#the detail on the neck and beard WOW me
Note
🧚🏻♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe drabble about:
Ari + pinned down + “Fuck, sweetheart, I love it when you whine so pretty for me.”
*incomprehensible screeching* ok ok calm down self no pressure 👀 lol but thank you Siri for this prompt! And all who read I hope you like what I came up with☺️!
Mine
✨Pairing✨: ex!Ari Levinsonxblack!reader
Summary🪄: As luck would have it, your ex is there to save you from a creep. Some coincidence right?
🚨: 18+ NO MINORS, soft/dark-dark elements, mention of sexual harassment, violence (man-man), unprotected adult happy funny times (please be safe everyone!), fingering, breeding kink, mention of alcohol, a couple bad language words
Your once pleasant buzz has since been replaced by a dull headache as you sit in the middle of your ex’s king sized bed. One of his shirts - smelling a mix of his cologne and detergent - covering your freshly washed body after the small bar brawl left the front of your top and skirt soaked with beer.
Every few minutes your mind wanders back to that moment where the “kind” and charming stranger showed his true colors. His touches becoming unwanted while trapping you against the bar and ignoring your protests. If it wasn’t for Ari, quickly yanking the hazel-eyed man away from you before his fist was soon meeting his cheek, you’re sure you’d be stuck somewhere and missing for God knows how long.
Maybe even worse.
A light knock on the door has a small smile curling on your lips seeing Ari in the doorway. His muscular body nearly taking up the entire space standing in his black sweats and some worn looking band tee.
“Hey, you feel alright?,” he asks and you nod. “Need anything?”
“No, just tired.”
“Get some rest. I’ll be out here if you need me.”
You didn’t want him out there though. In your current state - emotionally vulnerable and unable to get the events out of your mind - you wanted him next to you. To not be alone for tonight at least.
“C-Can you stay? Please?,” you call after him halting any further movement out of the doorway. With that tilted smile you still loved, he was soon removing his shirt and joining you under his sheets.
“Of course sweetheart.”
His thick arm wrapped around your middle with your back against his front, it was like old times how instantly safe and comfortable you felt. How you fit together so well, it was as if you’d never even broken up in the first place. And when his nose bumps behind your ear barely touching one of your special spots, that familiar flip returns to your stomach as well.
“Goodnight.”
“Night Ari,” you whisper, but you already know sleep is a far off concept from your highly active brain still focused on the bar. Trying to force you into reliving every detail as if helping you study for your own exam.
So many minutes pass of just feeling the air from Ari’s nostrils against your neck and hearing cars run by that you’ve accepted you probably won’t be sleeping tonight.
“That pretty head’s going a mile a minute again huh?,” he asks slightly startling you thinking he was asleep this whole time.
“You can tell?” He nods and you can feel the gentle scratching of his beard on your skin.
“Your pulse is a bit high; not to mention your body’s tense. Not as relaxed as I know you wanna be.”
He was always so intuitive with you. Knowing how you were feeling or if you were off without you having to even say a word. It was honestly scary sometimes how he was there with what you needed before it could cross your own mind.
“Why am I not surprised? Spot on as always,” you softly chuckle.
“Because I know you sweetheart,” he replies placing a chaste kiss to that sweet spot behind your ear. “Know all about this body. What goes on in your mind.”
His voice in your ear as his hand slowly drifts from under you and down your abdomen to the front of your thigh has you beginning to squirm. An ache quickly forming between your legs you want him to erase.
His fingertips trace a slow circle just centimeters from that junction as his lips create their own steady path down the column of your neck to your shoulder. It’s a tortuous buildup you wish he didn’t enjoy so much.
“Let’s get you to sleep, yea?”
“Please,” you shamefully beg anticipating his touch where you needed most.
And he doesn’t disappoint placing your leg over his so you were spread wide for him. His middle finger immediately dipping in your needy core and dragging just right you couldn’t stop the moan that tumbled from your lips.
“Still so tight after all this time. We can work around that though can’t we?”
By the time he was done - having readied you with two orgasms - you were already in a mindless haze only capable of babbling incoherent noises, “please”, and Ari’s name.
Exactly how he wanted you as he pushed your thighs up against your chest keeping them in place with his wide upper half while his hands pinned yours over your head. You were now completely at his use as he slowly began to push into you with a low groan and silent curses how you gripped him so tight.
“Ari please,” you whined. Head lulling to the side to lie on your arm. “Need you.”
“Fuck, sweetheart, I love when you whine so pretty for me,” he finishes with a gasp finally pushing to the hilt. For your sake, he tries to start slow, but the feel of you clinching around him and all the sweet noises you’re making, it doesn’t take long for that rhythm to quicken. The squeaking of the bed and the sound of skin slapping soon taking over your moans and panting.
“Mm don’t stop!”
He moans nipping at your bottom lip. “I’m the only one that can take care of you. Knows all your spots that make you dumb. Isn’t that right?”
Ari takes your whine as a yes, smirking as his mouth finds yours in a heated and numbing kiss.
“Because you’re mine sweetheart.” His pace quickens and you shriek as your release squirts to the sheets below. It only spurs him more moaning as he feels his own release approaching. “Always have been, shit, always will be.”
You want to whine and push him away with your new sensitivity and puffy folds that feel raw, but that blissed out cloud just keeps lifting you higher and higher that you don’t want to come down.
“And everyone’s gonna know it too seeing you with our little baby bump. Gonna be the best mama to our babies.” The thought of you carrying a mini version of the both of you pushes him over the edge moaning his release as you have one last one of your own feeling him fill you up with deep ruts wanting it to stick as deep as it could go.
Finally meeting that blissful high with you, a tired chuckle leaves his lips as he kisses all along your sweaty face. You’re pleasantly knocked out - mouth slightly parted - as he carefully lifts up so your legs can be stretched out again. Although soft, he doesn’t pull out; instead staying buried deep so none of him can escape.
Plus having you wrapped around him so snug, occasionally pulsing and clinching, it’s better than any blanket he could ever buy.
“Now, if only you weren’t so stubborn, I wouldn’t have had to go through all this,” he whispers before leaving one last peck on your temple.
HiredHelp: I said only one punch! (sent 12:29 am)
HiredHelp: That’s an extra 2K (sent 12:30 am)
HiredHelp: 5K in my account by tomorrow or we meet again very soon (sent 12:30 am)
So for those who’ve read my works over the years, this is definitely a bit of new territory for me (soft/dark-dark and smut) so hopefully it’s not cringe🫣. Thank you @stargazingfangirl18 for this prompt and for allowing me to play☺️! Also sorry if this is longer than a standard drabble lol
#ari levinson#ari levinson x black!reader#ari levinson x reader#chris evans x woc!reader#ari levinson au#red sea diving resort#chris evans#chris evans x black reader#chris evans x reader
448 notes
·
View notes
Text
— ...♡
warnings: smut nd fluffy :3, leon is cute, legal age reader (but not specified), age gap, established relationship, breeding kink, leon is a pervert (kinda). minors pls don't interact. not proofread so sorry for mistakes</3
Leon is definitely not an expressive kind of guy, definitely not. It's hard for you to say when you feel like you can touch him, but maybe, that's the kind of impression he gives. Leon is intense and somewhat mysterious, enough to make you question.
But, wow, Leon is completely crazy about you. He likes how you sneak up and rub against him like an affectionate kitten, he just doesn't know how to react.
And worse, Leon likes to see you shivering when you grind against his face, feeling his beard... he hears you meow and purring. Don't get Leon wrong, he likes you a lot, he likes your smell, your soft hands, your voice that sounds so sweet that he softens, but, it's impossible to ignore the bulge that forms every time you hug him— you are so cute and pretty, he only thinks about you, you would look like this, bouncing on his dick non-stop.
Certainly, Leon is a guilty pervert, he likes you so much, your affection that he gets arousal, very excited and he ignores all these boners. Being your owner, he must not do this, ever, no! You notice this whole reaction, you tease him on purpose, so cute but and smart, you like seeing him desperate, as if he's never had sex before.
You knew Leon was a good fucker, he hid it well, maybe he didn't want attention, you wanted to respect that, but he was irresistible.
You were sitting on the couch, your leg on top of his. You caressed Leon's arms, you liked feeling the hair on his arm. So, you rubbed the tip of your nose against his neck, breathing in while he seemed focused on the television or trying to focus.
“Luv your smell, Leon. Your scent is nice…” you say groggily, feeling beats against your core. “Thanks, yours too” he praises back.
You are very sloppy, you rub your head against his neck, asking for more cuddles and now he has his eyes fixed on you. Leon hugs you around the waist, pulls you and kisses your hand. “Let me pay attention here, doll”, but you disobey.
So you peek at him. While Leon pays attention to some news on TV, you use your fingertips to touch his skin. You start with his dark blond strands, slide the skin so slowly that nothing escapes your eyes, you run your thumb over his tired blue eyes, gently caress his cheek and touch the tip of Leon's nose, you say “Your nose is beautiful, Leon, I like your nose so much” you want to lick his nose. And finally, you touch Leon's lips, first smoothing his upper lip and sliding your thumb to the lower one.
You moan softly, your eyebrows arched when Leon licks your finger and kisses you playfully.
Leon touches you, pulls you by your thighs impatiently and asks “Do you want something?”, you know the answer. Your fingers run into his hair, Leon kisses you with so much calm and affection that you can already feel his dick through his jeans. “I’ve been ignoring how much I want you, princess...” a kiss on your jaw, another on your cheekbone, forehead and now his lips explore your neck. You only know to moan. Your bra is throwed up on the other side of the room and as Leon's tongue curls around yours, his calloused fingers touch your perky nipples.
Leon's lips kiss you very slowly, but you weren't in a rush, you liked how careful he was, even a little detailed. Leon scraped the tips of his teeth against your skin, used the tip of his tongue to seduce you and ground you against his hips.
You felt your pussy dripping, you wanted all the attention Leon could give you, you wanted him to be careful from beginning to end.
“You are so beautiful, your pussy is going to make me addicted” he whispers. You moaned, rubbed your breasts against his and your face rested against his shoulders as Leon snaked your folds, he felt how wet you were and he seemed to slide in very easily.
Your eyes shone when Leon showed you his cock but he didn't let you taste it, Leon wanted raw sex with you, he needed you, to return all the love you gave to him. He rubbed the tip of his dick against your clit, spread all your cunt juicy's around your entrance and fucked you, deep.
You moaned, said “D-daddy” brokenly and that awakened something so new in Leon. He hugged you, pulled your hair and once again fucked your core, he could feel you dripping down his dick and getting dirty on the carpet, you were so wet for Leon. He grabbed his ass cheeks, saw the tears falling from your face and chuckled “You are so adorable my princess, you have a lovely cunt”. Leon adored you and encouraged you. It was the first time they had sex since they started dating, now Leon didn't seem insecure.
You continued purring, he sucked your tits and encouraged you “Daddy is enjoying his girl's pussy, keep going love, daddy is going to breed you, yes?”, you agreed, obeyed, so behaved.
Leon wanted you to cum first, he did everything he could to make you the priority, he was so careful and polite “Daddy's will stimulate your clit, yes? 'want you to cum first, princess” and you did, crushing his cock so deliciously that you trembled and moaned softly against Leon.
And finally, Leon opened your butt cheeks, laid your body on top of his and pushed your hips strongly, going back and forth without stopping, you moaned sensitively and he moaned because you were so hot and tight, your pussy was warm, it was crazy. He wanted you to be loving with him more often if it meant having all his cum dripping down your walls.
Now, Leon wouldn't need to feel guilt anymore.
506 notes
·
View notes
Text
Confession
Tord sat at the kitchen counter, groping the marble countertop with his fingertips impatiently. He hadn't been able to sleep for a few nights, he had a very turbulent and light sleep, anything, however slight and despicable, would wake him up instantly. He wasn't sleepy per se, but his body showed clear signs of tiredness. He got a glass of water to drink, maybe he would make some chamomile tea to see if it would calm his brain for a moment and maybe then he would fall asleep for a few more hours. He heard footsteps on the stairs, but didn't make a point of checking who it was.
- Tord? What are you doing awake? Were you working until now?-
asked a familiar voice, thick, tired and always disinterested. But smooth and monotonously pleasant. It was Thomas.
- I'm agitated because of the new projects and I can't sleep. You?-
he asked back along with the answer. Tom went to the cupboard, grabbed a kettle and filled it with water, then turned the heat on to boil.
- I don't know, I'm not sleepy and I heard noises in the kitchen. Then I decided to go down, I thought it was Edd... do you want tea?-
Tord accepts, nodding his head positively, supporting it in his right hand and while looking at the window on the right side of the house, watching the outside totally dark by the absence of the sun, being lit only by the weak light of the moon.
- Are you okay? You looks quite tired and lost in your thoughts. You've been like this for a while, actually. It's getting weird -
He asked slightly worried, leaning on the inside of the kitchen counter, facing the taller one. Tord had huge bags under his eyes and looked exhausted.
- Wow, are you worried about me? I'm sure a meteor will hit the earth in a few minutes-
He mocked the other who didn't seem happy with the joke. It was clear that he was really worried about him.
- For you to see how your situation is. You're so worn out that even I'm worried about you. Get the fuck out right away. What's wrong with you?-
He appealed to the usual rudeness. Tord rolled his eyes, not knowing how to respond, as he didn't even know what his problem was. He just took a deep breath and laid his head on the counter, crossing his arms for support.
Tom looked at him confused and worried, trying to search his eyes and still waiting for an answer to his question.
- I just can't sleep, I have a lot on my mind, thinking too much... I don't know why. I don't like to sit still and if it takes me a long time to sleep, I give up and go do something to see if I get tired-
He counted, not expecting a solution to his problem. Tom just sighed thoughtfully, looking for a viable solution. But he failed miserably as he didn't have enough experience to deal with that problem. The only thing he could do was be silent company while he waited for the water to come to a boil in the pot.
Tord saw the Brit's hand rest beside his and studied it. It was large in width, but not very long fingers, a medium and normal size. The fingers were thick, very masculine. His nails were short and painted an already flawed black, and he had some hairs on the back of his hand. His skin was a little dark, a faded brown more drawn to a yellowish orange base than a red or yellow one, it was a cool skin that lightened on the palm, which resembled more of a dark, cold beige tone. They looked smooth, without any calluses or scars. In Tord's view, they were totally caressing.
He had great charm in every little detail of Thomas. He was a very handsome man who caught the attention of many. His face was round, with a slight checkered accent on his sideburns, a strong neck, thick eyebrows, a short, neat beard. His body was full, with a few not-so-notable folds and a slightly more accentuated little belly, as well as slightly thick thighs for being a little overweight. But Tord didn't see this as a defect, it just made him look softer and he was certainly very good to cuddle. What he wouldn't do to be able to tighten his folds a little.
He got lost in his thoughts and without realizing it, he had a discreet smile on his face, a silly look typical of a lover. The boy's hand wasn't even in front of him anymore, but his mind was in the clouds, imagining a thousand and one situations where he filled that strong little hand with kisses.
- Commie? You slept?-
Tom asked, snapping Tord from his thoughts.
- What? No no, I didn't sleep. I just got lost in my...thoughts-
He explained himself, straightening his posture, clearing his throat slightly. Tom chuckled small, setting the mug of tea beside the Norwegian's hand.
- What were you thinking of that is so interesting to travel like this?-
He couldn't tell the truth of course. What kind of reaction would he have if he said something like "Oh, no big deal. Just imagining a thousand scenarios where I shower you with kisses and hug you until you suffocate"? It certainly wouldn't be a nice reaction, besides the phrase have sounded too disturbing or too corny and romantic for his taste. Two by one, the Brit either ran away or vomited from so much love he would have in the sentence. That wasn't his style, not at all.
He tried to dodge the answer, sipping his tea to buy time, and ended up opting for the most generic and bland answer possible. The famous: no big deal. Obviously it was a crude answer and clearly an excuse for not having to reveal his true thoughts. He respected that silent request and accepted the answer, showing himself to be displeased and uninterested in the course of the conversation, which was not even heading straight.
They were in a somewhat strange atmosphere, surrounded by an unwanted and awkward silence. Of those who force themselves to make noise when drinking tea to have some background noise, only to cut the sound of the kitchen clock that made it even more uncomfortable. Silence wasn't good for someone with a lot on their minds. Without a focus, all thoughts came to the surface and when he least expected it, Tord was discreetly staring into Thomas's black eyes. Heavens! He swore he could see the stars or the entire universe in those eyes. He began to stare shamelessly as he sipped his tea and had his eyes drooping, like a love drunk. He hated that feeling, no doubt wanted it gone.
Love was never his thing, he was kind of disgusted and didn't have many nice experiences with the feeling. He didn't know how to deal with the symptoms, he never tried to learn in any way and in order not to have to face them, he just broke them, offending and arranging fights with the loved one to try somehow to convince his brain to detach himself from this futile and unnecessary feeling. But with Thomas he wasn't doing too well. It seemed that each fight only increased his desire to touch him with patience and passion.
