to you on the couch, able to inhale your soothing scent.

It didn't take another minute before he felt a weight on his shoulder. His eyebrow raised in confusion, and when he turned his head to see, he was met with your lovely, soft face resting on his shoulder. The boy swore he could feel his heart pounding out of his chest, and for a moment, he stopped thinking, just staring at you with flushed cheeks, thankfully unnoticed in the dimmed lights.

"Oi... you," he said in his rough tone, which seemed calmer, then lightly shrugs trying to wake you up. "You'll miss the damn movie... wake up."

Meanwhile, all he got in response was a sleepy nuzzle from you, moving closer to hug his side more, enjoying the warmth emanating from him.

Poor Bakugo stopped his movements and froze in place for about a few minutes. The first to notice was Kirishima, who turned to see what was up with his friend.

"Hey Baku-bro, what's wro..."

And there Kirishima caught sight of your sleeping form next to him, a wide grin spreading across his face. Even before he spoke, Bakugo silently gestured to him, thus ensuring he stayed close to you for a longer period.

He absentmindedly played with your hair, eliciting contented hums from you, which seemed to draw the attention of the entire class towards you two. Oh, and don't worry about any commotion; once Bakugo gives them the death glare, they'll turn away without saying a word.

(half of the class has fallen asleep already, anyway).

By the end of the movie, he didn't even realize he had fallen asleep, his head resting on yours, inhaling your refreshing scent and feeling your warmth.

(This incident might actually serve as a strong incentive for him to hurry up and confess to you as soon as possible).

𝗧𝗼𝗱𝗼𝗿𝗼𝗸𝗶 𝗦𝗵𝗼𝘁𝗼

It was known that Shoto often found himself in these kinds of nights, spending time with his friends, and with you, the love of his life.

Both of you attended the same middle school, and there were many clashes between you, but at that time, Shoto was only focused on his deep-seated hatred for his father.

Now, at U.A. High School, he found the time to develop his feelings for you, thus becoming immersed in love for you.

And there he was now, on the floor in front of the TV, covered with blankets for comfortable seating. You were sitting beside him, and oh, how difficult it was for him to focus on the movie content with you so close.

He also threw sidelong glances at you, admiring your focused face on the screen, and your slightly parted lips from concentrating so hard on the events. Honestly, he wished desperately to overwhelm your lips with kisses until you couldn't breathe (you can't really blame him).

As he was lost in his fantasies, he suddenly felt something descending onto his lap. And guess what? It was your head being placed on his lap.

The poor boy's brain stopped functioning as he tried to process what had just happened.

(He also felt like his heart stopped for a moment.)

"Y/n... y-you okay?" Shoto whispered softly to you, making sure only you could hear him, and his hand moved to brush a strand of hair away from your face, while a terrible blush spread across his cheeks.

The poor boy wasn't used to being affectionate :(

"Very... sleepy," was your only response as you hugged his waist and snuggled closer to his left side where warmth emanated.

Let's say he miraculously managed to control his quirk so as not to accidentally hurt you.

Meanwhile, the boy's heart swelled with emotions, and he found himself gently stroking your hair, a small smile adorning his handsome face.

And as soon as the movie ended, he carried you bridal-style and took you to your room under Momo's guidance, making sure not to wake you up at all.

On the other hand, he couldn't sleep a wink that night, but be prepared to receive the most beautiful confession in your life soon.

Bonus points: His desire to kiss you became unbearable.

𝗞𝗶𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗺𝗮 𝗘𝗶𝗷𝗶𝗿𝘂𝗼

He was one of the biggest supporters of the idea, especially since you were the one who suggested it, so of course he would always support your opinion.

He always did, seeing you as a fun person who radiated warmth like the sun, an optimistic personality he fell for boundlessly.

You were always a source of inspiration for him with your positive energy, encouraging him and praising his perseverance, and in return, he gave you the brightest smile.

His friends somehow learned about his secret admiration for you (Mina was the reason... ahem)

and they always tried to involve you both more to bring you closer together.

This event was no different as they made sure you two were close to each other, leaving the couch for you to sit on together.

(Kaminari was included to sit next to Kirishima just to make it less suspicious.)

Now, in the middle of the movie, just like Shoto, he couldn't focus at all.

He was just captivated by the little sounds you made whenever an exciting scene came up or your eyes sparkled with interest at what was shown on the screen in front of you.

He was literally in his own world, worshiping your facial expressions and your gentle demeanor.

But at some point, he stopped paying attention to you, replacing it with discussing the details of the movie with Kaminari. Then, in a sudden moment, he felt something land on his chest... it was your head.

The boy quickly covered his mouth to suppress the scream that was about to burst from the depths of his heart.

In contrast to the two above, he had a quick response as he gently shook your shoulder.

"Y/n, y-you awake?" His voice came out as a somewhat quiet tune, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

"Sorry... feeling sleepy... just... a little nap." After that, you held onto his arm and used his muscular chest as a pillow, drifting back to sleep.

Because of your action, his quirk activated for a few seconds, and he slapped his own face out of embarrassment and happiness he felt.

Your sudden move caught the red-haired boy off guard to the point he didn't know how to react :(

"Yes, of course... it wouldn't be manly of me to move and disturb you," he muttered to himself in embarrassment, stiffening in his position before wrapping his arm around you to pull you closer to him.

But he forgot about Kaminari, who saw everything and struggled to suppress his laughter as he ran away, catching the attention of the class, only to stare at both of you in awe and admiration.

All I can say is that by tomorrow, you'll see plenty of pictures taken of you sleeping on Kirishima, and his friends endlessly teasing him about it.

Then get ready for his confession of his feelings for you.

ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵉʳᵉ ʷᵉ ᵍᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒ

ⁱ ʰᵒᵖᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵉⁿʲᵒʸᵉᵈ ʳᵉᵃᵈⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁱˡˡ ᵇᵉ ᵈᵒⁱⁿᵍ ᵐᵒʳᵉ

sᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ!

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐝.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki #shoto x reader #kirishima eijirou #kirishima x reader #fluff #fanfic #bnha #mha #one shot

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lipstickghoulie · 5 months

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•Loss of Innocence (Astarion/female Tav smut, praise kink, dirty talk, deflowering)•

💛

Astarion crooning out praise to her for being so good and letting him do this to her, reveling in every whimper that shudders out of her and the rivers of arousal that he is coaxing down her twitching thighs. “Oh, darling, you’re taking me so well,” He purrs out, making sure to pitch his voice just loud enough that it can be heard over the lewd noises of him pumping into her, stretching her open with every scissoring motion or come-hither twirl of those nimble digits. “You’re doing such a wonderful job, pet. Such a good girl for me. Maybe you’ll persuade me that you deserve my cock next if you keep this up, hm?”

She’s pleading for more, murmuring out a breathless “Astarion, please” that makes his dick stiffen even further. Precum is already oozing off of his cock head, sticking to her skin while he looms over her, connecting them more primally than the tadpoles linking their brains ever could. Astarion knows that things are getting vocal enough here, even with his tent flap closed, that the others will be able to overhear and the thought makes a slow, triumphant smirk crease his face.

He may have already implied to the rest of the group that there was more going on between him and their illustrious leader than just near-nightly feedings (even if that hadn’t been exactly true before tonight), dropping the most sly of insinuations that went right over inexperienced Tav’s head and made their companions exchange disappointed glances that he had seemingly claimed her for himself. So what harm was it if they could hear their coupling now? Astarion did plan on keeping such a delectable treat all for himself, especially since she seemed so willing to take direction. What man wouldn’t want a beautiful woman that was eager to be taught to please him, that looked at him with such smitten and dumbstruck eyes at just the smallest amount of attention?

It was good to make it clear that she was owned, that she was to be his prize after the last two hundred years of pain and being a sleepwalking stranger in his own body. Shouldn’t Astarion get something sweet and so, so perfect to play with when the mood struck him after all that he’s had to endure?

Oh, how the mood was striking him now, as he slides his fingers out of her slick, snickering at how she goes wide-eyed and whimpering at how empty the motion leaves her. Astarion muses to himself that next time, he might restrain her and tease her, leave her slack jawed with tears of frustration streaming down those pink cheeks for hours, edge her until she is begging him and promising him anything he could ever want if he just makes her cum. Tonight though, he’ll take pity on her and give her exactly what she wants, what she craves, so that she’ll come back for more and think only of him when she gets squirmy and restless in her bed roll at night.

Astarion squeezes his hand over his weeping dick, eyes going half-lidded, pleased, at how she wiggles impatiently and spreads her legs for him, beckoning him in with every glisten of the light on her sodden folds.

“Don’t worry, little love, I’m going to give you exactly what you deserve,” Astarion coos reassuringly before dipping his cock forward and into her, his hips pushing steadily and carefully into Tav as his hands grasp her thighs to keep them open and-

All practiced control and smoothness leaves his brain like air deflating from a balloon. She’s so tight, so molten hot and soaked, his shaft being smothered by her soaked walls in a way that makes every thought leave his brain other than the desperate and animalistic need to thrust into her. His teeth are gritted even as he pushes slowly past her barrier, hearing her gasp and clutch at his back in a way that still indicated more pleasure than pain, but gods alive, it is taking every ounce of his restraint not to pound her into the dirt and see exactly how much he can loosen her up if Astarion fucks her as hard as his mind is screaming at him to.

“By the hells, you- are - so - fucking- tight,” Astarion groans, peppering every word at the end of that sentence with a snap of his hips, his gaze locked onto where his frenzied cock is shoving into her cunt like he’s hypnotized. “It’s like you were made for me, so fucking perfect, it’s like you were created to take me, to be used by me. And I’ll make you feel it all as long as you keep being such a good girl for me.”

Tav reaches out with an unexpectedly soft, tender hand, nearly making Astarion flinch as her nails trace as gently along his jaw as someone trying not to startle an animal that might bolt or bite at any provocation. There’s something powerfully and unapologetically loving in the way that she looks at him, even as her hymen’s blood streaks up alongside the vein that decorates the curve of his dick. Like any other time, he’s causing her pain or at least a small measure of discomfort and she’s taking it, taking him, in stride and accepting it.

“I’ll be good for you,” she whispers, choking back a moan, and Astarion thinks to himself almost deliriously that she already has been. She’s been good for him and to him in a way that he had never thought that would be afforded to him in this lifetime. If he was a better man, maybe he’d tell her that, but he fears that he’s given her too much power over him already even without giving a voice to these murky, panicked feelings that are starting to take shape in the very center of himself.

Instead, he just snarls and puts those decades upon decades of experience to good use for once, tilting her pelvis slightly up and at an angle so he can hit that spongy spot inside of her walls that causes Tav to keen and her hands to scrabble harder at his shoulder blades like she’s trying to overwrite the scars on his back with ones from her blunt fingernails instead. Part of Astarion hopes that she does; he’d rather have a reminder of her to be etched deeply into him like an epitaph on a gravestone than anything of Cazador’s. Being marked with a souvenir of the first partner he’s truly wanted, that he wishes that he could burrow so deeply inside of that he could make a nest amongst her ribs instead of his scavenged pillows every night, sounds preferable over some shitty poem that he’s never even seen properly on his flesh.

Tav is stuttering out squeaky exclamations of his name and he can feel that already vice grip of her cunt starting to flutter, Astarion biting the inside of his own cheek to stifle a groan at the feeling. A fang draws his own blood and it tastes stale, bitter. He could keep pumping into her at this same rate and she’ll cum on her own within a few minutes, he can feel it like he can tell how many tumblers he’ll need to roll from just briefly handling a lock. But he’s never been a patient man, never been one to wait for something to happen when he can make the dominos fall himself, so he rips one of his hands from her leg and licks the thumb, making sure that she can see the showy way that his tongue coats it in his saliva before bringing it over her clit in mercilessly firm circles.

“Come on, let go for me, beautiful. You want to be good for me? Then cum, right now,” Astarion commands, hating how choppy and raspy his own words sound, how he can barely make himself heard over the slap of his sweat-heavy balls against her and his own labored breathing. He’s going to throw himself into the river near camp and hope that some kind of monster fish eats him if he loses control and cums first but gods, he is straining not to with how pussy drunk that he feels in this moment. Every jab of his cock into her feels like he is dipping it into the snuggest heat he’s ever experienced and it’s enough to make his head spin. He’s taken virgins in the past but it’s never felt like this before, like it’s some sort of celestial gift stolen from deities and not meant for mortal (or undead) men.

Thankfully, Tav goes over the edge into her pleasure just a few moments later, screaming out and trying to muffle it by burying her face into his collarbone and neck. If Astarion thought her cunt felt good before, the feeling of it clamping down now is otherworldly, milking him as thoroughly as someone wringing out a rag. Laughing almost madly at how exquisitely that her little core is squeezing him, the rogue gives her a few more shaky thrusts and unloads stream after stream of his cum into her, his testicles twitching as they empty themselves so thoroughly that he’s certain that she will be dripping with rivulets of his seed for a day or more after this.

Astarion slumps over her, his body a weight upon her as if he’s actually as corpse-like as vampires are rumored to be. He is actually reluctant to pull out just yet, to have this be over and allow her to disengage and get cleaned up. So he lets her stroke her soothing, kind touch over his back and neck, his cock softening in the safety of her satisfied and debauched cunt. Has he ever not wanted to flee immediately after sex? Has he ever felt like he had been that much in the moment during the act itself that he had to struggle not to cum too quickly? The answer unnerves him so he nuzzles into the fragrant softness of her hair like it’s a shield from his own troubled thoughts that this may have been more than a strategical move after all.

“I hope that it was still… pleasurable for you, despite my lack of experience,” Tav says falteringly, her tone rife with uncertainty. Astarion could laugh; it’s a pity that he can never tell her that this has been the best time that he’s had intimately as far as he can remember. He reasons that she probably wouldn’t believe him if he did say it but really, he can’t imagine showing his soft underbelly and making himself vulnerable this soon. She might not make herself as available next time if her ego gets too inflated, he tells himself.

Astarion places a toothy kiss under her ear, slipping his emotional mask back on (even if it felt oddly ill-fitting currently) and responds sleekly, “I wouldn’t worry about it, my love. I’m sure that after a few more times of me teaching you, you’ll probably be nearly as skilled at it as someone like me…”

#astarion x female reader #astarion smut #astarion fanfic #astarion x female tav #astarion fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing

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zepskies · 7 months

Note

OMG I KEED A PART 2 TO SAM HAVING A CRUSH ON DEANS GF

Like idk maybe say Sam didn't listen to Dean and tried making a move on reader? Like ofc he wouldn't ever do that *I don't think* but in this hypothetical scenerio it happens

Hey hun!