- Okay Commie, now you're scaring me. What the hell are you thinking so much to stare at me with that rascal smile and those dead fish eyes?-
Thomas was looking at him with a confused expression, making him even more attractive to Tord. It was hard to be around the man without fighting or something. He thought about just blaming it on sleep and going upstairs, but he was already tired of running away. Maybe if he got a no right in the face, along with a slap on one side of the face, he'd stop liking the other so much and get rid of that feeling he so loathed.
- No big deal, sorry. I just got lost in your eyes. The lights in the room reflect on it and look like stars-
He tried to flirt. Not knowing if the attempt had failed or not. Thomas stared at him for a few seconds before trying to hide a small, roguish smile. He seemed happy with the comment. He couldn't help but smile, too, as he enjoyed the beauty of that slightest bit of happiness that the lowest allowed himself to sketch.
- Don't even start to flirt with me now. Is it because you lost our last fight?-
Teased Thomas, approaching the other in a provocative way. Tord grinned in amusement, looking relaxed and indifferent to the comment, even as thousands of butterflies pirouetted in his stomach.
- No no, it's just because you're cute-
It was clear that Tom was starting to lose his arguments and was smiling more and more, showing himself nervous and unable to contain his feelings. Tord wasn't much different, but he wanted to see how far Tom could take it without running away or forcing him to open up.
- It's pretty funny, isn't it? But this joke is pointless, you can stop-
He couldn't tell if the other was sad or if he was just tired of it and wanted the other to stop because he doesn't have the capacity to refuse him in a rude way. He decided to try one more time, just to make sure it wasn't a request to stop for not responding.
- I'm not kidding. I don't play with serious things, Tommy-
Tom looked him straight in the eyes, he seemed somehow hopeful, but struggling not to believe what the other was saying. He opened his mouth in an attempt to make a reply, but he couldn't make a sound. He was embarrassed, but not in a bad way.
- Alright Tord, where are you going with this?-
He asked seriously, staring at the Norwegian with a look that begged for complete seriousness. Tord's nervousness was clear now, as he avoided the look of the lowest at all costs. He cleared his throat before speaking, trying not to stutter and sound natural.
- Oh, it was so nice to play with you. But it looks like someone doesn't have the patience for games right? Well, okay, I didn't want to get straight to the point just yet, but since you insist...you see, I know I'm always pissing you off and picking fights with you and all, but...that doesn't mean that I hate you. You see?-
He tried to explain himself, tapping his fingers on the counter nervously, trying to keep a calm countenance. Tom was looking at him as if asking him to continue, playing dumb and slow, which irritated Tord.
- What I mean is that sometimes, when I punch your face, I actually want to kiss your mouth...ah Thomas I don't know! You're beautiful, you're smart and as much as you're a pain in the ass I like the rare moments when we interact peacefully and I even like our fights sometimes... look, I don't know how to deal very well with my feelings and I don't even like what I feel when I'm with you, so I create fights and problems to try to forget about it, but it's not working. So just reject me right away so I can be sad for a few weeks and live my life normally without this butterflies in my stomach and fucking nervousness!-
He looked at his hands at the end of the sentence, nervous and expecting a laugh from the other, along with a big and painful "I hate you". But what he got were sweet laughs, laughs they had never heard from the Brit. It was a subtle, amused laugh, nothing like the mocking laugh he'd been expecting. Thomas looked at him with his eyes half closed by the smile and held his hands that were together unconsciously pinching each other.
- Be more clear please. I can't understand if you like me or if you hate me for liking me or if you just hate me. I didn't understand anything hahah-
Tord took a deep breath, clearly annoyed but understanding the other's confusion. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the touch of the other's strong, cold hands.
- I'm not good with words, okay?! It's not my fault...but ok, I'll be clearer...I do like you, but I don't like the sensations you bring me for that. So, to make it easier for me, I ask that you just say no without offending me and just leave me alone for a few weeks, or forever too...whatever is best for you...-
Thomas just smiled, feeling sorry for the sad tone Tord's speech took on towards the end. He was expecting a harsh rejection and seemed to be preparing for it. Tom just stroked Tord's hands, silently asking him to stop picking at his nails.
- What if I don't want to reject you? Does it also help you if it's reciprocal?-
They were silent for a few moments, before Tord shifted his gaze from the bench to Tom, extremely surprised and astonished. He had no words, he wasn't able to assimilate all the information correctly. Thomas just sipped his tea, hiding his nervousness and anxiety for an answer.
- Well, I don't know. It's worse now...but it doesn't seem so bad anymore...I think it helps…yeah-
He smiled at the man in front of him who smiled back at him. A few seconds passed and they started laughing immediately, holding back so as not to wake the others. They looked at each other with a happy face, holding hands.
- So, what are we now?-
Tord asked, knowing that Tom wasn't much of a relationship person, any more than he was. Thomas seemed to think a little with a sly smile.
- Why don't we go on some dates? No commitments and nothing yet, just to slow down and get to know each other better. What do you think?-
Tord smiled at the answer, liking the suggestion and then accepting it. They would go calmly, without compromise and respecting each other's wishes.
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
First Mistake
Here's the second pic I posted a teaser for a little while ago. And yes, I angst'd again. Big surprise, I know.
Pairing: Rickey Shane Page x OFC
Word count: 2,379
Content advisory : sexual content, language
“Guess what?”
The way Maggie’s eyes are sparkling, you know you definitely don’t want to hear what she has to say but then you’d be a pretty lousy friend. So you hold your breath in the hopes that it stops you from just going to pieces and give the obvious answer.
“What?”
She plunks down on the bench next to you and looks around, biting her lip. She’s so excited and you so want to feel excited for her but roughly 94% of you wants to throat punch her.
“Well,” she grins, satisfied that there aren’t any others lurking, “I finally sealed the deal with Rickey last night.”
Please just fucking kill me now.
“Wow,” you gasp, hoping that you sound more like you’re thrilled and not like you’re trying to hold back tears. “Way to go.”
“You want details?”
No, I do not want details. I want to stick my face in the toaster oven.
“Sure, of course,” you choke.
“Really? Because I get it, he’s your best friend, he’s like your brother or something. I don’t want to make you feel weird or anything.”
You could not possibly make me feel anything worse than I’m feeling right now.
“It was good?”
She just dissolves into a giddy fit and for the first time you notice a couple of little bruises on her neck. One time, as a joke, he’d nipped the side of your neck and even though it hadn’t really hurt or anything, it had left a mark just like that. Setting them up on a date was surely one of the worst ideas you’ve had and that is saying something.
You smile and nod like your head is on loose as she regales you with a litany of details. A litany. How can there be so fucking much to tell you? Didn’t she literally just say this happened last night? Is she telling you about it in real time? It doesn’t stop. Smile and nod, smile and nod, smile and nod.
He’s an amazing kisser. You knew that because on a couple of occasions you’d gotten drunk and kissed him as a joke. Yup, just a joke. Definitely not acting on some repressed desire you weren’t willing to admit to. And whenever you’d done it, he had kissed you back. Then he’d laughed at you. I mean, better you were kissing your best friend than some strange guy in a bar, which you’d been known to do occasionally. He’d had to come to your rescue a few times when men interpreted that more seriously than you meant it, and while it had never resulted in a fight- he was big enough to make them back off just by being there- it was undoubtedly easier to kiss you and have men assume he was your boyfriend to begin with.
Maggie goes on. Yeah, not just a great kisser, amazing with his mouth in general, which isn’t exactly surprising because the two of you have had plenty of very intimate conversations and you know he enjoys it, love the feeling of accomplishment when he can make a girl fall apart for him. Hell, you’ve even talked about what you liked in order to give him some pointers, should he need them. Lucky Maggie, benefitting from your work. She has chafe marks on her inner thighs from his beard that she’s worried will distract her during her match. You hope she sweats enough that they really start to sting.
Of course, he loves having a woman go down on him too, which she had been only too eager to do. You don’t need her to tell you this. Man likes having dick sucked. News at eleven. Besides, you’d heard the stories about his ex-girlfriend who was apparently amazing at it and would take any and every opportunity to do so, which is why he’d stayed with her even though she was batshit crazy. Bitch had thrown a roasting pan, one of those heavy ceramic deals, at your car when you’d come to help him pick up his stuff so that he could escape once and for all. The dent was still there, although he’d offered to pay for it a dozen times. Whatever. Makes your car less attractive to steal is what you said. The truth is that it’s like this weird little badge of honor. You had stepped up.
And you don’t need her to tell you about what it looks like because you’ve seen it. Going between shows, changing, showering, it just happens. Eventually you see each other naked. You’ve never seen him naked the way she’s describing, of course, not erect and longing and stroking himself as he prepared to bury himself… You cannot keep thinking this way. It has to stop.
It was a cruel trick the way that your brain decided to make you aware that your feelings about your super best friend forever Rickey Shane Page had evolved to something significantly more than friendly. You had been talking to Maggie at a show and she’d asked why the two of you hadn’t ever just gone for it.
“We’re not into each other,” you insisted. “We’re just friends.”
She shook her head. “I would go for that in a second.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. He’s completely adorable. The only reason I haven’t ever tried anything is because I figured you were into him.”
Sure, that made sense. Everyone assumed there was something going on between the two of you. No surprise there. It just hadn’t occurred to you that this was preventing Rickey from finding out that other women were attracted to him. He’d been going through a phase of feeling down on himself, feeling lonely, and you’d been trying to cheer him up but nothing seemed to work. What better way to cheer him up than to tell him that your gorgeous friend was sweet on him?
“What do you think of Maggie?” you asked, having gotten her permission to say something to him.
“What do I think of her?”
“Yeah. Like, do you think she’s attractive?”
He made a face at you like the question was pretty stupid, which it was.
“Fuck yeah, I think she’s hot. Who wouldn’t?”
The second he said that, you’d felt acutely uncomfortable.You’d reassured yourself that it was just because you hadn’t ever played matchmaker this way before.
“Why do you ask?”
“She likes you.”
His eyes widened. “She likes me? For real?”
“She was thinking of asking you out but…” You decided on the fly not to mention that you’d been the obstacle. “She wanted to know if you wanted to grab dinner after the show.”
“Hell yes, I want to grab dinner. I’ll grab whatever I can.”
He’d made that dumb joke and you’d instantly realized that you were in love with him, that you’d been in love with him for a long time. Looking back on it, your best move would have been to tell him right there, before things went any further, but you’d been struggling to process this revelation, so instead you’d told him that he should go talk to Maggie pronto, which he did. You had just needed a minute to collect your thoughts and decide what to do. But then you saw the two of them chatting and Maggie touched his arm in this totally innocent but also intimate way and you’d had to run to the bathroom to throw up.
What the hell did I do?
You’d held your breath practically ever since, hoping that things would just blow over but of course they didn’t. Maggie was stunning and she was really funny. Rickey was a great guy. He was the best guy. And of course they had lots to talk about. They both had things in common with you, so why wouldn’t they have things in common with each other.
And oh boy they were happy to tell you how very fucking thankful they were that you’d brought them together. You were the absolute most best amazing awesome friend ever, you were.
The infuriating thing is, of course, that you should have figured out earlier, much earlier, how you felt and you can’t figure out why you never did. All the times the two of you had cuddled while watching a movie or fallen asleep talking in bed, those drunken kisses, the glimpses of each other’s bodies, that time he grabbed you and hugged you from behind and his hands had accidentally slipped up under your shirt, or when you’d been crowded around a table at that taco place and he’d pulled you onto his lap to save space, then made fun of you because you were balancing on one foot like a flamingo to avoid putting your weight on him… All that had happened, had been happening for years and somehow the different parts of your brain hadn’t ever had the conversation they needed to.
How can she still be talking?
But she is. At least now we’ve moved on to the aftercare section of the program but, surprise surprise, this hurts more. He was just as affectionate, demonstrative, amorous… goddammit this woman is listing an entire thesaurus worth of words describing how great it felt to cuddle the man who’d just fucked her into another dimension and fall asleep next to him.
Yeah. You know that. You’ve fallen asleep with him plenty of times. You’ve fallen asleep in his arms with your face pressed close to his chest, the scent of him safe and calming and familiar, and it was wonderful every single time. You wish you’d told him. Hell, you wished you’d taken advantage of one of those hazy moments on the edge of sleep to let your hand wander along his body to see how he’d react.
“The whole time,” she sighs, “he just made me feel… loved.”
“Did he actually say that?”
You’re aware that you’ve asked that question way too quickly and way too loud but Maggie’s so stunned from having her head knocked into the headrest that it doesn’t seem to register.
“Oh no, of course not.” She laughs. “Lots of time for that.”
You choose to interpret that as faint hope, although it doesn’t exactly sound like you have reason to be optimistic.
Maggie hangs close all afternoon, continuing to share from the seemingly bottomless pit of details until it’s time for her match.
“Wish me luck,” she giggles, squeezing your hand.
You have got to be kidding.
The second she’s out from behind the curtain, you take off to find him. Maybe if you can have a halfway normal conversation for two minutes, you can convince yourself not to go jump off the roof.
You find him by himself, fretting over something on his phone, away from the rest of the gang. That’s fate, right? You’ve found him alone and isolated in a place where you can have a private conversation, which means that the gods are smiling on you.
“Oh hey.” He smiles as soon as you get close, the smile of someone who is still basking in the afterglow.
“Hi,” you squeak, barely able to make sound.
“I saw you talking to Maggie.” He’s full-on grinning now. “Did I get a good review?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, she… yeah, definitely very good.”
He blushes, something you’ve never seen him do.
“So… what did she say?”
“That she enjoyed… she said you were…” You’re hopeless. You were more articulate the time you got a concussion. The time Rickey took care of you and insisted you stay at his place for a couple of days so that someone would be able to keep an eye on you. He’d given you the most amazing neck rub.
“I have to say that she-”
“I can’t hear this!”
You blurt it out before you can even think of how you’re going to explain it because the one thing you know at this moment is that you’re going to literally explode if you have to hear another syllable about the great sex he was having with your hot friend last night.
“Is something wrong?” he asks, his face a mask of confusion.
“Yes.”
“With me? Did I do something?”
“Yes… I mean… no.”
He stares, waiting for you to clarify and you know exactly what it is you have to say but you just need to hang on to this moment a little longer, the last moment you’re going to have before you tell him you love him and things go to hell.
Your body knows what to do even if your mind can’t figure it out, so it’s like you’re in the passenger seat as you walk over and kiss him on the lips, the first time you’ve done this sober. At first he just doesn’t react but after a few seconds, he parts his lips a little and lets you press your tongue softly into his mouth before responding in kind, just like he did those times in bars. Of course, he doesn’t let it continue too long before he pulls back and looks at you with an expression you can’t read but instinctively know is not good.
At a loss for what to do, you try to kiss him again but he pulls away and gives you a little push.
“Don’t,” he mutters, rising to his feet.
“I am so sorry for-”
“Don’t,” he repeats, more firmly. He shakes his head like he’s trying to get rid of an annoying cobweb. “What the hell are you doing this for now?”
And you don’t have an answer for that, so you just look at him and hope that he can figure out everything that’s going on inside your boiling mind because you sure as hell can’t. He doesn’t move, doesn’t break eye contact, and inhales as if he’s about to speak when the first notes of his entrance music hit.
He shakes his head and marches out to the entrance. He doesn’t turn around, so he doesn’t see you following after him, or the expression on your face when Maggie runs up and gives him a last minute kiss on the cheek, something he accepts but doesn’t react to. Another second and he’s gone through the curtain. You’re on your own.
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
Quarantine Wedding
Pairings: Chris Evans x Y/n Downey - Chris Evans x Y/n Evans
Warnings: just fluff, wedding (if they make you emotional), implied smut towards the end
Summary: Y/n never planned her dream wedding, but in their back garden, surrounded by their families, during a global pandemic seems pretty perfect to her. apart of the evans’ series.
Sunday mornings were Y/n’s and Chris’s favourite day of the week, the only time they got to stay in bed, tangled in the sheets and each other, going undisturbed from the outside world. Chris currently had Y/n lying between his legs, her back against his bare chest as he rested against the head of the bed.
Y/n was absentmindedly playing with the engagement ring on her finger, something she had started to do since he put it on, twiddling it with her thumb.
Dodger was at their feet, on his back with his legs spread, snoring away.
“We should get married.” Y/n mumbled like she was thinking something through in her mind, thumb still playing with the ring.
“We are...” Chris reminded her, placing a small kiss to her temple. “That’s what this is for.” Taking her small hand in his, holding it up to show off the ring as it glistened in the Sunday morning sun.
“No,” she protested with a giggle, getting up onto her knees and wrapping the sheet around her naked body, turning to face her fiancé. “I mean sooner, like tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Or Thursday if you’re too busy.” Rolling her eyes playfully she scooted closer to him, now in his lap, the sheet now being held up by their bodies, closing the gap. Her hands finding his hair, raking her fingers through it and massaging his scalp. “I want to be Mrs Evans, I want to get married in our back garden, with our families... No one else.” Chris hummed in agreement, letting his hands fall to her hips.
“You don’t want a big wedding?” Licking his lips, his eyes now open and focused on every detail of her, the small freckle that sat just above the curve of her right breast, the thin chain that sat around her neck with a small diamond C resting in the centre he’d bought her on their second anniversary, the butt dimpled in her chin, something she hated but another thing he adored.
Truthfully, she didn’t, she never envisioned herself surrounded by 300 people as she said ‘I do’, she just wanted a small, intimate wedding, less than 30 people.
The pair had been engaged for five months and the pandemic had haltered all of their plans to celebrate, they had various zoom celebrations with their families and friends and when they were allowed to travel back home their hallway was filled with presents and balloons.
They had managed to keep the news out of the press, wanting to bask in the newness of their engagement privately, it had been blissful but Y/n was becoming impatient.
Silently shaking her head, she dipped her head her lips just a whisper away from Chris’s, “I just want you, as my husband.” She whispered making Chris’s entire body shiver, and in one swift movement Y/n is on her back with Chris lying on his side next to her, propped up on his elbow and tracing shapes on her are stomach.
She doesn’t stop herself from reaching up and cupping his cheek, booping his nose with her thumb, making them both giggle and then running her fingers over his beard, one her favourite features of her fiancé the way it feels against her skin makes her feel alive.
“Tomorrow.” Was all he replied with, letting his lips fall down to her nose.
After another hour of being tangled up in one another, the room filled with her soft moans and Chris made love to her, turned on at the thought of her becoming his wife tomorrow. They started organising everything, never leaving the bed unless it was for Dodger, food or toilet breaks.
They had delivered the news to their families and the cheers or screams (Carly and Shanna) we’re piercing, even though the speaker of their phones.
Chris booked flights for his family to be able to attend, they were getting in at around 10pm that night. Y/n demanded that everyone be tested before they stepped foot in their home, so she arranged for someone to come out and test everyone. Y/n’s family were due to arrive tomorrow morning, the nerves bubbled in the pit of her stomach at the thought of her mom and dad being in the same room again, something she hadn’t experienced in years.
“Baby, it’ll be fine.” Giving a chaste kiss to her knuckles, “we’re getting married tomorrow.” He mumbled against them, his voice raspy and tired after a long day of planning, all doubt or anxiety about her parents leaving her body just from his touch, his words settled her completely.
“I can’t wait to be your wife.” Standing to her tiptoes she nudged her nose with his, their gaze still looked before her eyes fluttered shut, breathing him in and relishing in the moment before his lips found hers.
“What are you going to do about a dress?” Scott asked in a hushed tone, not wanting Chris to hear their conversation, closing the door to their bedroom behind him.
The house was extremely busy downstairs with everyone completing last minute preparations so Scott and Y/n had snuck away for a quiet moment to get ready, knowing Y/n didn’t function when stressed. He could tell she wanted nothing more than to have Chris at her side, one didn’t move without the other.
But Scott demanded, as the self appointed best man/man of honour, that they be apart for the night before and the day of, still up-keeping some form of tradition.
Unknowingly to Scott, Chris had snuck back into their bedroom last night when everyone was asleep, not wanting to be away from one another with the excitement of the next day bubbling.
Like children on Christmas Eve.
The busyness of the day had helped keep them both distracted, not giving them much time to sneak off for a moment of privacy.
“I bought something a few months ago, thinking ahead.” Y/n rummaged through her and Chris’s shared walk-in closet, plucking a black garment bag which was hidden at the very back.
Unzipping the bag, Y/n revealed the white, embroidered, floor length cami wedding dress. Scott couldn’t contain his gasp as he softly took the dress in his hands, admiring it silently.
“Where did you find this?” His eyes not leaving the dress, his fingers running over the patterns.
“ASOS,” she started. “I saw it on there and had to have it, I’m going to wear it with these...” Trailing off as she bent down to pick up her pair of all white, high-topped converses, now beaming from ear to ear.
“You’re joking right?”
“Heels aren’t me,” shrugging her shoulders she took the dress from Scott and disappeared into the en-suite to get ready.
“What about rings?” Scott asked on the other side of the door, he was sitting on the edge of the bed go through the checklist he had created in his mind.
“I think Chris has that sorted.” Was all she replied too focused on not damaging the dress as she slipped it on carefully, not hearing when Scott said something about checking on the decorations and leaving.
After ten minutes Y/n stepped out of the bathroom to show Scott, her hair now falling freely over her shoulders and the slightest bit of make-up, the dress hugged her figure perfectly as the flowed around her.
“Wow.” Chris’s voice sounded, making her jump back behind the bathroom door, shutting it, hoping he didn’t see too much. “Baby, what’re you doing?” Walking over to the bathroom door, trying to push it open.
“I thought you were Scott. You’re not supposed to see me!” Y/n cried from behind the door.
“I don’t care, we’re getting married during a pandemic, in our back garden with less than twenty people... So, I think the traditions are out the window.” His hand still on the door knob, letting a breathy chuckle out. “C’mon gorgeous, I wanna see you.” He attempted to persuade her.
Slowly the door started to open to reveal Y/n stood there, holding either side of her dress as she twirled for Chris, giggling as she did.
Well fuck, the sight made Chris’s heart swell, his palms became sweaty as his eyes trailed over her, drinking in her appearance, his smile never leaving his lips.
Y/n took the opportunity to take in her fiancé's appearance, he was currently in black dress pants, a white shirt tucked into his pants with the top few buttons undone, and a tie hanging around his neck, untied. Her breath hitched in her throat at the sight, butterflies erupting in her stomach.
“Was gonna ask you to do my tie...” He choked out, his eyes now meeting hers.
Without word she took a step forward and began fastening the last few buttons before making work of his tie, his hands found her hips, rubbing small circles with his thumbs as he watched her intently.
“You look...” He started, but was cut off by Y/n.
“Handsome, you look insanely handsome. I’m lucky you’re about to become my husband.” Her eyes still fixated on the tie, her tongue dragging across her bottom lip as she concentrated. Once satisfied her fingers smoothed out his collar and tie. “Now go, before Scott sees you in here. Anyone would think he’s the one getting married.” Both chuckling softly.
With her command Chris didn’t move away, just one step closer to her, closing the gap between them, his hands now cupping her cheeks, both looking into each other's eyes for a few seconds before he dipped his head down to kiss her.
This kiss wasn’t like all the others he had sneaked in the past twenty four hours, it was different.
Y/n’s mind casting back to the night Chris told her he loved her for the first time, the kiss matching that. It was filled with adoration, passion and love, making her stomach do flips and her heart hammer against her chest.
“Go,” Y/n mumbled against his lips after a few seconds, pushing his abdomen. “I’ll see you down there handsome.” Giving her one last kiss before walking away, leaving her now by herself as she jumped up and down in their bathroom, the tiniest squeal leaving her lips.
The next half an hour rushed by so quickly, now the pair were stood at the bottom of their garden in front of their families, their garden littered with fairy lights hung above them, their families stood watching proudly.
It was simple and perfect, no fuss.
Scott was ordaining the ceremony something Chris and Y/n weren’t aware he could do until last night. Too scared to know the reason why he decided to become an ordained minister, “you never know when you might need it” was all he said.
“Y/n,” Chris started, his hands shaking a little. “I can’t imagine my life without you, since you came barging into it 22 years ago. From the very first day of filming back in 2011, I knew you were it for me, even if I didn’t know it.” That caused everyone to laugh, “I love how you’re always there by my side, how you always tie my tie... Even if I know how to do it myself.” Y/n gasped shocked at his admission, laughing along with everyone. “At first it was a tactic to be near you, but the look of concentration you have every time, drives me crazy.” He laughed as she shook her head, beaming from ear to ear. “You make me the happiest man alive every day, even when you’re beating my ass at guitar hero. I love how passionate and impatient you are... Today being an example of that.” Everyone laughed again, he reached for her cheek and wiped the tears away with his thumb. “I can’t believe I get to call you my wife... I love you.”
Y/n was speechless, wiping away the tears that continued to fall, it was like he’d winded her with his words, her body tingled with excitement and love as the feeling of becoming Mrs Evans drew closer.
“Chris,” she started. “You are one of the most amazing, crazy talented, men I’ve ever known, I’m in constant awe of what you’re capable of... Seriously, it's annoying... I will make it my life mission to find something you’re not good at.” Chris’s loud laughter now echoed over your families laughs, his hand falling to his chest. “Your laugh, is my favourite sound of yours and if I could play it on repeat I would, but I’ll just settle for making you laugh with my terribly bad dad jokes-”
“Oh no!” Chris groaned at her statement, making everyone laugh again.
“Our love consumes me, I knew from the moment Lizzie told me you liked me that I had to have you, no matter what. Everyone constantly tells me how intense our love is, but it wasn’t until someone described it perfectly to me that I understood,” Y/n took the opportunity to side eye Scott, recalling the night they had a very drunken conversation about her relationship with Chris, making Scott laugh. “We’re so in sync with one another, you move, I move, we could be in a room filled with people, on opposite ends and we would still find each other without looking. Being with you,” she had to stop to compose herself, not wanting to cry during her vows. “Is like living a dream come true, especially during the simple times, no plans, no noise, just us doing nothing.”
Chris didn’t hide his tears as they freely fell, the sniffles from everyone, including Robert could be heard now.
After a few more words from Scott, once he calmed down, the cheers erupted as their lips connected, their first kiss as husband and wife. Chris pulling her flush against him, deepening the kiss. “I got you, Mrs Evans.” He whispered against her lips, making her giggle.
The rest of the night was spent with their families, basking in the events of the day as they ended the night with the fire pit lit, gathered around it. Y/n was still in her dress and converse clad feet, her hair now tied up as she sat on the floor in between her husband's legs.
She was currently admiring her wedding band, it was rose gold, slim and had diamonds wrapped around it, fitting perfectly against her engagement ring. reaching for the hand that rested on her shoulder, now playing with his wedding band, his band was thick, black and had a thin, rose gold strip around the centre.
Chris had purchased them the day he bought the engagement ring and had hidden them in his sock drawer in his bedside, his hiding spots were getting better.
“I’m so happy for you guys.” Robert softly whispered, puling his daughter into his arms holding her tightly against his chest. “I can’t believe you’re married!”
“I know... I have to live with a boy!” She quipped back and Robert’s body started to vibrate with laughter, her cheek resting on his should as they continued to hug, not wanting to let go.
“My baby...” Now cupping her cheeks, giving his daughter one last look of pride before letting go. “You’ve always been my favourite child.” He whispered, Y/n knew he was joking but she laughed in agreement anyway. Out of her other three siblings they both shared a close relationship, Y/n was his saving grace when he was younger, having her at a young age bonded them.
“Chris, I can’t believe you’re my son now... How weird.” Chris smiles broadly at the term son, instead of son-in-law, he knew Robert classed him as part of the family and not because he had to. "Welcome to the family, legally.. Let’s face it you’ve always been apart of this family.” Sharing a quick embrace before slipping past the newlyweds to speak to Lisa.
“Do you want to dance?” Chris bent down to whisper in his wife's ear, his hands finding her hips and back pressed against his chest, only to have her hum in response.
Guiding her to an open spot in the garden, taking his hand in hers and spinning her so she was now facing him. His large hands resting on her hips whilst her hands snaked around his waist, the music that played from the speakers in the house guiding them. “You’re my wife,” stating softly, his lips finding her forehead.
“That’s right Evans,” the nickname now sounding futile with both being Evans’. “You’re stuck with me, no getting out this.” Her index finger was pointing between them before wrapping back around his neck.
“Never.”
It was nearing 2am when Chris and Y/n climbed the stairs to their bedroom, once the click of their door shutting was heard she reached behind trying to unzip her dress but struggled due to her tired state, contemplating just sleeping her dress.
Her thoughts were interrupted by her husband as he guided the zip down slowly, leaving slow, wet kisses on shoulder, using his callous fingers to brush the straps of her dress off her shoulders, the dress pooling at her feet, leaving her in nothing but her panties.
“My wife, you’re stunning.” He said lowly, the only light in the room was the light of the moon streaming through the windows. Y/n turned to face him, starting to unbutton his shirt which was now untucked, tie long gone and the top two buttons already undone, his collar bones and tattoos poking out through his shirt.
Pushing the shirt off of him, she traced his tattoos with her fingers, a hiss of pleasure escaping from his throat, making him tighten the grip on her hips she didn’t know he had.
The C necklace glistening in the moonlight.
That’s how they stood for a few minutes, their eyes never breaking from one another, her arms wrapped around his neck, his hands on her hips.
Y/n guided her new husband to their bed, the back of his legs hitting the edge and he sat down closely followed by her straddling him. “Mr Evans,” her voice laced with arousal. “I do believe, you’re wearing one too many items of clothing.” She tsked, her finger trailing down his abdomen, his muscles twitching when she did, effortlessly flicking the button of his pants open.
“That can be fixed... Mrs Evans.” He purred in her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.
#chris evans#chris evans x y/n#chris evans x reader#chris evans x you#chris evans x female reader#chris evans x downey!reader#chris evans x fem!reader#cevans#cevansedit#evansedit#the evans'
421 notes
·
View notes
Text
If You Will Let My Heaven Touch Your Stars (Ezra x f!reader)
Rating: Mature.
Pairing: Ezra (Prospect film) x f!reader
Warnings: FLUFFY SMUT. INSPIRED BY THIS. Non-explicit oral (m and f receiving). Formatting may be strange in certain Tumblr themes due to paragraph spacing with the poetry.
A/N: Okay, y’all. I was looking for another reason to write some Ezra. I got inspired by this naughty confessional post and felt the need to rise to the challenge, but make it a bit soft. You know I’m allergic to writing physical doings without some emotional yearnings. So it has come to this. And I’m not sorry.
Summary: Ezra runs his mouth over some poetry. You run your mouth over some Ezra.
TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST
MASTERLIST
_______________________________
You know that sigh. It will be shortly followed by a gravelly, dissatisfied “hm.”
“Hm.”
Next will come the impatient flipping of pages as Ezra learns that the book he’s chosen from the stack he got in trade on the Pug is…”less than literary and more than malignant.”
“What’cha reading, Ez.” The main node on the electropulse generator blew during the last harvest and you’ve been doing your best to repair it for the better part of the scaling period. Better to keep eyes on the electrics than let them wander over to his bedroll where he’s stripped to his skivvies, propped up against a crate, reading.
The rotation of Ranakh-4 is almost sixty hours, and in the north hemisphere there’s always light. Should be perfect for prospectors to take shifts and get things done, but instead, it creates a scaling period--a good fifteen-hour window of intense heat and sunlight that’s too dangerous to be exposed to for long, causing lots of nasty side effects. Including skin scaling. Hence the name. So during that period you and Ezra hide in the cooled tent, sleeping, polishing gems, maintaining equipment, wasting time, and generally trying not to annoy each other too much.
That’s a joke between you. In the years you’ve known him, Ez has yet to get under your skin. Ezra’s usually up for a game of dice or five-stand during scaling period, and if you’ve got gear to clean or inventory to count, he’s good for a story. Or ten.
But after the third rotation he stopped playing games of chance with you and his stories got gradually less... crusty. He still had a lot to say, but he stuck mostly to mining anecdotes, weaving around salacious details and editing himself in the moment.
And you’re pretty sure you know why.
This isn’t the first posting you’ve had with Ezra.
There was the assignment on Phintreas. The job on TG-19. The second assignment on Phintreas--that one it was just the two of you. Just like this one.
There was a moment near the end of that run when you took a break from digging to stretch, arching your back in the dappled sunlight and pulling your arms up and back toward the thick foliage tops. There were singing insectoid creatures on Phintreas and you’d dropped your wrists to your head to listen to their song a little, closing your eyes and hearing in their hum the chords of a song you used to love.
It was just a few seconds, the warm air on your bare shoulders, the long thin trees--actually large grass--rising and swaying above. A pleasant stretch in your lower back. But there was something off. Your ears were full of insect song but there was something missing.
The sound of Ezra’s digging had stopped.
You turned to find him taking a break, leaning on his shovel, jumpsuit open and pulled down to a knot at his waist like yours. Dirt-streaked arms and undershirt, looking at you, staring with sad eyes, the long slopes of his mustache running into his patchy beard making him look like he was pouting more than he was. Probably. Totally lost in thought, his eyes slid down your torso. When he woke to the fact that you caught him using you as a backdrop for reverie, he didn’t even have the balls to be embarrassed. Just realigned his focus on his shovel and went back to digging, the veins straining out on his big hands.
“You okay, Ez?”
“As well as one can be, sweetheart. I feel we’re close. It is a fine day full of wonderments.”
You’d thought about that look in the days afterward. Didn’t really know what it meant for you. Until the final sleep cycle on that grass planet, the wind traveling through the fields making the grasses sing hollow and low in the night.
“What’cha reading, Ez?” You’d come to learn that it was a magic question, one that not only got you an explanation, but perhaps a chapter or two in his baritone twang.
And that night, as you packed your final bag, he swung the spine around to read out, “Papas Cordel, Love Verses.”
He didn’t ask you if you wanted to hear any. He just started to read.