Oooof, that's hard. You guys really like this angsty love triangle stuff, huh? 😂 I genuinely think Sam would rather saw off his own hand than hurt Dean that way. But this is like, the only thing I could think of on this one. 😅

See this imagine for context: You are Dean's one exception.

Pairing: Dean W. x Reader, one-sided Sam W. x Reader Word Count: 1,100

Imagine: Sam crosses the line.

Goddamn witches.

That's the last coherent thought Sam has, before his mind is no longer completely his to control.

Well, it's still his mind. His body. But the careful door in his mind and in his heart, reinforced with steel and chained shut with titanium, combo-coded, locked and loaded, now has broken hinges.

Thoughts he hasn't allowed himself to think for months are pried open, with a sick kind of enjoyment in pain.

You're his brother's girl. Sam can't help but love you. He wants you. And now, he might be able to have you.

The witch is dead, but the spell she just hit Sam with remains. He's not dead, so that's a plus.

"Are you okay?" you ask him, slightly breathless. You're the closest to where he's sprawled on the ground, so you go to him. You touch his arm, and he can't help but clamp down on your hand. He looks at you with the thinly veiled eyes of a hunter as he smiles. Because your concern reaches the deepest parts of him.

"I'm fine," he says.

But Dean reads the hunger in his brother's eyes. He's subtle in the way he grasps your shoulder and Sam's (noticeably tighter).

"But what happened? How do you feel?" you ask, trying to take stock of what you're all dealing with here.

"I uh...feel fine, actually," Sam says. He rolls his shoulders. His gaze focuses on you. Dean holds him back from getting off the ground.

"Get the book. See if there's a way to fix this," Dean tells you without taking his eyes off Sam.

Sam tilts his head at Dean, the beginning of an angry frown on his lip as you rush away to find the witch's spell book.

"What's the matter, Dean?" Sam asks. He doesn't bother to lower his voice. (He literally doesn't have a filter anymore.) "Afraid of what might happen when she actually has the chance to choose?"

Dean's lips purse as his eyes darken. "This isn't you. And when you wake up from this, you're either gonna hate yourself for even thinkin' what you're thinkin', or you're gonna have one hell of a headache."

Sam stares back incredulously. He scoffs. "What're you gonna do, kill me?" They both know that's not happening.

But that's also when Dean knocks him the hell out.

When Sam wakes, it's to you stuffing tissues in his bloody nose. He groans a bit. He looks at you and still wants. But when he looks down at himself, he's in the bunker, handcuffed to the war room table.

You look worried for him as you go back to your side of the table with the book. Dean is oddly nowhere in sight. Sam thought he'd be watching you (and Sam) like a hawk.

"Dean'll be back in a sec. He's trying to get ahold of Rowena," you supply. "But how're you feeling? What's the spell doing to you exactly?"

Sam rolls the kinks out of his neck and removes the tissues, even though his entire face radiates with pain. His brother once promised to break his nose, and he did just that.

"Basically? I think it took away my inhibitions," he replies. More like threw them in a blender and put his deepest, headiest desires into overdrive.

You frown. "Like a really bad bender, or a truth serum kind of thing? But why would he punch you out for that?"

Your gears are turning rapidly, weighing out all the options. You always were smart. Sam leans forward slowly. Noting your thread of wariness, his face softens. He doesn't want to scare you...

He sighs. "Listen...there's something I've been wanting to tell you for a while now."

He reaches out a hand. You're looking at him in frozen surprise. His curled fingers brush your cheek. He leans in toward your face.

But you flinch and pull away.

"What the hell are you doing?" you ask.

Sam should've known, but it still hurts him. His jaw clenches. The spell takes away his self-preservation, however.

Just as he might've tried with words to finally confess the depths of his heart, the door creaks open.

The sound of Dean's heavy boots approaching makes him flinch. But Sam looks over with an unrepentant stare.

Dean glances at Rowena, nostrils flaring. "Fix him." He gestures at Sam before he joins you on your side of the table, resting a protective hand on your back.

Rowena shoots him a droll look. "Only because you asked so nicely."

"I don't need fixing!" Sam argues, glaring at Dean. His voice echoes on the bunker's walls. "You're just afraid of what happens if she knows the truth!"

Your eyes widen further. You look from Sam, to your boyfriend. Dean's jaw is clenched tight.

"Okay, what the fuck is going on?!" you ask in earnest. Dean meets your gaze for a moment, his face tense. His reluctant eyes communicate to you things you never knew. Things that clog emotion in your throat. Dean turns back to Sam.

"Don't do this, Sammy. It don't end well for you," Dean says.

"Like hell," Sam retorts.

"Okay, sleep now, dear," Rowena says. And with a wave of her hand and a haze of violet, Sam's world once again blackens.

When he next wakes, he's in his own bed. Not restrained. He indeed has a massive headache, and it's hard to breathe through his still broken nose. He groans and turns, and his brother is there.

When the overwhelming guilt sets in, Sam knows he's himself again, with all the careful walls around his heart put back in place. Rowena must've broken the spell when he was unconscious. Dean can see the truth in Sam's eyes.

"There he is," Dean remarks dryly. "Our giant Jekyll and Hyde."

Sam inhales deeply. "Dean..." I'm sorry doesn't quite cut it.

"She knows," Dean says, after a moment. "Obviously."

Sam nods, swallowing past a lump in his throat. He hesitates to ask the next burning question, because part of him knows the answer.

"It doesn't change anything."

Sam's head turns at the sound of your voice. You stand in the doorway, with your arms crossed despite the disheartened look on your face. Your eyes meet his, steady and sad, but firm.

"I know," Sam says, with a small, self-deprecating smile. "I'm sorry...for all this."

"It's not your fault," you reply. Spell or no spell, the way he feels is not his fault.

You step into the bedroom and go to Sam's bedside, laying a hand on Dean's shoulder. That hand smoothes up his neck, and your fingers briefly thread into his hair. Another silent conversation passes between you and Dean, the way only lovers that close can accomplish.

After a beat, Dean nods and gets up out of his chair. He thumbs at your cheek; it's both an answer to your unspoken request and an endearment. Then he pats Sam's shoulder before he leaves you and Sam alone in the room.

Trust. That's what that is. Dean trusts you, and now that the spell has worn off, he trusts Sam again.

Sam meets your gaze. As awful as he feels, he still loves you. He knows you know by the way your gaze meets his.

All he wants to do is touch you.

To apologize, and to touch you.

He hates himself.

You shake your head. "I love you, Sam. As my friend. My brother."

"I know," he nods. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry," you reply. "You just have to respect that."

"'Course, I do," Sam nods again. You would've never known, if not for the damn spell.

You surprise him by taking his hand. Yours is soft and warm and kind.

Always kind...

But never truly his to hold.

AN: GAH! The Angst. You could bottle it. 😩

Want to know what that conversation was like between Dean and the reader after she "found out?"

Read It Here: You and Dean talk about Sam's feelings.

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@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

#ask me stuff #dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #Sam crosses the line #being deans one exception sequel #sam in love with deans girlfriend #sam winchester #sam winchester imagine #sam and dean #angst #unrequited love #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic #spn #supernatural #zepskies answers

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the-californicationist · 5 months

Text

The False Alarm

TF141+/Reader TW: gangbang --- MDNI/18+ AO3 Link

Cleaning a long, hard pole was slippery business, and at your fire station, it was a particularly dangerous job. You had to be small enough to fit into the harness, but strong enough to self-belay, shining the gleaming gold rod as you traveled downward, repelling to the floor.

So, imagine your frustration when you were left to clean by yourself while the rest of the house responded to a three alarm fire. You tried to make quick work of it, but there was a lot of pole to tend to, and you didn’t want to miss a spot. A dirty pole was bad news for everyone who needed to ride it. Safety first.

It was all going pretty well until you neared the end of your job. You were about to lower yourself to the last section, your feet nearly able to touch the ground when you lost your grip on the rope attached to your harness. The clip liked to jam, so you tried to get it unstuck, but you realized pretty quickly that it was solidly knotted against you. You weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. To make matters worse, you were leaning at an odd angle, having tried to reach down to grab the radio that had been knocked to the ground when you lost the rope. But, it was flung too far, and you quickly discovered that it was way out of your grasp. At this point, you looked like a Christmas ornament, hanging loosely in your harness, swaying slightly around the pole. The only thing to do now was wait.

Luckily, you didn’t have to wait long for help. The three alarm fire had been a false one, and all of the men had returned rambunctious but unharmed. Your boyfriend, Captain John Price, was the first one through every door, and he was the one who discovered you in your trapped state. His eyes lit up in shock, and you heard his gravelly laugh as he approached you. Behind him, Sergeant Johnny MacTavish and his Lieutenant, Simon Riley, began to strip their gear for Gaz, the firehouse quartermaster. They were laughing right along with Price, jeering at you in your trussed up position.

Price spun you around toward him, and you came face to face with his bulging zipper. You were at the perfect height, staring right at his crotch, and he had to bend down to look you in the eye,

“In a bit of a predicament, pretty girl?”

You weren’t sure you liked his tone. It was lurid and suggestive, especially in front of his men.

“Latch is stuck. I’ve been telling you to replace it.”

“Which one?” He knelt underneath you to fiddle with the harness, “This one?”

He tugged at the rope and moved it between your legs, purposefully shoving it out of alignment.

“John!” You hissed, feeling the thick rope, as big around as one of his fingers, slip across your cotton pants and into the crease of your pussy, rubbing along your clit mercilessly.

“Mmm, I kinda like you like this, love. Might have to make you a permanent fixture. What d’you say?”

“Get me down, babe. Please?” You resorted to begging. It didn’t help.

“Oy!” He whistled loudly, “Come look what we caught on the line today, boys.”

All six of the other firefighters sauntered over to you, jeering and laughing.

“Wee lass is truly stuck?” MacTavish asked.

“Aye, look,” Simon smiled, showing him the latch, “She used the old clamp.”

As he stuck his finger underneath it, it tugged on the rope next to your clit, making you writhe.

Gaz laughed behind them, bending over from his glee,

“Ha! Guess the captain didn’t tell you he bought a new one.”

“Count your blessings, compa,” Vargas grinned, clapping a hand over Price’s shoulder, “Maybe we should leave you two here, hm?”

“I was about to dig into Johnny’s homemade chili, but now I’m hungry for something else,” Alex crossed his arms and shook his head as if in disbelief.

You tried to look to Price for some guidance. The boys flirted a lot, but it was mostly harmless. This felt… different somehow. There was something predatory in their stares that made your body feel like it was ablaze.

Price ran a finger along the rope that now stretched between your asscheeks and through the folds of your pussy, biting into your pants.

“Shouldn’t let such a bloody good opportunity go to waste, huh, lads?” Price’s voice sounded like an invitation, and you felt all the air get sucked out of the room.

You were parallel to the ground; face down, ass up, right in front of all of them. You were trapped, surrounded by seven enormous men, and all you could see were their legs from their belt buckles to their boots. You knew who they were; you’d been friends for years, after all, but it didn’t feel so friendly now. You felt like their prey.

You watched Price kneel beneath you. He smiled sweetly at you and whispered,

“You trust me, pretty girl?”

You nodded, and brought your hands up around his neck to kiss him. His mouth melted into yours, sending static tingles of pleasure though the rest of your body. He kept kissing you while his men stood around you, watching like dogs as Price literally dangled their treat in front of them.

Then, he pulled away, standing up in front of you. You felt his fingers digging under the bottom of your shirt hem, and he tugged off your tee shirt, exposing your body to his team. Your breasts were contained only by a thin cotton bralette, and at this angle, they hung away from you as you swayed in your harness.

Price took the bra off of you and bent to suckle from your nipples, licking and biting them gently to make you moan with sharp desire. You suddenly felt a hand that wasn’t his on your ass cheek and you gasped. Price chuckled, fondling your breasts with his huge, callused hands, teasing you,

“Are you shy, baby? It’s just MacTavish. You know he gets handsy.”

“Sorry, lass,” you heard the Scot behind you as he squeezed your ass and thighs, pulling them apart from your center, “Couldnae resist. Look good enough to eat.”

“Dig in, Sergeant,” Price offered you up like an appetizer, and tossed Johnny his emergency shears.

Your eyes went wide,

“John! My –”

“I’ll buy you another pair, love. Now, let’s give you something else to do with that mouth, why don’t we?”

You felt the cold metal of the blunt shears as Johnny cut across your waistband and down the crease between your legs, letting the shears do the work for him. He knelt to slice around to the front and then pulled your pant legs off of you, leaving you hanging there in nothing but your flimsy thong.

He situated the rope back into position between your thigh and groin so that it wouldn’t bite into you, and then you felt his mouth. You groaned loudly. You couldn’t help it. It felt like heaven to have him licking and sucking at your tender flesh, writhing his tongue into your already soaking hole.

“Listen to that sound. So damn pretty,” Price pet you on your cheek and stuck his thumb into your open mouth as you keened, the pleasure building within you like a smoldering blaze.

You heard his buckle rattle open, and the whine of his zipper led to the quick release of his cock, hard and smooth. He pressed his head to your lips and you kissed it gently, licking around its crown hungrily. Unwilling to waste any time, he pushed into your mouth, rubbing himself deep enough to touch the back of your throat. You listened to his delicious moans and tried to take him in as much as his girth would allow.

Then, MacTavish added a finger, stretching the walls of your pussy with it ever so gently, and you felt yourself starting to come. You were shocked by it, and it overwhelmed you so suddenly you knew that you were in for a turbulent storm of pleasure.

“Oh, fuck, tha’s it, love. Come for us,” Price commanded, “Such a good girl.”

Your whole body trembled, unable to press or brace against anything as you hung suspended, and you heard Johnny moaning as he felt you contract with pleasure, listening to the muffled screams he was pulling from you as you were trapped around the captain’s cock.

Price’s hand fisted your hair, guiding you down, grunting with each thrust. Then, he removed himself, stepping around to the side of you and placing one of your hands on his wet shaft. You started jacking him off, confused until you saw another pair of boots below your face.

It was Alex.

Price’s hand was still in your hair, and you felt your face being lifted up to view Alex’s long cock. He let it rest against your cheek, its warmth teasing you in a surprisingly comforting way. You used your tongue to lick up and down his generous length.

Alex moaned,

“Fuck… No wonder you rush home from work, Captain. Holy shit.”

Price chuckled, releasing your hair so that Alex could do as he pleased with you,

“She’s bloody brilliant, aye?”

You felt something tugging your body backward, and you knew Johnny had moved beneath you because his mouth was punishing your clit, making you want to come again. You moaned around Alex, making him cry out as well from the feeling.

Then, you felt the tell-tale prod of someone’s cock nestling itself against your wet hole. Surprised, you tried to pull away from Alex to look behind you. Alex grabbed your head before you did, though and forced your mouth back down,

“Shh, shh, shh. It’s okay, sugar. It’s just Garrick. Lookin’ like he’s gonna die if he doesn’t get to fuck you right this goddamn second. Ain’t that right, Gaz?”

“Fuckin’ right,” Gaz grumbled, feeding himself into you as Johnny ate you out.

You thought you might die from the pleasure. You came around him as he entered you, forcing him to stop. You were bearing down so hard that you thought you might accidentally wet yourself. You tried to get it under control, riding wave after wave of your orgasm as Johnny sucked your folds and fondled your clit.

“Tha’s beautiful, lass. Your poor wee cunt doesnae ken what to make of all this, hm?”

“She’s being such a good girl, Cap. Takin’ me so well,” Gaz crooned, reaching forward to rest his big hands on your hips as he began to thrust in earnest.

Every time he pushed you forward, you would swallow deeper onto Alex’s cock, and Johnny’s tongue would rush through your folds and across your clit.

Suddenly, your other hand was being given a task to complete. It was Alejandro. He had taken your hand in his and bent to kiss your knuckles, soft and sweet as if you were a princess. Then, he let it rest on top of his uncut cockhead, allowing you to find a similar rhythm for him as you had for Price, rubbing his rod as steadily as you could manage.

Alex increased his pace, grunting like an animal as he fucked himself into your throat. Price encouraged him,

“Don’t feed it to her, Keller. She wants it in that sweet cunt of hers, don’t you, pretty girl?”

You felt Gaz and Alex pull away from you at the same time, and you gasped, agonized by the hollowness that you were experiencing. Then, a warm hand braced against your ass cheek, squeezing you fiercely, and Alex pressed himself in where Gaz had been steadily putting in the work.

The new sensation of another man’s cock was incredible, and with Johnny eating you like he was starving, you had no trouble coming with Alex as he pounded himself into you mercilessly. His guttural screams were tantalizing, and you wished you could see his face.

“Fuck! Oh, my God – Fuck!” Alex grunted through gritted teeth, holding onto your body as tight as he could, filling you full of his come.

As he fell away from you, Gaz replaced him, getting back to his mission dutifully and with renewed vigor, slipping through the other man’s come easily. Johnny moved up your body, kissing your belly, sucking on your skin, finding your nipples as they jiggled while Garrick was fucking himself into you, and you watched someone new come up to your face.

Simon bent down to kiss you, biting your lip and tasting his friends on your tongue. He licked your neck, sucking on the skin hard enough to leave a bruise. He joined Johnny at your breasts, suckling from the opposite one as the eager sergeant.

Just as you were being lulled into an orgasmic trance from their ministrations, you felt Gaz shudder. He came breathlessly, gasping out quiet moans and little yeses and pleases and wordless prayers as he started to spill out into you. His cock reached further than Alex’s, and you felt a different sort of fullness as he held himself inside of you, throbbing against your cervix, tickling the entrance to your womb.

You felt his plump lips leave a trail of kisses along your bare back, and then he pulled away from you, letting his and Alex’s come drip onto the concrete floor below you.

Simon and Johnny stood, each taking their place at your throat and your pussy, entering you at the same time and letting out similar groans of agonizing pleasure. Johnny was stuffing himself into your cunt, and Simon was dragging his cock down your throat, going much deeper than you had ever taken anyone before.

MacTavish was almost too thick, and he had to stretch you more than Gaz or Alex. He wasn’t particularly long, but he was curved in just the right way, and you started to scream, muffled by Simon’s dick in your mouth.

It made Simon wild. He spoke to his sergeant in staccato’d bursts,

“Fuck, Johnny. Just like that, mate. Makin’ her scream around me. Feels so fuckin’ good.”

“She’s so tight, Si. Shite! I’m gonna come so fast,” MacTavish groaned, pulling your ass cheeks apart as he fucked you, watching your asshole gape open as he did, “God, Cap. How do you last?”

Your captain chuckled darkly, petting your breasts as they swung freely,

“I fuckin’ don’t, mate.”

Johnny was now sheathed in your pussy to his hilt, grinding into you rather than pounding, almost as if he was massaging your walls from the inside, making you feel so full. His hand found your clit that he’d been punishing, and he used your own fluids to smear lazy circles around and around.

You could feel your legs begin to shake involuntarily. You tried to stop it, gripping onto Alejandro and Price for dear life in your hands, and crying out around Simon’s cock in your throat for relief.

All four of the men were noisy now, basking in your rolling pleasure, watching you writhe and tense beneath them. Gaz returned to you, kneeling down to lick your breasts, sucking on them harder than Johnny did, taking more of your flesh into his mouth.

Gaz looked up at your face, stuffed full of Simon’s cock, and he talked to you even though you couldn’t respond, drool dripping out of the sides of your lips,

“Are you havin’ a good time, babe? You’re so damn pretty. Look at these gorgeous fuckin’ tits.”

The way he was sucking on them was so intense that you felt yourself clench hard around Johnny, hearing him moan.

He slapped your ass, grunting,

“Fuck! Again. Do it again, lass.”

You tried to oblige, bearing down on him and squeezing with all of your might.

“Yes, yes, yes, gonna make me come - fuck!”

Johnny grabbed ahold of your harness and threw himself into you at a breakneck pace, the fluids inside of your core splattering you and him as he crushed himself into you. Simon pulled out of you, commanding you,

“That’s right. Scream for it. I wanna hear you.”

You let out a long, trembling whine, and then,

“Oh, fuuuuckkkkk…”

Johnny ground himself into you again, painting your pussy with his come. There was so much of it that you could feel it now, settling in your belly.

The sergeant pulled himself out of you with a slick pop, and bent to lick his own come off of your folds. You screamed again, feeling as if you would be shoved into another wild orgasm if he kept it up. But, then, Simon came to your rescue, grumbling,

“Out of the way, mate.”

Simon moved into place behind you, grabbing Johnny by his mohawk and shoving him back, and hungrily rubbed his cock through your ass checks, massaging himself. Alejandro took his position at your mouth and used you easily. Simon had done a good job of getting you used to his roughness when he fucked your throat, and his treatment of your cunt was no different. Johnny had been big, but he was a lamb compared to the lion taking you from behind now.

Simon had pulled your legs around his waist, holding you in place there, and he was eager to fuck you hard. You felt your bones rattle as he slammed his length into you, making the most animalistic sounds as he did so.

“Tha’s how she likes it, innit, Captain? Like a dirty little slag,” Simon observed, able to feel how your walls fluttered around him, excited and anticipatory.

Price smiled down at you, and you could see his hand leave your breast and search for your ass. He grabbed your ass cheek and pulled it away until your hole was wide open for him, and he used his thick finger to tease you within an inch of your life. You were transported to another dimension of pleasure, and he knew exactly how to turn you on.

“This is how she likes it, Simon. All her pretty holes filled.”

“We can do tha’, can’t we? Proper stuffed.” Simon laughed, understanding what you liked and fully happy to give it to you.

Price removed his hand and Simon replaced it, spitting into his fingers and rubbing two of them just inside of your asshole, stretching you out. He then put them deeper in and pressed downward, feeling his own cock through the thin membrane between your two holes, groaning in a deeper, darker tone.

Alejandro got your attention then by holding himself inside of your throat for a three-count, and then a five-count, and then for a period of time when you lost count. You were choking so much that your body was convulsing, and as he ripped his cock from your throat, rivulets of drool fell out of your mouth and onto the concrete.

“A la chingada! Dame tu boca, mi linda.” Fuck it! Give me your mouth, pretty one. Alejandro lamented, kneeling in front of you and kissing you through your mess of spit and drool. He smiled and stood again, rubbing his wet cock all over the outside of your face, making you sticky with his precome and with your own fluids.

He gave you just the head of his dick and you swirled your tongue around it, suckling from it like it would feed you, and he cried out in pleasure,

“Fuck! Are you gonna come or not, pendejo? ‘Cause I need to.”

Simon didn’t answer. He just fucked you even harder. It was as if he had been holding back this entire time. He grabbed your hair and forced your body to arch high into the air, pounding into you with wet, slapping noises and grunting over your screams. You couldn’t continue rubbing Price’s cock, nor were you able to suck Alejandro’s head. You were at Simon’s demonic mercy.

He came without halting. He fucked you right through his own pleasure, listening to you moan and feeling you bearing down around him, pushing his seed as deep into you as it would go. When he finally let go of your hair and removed himself from you, it felt like he was taking your insides with him. You felt so empty, it made you whine.

“Shh, shh. I know, love,” Price soothed you, moving to your face to kiss you and lick your neck, “You’re doing so good. You ready for me, hm?”

“I need you so bad, John,” you told him through pleasure-wrought tears.

“I know, baby. I know. Be a good girl for me.”

You nodded, feeling Alejandro push himself through Simon’s wet spend. It only took a few thrusts for him to coat your walls as well. There was so much come in you, your belly felt swollen.

Finally, it was the captain’s turn. You and he were alone at the pole, and you felt him cut your rope in one quick slice. He caught you before you fell, holding you to him, knowing you couldn’t stand on your trembling legs. He lifted you up and made you turn to face the group of men who had just finished pleasuring you. They were all in states of undress, panting and laying on the firetruck or on the ground. Simon was jacking off again, as was Alex, thoroughly enjoying the show.

Price fucked you like this, holding your body in front of him, letting you face his team as he struggled to fit himself into you. You had forgotten how big he was compared to normal men. Your eyes reflected your shock. Encouraged, the men began to stir, despite their exhaustion, nearly every one of them had his cock in his hand.

You felt yourself come again, no warning this time, and Price let out a long, threatening growl,

“You are so fuckin’ beautiful, love. Did so good for us. Takin’ my men so well. I knew you could do it. Good girl. Such a fuckin’ good girl. My fuckin’ girl. Whose cock do you like best, baby?”

“Yours, John,” you cried out.

“Whose?” He demanded, shouting at you through gritted teeth.

“Yours! Yours. Yours.” You chanted, feeling him begin to pulse inside of you.

“Tha’s fuckin’ right.”

Price came in you so much and for so long, you thought you had mistaken what was happening to you. But, it was dripping out of you and onto the floor in little white splatters.

Keeping his wits about him, Price whistled to Johnny and he came over with a big blanket, helping Price wrap you in it to keep you warm. You couldn’t stop shaking.

Price smiled, bending down to kiss you as you were wrapped in Johnny’s arms, surrounded by the whole team,

“Go get some rest, love. Your pole-cleaning duties are on hold… for now.”

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ameliablakesblog · 5 months

Text

Let Me Brand You- Charles Leclerc

Happy Day Five of Smutmas!!!

Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader Warnings: SMUT 18+ (Minors DNI), Oral Sex (Male Receiving), possessive kink A/N: Hope you enjoy! I loved writing this one haha

He couldn’t cope with the jealousy.

All day he watched you at work. He didn’t enjoy media days in general, finding them tedious and soul-destroying. But then he met you, the reporter who always knew the right questions and made him laugh. However, seeing you now, practically flirting with the other drivers made him want to question whether media days were even worth it.

You were asking questions to the youngest driver on the grid, your words sound innocent, but your eyes told a different story. He knew this because you used them to lure him in. He wanted to cut your eye contact with the driver, maybe if he stood up? That would be too obvious though, so he remained in place, glaring at you from his seat.

It didn’t help the choice in clothing. No today she had decided to wear a Ferrari sweatshirt to the media day. His own team logo sitting proudly on his chest. It should’ve made his heart fill with pride, but all he could think about was branding her chest with his cum. Watching it fall slowly over her tits; claiming her proudly as his.

He barely spoke when she turned to ask him his questions. She knew something was wrong, disappointment etched into her face when he continued to reject her questions with one or two-worded answered. When the day naturally came to an end he was quick to leave, ignoring her small yet noticeable calls as he left. He needed to leave, jealously oozing in his veins at the thought of strangling the other drivers. No one should see her laugh or smile but him.

Back in the hotel room he was able to calm down. Deciding a hot shower was what he needed, he stood underneath the burning tap letting the water calm his muscles and his mind. He decided to treat himself to takeout tonight, deciding if he can’t have her for a treat he might as well have something else he enjoyed tasting. When he left the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, he wasn’t expecting to see you there.

More specifically, he wasn’t expecting to see you sat there. Nude. On his bed.

You tilted your head at his frozen posture, his eyes following your curves down to your crossed legs.

“You have been ignoring me all day Charles”.

You were straight to the point, insecurities sitting underneath your tone; yet the way you sat screamed confidence. He didn’t know what to do or feel, the shock of you being here setting him on edge.

“Was it something I’d done?” The insecurities shone through more prominently now. His eyes snapping up to meet yours where he could see them shining with new-found tears. He was quick to cross the room, hands cradling your jaw in his palms as he stroked your cheeks with his thumbs.

“No Cherie you haven’t. If anything, it was me” There was no point trying to deny it. She had seen him bothered and didn’t want her to worry. Despite this being a sex-only thing, he seemed to care way too much about her feelings.

“Is there anything I can do?” Such innocent words. He thought back to earlier. The memories of you speaking to the other drivers, reading their body language for your articles. He could feel the jealously forming back in his tummy when he noticed your Ferrari sweatshirt crumpled on the chair. His mind racing back to the dirty thoughts he’d previously had that day, his lips turning up at the ideas.

“Yes” His hands left your face, moving to his towel. He undid it, letting it fall to the floor. His erection stood proud infront of you, so close he could feel the sharp exhale of breath falling from your lips at the sight of him. “Suck”.

Her hands moved to scrape up his thighs to his cock, hands grasping around his girth. She stroked him tentatively, collecting the precum which sat proudly at the head, using it to slide easily over his cock. His head fell back in a daze, loving the tight pressure she was already applying.

He jerked forward when he felt her tongue hit the tip. He looked down to see her staring straight up at him, giving the tip kitten licks before seductively wrapping her lips around him. The moan he let out was pornographic as she pushed him slowly into her mouth, pulling back slightly before pushing again, trying to push him all the way down her throat.

He moved to grab her hair, a makeshift ponytail allowing him to control her movements. Though he didn’t really need to, she had it all under control, bobbing her head; her glossy mouth sucking on his cock.

She continued to look up at him, her hand stroking the areas she couldn’t reach with her mouth. She pulled back, him whimpering at the feeling before she moved to stroke him completely, tapping the tip of his cock against her tongue.

He growled at the sight and used his hand to push his cock inside her mouth. She greedily welcomed him in, pushing him completely down her throat. God the feeling. His mouth fell open as she continued to bob her head, deepthroating occasionally.