Softly. Slowly. The words were innocuous on their own but their combination was sinful, his voice melting at the back of your brain, lifting the fine hairs of your neck, slithering down your spine before making an orbit to press upon your core and vibrate there.
He never said goodnight. Just read you a few poems full of worship and yearning in that sonorous voice of his, then rolled over and went to sleep. It left you in a panic, trying to control your breathing, in full understanding of what that look from a few days ago had really meant.
And for the duration of your next couple of jobs you spent some time in regret, wishing you’d decoded your feelings sooner or that he’d made his own clearer. You’d vowed that if you ever had the chance to go back and live that night again you wouldn’t hesitate to….what? To do what? You never got that far. Didn’t matter. Time doesn’t go backwards. After a while, it was easy enough to convince yourself that you’d just read too much into it, that you didn’t really feel anything and neither did Ez. He had just been tired and staring into space that day. And he’d just been aesthetically moved by the song of the grasses in the night wind. It was a trick of the light, and the more you rationalized it, the further the memory slipped into the realm of silly fantasy.
So when this assignment came, you’d had time enough to leave the fantasy behind and met Ezra as you always had--as a friend and a damn talented prospector you were happy to dig with. The man always got his haul and getting paired with him always meant profit.
It only took one scaling period to make you realize you were lying to yourself.
Scaling period means getting somewhere shaded and cooled and making yourself as comfortable as possible. Which means stripping down to essentials. All those dice games trying not to look at Ezra’s broad, bared chest, looking up from a hand of cards to find his eyes quickly darting away from you…. By the third rotation you’d noticed that neither of you could make eye contact with the other anymore and after that, Ezra generally spent his downtime during scaling periods laying on his bedroll in his skivvs, reading one of the dozen books he’d scavenged back on the station.
You weren’t sure if you were flattered or embarrassed or even injured that he wouldn’t move on whatever he was tense about. But, ultimately, this arrangement was easier.
Or so you lied to yourself.
A “what’cha reading, Ez” got you a few chapters of an old time-travel adventure or a philosophical treatise on the life of some forgotten pioneer while you mended a garment or recounted the supply of viable drill bits or tried to fix the damn faulty electropulse generator for the millionth time. Something rollicking and full of resonance to keep your ears busy and your mind distracted while you focused your eyes on anything but Ezra’s bronze skin and sable eyes and full lips and big hands and thick thighs and--
This time he clicks his tongue and runs a hand through his hair, humming a high note in a kind of frustrated laugh. “I won’t devastate your ears on this one, sweetheart. Not much of interest here but some poor soul ruttin’ and scraping for talent that eludes them. How this found its way into a thing to be bought and sold I will never understand.”
And yet, he keeps reading. Silently.
After a few minutes and another wire successfully cleaned and reconnected, you repeat yourself, taunting him.
“What’cha reading, Ez.”
“Mm.” He just flips through a few more pages, refusing to answer.
“Hey.” You chuckle into your work. “What’cha reading.”
You hear a huge intake of breath before a hold and a forced release.
“Wow,” you laugh. “Fine. Don’t waste breath on it. Just tell me which one it is so I can avoid it later.”
“Love and other Stars by Aeon Aido Raja.”
“I see. What’s it about?”
“Sadly, it is about a poet who cannot seem to make the match between words and sentiment; a volume of supposed amorous verse.”
“Amorous verse,” your hands stop working on their own. “Love...poetry?” There’s a sudden flashback to the sound of hollow reeds and soothing verses in the night. The words are a program in your brain, overwriting your inhibition and professionalism, pushing you to a deeply-coded goal to calm the flutter in your chest.
“So it claims. Although I fear it lacks full understanding of both--” His voice cuts out as he realizes you’ve stood and you’re moving toward him and his wide eyes lock to yours as you sit beside him on the bedroll. “Now what has gotten into you, sweetheart?”
You know exactly what’s gotten into you. The triggered wish of returning to that night, the built-up tension of dancing around each other in your underwear, trying to deny what’s going on, watching him purposefully respect you when you know he feels something, when he knows you do too--
What was it you were going to do if you had a chance to go back to that last night on the grass planet? Time to find out.
“Read to me.”
Ezra hesitates, unsure. “This?”
“Read it.”
His eyes flick down to follow the quick fold of your lips as you wet them with your tongue, unconsciously mimicking you, before fumbling his gaze back to the book and, with a regretful sigh, begins.
“I have never told you
When your lips found my own
I have never told you
My dearest--
“Walking through the light of a moon in decline--
Can you blame me if I steal your kiss?
If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”
When he looks for your reaction, you’re not sure if he’s pleading with you for permission to stop or continue.
Shit. He’s right. It isn’t great. But you’re here now, you’re going to make the most of it.
“That’s not...so bad.” And then you find out what you would have done that night--or at least how you’d start--by showing him your raised palm, lowering it slowly toward him. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” Your hand travels down through the air, just to the inch above his skivvs, waiting a moment in the aura of radiated heat there, before settling lightly over him. He never says no, never takes his eyes from yours, the only reaction coming from a small lift in his chest, the corner of his mouth curling just a fraction, and the fabric beneath your hand quickly becoming the only thing there to qualify as soft.
“Sweetheart, what you’re beginning here--”
“The only words I want from you are that poem. I want to hear you read. You stop, I stop.”
The heat hangs heavy between you, burns beneath your hand. And with a huffed exhale, Ezra starts again.
“I have never told you
When your lips found my own
I have never told you
My dearest--
“Walking through the light of a moon in decline--
Can you blame me if I steal your kiss?
If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”
Supporting him from underneath, you’ve begun running your thumb up and down him, and his breath hitches, bringing him to a stop. So you stop.
“You stop, I stop, Ez.”
“Believe me, gentle one, I do not wish the impediment of your affections--”
“Then don’t stop.”
In a beautiful panic, Ezra looks back to the poem. “You sure you want this one?”
You nod. “I don’t care how good it is. That’s the poem I want. Keep going. I've always liked your voice. I know you can make it pretty.”
He stares at the page a moment, and you push him--literally--gasping into a start.
“If ever I could tell you
When my heaven touched your stars
If ever I could tell you
Beloved--”
You stop palming him when he stops to breathe, and it’s only when you trace his waistband with your fingertips that he swallows and continues, willing you to keep going--
“Waking in the night to the aching void of your embrace--
Can you forgive me if I plead your name?
If I summon you to my body from wherever you are?”
Whether it’s the want in his voice or just getting further into the words, the poem is already getting better. His eyebrows begin to push together and arch, as you stretch the top of his underwear down, wrapping your hand around him. His words start riding the occasional groan which just resonate with you more and you rock yourself against the bedroll in time with your gentle, yearning pulls--
“You hold me adroitly
With accurate proximity
To keep your breath and my breath
Two founts and one pool.
To swim a in star-reflective stream of our holy recreation--”
He’s doing so well, the words wandering out deep and breathy, so beautifully controlled...until you lower your mouth to him.
Then there’s a strangled staccato grunt as he adjusts, takes a couple of quick breaths and continues--
“But your body is a.....wildfire
Your lips a destruction
And I give my everything over to your….cleansing devastation.”
Oh, his struggle is glorious. You can feel him trying not to buck, needing to blow out a breath between pursed lips here and there to concentrate on the print. He reads with intent, leaning into context and feeling, making a gift to you of every word.
“I have yearned for you to find me worthy of a spark
An ignition...
The rebirth of your combustible attentions.”
He pauses again to breathe, and while you allow him a small reprieve, he’s stopped a little too long and you abruptly halt. When you pull back to look up in reprimand, he gives you a soft smile through his panting, shaking his head in wonder. You know he’ll have plenty of praises when this is over, but he doesn’t seem to want to break the spell to say them now. When you return his little smile, he looks back to the page and continues, prompting you to return to your own administrations.
“How you draw from me each sweet effusion--
Every secret vein untapped--
Now yours in expert execution,
Now open to your burning maw.”
He pushes through the poetry rather than into you, allowing you to hear him and match him. Your body begins to counter-react as you feel him brimming, turning on more need in you than you’ve felt in a while, and you show him just how well he’s doing by doing well by him.
There’s a shift in his voice as more breath enters in and nonverbal noises begin to punctuate the words; a shift in his body as his fingers tangle in your hair and grip tightly, suggesting a final rhythm--
“But within the fire
An aperture of...divine precipitation
Where those of us who live untouched
Can go to drown
To die
To howl…..!
To see the blessed face of eternity
Or the….busting open….of a thousand….wretched….stars--
You-call-me-to-sinful-prayer
You-invoke-my-abject-soul
I find myself in debt…!...and thrall…!... to your superior…!...divinity--”
When he stops reading this round, you show mercy as he pounds his fist into the bedroll and makes his own additions to the poem, exclamations made up of your name and curses and calls to higher powers. You can only expect a man to expel from himself wondrously one method at a time, and Ezra’s earned his reward so beautifully.
Damn his opinion. The poem was perfect. You chose correctly. Either that, or Ez’s tongue really can spin any old refuse into gold.
But the book is still held high, and as you lift from him and guide him through his aftershocks with your hand, he breathes heavy though the final verse--
“This is how I love you from afar
With agony and forlorn words
While you hover forever in my purview
A shaft of dazzling incandescence
Shining down from your sun/star
Through the glass of my desire
Starts and restarts an everlasting blaze”
Then, setting the book reverently on the bedroll, he takes your face in his hands, dragging his thumbs across your lips, no longer needing the page for the last lines.
“If ever I could tell you
And if you will let my heaven touch your stars
If ever I could tell you
Beloved--”
Ezra’s kiss is achingly grateful. He tries to put into one kiss the loving equivalent of everything you’ve just done for him.
When he pulls back, he gives you the tiniest rough shake, a punctuation of his playful consternation. “Mmm,” he grunts. “While I am glad to know you find my recitals pleasing, you’re about to find out that my talent for oral ministrations do not stop at mere recitation.” With a miner’s strong arms he flips you over him onto the bedroll, making short work of your underwear and pinning your legs around his shoulders in a matter of seconds. “Now, I will not be so cruel as to make you put words to my reciprocation, unless you’d like to fill the silence to direct me to your will. Or say what you please. I will not be able to add to the conversation as I will be otherwise occupied.”
You don’t know if it’s years of running his mouth or wagging his tongue or yapping his jaw, but he’s well practiced in using allllll the muscles therein to help finish what poetry couldn’t quite accomplish.
At one point you think of surprising him and trying your own hand at reading while being entertained. But when you fumble for the book, it opens to the same poem.
But not the same poem.
The opening lines are there: “I have never told you When your lips found my own I have never told you My dearest--Walking through the light of a moon in decline--Can you blame me if I steal your kiss? If I call you to my side before it collides with the ground?”
And that’s it.
That’s where it ends. The whole published poem--a mere seven lines.
Oh, Kevva. That’s...that means….
Damn, Ezra. The mouth on you.
The book drops to the bedroll.
And you break into pieces as his heaven masterfully consumes your stars.
________________
TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST
Taglist: @melobee @extraterrestrialdork @14mcmd1122 @grogusmum @cannedsoupsucks
#soft ezra#soft!ezra#ezra prospect#ezra prospect x reader#ezra prospect x you#fluffy smut#pedro pascal#ezra prospect smut
501 notes
·
View notes
Text
Every part of you
Request: Something just fluffy and domestic would be so nice...missing that old man. Maybe something like baking with him? Fluffy smut or just fluff, I would be really happy to see you write either. 💕
Warnings: Smut, blowjob, p in v, unprotected sex, kitchen sex
Words count: 2,4k
Joel Miller x Reader. Insecure Joel. No virus, no apocalypse. Divorced!Joel.
* * * * *
After his divorce with Sarah’s mother, Joel entered years of celibacy, except for the occasional hookups. He didn’t want to go down that road again, his marriage wasn’t the best one but he loved his wife and expected it to last forever, like they promised each other.
But things changed when he met you over a year ago.
It was one of those nights where his brother Tommy dragged him to a bar. You were there with some friends and the first thing he noticed about you was your smoking hot body. And before he knew it, Tommy brought you to their table to have a drink with them.
It was supposed to be one of those hookups. No strings attached. In the morning, he would’ve left and you probably wouldn’t have never met again.
But he broke rule number one on the first night anyway: never take someone home. He always found a way to go to his partner's place, or at least, found a place to do it, but never at his place. His home.
Until you.
Once you were done, he realized how young and innocent you looked. He could see the struggle on your face, as to whether you should leave or stay. He felt bad about himself and told you to stay. You warmly smiled and faxed yourself under the covers, your warm form curled up against him.
In the morning, he woke up to the smell of coffee and French toast. As you had breakfast together, you told him a bit about yourself and Joel found himself to be interested.
You left your phone number and two weekends later - he spends every two weekends with his daughter - Joel invited you for a drink. Which turned into a few ones. Which turned into taking you home again.
That was over a year ago. Now, you’re moving in with him.
He didn’t expect for it to happen. It’s just that when you mentioned wanting to move out from your crappy apartment, he simply told you to come live with him and Sarah. His teenage daughter is very fond of you, and Joel is deeply in love with you. There’s no reason this could go wrong, is there?
But somehow, it caused your first fight.
It was hard to fit two homes into one, and Joel wasn’t compromising at all. He didn’t want to get rid of anything.
“You have to meet halfway, Jo.” You told him, clearly annoyed.
“I am. I just don’t want to get rid of my couch. What’s wrong with that?”
“Well, for starters, mine is fairly new, bigger and way more comfortable. But it’s not just about the couch. It feels like you don’t want me to move in after all,” you said with such sadness in your voice, Joel felt horrible.
“I asked, didn't I?” He answered, defensively.
“Probably because you felt bad about my struggle to find a new place. Just like you felt bad after our first night together.”
“…What?”
“I’m not stupid, Joel. I know you didn’t want me to stay at first.”
“But you did.”
“Well, yeah. Because it was my first time hooking up with someone I just met. And—“ you took a deep breath. “I really don’t want to compliment you right now, but the sex was—mind blowing.”
You obviously were still pretty mad but Joel couldn’t help but smirk in his beard. Sex with you is indeed pretty mind blowing. There’s love, trust, passion, and you’re open-minded concerning his kinks. He never witnessed that before. Actually, he discovered new kinks with you, pretty much like if you were his very own kink.
“Take that smirk off your face. That’s unfair.” You breathed out.
Joel closed the distance between your bodies, and gently kissed your forehead. “Letting you stay that night was the best decision I’ve made in a very long time,” he kissed your nose. “I’ll get rid of the couch.” Then he kissed your lips and moved to your neck. “Let’s ruin it before.”
You chuckled and you did ruin his old couch.
A few weeks later, you were all moved in. Joel was exhausted, he fell asleep on your - extremely - comfortable couch. You covered him with a blanket and took care of the last details before cooking dinner.
Your parents had been owners of a restaurant for the past thirty years, your father being the chef and your mother doing pretty much the rest. You spent most of your time in the establishment as a child, and your father happily shared his know-how with you.
In the past year, Joel had barely spent time in the kitchen, as it became your space. Not that he minded.
He does mind the weight he’d been gaining though.
He woke up to the smell of one of your dishes, two hours after falling asleep. He could hear you doing your thing in the kitchen. He smiled, stretched himself and when his mind seemed awake enough, he joined you.
You felt his strong arms wrapping your middle, and took advantage of your messy bun to plant wet and sloppy kisses in your exposed neck. You felt shivers all the way through your body. “Hi handsome. Sleep well on the couch?”
“Bite me.” He growled against your skin and you chuckled.
“Did that last night.” You said, referring to the bite mark you left right on top of his shoulder. He had made you cum so hard, you didn’t control yourself.
“I love when you mark me.” He whispered in your ear, nipping your ear lobe.
“Good, I’m taking you for a scarification tomorrow. My name, right above your penis.”
“Hmm,” Joel was still planting kisses anywhere he could and you could feel his growing erection against your ass. It was getting really difficult to focus on the marinade in front of you. “I can meet you halfway and agree to get a tattoo.” You laughed but somehow imagined it. It would ruin any relationship for him if you two ever break up. “Only if you do the same, obviously.” He added.
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
He hummed in answer and you felt his hand playing with the waistband of your sweatpants. But you slapped his hand away before he could slide it in. “Put your hands to other use for now. Cut the onions for me,” you playfully rubbed your ass against his crotch but only to push him away.
Joel let go of you and looked around to find the onions. “Wow. I like punishment but only if I know what I did wrong.”
You laughed before throwing two onions at him, which he almost missed. As he began to peel them off, you gently grabbed the knife from his hands and squeezed a lemon on the blade. Joel looked at you, lovingly. “There. You won’t cry.” You said, handing him the knife.
“Huh, we’ve been dating for a year and you’re only telling this trick, now? I thought you loved me.” He used his best complaining voice, and he felt your hand slamming against his ass.
“What will we talk about in ten years if I tell you everything now?” You casually asked and it caught Joel off guard. He stayed silent while cutting the onions in small squares and you didn’t push it. You focused on your marinade and checked on the steamed vegetables.
“Are you picturing us still together in ten years?” He finally asked once he was done. He gave you the bowl with the onions in it.