He knew he was going to cum. The earlier thoughts ran through his mind again and he smirked at the thought. He let her suck his cock greedily, helping him closer to the edge. When he knew he was on the edge of cumming he pulled out, marvelling at her disappointed face before wrapping his hand and tugging on his cock. Pushing her to lie back on the bed, he climbed over her, positioning himself at the right time to watch his cum fall onto her tits. He couldn’t stop moaning, ropes of his cum falling over her tits as she moved to bunch her tits together. His mouth fell open at the sight. It took forever for him to come down from his high, he couldn’t move. Obsessed with you sat there, doe eyes watching him peacefully while his cum ran over his chest. He could see a small drop sitting on his peaked nipple and he moved to swipe it, rubbing his finger over the bud.

He heard her gasp at the feeling, biting her lip at the feeling.

He moved to crouch down in front of her. The sight of her glistening pussy making his semi-hard dick twitch in anticipation.

“Now I’ve branded you with my cum Cherie, shall I remind you of who you belong to?”.

#formula 1 #formula one #formula one x re #charles lecrelc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc

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byechristopher · 5 months

Note

can u do a fic where chris and reader are dating but reader gets insecure because she sees all these old pics and vids of chris with this girl he used to be with but they talk about it and they say to each other they're in love for the first time this is bad sorry but i'm lowkey sad and need this

Trust Me.

– CHRIS STURNIOLO FLUFF.

Author's note: Hey there, thank you for the request! Now, I didn't know how to bring up the old photos, so y e s, I used snapchat memories (happened to me, so..). I hope you like it either way. 🤍 Do not copy/steal my work. :)

Warnings: None, sliiight angst. Did not proofread!

Usually, I'm not one to stare at people, but when it comes to Chris, I can never resist, even when he's doing the simplest tasks. We've only been dating for a couple of months, and while I wouldn't label myself as "obsessed," I find myself captivated by him.

My thoughts are interrupted by Chris (not that I mind) as I sit on the pavement, and he bends over to gently kiss the top of my head, his hands cupping my cheeks. I smile and grasp his hands, looking up at him to see his beautiful smile.

"Beautiful day today, huh?" he says, sitting down beside me, his head tilted back, soaking in the sunshine.

I gaze at him, appreciating the way the sun highlights his curls, makes his skin glow, and brings out the pink in his lips and the icy blue of his eyes. God.

"Yes, very beautiful," I chuckle, joining him in looking up at the sky, letting the sun caress my face as well.

"I'm gonna go take a shower. I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?" he smiles and wraps an arm around my shoulders, bringing me closer to him so that he can press a kiss on my cheek.

"Yes, yes. Can I play that game on your phone?" I grin, knowing he is not able to resist that and he chuckles, giving me his phone.

"Here you go, babe."

He leaves and I immediately unlock his phone. I want to start the game but a notification from snapchat pops up and I accidentally press on it. I roll my eyes because it is one of these "memories" thingies, it said two years ago.

When it opens, my stomach drops. A few pictures and a video of Chris and his ex girlfriend are under this notification. I know I shouldn't feel anything but I do. Especially when I see how tightly he's holding her, the way he looks into her eyes. The video is my last straw – he's cupping her cheeks while pressing kisses all over her face, saying over and over again how much he loves her. He sounds very genuine. He's never told me he loves me. Ouch.

I quickly close the app and lock his phone, not in the mood to play any of the games on his phone anymore. I can't fathom my emotions – perhaps because I've already fallen for him, and the fact that he might not love me just yet triggers an unsettling feeling within me. Not a positive one.

I go back inside the apartment because I am not in the mood to enjoy any type of sunshine either, so when he's done and he doesn't see me there, he gets confused.

"Babe? Where are you?" his shouts reach me, and I take a deep breath, wondering whether I should tell him anything or just leave it be.

"Hey, I'm up here." I say, standing on top of the stairs as I look down at him.

His smile brightens and he starts walking up the stairs to meet me – he's got a fresh hoodie on now, his hair is damp and the fact that he looks like the cutest human being on earth doesn't help with the fact that I want to cry.

"Why'd you leave? I thought you wanted to stay outside for a while," he questions, pulling me close for a kiss.

"Yeah, just not in the mood," I shrug, failing to force a smile before heading to the bedroom.

"Babe." he follows, concerned, "is there something wrong?" he furrows his eyebrows in confusion.

"No.. just.. everything's fine." I realise how stupid I will sound if I say anything so now I am just stuck with my mood swings.

"You know you can tell me everything, yes?" he gets on his knees right in front of me as I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, placing his hands on my thighs and giving them a small reassuring squeeze.

I look down at him, then down to my fingers, really considering telling him now. With a small sigh, I cover my face with both hands, "I accidentally opened your snapchat memories." I say, really getting embarrassed now, "and it was you.. with.. yeah."

I can hear him sighing as well, knowing what I'm talking about, but he doesn't say anything for a while. Instead, he grabs my hands gently pulling them away from my face, bringing them both close to his lips so he can kiss them.

"Baby.. you know this means absolutely nothing now, right?" his voice is so sweet and gentle, like honey, it makes me want to cry.

"I know.. please, I just.. I don't know why I'm feeling this way." I know exactly why I'm feeling that way but I would never tell him that, he'd be so uncomfortable. Especially if he doesn't love me back just yet.

"It's normal, I think I would feel the same way if I saw you with your ex." he nods, still pressing kisses to the palms of my hands, "but you need to know that you're the only one I see. For a very long time now." his eyes look sincere as he makes sure to keep eye contact with me no matter how much I avoid it.

I don't say anything, I only nod – he gets up and quickly picks me up, making me wrap my legs around his waist as he sits at the edge of the bed with me in his lap this time. His hands touch me everywhere, my thighs, my waist, my back, my hair – his touch is feather-like, it feels dreamy.

"You know, baby.." he speaks with his gentle voice, "..I might not talk about my feelings as much as you do, but that doesn't mean I don't feel as much as you do." he buries his hand in my hair, his lips close to my ear, pressing kisses there and on my cheek.

I don't have the time to say anything because he continues, "I'm very, very bad when it comes to expressing my feelings, I think you know that by now." he chuckles a bit, making me smile a little bit, "but what I'm feeling for you, I don't think I've ever experienced before." he says and I don't want to get my hopes up but my heart definitely does something, "the moment I saw you, I knew. And that scared me. The fact that my heart felt something, by just looking at you."

I pull back just a bit to look at him, his hands now cupping my cheeks, caressing my skin, "and still to this day, even after all these months, I still feel the same way I felt when I first saw you." he presses his forehead against mine, kissing my lips every now and then, "I am.. madly in love with you, baby." he whispers and I almost widen my eyes.

"What–" only this word comes out of my mouth but I want to grab him and kiss him and tell him a million things. But nothing else comes out and my heart starts beating fast, like crazy.

"Yes. I am sorry if it's too soon for you. But I wanted to say it to you since like.. the first month. I just didn't want you to think of me as a weirdo.." he chuckles and I chuckle, too, "and anyway, you know I don't necessarily like expressing my feelings but sometimes it is necessary for the both of us."

"I am in love with you too.." I smile, my arms wrapping around his neck to bring him even closer to me, "and I have been for a while now." I whisper against his lips.

"Shit. You're doing it again.." he whispers, his smile so big, "the thing. My heart." he whispers again and I laugh softly.

"Stop. I love you." I say and my heart feels at peace.

He smiles, wrapping his arms around my waist again, hugging me close before kissing me again, "I love you too."

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rebelliousstories · 28 days

Text

Vaultie

Relationship: Cooper “The Ghoul” Howard x Reader

Fandom: Fallout

Request: Yes by @silverose365

Warnings: Angst, Strong Language, Fluff, Allusions to Cannibalism

Word Count: 2,119

Main Masterlist: Here

Fallout Masterlist: Here

Summary: If Cooper Howard had a nickel for every time he came across an escaped vault dweller looking to find her father and to change the world…

The sight of the blue Vault-Tec wandering through the Wasteland made The Ghoul let out a low growl. How many of these people were going to be popping up? He watched her wander around, trying to talk to some people, but they had just turned her away at the first sight of blue. She was not much different than the other Vaultie he had come across. Same kind of naive look in her eyes, along with hope. Hope was a commodity up here. Just as he was finishing up his last drink at the one bar within a hundred miles that would actually take his caps, this vault dweller strolled right on up to him.

“Excuse me, I was wondering if you were interested in a trade.” She pitched, shoulders back and a determined look on her face.

“Sorry darlin’, not interested in a whore tonight.” Howard spoke with a low drawl. He got great joy of seeing the appalled look on the vault girl’s face.

“Oh, I’m not a- that’s, that’s not what I was offering. I was wondering if you could tell me how to get to this location. I have caps.” Pulling a piece of paper from her suit, she procured a pencil as well from a separate pouch. She put those items in one hand, and she wrestled with a bag on her hip that Cooper could hear the clanking of bottle caps coming from. The paper and pencil were set down in front of the ghoul, and she got her caps ready to give away. He grabbed the paper from the table and eyed her wearily as he read the address.

“Now what’s a vault dweller like you,” he gestured to her, “doing in a place like this,” motioning to their surroundings, “and looking for a place like this?” He finished by holding up the paper.

“I’m looking into Vault-Tec. The experiment they were running in my vault, it was barbaric to say the least. And when I found out things that I should not have, I escaped to here. The people down there, they don’t know any different than their life that has been played with and manipulated.” She explained, sitting down in the chair across from The Ghoul.

“Well, that is some might fine ideas. Afraid it won’t get you nowhere up here. Every few years, someone has a great idea to save the world. But it’s just a load of horseshit.” Cooper went on, fiddling with the paper in his hands.

“Look, I don’t particularly care about that. I’m on my own mission, and I need help to navigate this place. Now, what do you say? Fifty caps for directions on how to get there?” This Vaultie was testing his patience, but fifty caps is fifty caps. Without a word, Cooper wrote down on the piece of paper all the directions she would need. After that it was up to her to interpret and follow them.

“The caps?” He held out his hand while holding back the paper. Once the bottle caps were placed n his grasp, he counted them quickly, before handing over the paper and pencil to the Vaultie. But when she leaned in close, that is when he saw it. Words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them.

“I didn’t catch your name, darlin’.” Cooper prompted, tugging back the paper at the last second before she could grasp it.

“I didn’t throw it. May I please have my paper and pencil back?” She tried one more time to swipe them, but Cooper was faster than she was.

“Be warned now. You go lookin’ into Vault-Tec, you probably not gonna like what you find. It’s a whole mess of an operation.” He stated, low and slow. There was something about this girl in front of him that he just could not put his finger on.

“I appreciate the concern, but I’m going to find out what they’re doing, and expose them.” Finally, she was able to get her hands on the paper and pencil in his other hand. She stood from the table, and turned to to leave when something that Cooper said caught her attention.

“You never know who is gonna be the one behind the shitstorm. Could be someone close to you. I don’t think your mind can handle the truth once you find it out, Vaultie.” Her face was thick with confusion, and then it was full of fury.

“I don’t give a fuck what you think I can and can’t handle. And I don’t know what kind of grudge you hold against us, but I couldn’t really care less. Besides, you took my caps so surely you can’t hate me that much.” And with that, she made her way out of the bar, and into the sweltering day ahead.

Cooper sat in that bar for a good long while nursing his final drink. This vault dweller was certainly different than the previous one. She could hold her own but to what end? Surely, she was not going to last long in the Wasteland. Downing the rest of the liquor, he threw some caps on to the table, pocketed the rest and set out. It was not hard for him to find her; the tracks in the sand making it easy. But he kept a distance from her, and made sure she never knew he was there.

As they traveled, Cooper saw less and less of a vault dweller, and more of a surface dweller in her. The way she negotiated, carried herself, and overall acted; you would never be able to tell she came from a vault had it not been for that blue jumpsuit. He never intervened, always waiting on the sidelines. But he did keep an eye on this determined vault dweller. The scariest part of her journey was when they came across fiends.

“Hello, little lady. What are you doin’ out here?” A man leered at her, crowding her against the side of the building that Cooper had hid behind. He watched intently, waiting to see if he would need to intervene.

“I’m just passing through. Excuse me.” She tried to move past the man, but he shoved her back. Another fiend came around to crowd her in, and another, and another, and another. She was outnumbered five to one, and was looking around in a desperate attempt to find an opening. Cooper moved his duster back and had his hand on his pistol, ready to dispatch of these men. However, that thought made him pause. What was he doing following this girl on her journey? Maybe that other vault dweller was making him soft. No, it could not be.

“Oh, she’s got manners. That’s a real sweet thing to come out of your mouth. Hopefully the rest of you is that sweet.” The leader made a move to grab her, and Cooper was ready to draw his pistol when a shot rang out.

The lead fiend dropped to the ground dead. Her gun was still smoking, and she wasted no time in shooting the four other men who tried to touch her again. By the end, she was splattered with blood and breathing heavily. She began to loot through their bodies while Cooper moved further back in the shadows. He tried to make no noise, but a rock slipped from under his feet and made the Vaultie’s head whip around to where he was standing. There was a beat of silence, but she turned back to her task at hand when she did not hear anything else.

From then on, Cooper had no reason not to trust that she could handle herself. It had been so long that he had cared for anyone other than himself. The feeling was so foreign now, but it crept in without his say so. The unknowing duo walked for days and days, until finally their destination came into view. The broken, and abandoned building stood tall even with all thee destruction around it. She made her way in, but Cooper remained outside. The Ghoul found the shadiest spot alongside the building, and stopped for a rest and water.

The vault dweller began to look around the decrepit building, finding the floor where Vault-Tec records were held, and began to climb the stairs. There was nothing stopping her now; she could see the finish line. Once she was inside the Vault-Tec office, she Egan rifling through the files on the desks. What she found, astounded her.

Hundreds of vaults, and their subsequent experiments. The depth of human depravity never ceased to amaze her. While the description of her vault made her angry, the others made her blood boil. Human lives treated like lab rats in a sick and twisted experiment for society’s so called betterment. Stowing the files in her bag, she began to look around for information from before the vaults. Files detailing how they would get people down into those vaults that they created were littered about. But the more she read, the more the was enraged. However, there was one file that caught her attention.

Pages that described the bombings in great detail, dated hundreds of years ago. And she read through everyone. She was losing daylight, but she needed to read through everything. Her eyes scanned hundreds of words, and was trying to process everything when she finally go to the page that was used as the sign off sheets for the bombings. When she read the names of those who signed off, her heart dropped. The file slipped out of her hand, and there was no feeling left in her body.

Her father signed off on these bombs.

It took a while for the feeling to return to her limbs. When it finally all hit her, a scream tore through her vocal chords before she could stop it. All the pent up emotions and memories that now felt scarred; it was all coming out now. She calmed herself down, and snatched the file from the ground. As much as she hated it, she knew it was going to be important. There was no way around it if she wanted to help the people in the vaults.