“Well—yeah. Don’t you?” You took the bowl from his hand, preparing the pan in order to cook them.
Joel sighed. It had been a struggle since you two started to date. Your relationship had been so perfect, you had been an amazing partner, it almost feels surreal to me. “I guess my marriage broke a part of me.” He paused, staring at you cooking. “It’s like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
As you ditched the onions in a hot pan, a soft smile appeared across your face. “That will happen when your alien friends will come to pick you up, in order to bring you back to your home planet.”
Joel couldn’t help but laugh. He couldn’t believe you were real. He stared for a moment. You are so beautiful, young, funny and smart, with the biggest heart. How did he got so lucky?
He jumped on the part of the kitchen plan you weren’t using. “Or when I got so fat from your cooking, you’re not attracted to me anymore.” He finally said and you stopped everything you were doing.
“…what?”
“I gained a few pounds lately.” He confessed, avoiding your eyes this time.
“Yeah so?”
“Oh so you’re agreeing? Not even something like ‘honey that’s crazy, you haven’t changed a bit.’?”
"I'm sorry. Let me do this again.” You took a step back and got into character. “Joel! Are you crazy? You didn’t gain any pounds. Are those masculine magazines making you feel bad, again?”
“Wow. Don’t quit your day job to become an actress.”
You playfully punched his shoulder and he let out an “ouch!”. “But seriously love,” it was your loving and smoothing tone again. “Do you really feel bad about this?”
“Kinda. I’m already older than you, I can’t have that too.”
“Baby,” you settled between his legs and tiptoed to kiss him softly. “You’re perfect to me. I don’t care about your age, your weight, your height, the size of your—okay that, I do care but still.”
Never a woman made him laugh like you manage to. No matter the subject, the time of the day, his mood or your mood, you’re always able to bring a smile to his face. He’s so in love with you. “Do you get my point or do I have to take you upstairs to show it to you?” You stroked his beard and Joel leaned into your touch, humming in content.
“I won’t mind the show. But I’d rather have you showing me—here.”
“I better stop cooking and focus on my other hobby then.” You turned off everything and invited him to get down. “My favorite actually.” You whispered, before kissing him gently.
“Please do.” He pleaded, sticking out his tongue in order to meet yours.
As you kissed, you brought him against the wall of the kitchen. He moaned at your sudden dominance, and you felt his semi hard cock against your belly. Joel tried to travel under your tank top with his hands but you prevented him access. You quickly worked taking his tee-shirt off, throwing it on the floor. Your lips immediately crashed against his hairy chest, while your hands were softly caressing it. “I love you, Joel.” you whispered against his skin. “I love every part of you that you don’t.”
It was overwhelming. Never in his life has Joel felt this loved, this attractive. It was such a mix of feelings, he could have cried on the spot as well as fucked you senseless. But he only stood there, panting hard as you were taking his sweatpants and briefs off. He stepped out and you threw it away, next to his shirt. He was dying to undress you, to feel your smooth skin against his, but he knew better.
You kneeled in front of you, taking his hard member in your hand. You looked up to him with your big and loving E/C eyes. “You’re everything I’ve ever dreamt of,” you said. “Call me crazy but I’d follow you to your damn home planet.” you confess, referring to what you said a moment ago.
Joel intensely stared at your mouth when you gave him a first lick. This view was so damn perfect.
You teasingly played with your tongue against his cock before taking him in your mouth. Joel moaned, deeply and you sucked him for a moment, not taking all of his length yet. Your jaw needed to relax first. No matter the amount of time you’ve seen his cock, you’re always amazed about how thick and long he is.
Joel’s hand grabbed your hair bun into his fists, guiding you. When you were ready, you took all of him inside your mouth, your nose buried in his pubic hair. “Fuck, baby!” he growled as his cock hit the back of your throat. “God I love your mouth so much.”
You kept going for a moment until you felt his urge growing. Joel was basically facefucking you, thrusting his cock deep inside your mouth. But you weren’t done with him yet, so when only a trail of saliva was connecting you to his length, you took advantage and got back on your feet.
You passionately kissed him, allowing him to taste himself. “Sit on the chair.” You ordered him and Joel obeyed.
You striped in front of him as he was lazily stroking his painfully hard cock. “You’re fucking gorgeous, Y/N.” he said before you straddle his lap.
“So are you, Joel.” He almost didn’t catch that - maybe because a part of him didn’t want to - as you guided his cock into your wet cunt. He was stretching you open, it almost hurt but you kept going until he was fully inside you.
“So fucking tight.” he growled against your neck.
You settled for a slow pace at first. Joel’s face was buried in your chest, assaulting your rounded breasts. One of his hands was in the small of your back, following your hips movements. “You feel so good inside me.” you moaned, your hands buried in his hair. He was so deep inside you, you two almost could hear every time he reached your end. “I’ll never be able to be with anyone else but you.”
His urge was coming back and yours was building up. You quickened the pace, and Joel furiously rubbed your clit with his hand. “Yes Joel, right there!” he looked up at you and crashed his lips on yours. You could feel his fingers digging on your hip, while yours did the same on his scalp.
“I’m gonna cum.” he warned you, thrusting as fast as he could.
“Me, too. Don’t stop,”
“Never.”
It was a closed call but you came practically at the same time, both crying each other’s name.
You stayed in the same position as you and Joel came down from your high. You held him close against you, feeling his cock softening inside you. You were both panting. “Every part of me, huh?” he said.
“Every single one.”
#joel miller x y/n#joel miller imagine#joel miller x you#joel miller#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#the last of us#the last of us part 2
323 notes
·
View notes
Text
🐰🎩NEW TRICKS🎩🐰
Prompt: Y/N decides to show Mr. Moxley some new tricks in order to certify him that he is still her number one
Word Count: Long
Pairings: Jon Moxley x Reader
Warnings: +18, oral sex (male receiving), angst, jealousy, cursing, praise kink
Tag: @jibbles26 , @bellalutionn
Notes: I’m a sucker for the power that blowjobs hold upon guys. Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) and if you’re comfortable with it,please let me know what you think? Some feedback is always welcomed and appreciated ❤️You can check out my other stories on my Masterlist and my newest story as a fixed post. Okay,now let’s get to the fun part,shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉
“Hi doll, what you’re up to?” He smirks as he nibs my neck
“Just working. Why? Do you need something?” I ask as I remove my reading glasses
“I do, actually”
“What do you need babe?” I look up to his blue eyes that were filled with mischief
“You” He grinned
“Jon, I thought you needed something urgent” I chuckle
“I do!” He pulls me off my desk chair “I missed you so much” He cradled his face on the crook of my neck
“Jon, we’ve had sex six times yesterday and two times this morning, how can you physically still miss me?” I laugh “That’s like, 8 rounds in less than 24 hours babe! And you only got home yesterday”
“I can’t help it that you’re so fucking hot and looks so sexy all the time” He licks a trail from my neck to my lips
I look down to my current outfit that consisted in a comfortable pair of grey leggings, an oversized Korn t-shirt, Wilson’s crew socks, glasses, messy hair and no makeup
“I don’t think I look very sexy right now” I cackled
“Yes you do! You always do!” He pulls me closer to his crotch by my ass “C’mon Y/N, let’s do some fun nasty business, kitten” He slaps my ass quite vigorously
“Tempting, but I’ll have to decline it! Sorry big guy” I patted his chest
“Why?” He whined and stomped his feet like a little kid
“Because some of us got some serious work to do” I smiled fondly as I sit back in my desk chair
“But I wanna be with you! I need you and I want you now!” He pouted
“Jon, I promise you that once I finish this I’ll be all yours ok love?”
“No” He whines “Not later, right now!” He stomps his feet again
Yes, Jon Moxley can be quite the bad boy, but what a lot of people don’t know is that he’s also a fucking whining little baby! He gets an attitude over the dumbest reasons and sometimes this little scenario happens, where he thinks he can whine and pouts his way until he get what he wants. Sometimes it’s cute and charming to see such a big bearded man like him cause such a scene, but another times like right now it’s annoyingly frustrating, uncalled for and the last thing I need to get me even more stressed out.
“Jonathan, don’t start it! You’re not 4 years old! You’re a grown ass man in your 30’s, so behave as such” I turn to my computer and start to type my notes. After 10 minutes I can still feel his presence behind me, making me grow more nervous
“Jon, you’re not helping, my love” I said calmly
“I’m waiting. You said I would have you once you’re done so I’m waiting!” He bitterly said
“Won’t you rather wait in the couch instead? Meanwhile you can pick a movie for us to watch it later” I try to negotiate
“Meh, I’m perfect where I am right now, thanks for the concern” He huffed
*Oh great, what a fucking joy!* I thought
“This might take a while” I defeatedly said
“Don’t worry, I got time” Was his short answer
Fifteen minutes (and a stubborn Jon Moxley sitting on the floor) later I get a call from Peter, my coworker.
“Hey Peter what’s up?” I say holding my phone to my ear with my shoulder “What? Wait Peter, hold on I can’t hear you properly and I can’t stop typing”
“Well, put it on speaker then” Jon mumbled behind me and in my workaholic haze I did it as he told me, forgetting about one little small detail: Peter’s innocent (but also kind of annoying) flirting.
“Pete, can you repeat that again please?” I rapidly say while I type
“I asked when do you think you can send me the paperwork?” He chuckled
“Oh! Can you give me like....30 minutes?”
“I can give you whatever you want” He charmingly said
“Peter, shut up”
“What?” He cackled “It’s true you know, ask and you shall receive, my dear”
“I didn’t knew you were a Jesus fan” I mocked
“I’m your fan” I can hear the smile on his voice
“Whatever weirdo” I brush it off as I continue to type on the dashboard “Is that all you needed?”
“No, there’s one more thing that I forgot to ask you”
“Ok, shoot” I said
“When are you finally going to accept any of my nightcaps invitations?” Pure amusement filling up his voice
“Oh God send me to hell, fuck off Peter!” I jokingly said and hung up
I totally forgot the fact that Jon had heard that until his voice broke the silence
“So how long have you been seeing each other?” He rudely spats
“What? Seeing who?” I ask confused
He stood up from the floor, yanked me off the chair and trapped my body between his and the table.
“Your sweet boy Pete” he coldly smiles
I roll my eyes “Jon, are you really gonna take a guy like Peter seriously? He quotes Jesus to flirt! That’s nothing but pathetic and also slight disrespectful towards Jesus” I joke
“You think this is funny? What if you caught me flirting with a girl from work, how would that make you feel?”
“It depends if you’re gonna quote Jesus or not” I tease
“Y/N I’m fucking serious! Is this a joke to you? Our relationship is a joke to you? Am I a fucking joke to you?”
“My answer is no to all the above. Now if you ask me if I think that you’re overreacting then yes, I do”
“Overreacting? Really? What about all of the nightcaps invitations? Are you gonna tell me I’m overreacting about that too?” His voice starts to rise
“I don’t like your tone Jonathan” I angrily said
“And I don’t like you having an affair with your coworker!” He yelled
“Oh, so I’m having an affair now? Wow, I better accept those invitations then, if I’m going to hold the cheating girlfriend of the year award” I spat
“Are you having an affair with him?”
“How can you even ask that? You know me better than that Jonathan!” Now I’m yelling too, peachy just peachy!
“Well you didn’t answered my question though. Are you?”
“Of course not! What makes you think that?”
“You don’t wanna have sex with me, so where are you getting some? ‘Cause we both know you have quite the appetite for sex, I mean fuck, is hard even for me to keep up with you! You’re like a fucking machine!” He says
My eyes widened in disbelief “So just because I declined to have sex with you 30 minutes ago, because I have to work, I am suddenly a cheater? Or is it because I like to have sex more than the average women do that makes me a cheater? Wow Jonathan, I’ve never heard you say that when one of your male friends cheated. That says a lot”
“Says a lot about what?”
“Your sexist side. Or I don’t know, maybe it’s something else, maybe you are the one who’s cheating on me! So you’re mirroring your infidelity on me”
“Me? A sexist? Now that’s a joke” He laughs “We both know the things you’ve already done to me in the bedroom and trust me pumpkin, if I was a sexist I would never had let you go down that road, if you know what I mean” He measured me up and down “And even if I wanted to cheat on you, which is not the case, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t physically be able to since you knock my ass down every single time we fuck”
“I don’t hear you complain! In fact if I remember correctly you were the one who got in here wanting to have sex in the first place” I huff annoyed
“And I still do kitten” He gets closer
“Don’t touch me, jerk”
“You know how much it turns me on when you get all mad like that, right?” He tried to grab my breasts but I slapped his hands away
“Stop, Jonathan”
“What?” He leans closer, pressing his hardening bulge against my lower belly “Am I not good enough for you anymore? Do you prefer your boy Pete instead?”
“Bullshit” I spat
“Then show me, kitten” He whispers “Show me I’m still good enough for you” He makes me grab a handful of his erection “Show me that you still want me, that I still turn you on”
I pulled him down towards me by his neck, kissing him roughly, biting his lower lip quite harshly
“Hmm” He growls “My kitten is feisty, I like that” He smirks “I love when you’re a bitch to me” He laughs devilishly “Whatcha gonna do, huh?”
I forcefully open the button of his jeans, pulling the fly down and yanking the pants along with his boxer briefs down.
Jon put his hands up, in a surrender position. I lick my palm and close my fist around his cock, pumping it up and down.
“Yes baby” He moaned “Take it! Take what’s yours”
I kneel down and without thinking twice, I swallow his length until it reaches the back of my throat
“Fuuuuck! Y/N, baby...so good, you suck my dick so fucking good kitten! I love it, I fucking love it!” He moans and I push him further down my throat, swallowing around him
“Oh my fuck” He bucks his hips forward in surprise “How can you be so good at this?” He whispers, holding my hair back, so he can watch me sucking him off
“You look so fucking gorgeous sucking my cock baby. Fuck, look at that! Look at how well you take everything in”
I look up at him, hearing him continuing to praise me
“I love when you look at me...so beautiful with your mouth full of cock, so greedy for more aren’t you, baby?”
I nod, lifting his member up so I can lick the bottom half of his shaft, making him moan loudly
“You’re so insanely good at giving head! A fucking pro” He panted “The best head I’ve ever gotten”
I lock my lips around the head, sucking it hard to make him feel the pressure I know he loves, while my hands pump his length with a tight grip
“Oh yes, baby” Jon screamed in pleasure “Oh my fucking- Stop, stop” He moans with his eyes hazy in ecstasy, mouth in an ‘O’ shape as he bites his knuckles to prevent any screaming.
“We both know you don’t want me to stop” I smile, licking from the bottom of the head to his slit
“You’re gonna pay for this” His voice shakily says
“I wouldn’t threaten me if I were you baby” I smirked “I have other tricks that I’ve never showed you before” I whisper, feeling his length throbbing on my hand
“Other tricks?” He faintly whispered
I let go of his member and lay down on the floor beckoning to him.
“Come here Jon, let me show it to you baby”
Please let me know your thoughts on this? Feedback is always appreciated 🥰😘
#jon moxley smut#jon moxley imagine#jon moxley x reader#jon moxley fanfiction#jon moxley one shot#jon moxley#aew#aew fanfiction#aew one shot#aew imagine#dean ambrose imagine#dean ambrose x oc#dean ambrose x reader#dean ambrose fanfiction#dean ambrose one shot#dean ambrose#wwe x reader#wwe smut#wwe imagine#wwe fanfiction#wwe one shot#masochist writes
230 notes
·
View notes
Text
wow i wasn't expecting so much kind feedback from that post :’) below the cut is the fic, “love will not break your heart”. PLEASE remember this was written five years ago and i wasn't expecting to fall back into moral orel but here tf we are ❤️
i. idolatry
"Who does that cloud look like?"
"Umm…" The brunette tilted her head pensively, tracing the arbitrary peaks and valleys of the cloud in question with a critical eye. Her expression of solemn concentration buckled under a luminescent smile as she finally identified the cloud's likeness. "It's Joshua! See the beard?"
"Oh, wow, you're right!" He pointed to an adjacent puff of condensation on the verge of dissipating under the snowy glare of winter sun. "And there's the city of Jericho!"
She giggled in agreement and rolled onto her side; verdant streaks of earth branded her baptism-white cheek. A strand of sandy hair had escaped her new red headband (he had nervously presented it to her and promptly melted at the sight of her grateful beam) and now unfurled down the length of her pearly face. He brushed it back into place, then blushed.
"Uh, sorry."
"It's okay, Orel," she said with an adoring laugh. His timid eyes--coppery pools into which one's best qualities were inevitably reflected--found her own, then flicked downwards in humility. Though she appreciated his respect for her, the reverence with which he treated her was slightly disquieting. There was something to worship in both of them, something she felt she failed to adequately express. "Orel?"
The eyes, lit dreamily by a refulgent sky. "Yes, Christina?"
She touched a hesitant hand to his face and waited for the momentary tension of his form to abate as he recognized the tenderness of the gesture. There was the inexorable flutter of panic in her gut, as if her father were crouched behind one of Inspiration Peak's many bushes waiting to snatch her and drag her back into the study, but she quashed it readily. Her love for Orel was stronger than her fear of her father and with its pristine power she could have demolished that study with a single fiery glance.