Making her way back outside the building, the sunset ahead was painting the sky in a brilliant red with streaks of purple and orange. She went to turn the side of the building and was met with The Ghoul that had first helped her with the directions that led her here. He was leaning against the building, but was quick to stand up straight when he heard her round the corner. His undead heart broke just a little bit when he saw the broke look on her face. It was so different to the determined face that she held, even in the times that she should have been scared out of her wits.

“You alright there, Vaultie?” His tone was laced with concern that was not normal anymore. Cooper stepped closer, opened his arms, and brought her in close. She tried to fight, but her arms felt weak even to her as she tried to hit the ghoul before her. Her punches did not even make a dent in the man, but he let her get all of her frustration out before he knew the inevitable drop. And drop she did. Once her energy and anger were exhausted, her legs gave way and she collapsed in Cooper.

“Calm down there, darlin’. You’re alright now. The pain’ll go away soon.” He comforted the girl in his arms.

“Did you know?” She whispered, her voice hoarse.

“Yes.” He replied.

“I know it stings, darlin’. I warned you not to go lookin’. Knew you wouldn’t like what you found.” Howard continued, now stroking his gloved hand over her hair.

“But I needed to. I need to know what is going on. It’s so sheltered down there, and people are so naive. They deserve to know,” came her soft cry. It broke his heart even further apart.

“You’re doin’ a very selfless thing here. You’re gonna be alright though. Already survived bein’ up here for this long. You’ll make it up here Vaultie.” It was comforting to hear such kind words after being on the surface and away from home for so long.

All the girl did was nod into The Ghoul’s chest. She was going to be fine, and she was going to help the people in the vaults. Her mind was alright made up; she was no longer going to be a vault dweller and apart of their twisted system. She was now a surface dweller, and really needed to get rid of her jumpsuit.

#rebelliousstories #writing #cooper the ghoul howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard imagine #cooper howard #the ghoul imagine #the ghoul fallout #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul #fallout imagine #fallout

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wileys-russo · 6 months

Note

can we have a ficlet for hopeless with tooney

hopeless

"el did something just fall?" you frowned hearing a thump from ella's kitchen, going to stand as the mancunian was quick to push you back down.

"maybe! i'll go check, gotta make sure the potatos hasn't grown legs and walked out the pot." the girl joked, beaming at the small laugh it earned her. she went to hurry away but hesitated, turning back around and kissing you sweetly before she did.

bursting into her kitchen and spotting alessia clutching at her stomach on the floor trying her best to silently laugh, ella's eyes narrowed.

"would you shut up! she'll hear ya." ella hissed, smacking alessia harshly with a wooden spoon as the blonde sat up. "hey we're doin you a massive favour here tooney. bit of respect yeah?" mary snatched the utensil from her grasp as ella huffed.

"it has to go perfect! please." her tone softened on that last word, as did both her friends faces who nodded, mary extending a hand and helping alessia to her feet. "i don't see why you didn't just take her out for a nice meal tooney." alessia sighed, dusting the flour off of her shorts which had been what caused her to slip in the first place.

"cause we always go out and i want to do somethin special when i ask her!" ella explained, rubbing her face with a stressed groan. "el is everything okay? are you sure i can't help?" her eyes widened as you called out from the living room.

"i'm sure love i'll be in in just a minute!" she yelled back, gesturing her hands around for mary and alessia to continue cooking. "lying is hardly the way to start a relationship tooney." mary warned, dismissed by the younger girl who darted back out of the kitchen, firmly closing the doors behind her.

the two of you had been on a handful of dates by now and ella had never been more sure she wanted you officially as her girlfriend. but with a panicked mind and determined to impress you she wanted to do it in the most special way she could.

she knew though you weren't shy you didn't love large crowds, so with that in mind she didn't want to ask you anywhere you'd feel you had the pressure of an audience. so naturally her home seemed to fit best, finally having moved out of millie's place and into one of her own.

so she'd invited you round for a nice meal after training, disguising it as she'd just missed you and wanted to be able to spend more than five minutes alone with you, your team mates constantly teasing or interrupting the two of you.

there was just one problem and that was that ella couldn't cook to save her life, and she worried if she did cook that if you ate whatever she did she might jeopardize your life.

so practically getting on her knees to beg the two older girls, was how she'd roped mary and alessia into being her own secret chefs for the evening, having had many a delicious meal at either of their respective houses.

"everything okay?" you asked with a small frown of concern as ella joined you again, nodding quickly. "hand towel rack just fell down, cheap glue." she'd hastily lied, internally hitting herself for how lame it sounded.

"ya best not have looked at my cards kid!" ella warned playfully, taking her seat beside you and swiping her pile back up off the coffee table. "the only cheater here is you, i've seen how you use maya as a decoy when they play poker on the bus." you grinned, ella scoffing and waving you off.

"i have simply no idea what you're talkin bout baby."

you swooned at the pet name paired with her thick accent, surprising the girl with a quick kiss before you got comfortable again. "right. got any four's?" you questioned, peering at her over the top of your cards. "you did look at them!" ella accused, grumpily handing over a few cards.

"nah, i just have x-ray vision." you teased with a wink. "what colour's my underwear then?" ella gave you a toothy grin and a wink as you smacked her forehead with a playing card.

"do you have to check on dinner babe? i don't want you to get distracted by my good looks and winning charm." you teased after a few more rounds, ella unfortunately on a hot streak of winning, not able to bring herself to confess she was using her floor to roof mirror behind you to cheat.

"think we both know who the real winner is love." ella smirked, ruffling your hair before she grabbed your face and pressed a searing kiss to your lips, pecking them a few more times as you chased for them to return, watching as she gave you a cheeky wave and darted off to the kitchen.

ella sighed in relief as she spotted her best friends putting the finishing touches on the meal, already having dished most of it up. "oh god i could kiss ya both!" ella groaned gratefully, hugging both girls tightly who smiled, both adoring to see their two team mates finally smitten and happy with one another despite how much they teased the two of you for it.

"yeah yeah yeah. don't forget you owe us!" mary warned, handing ella a plate packed to the brim. "big time tooney, and we will be cashing in." alessia added on, handing her another plate stacked high with food as ella nodded furtively.

thanking them again as they both sat up on the counter with their own food, ella was very careful as she used her back to open the door to the kitchen. "dinner is served!" ella sung out, heart soaring at the way your eyes lit up.

"ah!" ella warned, holding up a hand and pulling out your chair for you. "what a gentlewoman you are." you smiled, bending your head back as she pressed a tender kiss to your lips. "this smells amazing." you sighed happily, ella having already set the table with candles and a gorgeous bunch of flowers to further set the mood.

"before we eat! i wanted to ask ya somethin." ella started as you nodded, encouraging her to continue. "okay." ella wiped her palms on her pants, slightly clammy with nerves.

"just gonna come out and say it. will ya be my girlfriend?" ella rambled out, the entire two page speech she'd written earlier that day and rehearsed over and over with alessia's help thrown out the window.

"of course i will el, nothing would make me prouder." you smiled softly, pushing your chair back a little and leaning in, ella meeting you in the middle as you shared a tender kiss.

"now. are you going to invite your little helpers to eat with us or are they banished to the kitchen?" you smirked, twirling your fork around in your fingers as ella's eyes almost bugged out of her head.

"what! ya knew the whole time? how?"

"el...i've eaten more of mary's roast dinners than i've had hot showers. i knew the moment i stepped inside and smelled her cooking! and less's mercedes is a bit hard to miss parked out the front." you laughed, ella thumping back into her chair with a groan.

"it was a very sweet idea but next time i can happily cook us dinner, girlfriend."

#ella toone x reader #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #ella toone #engwnt #woso blurbs

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verstappensrealwife · 3 months

Note

would you be able to write about lance stroll? possibly a story where she is his childhood best friend and they end up together. Smut if possible!!

Beyond Friendship's Boundaries - Lance Stroll x Reader

smut.

approx. 1960 words.

warnings: oral (fem!recieving), awkwardness in the start, sex (p in v). --- Also my horrid smut writing (I am yet to write a smut fic that i think i wrote well!) Hope you enjoy anyways <3

lance stroll masterlist - here. f1 masterlist - here.

You and Lance had been inseparable since childhood, ever since that fateful day in kindergarten when his boundless energy collided with your unsuspecting form. As he barreled into you with the force of a tiny tornado, you found yourself sprawled on the ground, tears welling in your eyes. But even in that moment of chaos, Lance's instinctive kindness shone through as he scrambled to lift you up with all the might his pint-sized arms could muster.

"Sorry," he blurted out, his voice tinged with genuine concern.

With a sniffle and a shaky nod, you forgave him, wiping away the tears with the back of your hand. His infectious grin, inherited from his mother's insistence that it could brighten anyone's day, worked its magic once again as you found yourself mirroring his smile. From that day forward, a bond was forged between you two that would withstand the tests of time and tide.

In the present moment, he found himself thousands of miles away in Australia, while you remained in Canada. Alone in the confines of his hotel room, he sat on the edge of the bed, consumed by thoughts of you that strayed far from the innocent memories of childhood. With a conflicted mind and a restless urge, he grasped his cock in his hand, indulging in fantasies that danced on the edge of forbidden desire.

If only you knew the depths of his depraved thoughts, he reasoned, you might recoil in horror or sever ties altogether. But in that solitary moment, consumed by the need for release before the impending race, such considerations faded into insignificance. He whispered your name like a forbidden prayer, his imagination weaving a tapestry of carnal delights where your bodies entwined in passion, where your desires ignited a flame that threatened to consume them both.

As he surrendered to the waves of pleasure crashing over him, he couldn't help but yearn for your presence, for the touch of your skin against his, for the possibility that you might reciprocate the intensity of his longing. In the darkness of his solitude, he dared to dream of a world where your desires aligned, where the boundaries between friendship and something more blurred into obscurity. But for now, all he could do was chase the fleeting ecstasy of release, his fantasies a bittersweet reminder of the distance between them and the unspoken truths that lingered in the silence.

Unbeknownst to him, the object of his affection stood mere inches from his hotel door, her heart thrumming with anticipation as she prepared to surprise her closest friend.

"Lance~" Your cheerful voice called through the door, sending Lance into a whirlwind of panic. Why were you here? When had you arrived? And most importantly, where on earth were his pants!? With a frantic scramble, he attempted to cover himself, his heart racing with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

As you swiped the card and entered the room, Lance's eyes widened in disbelief. He couldn't believe you were here, standing before him in the flesh. But before he could gather his wits or even properly greet you, your exclamation filled the room, cutting through the air like a knife.

You couldn't help but yelp in surprise as you laid eyes on him. There he stood, with his messy hair tousled in disarray, a rosy flush painting his cheeks, and no shirt to conceal the sculpted contours of his chest. Beneath the sheets that draped over his lower half, there was an air of tantalising mystery, hinting at the forbidden pleasures that lay hidden from view. Thankfully he had found his boxers before you had walked in.

Caught off guard by the unexpected sight, you felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks as your heart raced with a mixture of shock and embarrassment. It was a moment frozen in time, etched into your memory with vivid clarity, leaving you breathless and at a loss for words.

You stuttered out a few words, your voice wavering with uncertainty as you struggled to make sense of the unexpected scene before you. "Is this a bad time... I can leave," you managed to murmur, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"No!" His response was swift, almost desperate, as if the mere thought of you leaving sent a jolt of panic coursing through him. He hesitated for a moment, the realisation of his own desperation dawning on him, before quickly composing himself. But deep down, he couldn't deny the truth: he was desperate for you, in more ways than one.

You stared at him, your eyes wide with surprise and uncertainty, unsure of how to proceed in this newfound tension. "N- Not a bad time... uhm..." he stammered, his words trailing off into an awkward silence as he searched for the right thing to say.

As the tension hung heavy in the air, a palpable electricity crackling between you, Lance's heart pounded with a mixture of desire and uncertainty. In that charged moment, he couldn't deny the raw attraction that pulsed between them, igniting a fire that threatened to consume them both.

With a hesitant step forward, he closed the distance between you, his gaze locking with yours in a silent plea for understanding. "I... I want you here," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with desire and longing.

Your breath caught in your throat at his admission, your own desires laid bare in the vulnerable space between you. In a bold move, you closed the remaining gap between you, your fingers trembling as they reached out to touch his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

With a shared moment of unspoken consent, the floodgates of desire burst open, consuming them both in a whirlwind of passion and need. Lips met in a searing kiss, hungry and desperate, as years of unspoken longing erupted into a frenzy of desire.

Lost in the heat of the moment, Lance's hands roamed eagerly over your body, tracing every curve and contour as if committing them to memory. With each touch, each caress, the world fell away until there was only the two of you, lost in the throes of passion.

As the intensity of their desire reached its peak, they surrendered to the undeniable pull of their bodies, consumed by a hunger that could only be sated by each other. In that moment of blissful surrender, they knew that they had found something truly special, something worth fighting for amidst the chaos of their tangled emotions.

His movements were urgent, fueled by a hunger that threatened to consume them both as he pushed you gently onto the bed, his lips trailing a path of fire down your trembling body. Each kiss left a trail of tingling heat in its wake, igniting a blaze of desire that pulsed between you.

Reaching your legs, he knelt between your thighs, his breath catching in his throat at the sight beneath the dress you had worn just for him. His eyes drank in the sight of your exposed skin, the tantalising curve of your hips, and the promise of what lay hidden beneath.

"Fuck..." he mumbled, his voice husky with desire as he took in the sight before him. The realisation that you wore no underwear beneath the dress sent a surge of heat coursing through him, his heart pounding with anticipation.

His fingers trembled with longing as he reached for the hem of your dress, his touch gentle yet urgent as he pulled the fabric slowly upwards, revealing more of your intoxicating form with each passing moment. As the dress pooled around your waist, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath him, he felt a primal need stir within him, urging him onward.

You could only moan in response, lost in a haze of pleasure and desire as his lips continued their journey, leaving a trail of kisses along your inner thighs. Your words dissolved into incoherent babbling, your mind consumed by the overwhelming sensations that pulsed through your body with each touch, each caress.

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine this moment would come to fruition, yet it consumed your every waking thought, an unrelenting desire that pulsed through your veins with a fierce intensity.

As he pushed his fingers into you, the sensation sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, igniting a fire that burned with an intensity you had never known. With each skilled movement, he found the perfect spot, sending sparks of ecstasy dancing along your nerve endings.

His mouth followed, hot and hungry against your skin, eliciting a guttural moan of pleasure from deep within your throat. The sound echoed off the walls of the room, mingling with curses and cries of ecstasy as you surrendered yourself to the overwhelming tide of sensation.

He pulled two earth-shattering orgasms from you with his skilled touch before finally entering you, the culmination of desire and passion reaching its peak. Position after position, they explored the depths of pleasure together, lost in a whirlwind of sensation and ecstasy that seemed to stretch into eternity.

For almost an hour, they moved as one, bodies entwined in a dance of primal desire. With each thrust, his dick found its mark, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you with every movement. It was a symphony of sensation, a crescendo of pleasure that built with each passing moment.

Despite his best efforts to prolong the inevitable, he could only resist for so long before the overwhelming tide of pleasure threatened to consume him. With a primal groan of ecstasy, he pulled out at the last moment, spilling his release over you in a cascade of pure bliss.

In the aftermath of their passionate encounter, they lay entwined in a tangle of limbs, their bodies still humming with the echoes of pleasure. With gentle caresses and soft whispers, they reassured each other of their mutual affection, basking in the warmth of their shared intimacy.

As they lay together in the quiet aftermath of their lovemaking, a sense of anticipation hung in the air, unspoken words lingering on the tip of their tongues. Lance shifted slightly, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns along your arm as he mustered the courage to broach the subject that had been weighing on his mind.

"Hey," he began softly, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty, "can we talk about... us?"

You turned to him, meeting his gaze with a mixture of curiosity and warmth. "Of course," you replied, your heart fluttering with anticipation.

"I... I know we've always been friends," Lance started, his words hesitant as he struggled to articulate his feelings. "But after tonight, I can't help but wonder if there's something more between us."

Your breath caught in your throat at his confession, the air crackling with tension as you searched for the right words to respond. "I've thought about it too," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "What we have... it feels different now, doesn't it?"

Lance nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, it does," he agreed, his gaze softening as he looked at you. "And I don't want to risk losing what we have, but... I can't shake the feeling that there's something special between us."

You reached out, intertwining your fingers with his in a silent gesture of solidarity. "I feel it too," you confessed, your heart swelling with emotion. "And maybe... maybe we owe it to ourselves to see where this could go."

Lance's smile widened, a flicker of hope dancing in his eyes. "I'd like that," he replied, his voice filled with conviction. "To us, whatever that may be."

"To us," you echoed, a surge of excitement coursing through you as you leaned in to press a tender kiss to his lips. In that moment, you both knew that whatever the future held, you were in it together, bound by the unbreakable bond of friendship and the tantalising promise of something more.

el fin.

Hope the smut was good. I tried not to use cringe words, key word tried. anyway. probably gonna have 2-3 fics out today :)

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buckysegan · 2 months

Text

how silly of me, to fall in love with you.

Summary: when one of the new pilots around base get's an idea in his head about a certain nurse john egan, is having none of it. john x she. Word Count: 1.1k A/N: i saw a prompt in the tags about john not being willing to give up his jacket. but i think our little possessive bucky would willingly hand it over to lay his claim....i also wrote this in 30 minutes with no edits forgive me. a little prequel look to this pairing.

there was two things about john egan that any one that had been around base for more than five minutes were sure of, the man couldn't sing, and he didn't share her or buck. it was unfair of him and irrational really, to the point that just for just a moment bucky wondered if all of this was moderately cruel of him. despite all the thoughts in his head though, he couldn't help himself.

they weren't at the pub today which meant for a change he didn't have to watch the usual british majors hit on his girl, that was where his usual source of anguish came from because the boys knew that despite the fact bucky liked to advise that the pretty nurse was too good for any of them, especially him, the way his eyes lingered on her was enough of a claim. especially after lil and dye. and john knew, he knew that he was around her just enough that he managed to keep the rest of the boys at bay. that was what was so cruel off him, he wouldn't take her. honestly he didn't think he could because a man like him couldn't taint something so pure.

he just didn't want anyone else having her either.

it seemed that the message that she was his though, hadn't reached a number of the boys that had piled in over the last week and john was pretty sure he was one wrongly placed hand away from loosing it all together.

not even the hand on his thigh and gentle mumblings of his best friend was enough to calm the frazzling of nerves that were building in him. bucky was pretty sure he hadn't smiled in at least an hour, that had to be a record and someone needed to be careful. "she's not looking at them bucky, you don't have a damn thing to worry about." brady offered from across the table where they were all propped, as if each of the men were waiting for their major to blow and ready to pull him back given they'd heard plenty of stories of just how many of them it would take should he decide to loose his temper.

the scraping of bucky's chair had everyone's eyes pulled in his direction, even hers though she had been trying to ignore the way the pilots baby blues had burned into the back of her skull all night whenever she had been asked to dance with one of the boys. she had simply been a welcoming host, every one that knew her knew she was blind to any of the attention that she had received throughout the evening. now she along with the rest of the party was left watching as john stormed in the direction of the door muttering something about being back soon.

barely ten minutes had passed when she felt the heavy fabric droop over her shoulders, the hands on her waist with such boldness confirming just who had appeared despite the fact she had been talking to lieutenant hart. "john..." she trailed, spinning in his grasp as she moved to look up at him, only to realise slowly just how quiet the room had gone. john himself, couldn't bring himself to care at the audience, he had never been shy of a performance and this might have been his best one.

"hi baby." he hummed, fingers cupping at her chin for a second as he looked down at his handy work, the light sheep skin now crowding over her favorite person. "it seemed a little chilly in here, figured that you should be taking care of yourself." he mused quietly and he made no attempts to wipe the smirk that had replaced the glare he had been wearing as he had stormed out of here.

she could feel her cheeks turn an unfortunate shade of red that no amount of powder was going to be able to help her with. this over grown, infuriating man the very cause. at some point in time, when now she couldn't remember, she had fallen immovably in love with john egan. not that he seemed to notice, or if he had, not that he seemed willing to do anything about. she had never questioned why either. she had looked at him plenty, looked at the other nurses following him around base, she knew the options he had which only furthered her confusion at the jacket now slunk around her shoulders.

"no one else is wearing a jacket bucky." she was quick to huff though she had made no move to rid herself of the damn thing, marvelled still at how small this man managed to make her feel. "mhumm, that's the point baby, i'll see you at work tomorrow?" he asked, a side glance at hart telling him that the majors message had been received loud and clear and he knew the message would have been accepted on a wider level too. not everyone had met her, the damn light of his life that wondered around base like his very own sunshine, but everyone knew the distinct jacket that bucky flew in, and now everyone had seen her in it.

backing away to his table john already knew the taunts he would be greeted with but fishing for his glass as he sunk back to his seat, he didn't even bother to hide how proud of himself he was. "jesus john." gale was the first to groan at him, the others soon joining in. "why don't you just piss on her next time, that would be less obvious." brady again, was quick to jab. bucky himself could only offer another shrug of his shoulders as he let his gaze fall to the bar, where he knew she was now watching him from where she was propped. john egan didn't deserve her, he knew that, and neither did anyone else here, he was protecting her, that's all it was.

one day, when her husband came along and she had someone else to love her how she deserved, someone that wasn't a changed man. he would let her go, he'd move on and someone else could keep her safe. just for now the jacket would have to do, it was better than his alternative plan, to grab her, kiss her in the middle of the room and tumble out some sort of confession - how silly of me, to fall in love with you.

#john egan x reader #masters of the air #callum turner #mota #mota drabble #john egan.#also PS #Im not over loosing the jacket so early #someone give callum that jacket to wesr #rn

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 10 months

Text

Spilled Ink

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike x f!reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: Uhhh Marcus Pike as the world's softest tattoo artist that's it that's the fic.

Warnings: Lots of tattoo talk, obviously, which includes needles, tattoo guns, pain, mention of bleeding, etc.; reader is explicitly coded as neurodivergent because I said so; yearning; lots of kissing; Marcus Pike being a goddamn menace and he fucking knows it

A/N: @kedsandtubesocks made a post about Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike (original post HERE) and then I wrote 7.5k words in 12 hours, as one does. All credit for the idea goes to the amazing Erika who entrusted me with this idea and THANK GOD SHE DID because I don't think I could have gotten it out of my stupid brain otherwise. Header pics credit go to Erin @perotovar, who made these with Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike in mind and I'm just WOOFWOOFBARKBARKBARKBARKHOWL. Thanks also to @littlebirdsbookshelf who suffers through HOURS of me sending screenshots every time I write anything. Love you <3

Additional Note on Canon: I am pretending that we never got to see Marcus Pike in short sleeves in the show despite it happening twice. He has full sleeves on both his arms in this fic that he covered up during his time working at the FBI. Because sleeves are hot and I said so.

Masterlist

It’s not unusual, these days, to wander down the sidewalk staring at your phone. Some people are texting. Some people are reading the news–because hey, this is D.C. Others, like you on this brisk morning, are watching the little blue dot on a tiny representation of the city streets, trying to find the address you had typed into the search bar.

A text box pops up, informing you of your arrival, and you finally look up.

No wonder it took you so long to find the place–it’s hardly what you expected at all. You always picture tacky neon signs, bars on the windows, undesirables milling about on the street, smoking cigarettes.

Okay, so you admittedly don’t actually know much about tattoos.

All you know is that you want one–a fact you confessed to a friend over lunch the other week: a conversation that led you here.

“Okay, so get one,” she had said bluntly.

“It’s not all that simple,” you had protested.

“Why?”

“It’s just… it seems like a lot. Mentally. Physically. I’m not sure I have what it takes.”

“They don’t hurt that bad,” your friend had insisted.

“I’m not just talking about that, I’m talking about… y’know, just everything. The noise. New people. Strangers touching me. It just doesn’t seem like something I’ll be able to do.”

“Oh. Ohhh. Because of the… yep. Actually I might have something for you,” she said, taking out her phone and scrolling through that app that drives you crazy–it’s overstimulation in a convenient package–full of noise, chaos, and flashing lights.

She must have seen you pull a face, because she held out her hand placatingly.

“Just finding the name of the place, hang on. It’s a shop right here in DC that went ‘viral’ for this video of a guy with autism who wanted a tattoo to commemorate his dad, but he was only comfortable lying on the floor–so the tattoo artist just… got on the floor with him! It was really cute, and anyway I guess he caters to all sorts of people, so… I dunno. Check it out.”

And here you are. Checking it out.

The words “Government-Issued Ink” are spelled out on large windows, and the punny name–apt for its location not far from the Capitol–makes you snort.

The shop is bright, warm, and inviting–tearing down your outdated preconceptions that tattoo places must always be run-down, dark, and dingy. It’s also empty this early in the morning, save for a lone figure in the back, seated at a well-worn desk, his head pitched forward over his work.

He’s so enveloped in whatever he’s sketching that he must not have heard the light ringing of the bell as you had entered. You watch him for a few moments–taking in the graceful movements of his hand and the way his fingers grasp the pen. He’s dressed in a plain blue button-down dress shirt, which also doesn’t fit your assumed archetype of ‘Tattoo Artist.’ You can’t see his face; his head is leaning forward too much and a few short locks of dark brown hair obscure your view.

Suddenly wondering if you’re being incredibly rude, staring at someone without announcing your presence, you open your mouth to introduce yourself.

“Um.”

While not exactly eloquent, it serves its purpose. The man startles and looks up in surprise.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, jumping to his feet and letting the pen clatter carelessly to the desk. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head rapidly. “I was, um…” You blink a few times, your nerves getting the better of you as the man comes around his desk to approach the front of the store.

“Interested in a walk-in consultation?” he offers, holding out his hands in a gesture that could either be an open invitation or a shrug.

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I was thinking about getting, uh, a tattoo, and I was told this shop was… good. With tattoos. And other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” he chuckles, smiling warmly.

“You know… with people who… might not be good at getting tattoos.”

“What makes you think you aren’t ‘good at getting tattoos?’”

“A hunch,” you shrug, expelling a little huff of laughter through your nose. “I was told to ask for a Marcus Pike?”

The man’s smile widens. “You’re looking at him.”

Oh. You aren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Marcus Pike is well-dressed and clean-cut, almost startlingly so. You scan up and down, looking for any sign that this man could possibly be a tattoo artist, but the only evidence you can find is a small black target inked between his thumb and forefinger on his right hand. Don’t… tattoo artists usually have more ink? Of course, with him almost completely covered from head to toe, you obviously can’t create a full picture of Marcus’s skin, but the fact that he wouldn’t look out of place in one of the nearby government buildings still takes you by surprise.

You realize you haven’t said anything in response, but Marcus doesn’t seem to be bothered by your deer-in-headlights stare. Instead, he grins again and steps sideways, extending his arm in a silent invitation to come deeper into the shop.

“Come on in. If you’d like, go ahead and sit wherever you want, and we can talk about it. No pressure,” he promises. “I’m not here to push ink on you like a used car salesman; I’m here to collaborate with you. Figure out what you really want. And, if what you want ends up being ‘nothing,’ I totally support that, too.”

There’s something innate and intrinsic about Marcus Pike that sets you completely at-ease. You cast your eyes around, taking in the eclectic seating in the shop–all mismatched, all different colors, styles, and shapes, but all looking incredibly comfortable and inviting. You settle on a giant turquoise beanbag that seems to swallow you whole when you sink down into it, and Marcus grins and sits down in the bright yellow saucer chair beside it.

“So at the very least, you’re thinking about a tattoo,” Marcus leads. “Can you tell me about that?”

You nod, feeling encouraged by his openness. “Yeah, so… my mom, she passed away a couple of years ago, and it just seemed like I should… memorialize her in some way. Like, in a way that leaves its mark on me like she left a mark on me, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of getting some kind of permanent art that commemorates her.”

“That’s a great idea,” Marcus says softly. “Lots of people choose to do that after losing a loved one.”

“Yeah, the only problem is that I’m not good with um… noise, or people touching me, or… pain, really,” you confess. “I’m like, the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.”

Marcus chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Personally, I don’t believe that. I think anyone can get a tattoo done if they want it, provided they get it done in a way that feels safe and comfortable.”

“My friend, she uh, recommended your shop because apparently you’ve done some stuff for people with autism and it went viral on TikTok…” you ramble, “and I thought maybe that meant you’d be a good fit for… for me.”

Understanding flickers in Marcus’s expression, and he nods, a small smile spreading across his face. “I hope so,” he says with quiet earnesty.

A beat passes–just a few seconds of silence–but something small and soft and warm settles down between the two of you, and the comforting feeling sinks down into the pit of your stomach and stays there, latent and waiting.

“So, let’s talk design,” Marcus announces. “Do you have anything in mind? Any images or ideas, however vague? I can do anything from replicating designs to building something completely from scratch for you.”

“I like the idea of it being a unique piece,” you tell him.