But Christina had always favored creation over destruction, so she leaned over and pressed a soft, pink kiss to Orel's mouth. She tried to whisper "Happy Valentine's Day" to establish her motive, but was immediately silenced as he braced himself up on an elbow and shyly reciprocated the kiss. He tasted like candy heart chalk and mint.
"I love you," he said after he had bashfully withdrawn his head.
The world was shiny and new, the clouds morphing cheerfully behind him into benevolent figures who would shelter the tender bloom of their love. And Christina Posabule reached up to frame Orel's face in her gentle hands and said "I love you too" for the first time.
.
.
ii. respect
"Ugh. I never did understand the appeal of French toast."
Dottie scrutinized the buffet offerings, her angelically-proportioned visage contorted into a rictus of disgust. Her plate was sparsely garnished with a serving of greens and a mimosa, which she had already taken a drag from. As she eyed the decadent bricks of syrup-drenched toast, Florence calmly forked an omelet onto her own plate and waited for Dottie to make a decision. The Valentine's Day brunch was rarely an extravagant affair, but there were certainly enough dishes to satisfy even Dottie's impossibly high culinary standards.
"I think French toast is wonderful," Florence said. She expected this remark to be met with a haughty sniff or snide comment, but Dottie abstained. She even summoned a mordant grin.
"Well. I suppose the French are the superior culture for a reason." The blonde delicately pronged a lone slice of French toast onto her plate, taking care to select the most lightly-sugared piece on display. "Alright, I'm done. Quick, before I change my mind."
Florence led Dottie back to their booth, which had been denoted by the placement of their respective pocketbooks on the table (Florence's sturdy handbag looking markedly haggard next to Dottie's designer clutch). The two women supped here together after church, a tradition that had been inaugurated shortly after the Reverend's Easter sermon. Dottie had apologized to Florence in a rare fit of humility and promised to stop berating her roommate for her figure; Florence, ever the victim, dutifully accepted her apology. However, Dottie had surprised her by making a noticeable effort to curb her cruel commentary and even started contributing to the community by taking on sewing projects. Her lovely dresses soon filled the closets of every woman in Moralton--including Florence's. The rather flattering candy-pink wrap dress that Florence was wearing now was Dottie's handiwork, a fact the blonde managed to work into every conservation.
"Darling, that dress is absolutely divine on you," Dottie said, lighting a cigarette.
"Yes, thank you." Florence smoothed down the collar and smiled at the sight of her freckled hands. A modest diamonded band adorned her ring finger.
Dottie noticed her admiring of the piece of jewelry; she pursed her polished lips expectantly. "I really think you should've sprung for something bigger."
"Oh, I think this is just lovely the way it is," Florence insisted. She elevated her hand in order to demonstrate the diamond's iridescence. A slant of noon light caught the mineral and fissured apart into chromatic prisms; diamonded specks twinkled across the laminated tabletop. It was a rather appropriate expression of Florence's own appearance, something the ring's buyer had obviously taken into consideration. "Aren't you happy with your ring?"
"Me? Why I'd rather die than have this ring taken off my finger." Dottie inspected the arrangement of jewels gracing her own finger, which were independently lustrous and set into an ingot of platinum. The colors matched the sheen of her blonde curls perfectly.
An inexorable smile pressed dimples into either of Florence's cheeks. "You really like it?"
Dottie flicked her cigarette ash into the table's decorative vase with an insouciant tap of her manicured finger. Her expression was characteristically enigmatic ("you can't let them think you're interested," she had lectured Florence as she practiced looking jaded in the mirror), but the favor with which she regarded the ring was unmistakable. Finally, she said "I love it" in an emphatically decisive voice tempered with genuine affection. An affection that Florence reciprocated with an echoing of the sentiment before cutting into her omelet and watching Dottie slice willingly into a piece of French toast.
.
.
iii. requited
"Um, anything else, Steph?"
The tattooed, pierced, and freshly dyed vision of beauty glanced up from her book, eyes lightly glazed from an hour of reading. She had salvaged a rather intriguing volume of essays about evolution from a seedy bookshop in Sinville and was determined to complete the tome before it could be snatched and tossed on the literary pyre. Forghetty's wasn't exactly the ideal location for intellectual pursuits, but Stephanie had abandoned the shop at the mere notion of Karl and Kim Latchkey requesting some disgustingly romantic apparel for the holiday and decided that she deserved some discounted Valentine's vodka for soldiering through the week unscathed.
"Another vodka would be great."
Dolly smiled warmly. "Coming right up."
As the blonde scooped ice into a tumbler, Stephanie became suddenly and acutely aware of the candy-pink heart branding the small of Dolly's neck. Despite having stitched ink into countless arms and sides, she was shocked by the heart's symmetry. It was absolutely flawless.
"One vodka," Dolly said, sliding the glass across the condensation-varnished bar. Her fingers were impossibly long, slender--piano fingers. Stephanie could not fathom why these trivial details fascinated her so, but she was suddenly pressed to learn more about the daisy-pretty bartender who had dutifully refreshed her tumbler for the past hour. Starting with that immaculate tattoo.
"Thanks. Uh, Dolly? Where'd you get that ink on your neck?"
"Ink on my--?" She palpated her neck in befuddlement before remembering the previous night and giggling wanly. "Oh, it-it's just pen. My friends thought it would be funny if I actually got a tattoo, so they had the guy draw it on, but I… I chickened out, I guess."
"Oh."
"It's not that I don't want a tattoo," Dolly quickly amended, tipping Stephanie's colorful arms an appreciative nod. "I'm just kinda chicken about needles."
Stephanie quirked an amused eyebrow. "So you would get a tattoo?"
"Well." She sheepishly wrung a damp cloth out over the bar top and made a concentrated effort to appear occupied by the menial task. "Maybe."
"That heart's pretty cute. I think it would look nice back there."
Roses bloomed in Dolly's porcelain cheeks. Though her friends had never abstained from making passively nasty comments about Stephanie's unusual appearance and proud deviance from Moralton's constrictive status quo, Dolly had always fostered a secret respect for her. There was something alluring about Stephanie, something that begged back story: Dolly longed to read the text that accompanied the illustrations trellising her arms like ivy. "You think so?"
"Definitely. And if you're scared of needles, I've got an assistant who could probably distract you," Stephanie added with a playful smirk. Orel had curbed several customers' needle anxiety with breathless sermons about the incredibleness of Jesus and anecdotes about his occasionally distressing adventures ("and then I died! Three times! It was neat!")
"Would you really give me a tattoo?" Dolly asked, equally hopeful and horrified.
"If you're up for it."
Dolly twisted the cloth in her hands for a moment. The yearning to know Stephanie--to know every corner, every fold--was blossoming urgently in her chest. She wanted more than a tattoo. She wanted to familiarize herself with the inky mysticism enshrouding Stephanie Putty and if that meant romance, if that meant public scorn and disappointment and disgusted looks, so be it. She wanted Stephanie. She wanted all of her.
"Doll?"
"Y-Yes," Dolly sputtered, visibly flustered. Then she grinned cautiously and set down her hands on the bar top, allowing Stephanie to admire their delicate whorls and pearly nails at a closer proximity. "I'd love that."
.
.
iv. infatuation
"I know you think I'm stupid, Marionetta."
They had cloistered themselves away in a small clearing that provided some margin of protection from their schoolmates' scorn. A mild sky opened above them, achingly empty, painfully wide. As he stared into its doleful depths--oppressing himself not to betray the shame making dewy his eyes--he recalled the passages he had studied about the atmosphere. His old teachers had refused to teach the subject, citing the lack of a Heaven in the textbook's diagram of the Earth's atmosphere. He imagined it was sandwiched between the mesosphere and thermosphere, an impossible realm illuminated by auroras and burning space debris. But in the absence of substantial evidence that such a place existed, he was content to call the clearing Heaven, as long as Marionetta was there.
The girl smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of her dotted skirt. Even
#syd squeaks#moral orel#me putting dolly and stephanie and florence and dottie together my MIND!!!#thank y'all for all the sweet messages though
38 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sending a Message
Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader
Rating: T, there are sexy situations, i.e. touching, but no actual sex, one use of the f-word, but mostly fluff and some longing
Summary: Basically, you and Din are in a cantina and you need his help to get men to stop hitting on you. You have an established friendship with him but neither of you have expressed your true *romantic* feelings. Enjoy!
Word Count: 2900ish
Author’s note: I love fanfiction and have been reading it for a looong time now, but I finally decided to take the plunge and write one myself. What can I say? Din is very inspiring. It’s very self-indugent and I hope you like it.
I wrote a Part 2 to this story (18+ version) (T version)
--------------------------------------------------------------
The child is a sticky mess having eaten his way through a bag of ripe berries as you were trying to keep him occupied so the Mandalorian could suss out information for others of his kind who might know where to find the Jedi.
It’s been roughly three months since you joined the Mandalorian’s crew to help out with the child. You were enamored with the sweet little green baby the moment you saw him with Din in that marketplace back on Tatooine. Stressed and exhausted, Din let you pick up the child and entertain him while he loaded supplies on to a cart. You accompanied the two of them around on the rest of their errands that day, offering helpful advice and somehow gaining the Mandalorian’s trust fast enough to have him offer you a job as the child’s caretaker by the end of the day. You surprised yourself with how quickly you agreed to the arrangement, but in the end, you knew there was nothing left for you on Tatooine but memories and an empty house.
So now here you were, fairly content with your role as nanny to the child, although not quite prepared for how risky travelling with the Mandalorian could be. There were days when you could not believe the situations you found yourself in, yet through it all, you knew you had made the right decision. This was largely in part to the Mandalorian himself. There was just something so undeniably compelling about him. He was an execptional hunter and frankly, a deadly assassin, but he always seemed willing to put his violent skills towards a good cause, no matter how hopeless it may have seemed. But yet, no matter how lethal he could be, he was also so heartbreakingly soft and gentle with his small son, demonstrating a fierce protectiveness that had spread to you too. At first, the Mandalorian wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but little by little, you had begun to get to know him and had fallen into an easy friendship of sorts with him. All well and good, but, the more you knew about him, the more you started to feel an attraction to him. It started slow, and you played it off as just a weakness for his handsome armor and, let’s be honest, his strong, fit physique underneath all that beskar. But then, he started to share small jokes with you, ask you more about yourself, and reveal details about his own life, including his name, Din Djarin. After that, you really couldn’t deny your feelings, but you kept them to yourself not wanting to upset the contented balance you had achieved nor wanting to put him in the uncomfortable position of having to turn you down. Still though, the longing was there, even when you tried to distract yourself.
“Wow, look at you! I think we have a new record, kiddo.” Din has made his way back to you and is gently teasing his son. He scoops him up into his arms and the child coos with glee but also puts his berry-smeared hands all over his father’s shiny armor.
“Oh no! I thought I’d have a chance to clean him up before you returned.” You apologize a little embarassed.
“It’s not a big deal; we’ll take care of it.” Din has accepted the messiness of fatherhood in stride, “Let’s head over to that cantina. We’ll get cleaned up and you two can get some food while we’re there.”
As Din heads to the back of the cantina in search of a fresher to deal with the berry mess, you spy two seats at the bar and carefully make your way through the crowd. Several people, mostly men it seems, smile widely at you as you pass. It’s packed in here, but the warmth of so many bodies together is welcome after the blustery wind that had picked up outside. You shed your heavy cloak and drape it over the back of one of the barstools both so you can save the seat for Din and, you think eagerly, give him the chance to see the pretty dress you decided to wear today. It’s one of your favorites but he hasn’t seen it yet, however, with the cooler weather on this planet you were beginning to think you wouldn’t get a chance to show it off. Not that you should be thinking like that, you roll your eyes at yourself and your silly crush on the stoic Mandalorian. You’re just getting yourself settled at the bar when the bartender places a brightly colored drink in front of you. Confused you say, “I haven’t ordered yet.” as he just points behind you to a burly looking man with a scruffy beard. The man is grinning confidently at you,
“My treat, pretty lady! We rarely get strangers like you in here!”
“Thank you,” you demure, “but I really can’t accept.”
“Nonsense! You go ahead and enjoy and then we can get to know each other.” He winks at you.
“Maybe she’d prefer one of these,” another man has sauntered over, this one a lanky man with a bottle of something in his hand, “I think she might prefer something with more of a bite to it.” His entendre not lost on you, you hold up your hand and shake your head to fend him off when yet a third man tries to get your attention,
“Don’t let these bozos tell you what you want; I’ll get you whatever your heart desires!”
“I can buy my own drink, thanks,” you cut him off, turn back to the bartender, and manage to order your own drink and some food for you and the child, but this last guy is persistent and sleezy, coming over and perching himself on the barstool you were saving for Din. “Hey, I’m saving that for my…” what should you call him? “friend,” you finish lamely.
“Well, no problem, I’m looking forward to meeting her too.” he waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively. Giving him a sarcastic glare, you retort, “I don’t think he’d be interested.”
Things are starting to get out of hand, but thankfully, Din has spotted you amongst your crowd of admirers and with a small, rather amused tilt of his helmet and a bit of a shove, he’s now by your side with the child cooing happily from his satchel. “How about a booth?” he suggests, and you swear you can hear the amusement in his voice.
“Great idea” you reply, hopping down from your stool and snatching your cloak back from the other one.
“Oh c’mon baby, that tin can can’t make you happy like I can” the guy who rudely stole Din’s seat calls after you. Your face erupts in a blush and you hope to hell that Din didn’t hear him amidst the noise of the cantina. The other men voice their frustrations too at your departure. You put your hand on Din’s bicep steering him away from these guys just in case. You don’t need Din starting a bar fight over you. You’re still holding his arm and following Din closely when yet another man comes up to you,
“This Mandalorian isn’t bothering you, baby, is he?” this idiot dares to ask.
“No. He is not.” you grit out as Din says, “She’s fine.” in his best don’t-fuck-with-me voice. It’s lost on this drunk fool though as he just lets out “Woo hoo! She sure is!” and tries to slap your ass, but thankfully you dodge him just in time.
You’re starting to doubt the wisdom in coming into this cantina but now that you’re making it to a booth with Din, you figure you should be all right. The booth has a curved seat following the shape of its round table and as Din places the child in the middle of the seat, he sits down to his right. You slide into your side of the booth opposite Din but before you can get fully seated, a man from the booth right behind you leans over, grabs your wrist and leeringly says, “I got a much better seat for you, mama.” and gestures to his crotch. Repulsed, you slap his hand away and head over to Din’s side of the table. That creep was disgusting but he did give you an idea.
“Will you do me a huge favor?” you ask Din, “Always” he replies instantly. Putting your hand on his shoulder, you climb into his lap while sliding one arm around his neck and then bringing your other hand to rest on his cuirass. You can sense his surprise, yet his arm wraps around your waist instinctively.
“Play along, please?” you whisper to him.
“What are you doing, exactly?” he wants to know.
“Sending a message.” You tuck your head in closer to his in a clearly affectionate way and place a kiss on his helmet where his cheek would be.
“What message would that be?” Din asks still a bit stunned by your actions.
“That I’m yours.” You pause as he absorbs this and then you tell him quietly, “I need you to be a little handsy.”
“Handsy?” he tilts his helmet at you “This feels like a trap.”
“No, I want you to. Be handsy.” You tell him again.
“Ok” he drawls out, “but don’t punch me.”
“I won’t.” You flutter your lashes at him to give the impression to this room of horny strangers that you’re flirting with Din.
Din gives a tiny shrug that you can feel more than see but then brings his free hand up to your face. His gloved hand slowly strokes your cheek as he then lets his fingers trace over your jaw and then down your neck and chest, slowing down even more as he reaches your cleavage and then just gently ghosts his fingers between your breasts before resting his hand just beneath them. You feel your breath hitch and get caught in your throat at the intimacy of his touch and you have to remind yourself that this is just for show, just to get these losers to stop hitting on you. Reminding yourself of the message you want to send, you wonder if this is too subtle. You need to make this definitive.
“Be a little more obvious,” you tell Din, the blush returning to your cheeks, I can’t believe I’m doing this.
“More?” Din tries to confirm, “What do you have in mind?”
“Put your hand up my skirt.”
“Ok, now that is definitely a trap.” he chuckles lightly.
“Do it. Put your hand up my skirt,” you practically demand.
“Well, I’m not going to say no to that,” he responds appearing to be amused by this whole situation. He takes his hand, starts to play with the hem of your dress, and then slowly starts to slide his hand up your thigh under your skirt kneading gently as he goes. You feel like you are dying, it is so sensual and so exactly what you have been dreaming of for weeks now. You knew he would be good at this and it’s killing you that it’s just an act. You squirm a little in his lap unable to help yourself and you think you can feel his own arousal, but you tell yourself you must be imagining it.