“I prefer original designs too,” he says. “Not to sound incredibly cheesy, but there’s no one like you, you know? In–In the general sense, of course.” He chuckles sheepishly, looking down at his hands. “I like knowing each person that comes in here leaves with something unique. Something all their own—I’m rambling,” he says quickly, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. “One thing about me is that I talk too much. Anyway–did you have any ideas you can share with me about what you’d like?”

“I don’t have a good image in my mind,” you confess anxiously. After all, how can he build a design based on the swirling, disjointed images in your brain? “I think I want it to be colorful, like she was. And… I keep getting thoughts about, I dunno, the cyclical nature of life, something corny like that.”

Marcus laughs. “Sometimes the corny stuff is what sticks with us. So, colorful and commenting on the cyclical nature of life,” he lists off on his fingers, still grinning. “Anything else?”

“I’ve looked through your galleries online,” you tell him. “You have a few that look like watercolor paintings, and I really love how they look.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’m gonna throw out an idea—Feel free to tell me ‘no,’ because I’m just brainstorming here, but I keep thinking about a tree of life. The leaves could easily be done in watercolor and could be any combination of colors you want.” His right hand twitches–as if reaching for a phantom pen–as he speaks, and his gaze seems to be fixed on a spot on the wall, his eyes glimmering with enthusiasm as he starts to speak faster.

“You could have the leaves and the roots connecting on the sides, making a circle, maybe even having her birth date and death date embedded in the roots…” He blinks rapidly a few times, as if dispelling the image from his head. “Anyway. That’s a possibility.”

“I think that’s amazing,” you say softly, watching Marcus with something like amazement in your expression. “Actually… I really like that idea. It sounds… perfect.”

“Oh,” he intones softly, looking at you in surprise as a bright, toothy smile breaks across his face. “Oh. Well then, let’s do it, huh? One final question: where do you envision getting it?”

“I was thinking on my shoulder. Here,” you indicate, pressing your hand to the skin of your upper arm. “That way it’s visible when I want it to be, but easily hidden if for some reason it needs to be.”

“That’s perfect,” Marcus says. “Plus, the circular design will go really well there. Okay. Great. Um, some things to know about the process. We’ll exchange emails, and you can contact me at any time with any questions, concerns, ideas, changes, anything. In the meantime, I’ll get started on a design for you, and I’ll share initial sketches that you can give feedback on before I move to the final stages of the design. It’ll take a couple of weeks, maximum, depending on any changes you ask for. My only request is that you’re always honest with your feedback–don’t tell me you like something when you don’t. I promise, it won’t hurt my feelings.” He grins widely. “After that, you book an appointment on a day that works best for you. I almost always book the whole day for the appointment to factor in time for copious breaks and making sure you feel comfortable. Does that work for you?”

You nod eagerly.

“Last question,” Marcus says. “Is it okay if I get a close-up picture of your upper arm? That way I can make sure it fits the curvature of your arm, it’s the right size, stuff like that.”

“Mhmm,” you nod again, pressing your lips together and trying not to look nervous. Thank god you wore a sleeveless top under your sweater.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he insists.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say quickly, removing just the one arm from your outer layer and pulling it aside.

You watch as Marcus grabs a little ‘point-and-shoot’ digital camera from his desk and comes back to your side.

“This is just used for design purposes,” he promises. “I delete them after the design is done.”

“I trust you.”

His resulting expression could light an entire room. “Thank you,” he answers quietly. “Okay. Super close-up, just your arm. Cool?”

“Cool,” you confirm, and you hear the camera click several times.

“Actually,” Marcus says, still staring thoughtfully at your bare shoulder. “Would it be okay if I made a couple of little marks–washable marker, of course–to make sure the dimensions are how you want them?”

Oh. You normally don’t like it when people touch you. You knew it was going to happen eventually, obviously, because how else was he going to get the design onto your skin? But it was something you had planned on working yourself up to, not something you had to do today. On the other hand, something about Marcus’s entire bearing makes you inexplicably ache to be touched by him.

“‘No’ is an acceptable response,” he interrupts your dithering with a quiet reassurance.

And actually, that works to seal the deal for you, and your decision is made in an instant.

“Yes. You can. That’s fine.” And, to your surprise, you mean it.

Marcus seems just as surprised at your answer–his eyebrows shoot upward almost comically at your response.

“Okay,” he says softly. “That’s perfect. Hang on.” He jumps up again to retrieve a black marker–from what was clearly a children’s set of washable markers. He meets your eyes, and again you take in that sincere, earnest, patient look that endeared you to this man from the moment you entered the little shop.

“Is it okay if I touch your arm?” he asks quietly, still watching you carefully as you nod.

“Tell me if that changes,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze to your shoulder again. His touch, when you feel it, is just as warm as you’d imagined. He’s gentle, cautious, and when he speaks again, his voice remains at that same, soft volume and tone. “I’m envisioning being from about here–” he makes a little black dot, “–to here. What do you think?”

You nod. It’s the perfect size–large enough to cover your shoulder but stopping just above the point where the sleeve of a regular t-shirt would hit.

“That’s perfect.”

“Okay, so that’s–” he tsks softly, measuring the distance with his finger, “–about four inches, so that same distance across, and–” he makes two more marks on either side of your shoulder. “About like that. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you answer, smiling with enthusiasm.

“Great! Let me just…” Marcus draws a few short lines denoting the proposed boundary of your design, and you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you at the cool tip of the marker on your skin.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “One more picture?”

At your nod, the camera clicks one last time.

“Like I said, that’ll wash off with soap, no problem,” he promises with a smile. “Thanks for that, makes it easier to scale.” He grabs two business cards off his desk and hands them to you. “Can you write your email on this one for me? And you can keep the other one. Like I said, anything you need, just email me. And uh, barring that, you’ll be hearing from me in a week or so with a rough sketch. Okay?”

You scribble down your email and hand the card back to Marcus before pulling your sweater back over your bare arm. You slip the other card into your purse and rise to your feet. “Thanks,” you say, nodding to him.

“Hey, no–thank you,” Marcus returns. “Thanks for entrusting me with this. I mean it.”

Surprising yourself, you extend your hand toward him, and, when he takes it, you feel enveloped with warmth again.

“Thanks,” repeat, a little bit more breathlessly this time, before turning and hurrying out of the shop before you can embarrass yourself any further.

Your shoulder still tingles from his touch hours later.

Rather than it being a week before you hear from him, you receive an email from Marcus Pike just three days later.

Subject: Initial Sketch

Hello,

Please see attached. It’s just pencil for now, but I made a note of the general blocks of color I was thinking for the leaves. You’ll see what I mean when you open the file. Sorry, I know it’s a pretty rough sketch, I was just excited to get this to you. I look forward to your feedback!

Best regards,

Marcus :)

Eagerly, you open the attachment. First of all, there’s nothing “rough” about the sketch other than the fact that it’s just penciled in. The details are already so intricate, and you find yourself smiling in amazement as you take in the design.

It’s beautiful.

Brackets, each labeled with a different color in Marcus’s neat, tidy handwriting, surround the top of the tree. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Violet.

At the bottom of the image is another handwritten note: *All the colors will blend together and the result should look like a rainbow.

Tears spring, unbidden, to your eyes, as you feverishly type out your response.

Subject: Re: Initial Sketch

Marcus,

I really don’t know what to say other than it’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. Made me tear up. Look forward to seeing it in color.

Thanks again!

Not even five minutes go by before your phone vibrates with another email.

Subject: Re: Re: Initial Sketch

I’m sorry if I made you cry! Obviously wasn’t my intention but I’m glad the design evokes emotion :) I’ll move forward with the design as-is and you should hear from me soon with a full-color image.

Marcus :)

You can’t wait. The next week and a half stretches out excruciatingly, but finally, on a Wednesday evening, you receive another email.

Subject: Final Design

Hey there!

Hope you’ve been doing well. Thought you might like to see the final design of your tattoo ;) See attached and let me know if anything needs to be changed. Be critical! Don’t hold anything back! Once we agree on a final piece, we’ll get you on the calendar.

Best regards,

Marcus :)

Your mind skims over the fact that Marcus used a winking-face emoji in your email, because you honestly aren’t equipped to process that right now, and open the attachment instead. This time, you start crying in earnest. It’s perfect. The colors are so vibrant, and they make the tree look as though it’s in a constant state of movement. Your mom’s birth and death dates are entwined seamlessly into the roots themselves, in a way that makes them not readily apparent at first glance, but seeming to just appear out of nowhere upon further inspection.

Subject: Re: Final Design

Marcus,

If I had any critical feedback, I would share it, I promise. But I have nothing. This is everything I’d imagined and more, and it means the world to me.

Thank you so much.

After a few more messages back and forth, you settle on a date one month out.

You can’t wait.

As excited as you’ve been for the past month, when you step foot back into Marcus’s little tattoo parlor, the air of finality makes your body thrum with anxiety.

You’re really doing this.

Marcus is at the back of the shop, busying himself with setting up his workspace when you enter. Today, he’s wearing a dark green henley that looks just as soft as he is, and seems to complement his features even more. As soon as he hears the chimes, his head snaps up, and he grins widely.

“Hey!” he calls out excitedly. “Just getting everything ready. Do you want something to drink before we get started? I’ve got water, juice, soda…” he trails off, waving his hand in the direction of a mini-fridge in the corner.

“I’m okay for now.”

“Sounds good, but when we take a break, you should have some juice or something else with a bit of sugar in it, okay?” You nod, and he continues. “Okay! Where do you want to sit?”

“Don’t I have to sit in the chair over there?” you ask, gesturing to the traditional chair and bench near Marcus’s work table.

“Not at all,” he protests. “The table is mobile, I bring it to wherever you feel comfortable.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I’ll go ahead and sit in the chair, though.” Of all the options, it looks like the easiest–you aren’t entirely sure how Marcus would be able to comfortably tattoo you whilst sitting on a bean bag chair.

“Your choice,” he insists, spreading his hands out in an open and unguarded stance.

You settle in the chair and he sits down on a rolling stool beside you.

“Okay, so I’ve got a stencil of your design here,” Marcus says, holding up a paper with an outline of the tree for you to see. “It’ll transfer onto your skin exactly how you want it to go, and I’ll just trace it. Make sense?”

“Yep,” you nod.

“Before I do that, though, I have to make sure nothing interferes with the design, including tiny little hairs.” He holds up a pink safety razor. “Are you comfortable with me doing this for you?”

At your tentative nod of consent, Marcus leans forward and gently swipes the razor up and down your shoulder until he’s satisfied. His eyes dart between your skin and your face the entire time–making sure you’re still with him. After he’s done, he talks you through the stencil–confirming its location, gently applying it to your shoulder, and then holding up a mirror for you to approve.

“It’s great,” you whisper excitedly.

Marcus returns your smile and begins to absentmindedly roll up his sleeves in preparation to start working–-and the question about tattoos that you’d asked yourself upon first seeing the man is suddenly and unexpectedly answered.

You can’t help the soft sound of surprise that escapes from you when you catch the colorful patchwork of designs on both of his forearms, disappearing under the pushed-up henley and suggesting that they go all the way up.

Marcus catches you staring and grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“I didn’t know,” you say softly. “You keep them covered up.”

“Force of habit,” Marcus shrugs. “I had a desk job for a long time.”

“Doing what?” you ask, curiously. You can’t see the man doing anything but this.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he jokes, winking in your direction.

Ignoring how the wink makes your heart stutter in your chest, you bark out a laugh at his answer. “What? Were you like a secret agent or something?” you tease.

“Special Agent,” he corrects, grinning.

“Get out,” you deadpan. “I can’t imagine you as a Fed.”

Marcus shrugs, giving you another one of his boyish, crooked smiles. “Would’ve been fifteen years this year had I not finally seen the writing on the wall and run for the hills a couple of years ago.”

“What made you leave?”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “That’s a long story. How sensitive are you to noise?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject.

“Uh, I dunno. Kind of depends on the day and the situation,” you shrug.

“Fair. Well, I usually let newcomers listen to what the gun actually sounds like, so there are no surprises. If it’s too loud, I do have noise canceling headphones.”

And miss out on hearing Marcus’s soft-spoken reassurances? No matter how loud the tattoo gun is, you’d rather endure it just to be able to hear him talk.

Marcus turns the instrument on, and the room is filled with a mild buzzing sound. On your worst days, admittedly, it would probably grate upon your nerves, but you’re feeling relaxed, comfortable, and excited about your new tattoo.

“It’s not bad,” you tell him truthfully.

“Perfect,” he grins. “Are you all set to get started?”

Heart rate increasing with pleasant anticipation, you nod giddily.

“I’m obviously gonna be touching your arm a lot,” Marcus says, “so let me know if you need a break from that, the noise, the needle, anything.” Seeing your solemn nod, he continues. “I’m gonna do a little dot right here to let you see how it feels, okay?” He gently touches his index finger to your skin to indicate where.

“Okay.”

The gun turns on again, and Marcus presses it lightly against your skin for just a second before pulling back.

“...That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I thought it would hurt more,” you confess.

Marcus laughs. “Well, the same feeling over and over again in a small area can start to be pretty uncomfortable. I’ll check in regularly to make sure you’re still doing fine. Good?”

You smile widely. “I’m really excited.”

His smile softens, his gaze becoming warmer and more tender. “I’m glad.”

His other hand gently cradles your arm as Marcus leans in, a look of intense concentration settling over his features as he begins the design. Engrossed in his work, you take the time to study his forearms. They’re a hodgepodge of designs, clearly done at different times and by different artists, but you can see themes throughout. He likes classic styles, you can tell, and in between some of the more traditional works you can see beautiful references to an assortment of famous paintings. A Dali melting clock here. A sunflower clearly inspired by Van Gogh there. On his opposite bicep, you can just barely make out the side of one design that looks like it might be of a Greek statue. Tilting your head, you realize it’s Nike alighting on the bow of a warship, and you inhale sharply. That’s one of your favorite sculptures.

“Still okay?” Marcus asks, glancing up at you with concern in his eyes.

“Sorry.” You shake your head quickly.

“Just checking,” he says softly. “Try to be just a little more still, okay?”

“Sorry,” you repeat, laughing sheepishly.

“Don’t be, you’re doing great.”

You try to fight the way your entire body seems to grow warm at Marcus’s praise, but you can’t stop the way the feeling stampedes through you. You’re being ridiculous, you chastise yourself. He’s doing his job, and you’re getting all moony-eyed.

In order to distract yourself, you continue playing ‘Spot the Famous Artwork’ on Marcus’s sleeves–although, as distractions go, it’s not your best work. You can’t help but focus in on the way his forearm cords with muscle as he holds the tattoo gun, controlling each movement so delicately and precisely, creating a beautiful, intricate design on your shoulder.

After finding a bit of yellow patchwork that's clearly a reference to Gustav Klimt's The Kiss near his right elbow, you break your silence.