Din cannot believe this is happening, how is he this lucky? When he caught sight of the men hitting on you at the bar, he figured it was inevitable that you’d be surrounded by would-be suitors and he cursed himself for leaving you alone in a place like this even for a few minutes. A quick scan of the room showed him that you were absolutely the most beautiful woman there. Not that he was surprised, as he’s rarely seen anyone as stunningly gorgeous as you in his opinion. Plus, given this sexy dress you have on, he’s lucky he didn’t have to pry one of them off you. He noticed it right away before you left the ship earlier and had to put on your cloak, but he was hoping to keep that sight to himself. He knows he shouldn’t think of you that way, but he has given up trying to ignore his feelings for you. It’s not just your beauty, but who you are as a person. He’s never met anyone who’s so easy to talk to and who treats him with such respect and kindness. It shocks him how strongly he trusts you and the way he’s let down his guard around you. You might not realize it but you are the best friend he’s ever had, and although he wants more, he’s not quite ready to risk your friendship. If he messes this up, you might see him as just another jerk hitting on you.
Speaking of, Din figured his intimidating presence would keep the jerks away once he got back over to you, but these fools had clearly never met a Mandalorian before because they didn’t have the good sense to leave you alone even when he was standing right next to you. He had been sure he was going to have to punch the creep that grabbed you but then you were sitting in his lap before he had a chance to stand up and defend you. And now, now, he was cuddling with you in the middle of this crowded cantina, touching you in ways he hadn’t let himself dare to think about. He didn’t need the child’s powers to feel the waves of sheer envy coming off of the men in the room. He smirked to himself under his helmet, letting his hand slide up even higher on your thigh than he would have dared but just because he could.
You are becoming entirely swept away by Din’s ministrations on your thigh, and you hear yourself sighing his name, making him smile even more unbeknownst to you.
“Hmm?” he responds gently
“I--,” but you’re cut off by the waiter finally bringing the food.
“Here’s your order, sir” the waiter gives Din a look that is both impressed and jealous as you hide your face in Din’s neck mortified that you have gotten so carried away with this charade.
“Thanks.” Din tells him, slowly removing his hand from under your dress. You slide off his lap into the booth next to him so you can eat. Din keeps his arm wrapped around your shoulders though and you’re still pressed up against his side. You turn away slightly towards the child who has been amusing himself somehow all this time. You give yourself a chance to regain your composure as you focus on giving him some food. You had started to forget the kid was even there and you feel your face flushing again at your shameless behavior. You take a deep breath and remind yourself that this was necessary, and as you glance around the cantina, you can see that no one is paying attention to you anymore. Your message was clearly received. You sigh to yourself and start to eat your dinner.
Din is relaxed and is enjoying the feel of his arm around you. Every so often, his other hand finds its way to your forearm and brushes over your wrist and hand, not quite trying to holding your hand but almost just to remind you that he’s there. It’s flirtatious and romantic in a way that you both love and can’t stand because you know you just want him to keep doing it. You finish your food slowly trying to find a way to prolong this interlude as much as you can, even if it’s not real. Din notices when you’re done though and says, “Ready to head back to the Crest?” You nod at him, knowing it’s for the best and figuring he must be hungry too. You pick up the child and slide out of the booth following Din. He takes the baby from you and secures him in his satchel before reaching back to take your hand. Din threads his fingers through yours and leads you out of the cantina before the jealous eyes of all the other men who tried to claim you for their own earlier. He holds your hand all the way back to the ship and you let yourself bask in the moment, imagining the two of you as a real couple.
Once you’re back on the ship, you busy yourself with putting the child to bed. He’s already drowsy and practically asleep when you get him secure in his hammock. When you turn back around, Din is just watching you, standing there. You can’t imagine what he’s thinking. You suppose you should give him some privacy, let him have a chance to eat his own dinner, but before you do, you figure you ought to say something after all that.
“Thank you, for doing… for helping me out,” you feel rather flustered and it’s making you babble, “back there.” “I just couldn’t get those guys to bug off.”
“It was my pleasure,” he responds rather cheekily, “I figured I was going to get into a bar brawl, but I liked your idea a hell of a lot better.” He tilts his helmet at you and you can swear that you can hear the smile in his voice.
“Well, thank you, again” you say softly. He steps closer to you and you’re practically touching him as he looks down at you and says with a chuckle, “Any time you need me to feel you up again, just let me know.”
And before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “I will.”
He laughs and tips his head down to you, “Message received.”
---------------------------------------------------------
#din djarin x reader#the mandalorian x reader#din djarin#din dijarin fanfiction#the mandalorian#the mandalorian fanfiction#din djarin x female reader#the mandalorian x female reader
241 notes
·
View notes
Note
So I read Elixir and I love how you write sex pollen and I was wondering if you could do one for our other federal agent, Marcus?
Jump Start
Warnings: smut. A lot of smut. Unbeta’d writing; soft Marcus.
Words: 3,500
Summary: What if Marcus only went to DC for a while? And what if he came back for you?
Marcus: Still game for tonight?
You: Are you kidding? Cho and Lisbon have bigged up that Aladdin’s Cave for months. I’ll be there.
Marcus: You sure this is what you want for your birthday?
You: Yes.
Marcus: Okay then… Bring a pillow because I’ll probably bore you to sleep with all the art stories.
When the elevator doors part to reveal Agent Marcus Pike, you’re standing by the door to the lock-up. A smile lights up his face when he sees you, and your heart bumps hard in your chest. He slides his hands in his pocket, a blush creeping up his neck.
“Happy birthday.”
“Thanks, Marcus.”
He ducks his head, a little shy. You know he isn’t always. You’d seen him in the interview room a few times last year, when your team and his had co-run a case. Watched his eyes go hard, his face stern. He’d slammed a file down on the desk inches from a suspect’s face and the surprisingly rough side to him had made you shiver.
Lisbon had sent you a knowing look and you’d ignored her.
She’d had her chance and she’d blown it, and frankly you didn’t want to know what she and Marcus had shared; how close they’d been.
Marcus had gone to DC after that. A year’s undercover work has helped him heal, you think. Get his head back in the game.
He came back for another co-op case, and thankfully, Lisbon and Jane had been away on honeymoon then.
You and Marcus had worked this one together, sometimes late into the night, sharing take-out and anecdotes from other old cases, and then, you’d started hanging out, a little.
He’s interesting. Funny. Friendly. Panty-melting gorgeous.
Heart-stoppingly gorgeous.
Cho dropped that it was your birthday at last week’s after-work drinks, and then Marcus had texted offering you a tour of the art lock up. You’d been rota’d off the day Cho and Lisbon got to see it, last year.
Patrick Jane hadn’t been allowed in. Marcus had muttered something about sticky fingers when you’d asked him about it.
“You ready?” He ducks his head to buss your cheek and you meet him halfway, breathing him in, minty gum, sandalwood, and the gourmet coffee he hides in his office. He shared it with you once and it’s like him, memorable, decadent, addictive.
“Ready.” You pull away, reluctantly, wanting him, but he’s never given you any overt hints that he sees you as anything more than a colleague.
He and Lisbon are cordial to each other when they meet, but for all you know, he’s still pining over her.
You daren’t ask; you don’t want to know the answer.
Marcus punches in a code to the first gate, then plucks the rings of keys from his pocket and opens the dinner door of the lock-up, a smile playing on his scruffy face. He grew the patchy beard during his time in DC and it really suits him, highlights his beautiful jaw and makes his soulful eyes a deeper brown.
This time on a Saturday, no one else is around.
“A private museum,” you breathe as you see all the paintings, sculptures and other art set carefully in frames or on desks or custom made plinths.
“Yeah, I always feel like Aladdin.” He scoffs at himself. “I say that every time. What a dork.”
You turn and grin at him. “I like it. You’re an art geek. It’s sexy.” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them.
Marcus’ brow wings up. “That so?”
“Um, sure.” You duck your head, embarrassed. “So. Tell me some art stories, Special Agent Pike. What’s new here?”
He brightens, soulful chocolate eyes going wide for just a moment. “Well. There’s this equine sculpture. Maker’s mark is Italian but we seized it during a raid for paintings. Wasn’t expecting it.” He snaps on white gloves and offers you a pair, then gently turns over the statue to show you the swirling signature on the bottom. “We’re still not sure where the other two are.”
You trace a gloved finger over the horse’s detailed mane, wrought perfectly in cherrywood. “Other two?
“Sure. This is part of a set. You can tell here-” he points out a divot in the base that you wouldn’t even have noticed, and another on the opposite end. “And here. The two connecting statues are missing - other horses, I’d guess.”
“Wow.”
Marcus sets the horse down and meets your gaze. “You bored yet?”
“Nope! More!”
He chuckles indulgently. “Okay. Why don’t you choose.”
You wander around the various lock-up cages for a while, examining instruments, more statues, even a huge quilt that looks woven with gold.
After a few moments, a painting about your height catches your eye. It’s an orgy, but tastefully done, painted in shades of amber and gold, the bodies fluid, enchanting.
“I’ve never seen such a… soft depiction of a group bang,” you smile.
Marcus’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “That came in last week. Rumour has it, the artist was quite the lothario back in the 1800s. A steady stream of, ah, callers to his penthouse in Florence. The accounts of his sexual prowess are something else.”
“I bet.” You eye the curves of the women in the painting; she looks soft, welcoming, her eyes closed in ethereal bliss. “So, how’d you get this?”
“Allegedly, found in an attic. We went to the house to pick it up. The man who gave it to me - said they just moved in - seemed kinda high.” Marcus’ brow furrows. “Very mellow. Pretty sure he’d been smoking something. He was half-dressed.”
You crouch, examine the painting more closely. “And you didn’t… arrest him?”
Marcus shrugs. “Art’s our deal. I did note the address with a colleague in the DEA, so if it gets flagged again, they’ll investigate.”
Something about the painting keeps you enraptured. You spy a little notch in the frame. “Do you think something’s hidden in here?”
Marcus bends next to you to examine the area you point to. He’s been working today, so he still wears his suit, the red tie the little bit of flash he allows himself on the job. His scent weaves around you, the lick of coffee, the gasp of mint, and something uniquely Marcus.
“It looks like something…. Comes undone?”
You both lean in together, and you edge your gloved finger along the groove in the ornate gold-effect frame.
Marcus does the same from the other end. “Wow,” he breathes. “A hidden compartment?” Then his eyebrows shoot up as part of the frame depresses under his finger, clicking. He grins hugely. “Well, now I really do feel like Aladdin.”
“Don’t suppose you’ve got a little monkey wearing a fez around here, do you?” You tease.
“Maybe a magic carpet. I-”
He’s cut off when a hissing noise pops from the painting. You and Marcus both lean in to try and hear it more closely, and just when you get close, powder sprays from the frame, light gold in colour and smelling faintly musty.
You cough, reeling back, your hands over your face. “Gross.”
Marcus steps back too, wiping a gloved hand over his face and examining the golden-hued powder on the cotton fabric. “What the hell-”
You slowly sit down on the floor. “I feel… sort of dizzy. Hot.”
Marcus crosses to you, crouching in front of you, and if you didn’t feel so discombobulated, you would appreciate the closeness of him, the amber shot through his irises, the slight curl of his cowlick. “I’ll go get help. Maybe some water?”
You’re burning up. A slow dance starts in the pit of your belly, something that you think was always there, maybe, but intensified now Marcus is so close. “Please don’t go.”
His brow furrows in concern. “Of course.” He smoothes a gloved hand over your hair, and then you see it; the change in his eyes, the way they go dark and hot. “I… what the fuck is this stuff? I feel…”
You clutch at his forearms, feeling the play of lean muscle under his suit. “What if…. What if this was the reason that painter was such a, um, lothario?”
Marcus’ gaze has dropped to your mouth and at your words, he blinks. “What? Oh. Oh.”
“Yeah,” you say slowly. “Marcus, I…”
He stands up, backing away. “I can’t be near you. Not when I want… I can’t.”
You reach out to him. “What if you stayed?”
He gazes down at you, longing in those bottomless eyes, and now you can clearly see the outline of the powder’s effect on him. “I can’t. Can’t do that to you.”
A flash of hope pierces the haze descending on you. “You want to? Because of the.. Stuff,” you finish lamely.
An expression of half desire, half pain, sketches itself over Marcus’ features. “I’ve wanted to for a while. That night we worked late.” He’s half-panting now, the fingers of one hand curled around the wall of his side of the lock-up. “Wanted to take you over the desk. I - fuck- can’t do it.”
You make to move. “Marcus-”
“Not like this,” he groans, that voice of sin and sex dropping half an octave, California with a lick of the drawl of Texas. “Not… like this.”
“Don’t go!” You beg. Your insides are burning up for him. If he’d just touch you. Just for a moment.
Marcus is shaking his head, fumbling with the door on this section of the lock-up. You lunge for him but he pulls the door closed, locking you in and him out.
He turns the key, then tosses the ring across the room.
“I’m sorry. I can’t. Not like this. Goes against everything.”
“But I want you,” you say. You crawl over to the fencing separating you. “At least… touch my hand.”
You pull your gloves off, slide your fingers through the holes in the mesh.
Marcus takes his gloves off too, tangles his fingers with your the best he can. He sighs deeply. “I had this whole date thing planned. Dinner at an Italian that reminds me of a place I ate at in my gap year.”
“Marcus,” you whisper. “So you do really like me.”
He groans. “Sweetheart, I haven’t been able to think about anything but you since I got back from DC, and there you were, pretty as a picture, working late with me, sharing Chinese food. Making me laugh.”
You swallow, wanting him so badly it hurts. Every inch of you burns for him.
“I wanted to go slow,” he rasps out. “I know I jump in. Get overexcited. But with you.. I wanted to do it right. Fuck.” With his free hand he, almost unconsciously, palms himself through his suit pants, his eyes rolling back. “What the hell is this drug?”
You hungrily follow the path of his hand with your gaze. “Lothario, remember?”
“I remember.” Marcus groans, pressing the heel of his hand against his erection. He’s sitting awkwardly. “Bastard.”
“Marcus.” You squeeze his hand. “I want this. I want you. It’s lonely up on that white horse.”
He shakes his head, vehement. “It’s….not… not right.”
You press against the caging and just the pressure of the mesh on your breasts makes you moan. “So I can’t touch you, and you won’t touch me, but you also won’t leave me.” You watch him squeeze his eyes shut, look at the tent in his suit pants. “Touch yourself.”
His eyes pop open. “What?”
“If you won’t leave and you won’t… give in to whatever this is, although I want you more than I’ve wanted any man, ever…. Let me see you.”
A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead as he looks at you, big brown eyes considering. He’s weighing every option. Marcus is thoughtful, considered. Considerate. He always thinks two steps ahead, encompasses everyone in plans and strategies.
But he’s blindsided by this, and you can’t say it isn’t sexy as hell to see him unravel this way.
“Please,” you add, holding his gaze.
He squeezes your fingers and the air changes between you, and then he leans heavily against the mesh and you take the opportunity to stroke his hair, a little, and it’s so soft. Feels like silk, and you have to touch more of him, but maybe you’ll get to at least see more, so you will your breathing to calm, just a bit, as he fumbles one-handedly with his belt buckle and then slides the zipper of his suit pants down to reveal plain grey boxers, darkened in the centre by a damp patch, and your throat is so dry.
“Have you…” your heart bumps hard, the rush of seeing new parts of Marcus making you even dizzier. “Ever gotten off in this evidence locker before?”
“Can’t say I have.” Marcus’ gaze stays on your face, earnest. “I can go. I can just go.”
“Please. Please don’t go. Come in.”
“Can’t do that.” He closes his eyes; looks like he is silently praying for the power to resist you. His fingers curl into the parted edge of his suit pants.
“Let me see you?”
He sucks in a deep breath, then exhales shakily. “This is not how I planned to seduce you. Just so you know.”
Your pulse rabbits. “You seduce me every moment, Marcus. With every sweet text. Every time you smile at me. All your art stories. When you say my name. Your voice, oh God.”
Marcus’ hand trembles as he holds your gaze through the wire mesh of the lock-up, and he finally, finally parts the opening of the plain grey boxers and draws himself out, and you just drink him in with your eyes, the shape of him, the swollen tip, his length and girth, the curling hair at his base. It looks as silky as the hair on his head and you hear yourself groan needily.
“Marcus.”
He fists himself, his gaze hot on yours. “Not how I planned this date,” he repeats. “I feel like I’m on fire for you.” He rasps out your name and you watch his hand move, and suddenly it’s too much, the heat between your legs cannot be ignored, and you shove your skirt up and mirror Marcus on the floor.
His head jerks around. “Fuck,” he hisses.
“Never knew you had such a potty mouth,” you half-gasp, half-tease.
“For you, I’ll do whatever you want with my mouth.”
You groan at that as you circle your clit with a finger.
Marcus almost growls “Underwear off, I want to see.” His voice, that voice, is gentle-rough, and you think of the day you watched him in the interview room.
“Whatever you say, Agent Pike.”
“Christ.” He’s jacking off in earnest now, his gaze riveted to you as you pull off your underwear with one hand, letting it fall wherever. Your skirt is rucked up around your hips and the fact it’s Marcus watching you is a huge turn on, but honestly you’re not sure if you could have stopped, for anything.