“You like art, huh?”

It seems like a stupid thing to say to a fucking tattoo artist of all people, and you immediately kick yourself internally for saying something so obvious.

Marcus glances up, and, seeing how your eyes are focused on his own ink, smiles. “Always have,” he murmurs, returning his gaze to your shoulder. “Some of those are years-old.”

“Is that how you got into being a tattoo artist?” you ask.

“Sort of,” he answers, brow pinched in concentration as he continues working. “I uh, apprenticed for a shop in college to pay the bills before going to Quantico for training.”

“You’re really talented,” you tell him. “I was surprised to find out you haven’t been doing this your whole life.”

Marcus hums his appreciation as he carefully fills in a root.

“Can I ask what made you join the FBI instead of opening your own place after college?”

He huffs a little laugh through his nose. “Parents would have killed me, going to college and then doing nothing with it.”

“Running a small business isn’t exactly doing nothing,” you point out.

“Well, public opinion on tattoos wasn’t what it is now,” Marcus says. “They were scandalized by my apprenticeship, but it paid the bills, so they couldn’t complain too loudly.”

“Was it them who wanted you to join the FBI?”

“Mm, not so much,” he murmurs. “It was more like ‘whatever you want to do, so long as you can make a lucrative career out of it.’ Being an artist wasn’t one of those things, so in lieu of becoming one myself, I decided I wanted to protect them instead.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Protect them how?”

Marcus grins up at you and waggles his eyebrows playfully. “Art crimes,” he answers. “Being an art detective was kind of in the limelight in the early ‘nineties after the famous Gardner Museum theft, and I got swept up in the craze.”

“So you spent the last fifteen-ish years recovering stolen art,” you fill in for him.

“Stolen, forged, looted, illegally traded or smuggled…” Marcus offers, not breaking his concentration again. He wasn’t wrong–the repeated drag of the needle across what felt like the same square centimeter of your skin was starting to wear on you.

“Uh-huh,” you say, forcing the discomfort out of your tone.

Noticing the tightness in your voice immediately, Marcus’s movements stop. “Feeling okay?”

You shrug.

The gun switches off.

“You gotta be honest about how you’re feeling,” he reminds you. “I might be able to create designs based off of customers’ vague descriptions, but that doesn’t make me a mind-reader.”

“It’s a little uncomfortable, but I can endure it,” you insist.

“There’s no need to endure something that’s painful,” Marcus argues with an amused smile. “Even if it involves choosing to repeatedly jamming a needle into your skin.”

You can’t help but laugh, and your heart swells when he joins you.

“C’mere,” he says. “Let me show you something.”

You let him lead you to the other side of the shop, where he stops in front of a large storage cabinet that you'd assumed held various supplies. When he opens it, however, you find that isn’t the case at all.

No, the entire cabinet is filled to the brim with a collection of stuffed animals just as eclectic and varied as the furniture. There's also a couple of shoeboxes filled with every manner of fidget toy you could ever imagine.

"You can grab one, if you want. I know it might feel kind of goofy, but I promise they help with the pain."

"Okay," you breathe. Your gaze lingers first on the IKEA shark, then on a very soft-looking cactus with an adorable grumpy expression, but when your gaze lands on the largest and arguably oddest toy in the collection, your hands can't help but move toward it.

"The big guy, huh?" Marcus laughs, taking the giant squid off of the shelf and placing it in your arms. You have to laugh at how large and ungainly it is; its massive black eyes stare vacantly back at you, but the effect is dopey, rather than menacing.

"Where do you get all of these?" you ask in amazement.

"Most of them are gifts from past clients, including that one," Marcus says, indicating the squid. "But I think he originally came from the Smithsonian. I was told his name is 'Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.'"

"Thank you," you say in a small, appreciative voice.

"'S'fine," Marcus shrugs. "Feel up to continuing?"

You nod, looking down at your partially-inked shoulder. "Guess you didn't get very far before I had to stop," you remark, somewhat self-deprecatingly.

"It's not a race," your artist says earnestly. "We've got the whole day, and we go at your pace. You're paying me, after all." Another wink in your direction.

"Yeah," you nod, confidence growing again. "Yeah, okay." You plop down in your seat, with Cthulhu in your lap, and Marcus takes his place beside you.

“Gonna turn this back on again,” he announces as the now-familiar buzz fills the room, “and I’m gonna touch your arm–” his fingers wrap warmly and gently around your skin, “–annnd here we go.”

The needle scratches insistently against your skin, but it isn’t so bad–not really, not with the hilarious giant squid on your lap and Marcus’s gentle, soothing voice in your ear. He talks while he works, sometimes asking you questions about your own life–to which he listens intently and always seems to have follow-up questions–and sometimes telling you stories of his own. You discuss art, obviously, but also music, books, movies, and baseball of all things.

You find yourself wondering if he has this type of easy rapport with everyone who comes in, but you assume he must. He might be the most disarming person you’ve ever met, and it’s hardly a stretch to believe he’s like this with everyone. Still, there’s an ugly, jealous part of you that wishes the connection between you was unique, special. That he’s only this warm with you.

Marcus was right–squeezing the stuffed toy on your lap is a perfect distraction from the discomfort of the needle, and before long, the sensation fades into the background. As the time drags on, though, the persistent drone of the tattoo gun causes an ache to creep in and settle between your eyes. You take in a deep breath through your nose, count to three, and exhale slowly through your mouth.

Marcus glances up, watching you for a split-second before cutting power to the gun and stretching his back with a satisfied sigh.

“Break time,” he announces. “Hand’s getting a bit sore.” He shoots you a knowing glance and another one of those crooked smiles. “And you should probably have a little something to drink, maybe a snack.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you say gratefully as he walks over to the little fridge.

“Apple juice?” he asks, holding up a little juice box that looks slightly comical in his large hands. When you nod enthusiastically, he hands it to you.

His fingers brush yours.

If it were anyone else, you’d recoil, but it’s him. It might just be the forced proximity, but…

You’re developing quite the crush on Marcus Pike.

Shoving the thought aside for the moment, you stab the straw into the little hole and take a long sip. Marcus settles down beside you with his own choice–a little can of vegetable juice–and holds it up in a silent ‘cheers.’

Feeling emboldened, you ask the question that’s been burning in your mind since you started.

“So what made you leave the whole ‘helping other artists’ thing behind and start a tattoo business instead?”

Marcus presses his lips together, and for a moment, you fear you’ve crossed a boundary. Just before you’re about to apologize profusely, though, he speaks.

“Have you ever just… woken up one morning, and realized that everything you were working toward, everything you thought you wanted in life… was a lie?”

“I… I don’t know,” you confess quietly, surprised at the emotion behind his words.

“Happened to me,” he laughs softly. “I had moved to DC for what I thought was my dream job, with who I thought was–” he shakes his head, as though dispelling an unpleasant thought. “I had spent my entire life checking boxes: College degree? Check. Well-paying job? Check. House? Check. Check, check check. I spent so much time trying to get ahead, like life was some kind of game to be won. If I said all the right things, did all the right things, if I did everything right… I’d have the life I wanted.”

“What was the life you wanted?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“It was bullshit, is what it was. Saw one too many rom-coms as a kid, I suppose. I thought I was after the picket fence, the dog, the wife and two-point-five kids, that sort of thing. And one morning I woke up, realized that… that relentless pursuit of something I couldn’t even hold–it was all bullshit.”

“So you just… quit?”

“I quit. I wanted to create things again. I wanted to feel inspired. After a bit of uh… frantic soul-searching before I ran out of money entirely, I sold my stupid, too-big condo that I hated and bought this shop instead.”

“Did it work?”

“Well, I’m not bankrupt yet,” Marcus says dryly.

“No, I mean… did you feel inspired again?”

“I did. I do. So very much so,” he says, his voice soft and gentle. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and that comfortable warmth that had settled in between you the first time you had met him… grows. Mutates. Until the warm, tingling feeling feels a lot more like electricity.

An unspoken moment seems to pass through you, but then Marcus clears his throat roughly, setting the empty can aside and standing again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Wanna keep going?”

Breathlessly, you nod.

In no time at all, you’re settled back in the chair with one of Marcus’s warm, strong, large hands cradling your arm as the other gently wields the tattoo gun. As he starts to fill in and blend the colors, the pain starts to increase, and you worry one of the fuzzy tentacles back and forth in your hand as you grit your teeth.

“I know, I know,” Marcus soothes quietly. “The color’s the worst part, but you’re being so good for me.”

It helps you to watch him work, so you do. He’s blending in the colors now, and you watch with interest as it starts to take shape. It’s so mesmerizing that you hardly even notice the buzz of the gun or the light sting of the needle anymore.

“And you said you ‘weren’t good at tattoos,’” he teases gently, noticing your obvious interest.

“Did I say that?” you laugh, teasing back.

“I believe your words were, ‘I’m like the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.’” he reminds you. “And look at you now, huh?”

You duck your head at his praise, unable to withstand the intensity and honesty in his gaze.

“Doing okay after all, I guess,” you say with a sheepish smile.

“You’re doing amazing,” Marcus corrects, smiling warmly. “The type of client any artist dreams of.”

You don’t know how to respond to the things this man says to you. Stunned and at a loss for words, you stare awkwardly at your hand where it still wraps around Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.

“I’m sorry.” The words are soft, concerned. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just meant that your enthusiasm and your curiosity is the stuff that makes me want to be an artist in the first place.”

“Are you saying I inspire you?” you try to tease, but it falls flat.

Just audibly, over the hum of the tattoo gun, you hear his whispered response.

“Yes.”

As Marcus wipes away the last of the stray ink on the purple bit of tree, the tattoo gun suddenly switches off. The silence is almost shocking, and you blink rapidly in confusion.

“Break time?” you ask.

Marcus chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It’s all done.”

“It is?” you ask, although you can see the answer for yourself in the large mirrored wall to your right.

“How’s it feel?” he asks.

“My arm kind of aches,” you confess, “but oh my God, Marcus… it’s beautiful.”

It’s his turn to preen under your praise, the tips of his ears blushing pink as he grins back at you.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says softly. “Here, let me give you a little something for the pain.”

He squeezes a glob of light-green cooling gel and coats the angry skin with the barest of touches. “Still okay?” he asks, glancing up at you for confirmation.

After the harshness of the needle, the soft press of his fingers is more soothing than ever, and you have to resist the urge to sigh and melt into his touch.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“You’re going to want to keep this covered for a couple of hours, up to overnight,” Marcus says as he carefully applies a dressing to your shoulder–still softly, but more businesslike than before as he walks you through all of the instructions for care. “Once you take this off tomorrow, you’ll probably see some fluid leaking from it–that’s totally normal. It’s blood, plasma, and extra ink, and it should stop after a few days before it starts to scab over.

“You’ll want to keep it from drying out; I’d recommend scent-free, dye-free lotion if you don’t already have some,” he continues. “Wash it twice a day and put lotion on after. When it starts to scab, I can’t stress this enough: don’t pick the scabs.” He gives you a serious look. “Repeat that back to me.”

“Don’t pick the scabs.”

“If you do, you could cause it to scar, or even pull out the ink. One more time for me,” he prompts, and you get the feeling that this is always the sticking point in his speech.

“Don’t pick the scabs,” you repeat.

“It’ll take three to four months for the lower layers of skin to completely heal,” Marcus tells you. “During that time, keep it out of the sun, keep it hydrated, and you’re in the clear.”

“And don’t pick the scabs,” you say teasingly.

Marcus winks at you. “Exactly. Any other questions for me?”

“No, just… thank you. It’s amazing,” you tell him. “You did such an incredible job.”

“Hard not to, when I have such a beautiful canvas.”

Your eyes dart up, expecting to see a teasing glint in his eyes, but all you can see is heartfelt sincerity. You swallow thickly, and he tracks the movement, his eyes dropping down, then back up to meet your eyes. Is it… not just you? Does he feel it, too? Realization slams through you and threatens to overload all of your systems. Marcus’s lips are parted slightly, and the look in his eyes… it’s desire.

“Marcus…”

“Wait,” he says urgently. “Hang on. Come… come over here for a minute, let me–” he dashes awkwardly over to the till on the counter and gives you your total. Frowning in confusion–he wants to do this now? Interrupting that electric moment that had passed between you?–you dutifully swipe your card and numbly take the receipt.

“Now you’re no longer my client,” Marcus explains softly. “I–sorry–I was about to throw caution to the wind and kiss you, and I didn’t… I didn’t want to be unethical, I–”

“Yes,” you say simply, giving your response to his un-asked question.

It’s all he needs to stride forward, gently take your face in his warm palms, and, seeing no hesitation in your eyes even as he searches your face desperately—presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is as soft and as tender as the man himself, which hardly surprises you. Your eyes slip closed as his lips move against you with aching caution. He’s careful in all things, including this–taking your cues, giving you the lead, letting you feel everything he’s giving you.

All too quickly, he pulls back–but his eyes only sweep your face again, a growing smile on his lips as he sees nothing but want reflected back at him.

When he lowers his lips to yours again, he’s less gentle. One large hand leaves your face too hook around your waist, pulling you closer, closer–and when the proximity causes you to gasp softly, Marcus is ready. His tongue gently slips between your parted lips and you practically melt into him. When your knees buckle, his strong arms are what keep you standing upright, and still–

He can’t seem to stop kissing you.

You break before he does–pulling back to suck in a few shaky, heaving breaths, and he smiles through his own labored breathing.

“I wanted–I–” he begins, before hastily pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as if he can’t help but do so.

“I’ve thought of you,” he tries again. “I thought of you like this for the last month,” the confession finally spills out. “I wanted to–wanted to kiss you so badly all day, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t let myself.” He kisses you again. “But now,” he promises, whispering the words against your mouth. “Now I’m gonna get my fill.”

To punctuate his statement with one of your own, you slant your head and deepen the kiss, wrapping one hand around Marcus’s neck and pulling him closer still. He makes a soft noise in his throat, and the grip on your waist tightens. You lose yourself completely to the feel of his tongue sliding slowly against yours, until he suddenly pulls back.

“I’m doing this all wrong,” he whispers–although he’s still smiling. “I wanted to ask you out to dinner, first.”

“So ask me,” you say with a giggle.

“Come have dinner with me,” Marcus murmurs, shaking his head in quiet amusement as he steals another gentle kiss. “Right now. Tonight.”

“You might have to open all the doors,” you tease. “My arm hurts.”

Another kiss.

“I’m wounded that you think I wouldn’t open every door regardless.”

“Are you always such a gentleman?” you remark with a wry smile.

Another.

“Well,” Marcus grins wolfishly. He places on last, lingering kiss on your lips and then makes a show of offering his arm. “Not always.”

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