Your combined pants fill the space. You’ve never been so wet. When you slide two fingers inside yourself the sound is obscene.
“It’s.. a wonder.. He ever got… any painting done,” Marcus grits out.
You laugh. “Now? You wanna talk about art now?”
He huffs. “Art is the reason we’re here. Like this.” Then he sucks in a breath and you look down at him, his balls drawn up tight, his cock wet with his own pre-come.
“Marcus Matthew Pike, I swear to God, if you don’t get in here right now, I will never ever speak to you again.”
He hesitates.
“I swear on Van Gogh’s ear,” you add, your internal muscles fluttering.
Marcus half-yanks up his pants, scrabbles for the key. The seconds feel like hours until he appears again, boxers and pants around his knees, shirt tails hanging, and he opens the mesh door and you yank him in and kiss him and you tumble to the floor together, and Marcus grabs both your wrists and pins them above you with one hand, his face dark and determined, and it makes your heart pound.
“Please,” you grate out. “Marcus. I need you.” You spread your legs and try to hook your feet over his calves, but he shakes his head.
“Not yet. Sweetheart, not yet.” He curls your fingers into the wire of the mesh. “Hold on. Don’t… don’t touch me. I wanna make it good for you, first.”
You hear yourself keen his name as he shucks off his clothes from the waist down, then slides down your body and puts that gorgeous mouth to work. Your favourite thing he did with his mouth until now was talking, but this-
Maybe he’s writing his name, maybe he’s writing a sonnet, but whatever it is, the way he curls his tongue is obscene, and you don’t know if it’s partly the drug, but when he puts two fingers inside you, you come so hard you almost black out. And then lust rears its head again and you grab for him, carding one hand through his hair and cupping him with the other, and he’s slick in your palm and the ridges and heat of his cock feel so good.
“Marcus.” You fist a hand in his hair, pull a little, and he groans and pants, and you take the opportunity to pump him in your fist until he swears under his breath.
"Condom. Oh fuck. Condom."
He hesitates, then drops a soft kiss on your lips - your first, you think, a bit giddy - and you taste yourself, and he licks into your mouth and whispers your name and it's pure, unadulterated bliss.
Then he extricates himself, rummages in his suit pants, and as soon as he has the foil square in his hand you grab for him, pulling him down on top of you.
"After this," you murmur, "you're gonna bend me over the desk." And you roll the condom down his dick and he lets out a long, slow breath and pushes inside you and it's everything.
Everything inside you quiets for a moment that stretches as he starts to move, caging you in with his braced forearms, and you look into his dark chocolate eyes and his heart is on his face, with Marcus it always is. It's your favourite thing about him.
He nibbles at your lips as you make love to eachother, and you hook your legs around his hips to stop him pulling out too much. You want him close, want to feel his skin under your hands. The buttons of his shirt rasp against your dress, and if you were more aware you might think it's ridiculous, him bringing you to orgasm with you both half dressed in the floor of the art squad lock-up, but you can't care. Not when his cock hits you right there, and then you're keening his name and he tumbles over the cliff edge with you, pressing hard in those final thrusts as your muscles milk him.
You curl around him. "Marcus."
He sighs, presses his forehead to yours. "Was that… are you okay?"
You chuckle lazily. "I've never been more okay."
He cuddles you close, nosing at your cheek, murmuring sweet nothings. "Christ, what is this stuff? I could go again."
At his words desire rears its head. "There must be a desk in here somewhere, right?"
And his eyes go hot.
And that's how you find yourself bent over a desk recovered from an abandoned shipping off, the edges intricately gilded. You cling to them as Marcus fucks you hard and fast, just the way he'd fantasised about, and it's so good that you sob his name over and over.
Afterwards he cuddles you so gently, stroking your hair as he whispers praises about how good you felt around him, how next time he's gonna give you a bed covered in rose petals.
You shake your head, kissing him deeply, helping him into his jacket. "You're all I want, Marcus. Any way I can have you."
A flush colours his cheeks as he cups your cheeks. "Dinner? Let me take you out to dinner."
"I'd rather have it in bed. Have you in bed."
His eyes go wide for a second. "The drug.."
"This isn't the drug and you know it." You loop your arms around his neck. "It just jump-started us. Never been so grateful to a horny nineteenth century painter."
Marcus laughs out loud, hugs you, then releases you to hold your hand, tug you towards the elevator. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me. You know that, right?"
Happiness unfurls slowly inside you. "I could stand to hear it again."
Tagging the Pedro pals! @soldade @beccaplaying @heatherbel @mourningbirds1 @alldatalost @songsformonkeys @agirllovespasta @nelba @chews-erotically @mrschiltoncat @gamingaquarius @alienprincesspoop @dornish-queen @lackofhonor @agentpike @jaime1110 @thegreenkid @pedropascallion @mrsparknuts @buckstaposition @winters-buck @oloreaa @mstgsmy @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @holographic-carmen @cryptkeepersoul @alwaysbethewest @poenariuniverse @starlight-starwrites @keeper0fthestars @alwaysbethewest @kindablackenedsuperhero @abuttoncalledsmalls @f0rever15elf
And @arch-venus25 did you wanna be tagged in Pedro stuff?
419 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Phantom Menace: Chapter One (Obi-wan x OC)
WARNING(S): Contains smut
Synopsis: Helene Windu (FC: Zendaya) is the younger sister of Mace Windu, a powerful Jedi master. She is the Padawan of Yoda, who she very much admires and respects. Helene is certain that she is on the correct path, and that becoming a Jedi is her dream. That is, until she begins to fall in love with her childhood friend - Obi-wan Kenobi - while they embark on a journey through the stars together. Will Helene and Obi-wan get their happy ending?
____________________________________________________
Preview: Helene talks with her master, Yoda, about a vivid dream she had – except her description is missing some vital details. Yoda gives her a mission to follow Qui-gon Jinn and his padawan, Obi-wan Kenobi, as they attempt negotations with the trade federation.
_______________________________
Helene had a dream.
She was perched upon a rooftop, gazing out at the capital. Coruscant was so beautiful at night, she found herself thinking. The traffic zoomed past, making her wonder where they were going, and who they were going to. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a young man. Turning her head, she knew him immediately. He was older, yes, but it was her childhood friend, Obi-wan Kenobi. He was smiling at her, but not in the usual way he smiled. This smile was full of love and adoration. Not that they didn’t share a bond, or love, but this smile indicated a different kind of love.
“Come inside,” he spoke gently, motioning with his hand for her to follow him back through the wide-open window, “it’s cold out here.”
She hadn’t noticed the cold. She was wrapped up in a large, quilted blanket her mother had made her as a child. It was pink, with yellow and blue flowers sprinkled across it. This blanket was her most prized possession, a memory of her childhood – and her mother, who had passed a long time ago. She was a late baby, being fifteen years younger than her brother, Mace, so she didn’t spend a lot of time with her parents. It was nice to remember the time they did spend together.
She stood up, the blanket not leaving her shoulders, and followed him inside. The blanket dragged across the filthy rooftop, but she didn’t mind. The blanket could be cleaned. Her eyes were focused on the back of his head. She could feel her love for him radiating from her heart, which was thumping. She knew what was coming. Somehow, someway. Whether it was because she dared to long for it, or because she was one with the force, she didn’t know.
Once inside, she watched Obi-wan close the window. He was bearded, and more gorgeous looking than ever before. He aged like a fine wine, she thought. Shivering, he rubbed his hands together and approached her with that same smile. In the dream, Helene felt comfortable as he pressed his lips against hers, resting his hands on her hips. Her grip on the blanket around her shoulders loosened, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Smiling into the kiss, they allowed the blanket to fall to the floor.
“My love, you look cold,” he whispered in her ear, “shall we warm you up?”
“Please,” Helene whispered back.
Their eyes met, and he purred softly as he nuzzled her nose, while his fingers slipped under the straps of her dress. He used those same, warm fingers to brush her dress off her shoulders – and that too hit the floor with a small whoosh. She stepped out of it, feeling his hands all over her toned body.
“Obi-wan, don’t make me wait ~” she whimpered, “I can’t. I’ve waited so long for this night.”
He stopped massaging her body, smiling understandably, “I understand, love. I won’t make you wait. Lay down.”
He helped her lay down, sitting on the edge of the bed. He placed his hand on her cheek, stroking it softly, before it started to move down. Down to her chest, massaging her right breast, then her stomach, her hips, and lastly, her inner thigh.
“Wow, your beauty astounds me,” he said softly, scooting closer to her. He was still dressed, it made Helene feel uncomfortable, but she allowed it. Obi-wan just wanted to please her, make her feel good before they did the final act. He had overheard someone in a bar once say that women needed foreplay. They enjoyed being touched, pleasured slowly. He knew, as a virgin, he would probably be finished very quickly. He wanted Helene to feel his love.
“I’m not that beautiful” she mumbled, biting her bottom lip softly.
“I beg to differ,” he spoke softly, “I always did think so. Your beauty is elegant. Your body is sleek, and your style captures your figure well. I love every inch of you, Helene.”
“I-I love you, too, Obi-wan” she said shyly. Those words were still new.
Leaning into her, he peppered kisses along her sharp jawline, his beard scratching against the dark skin of her cheek. While he did this, his fingers moved to her womanhood. He pushed open her legs gently, and she obliged by opening them slightly more. He pressed his fingers against her sensitive clit, massaging it softly.
Helene gasped, the pleasurable feeling soaring through her body.
“Obi-wan!” she moaned quietly, “that’s – wow.”
He chuckled against her jawline, enjoying knowing she was having fun already. Though, she wasn’t the only one who was growing more and more aroused. With each moan that escaped her lips, his dick hardened. It was so wrong, it was right. The feeling that they were being naughty – but not in the typical couple sense. This was forbidden. They were forbidden lovers.
____________
The dream cut there, leaving Helene gasping awake, a puddle between her legs. She closed her legs together, the urge to finish herself off was so overpowering.
“No,” she told herself, “You can’t.”
She was covered in sweat from head to toe. She had to distract herself somehow. Sex and masturbation were forbidden by the Jedi code.
Standing up out of bed, she took a deep breath and made her way to the bathroom. Stripping out of her nightdress, she quickly stepped under the cold water. She sighed with relief, feeling the horny thoughts slowly wither away as the freezing water prickled her skin.
She couldn't help but wonder why she had dreamt of Obi-wan like that. She had known him a very long time, since they were small children joining the academy, and never once did she see him as a potential lover. In fact, she had been so focused on her dream of becoming a Jedi knight - she thought of no one like that. All throughout puberty, she was the only teenager in the academy who didn't consider sex. Many of her peers left - or considered leaving - once they hit puberty. She remembered overhearing numerous conversations regarding this topic. Once the issue of no sex came up, many left. She and Obi-wan seemed to be the only normal ones there. Little did they know, that the others were the normal ones. Their curiosity about sex was common among all teenagers.
Stopping the shower, she stepped out and wrapped a nearby towel around her upper body. She dried herself off and then got changed into her Jedi robes, getting ready to go meet with her master - Yoda. Helene had worked very hard throughout her childhood and she still couldn't believe her luck that she was the Padawan of the legendary Yoda. How she managed to bag such an achievement was beyond her. Yoda was wise, and kind. The fact that she was Master Mace Windu's younger sister was never any benefit to her. He was just kind to her, because he was kind. That made her happy.
When she was appointed Yoda's padawan, many were jealous and assumed it was because her brother had helped her. That wasn't true. It was later revealed that Yoda chose her himself, without any persuation from anyone. He told her brother that after much meditation, he realised Helene would be the right padawan for him. She was smart, he said, not dull, and she was hard-working. She was determined. Brave. Most importantly, he said, she found him easy to understand. He was both referencing his pattern of speech, and her level of intelligence. Helene found this to be sweet.
Making her way to their meeting room, she found Yoda seated waiting for her.
"I'm sorry if I kept you waiting, master" she said gently, taking a seat opposite him.
"Early, I was. On time, you are" he said, chuckling. Helene giggled, nodding.
"Something on your mind, there is" he immediately said, stroking his chin.
"Oh, it's nothing, master. We should get down to business" she blushed, refusing to meet his gaze.
This only made her master all the more curious - and secretly, worried. His padawan was not so easily distracted, or flushed.
He continued to gaze at her, until she sighed quietly.
"Master, my dream is to become a Jedi. It always has been. I remember watching my brother's ceremonies as a small child and feeling this sense of pride I had never felt before. When I first joined the academy, I finally felt that pride in myself. Before, it was always pride in him. Something happened last night that shook me, and I'm not so sure what to think of it."
He nodded, waiting for her to continue. Helene winced, closing her eyes lightly. This was the most embarrassing moment of her life.
"I had an...inappropriate dream."
He seemed confused by her statement, as he didn't reply, and when she opened her eyes, he was staring at her with a confused look. Her master, confused?! By God, this WAS terrible.
"A dream about...intimacy" she concluded.
Her master laughed, shaking his head and tutting, "normal, it is, at your age, to have such thoughts."
Helene pouted, feeling further embarrassment about his reaction.
He stood, approaching the window and gazing out. This is what he did when he was about to say something cheesy, which embarrassed even him.
"Proud of yourself, you should be. Very hard, you have worked, my young Padawan. A Knight, you shall be. I feel, very soon."
"Do you really think so?!" Helene gasped excitedly.
"Ahead of yourself, you must not get. A mission, for you I have. Go with Qui-gon Jinn, you must, to negotiate with the Viceroy. Join him and his Padawan, you must."
"Eh-?!"
"Hm? Is there something wrong with this request?"
"N-no!" she flushed, standing up and bowing to him, "I-thank you, master. I will do as you have requested at once."
"Waiting for you, they are. Do me proud, you must. Strong feeling, I have, that you will succeed as a Jedi. Let me down, you must not."
He finally turned to face her.
"I won't let you down, master Yoda! That's a promise."
"Good. Good. Now, get going, you must."
She bowed to him again, leaving the room swiftly and making her way down the hall.
She had a feeling this mission would feel very awkward for her, but she didn't want to let her master down. There was no way she would. Ever. She had to push her weird feelings aside, no matter what. At the end of the day, Obi-wan was her best friend.
#obi wan x oc#obi wan x reader#obi wan fanfiction#star wars fanfic#star wars fanfiction#smut#filthy dream#master yoda#yoda#the phantom menace#sw fanfic#star wars prequels#prequel fanfic#obiwan kenobi#obi wan kenobi#obi wan series#obi wan x black oc#black oc#star wars imagines#obi wan kenobi imagine#obi wan#imagine
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
Falling in Love All Over Again
Stiles wakes up in hospital after an accident, but he doesn’t remember anything… or anyone.
For @evanesdust - Happy Birthday!
He slowly blinked his eyes open, wincing as he stared up at the bright LED lights and the white insulated panels of the ceiling. He struggled to keep his eyes open, blinking heavily as his vision slowly came into focus.
He felt weak, his body aching as he struggled to move, trying to turn his head and look around the room.
His breathing felt heavy, every breath sending shooting pain through his chest.
He let out a weak groan.
“Hey,” someone said, their voice soft.
He turned his head slightly to look at the woman who stood beside him. She was in her thirties and wore teal scrubs. A small gold necklace hung around her neck, the pendant was woven strands of gold with four gemstones set into the design. Her soft face was worn with creases, a kind smile lifting the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were like dark smoky quartz and her gaze was soft. Her long dark hair had been pulled back in a ponytail, falling in messy waves down her back. A few curls had escaped the elastic tie, falling down around her face. She smelt like roses and something nostalgic.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
He paused for a moment, taking everything in.
“Sore,” he answered, his voice raspy and broken.
“I’ll give you something to help with that,” she said. “Can you tell me your name?”
He paused, searching his mind for anything that seemed familiar, but he couldn’t think of anything. His eyes widened slightly as a sickening feeling of fear settled in his stomach. He shook his head.
“That’s okay,” the nurse reassured him. “Do you know where you are?”
“Hospital,” he guessed.
His answer brought a smile to her face. “Which hospital?”
“I don’t know,” he answered.
“Okay, do you remember what happened to you?”
He shook his head, fighting back the tears that welled in his eyes; he didn’t like feeling this way, he didn’t like feeling lost, confused and helpless.
“Do you know how old you are?” the nurse asked.
“No,” He answered.
“Do you know your birthday?”
He shook his head.
The nurse nodded, bowing her head slightly s she looked down at her chart.
He swallowed hard against the growing lump in his throat, fighting back the wave of nausea as his stomach twisted in knots.
“What happened to me?” he asked.
“You were in an accident,” she explained. “You took quite a blow to the head and it seems to have affected your memory. But it’ll be alright; a lot of the time, memory loss is temporary and your memories come back after some rest or by triggers—people, places, smells, etcetera.”
“How long do you think it’ll take for my memories to come back?” he asked.
A solemn look passed over her face. Her voice was apologetic as she said, “It could be a few hours, or a few days—maybe even a few weeks. There’s no way to know for sure.”
He nodded.
“I’ll check in on you in a little while,” the nurse said as she returned the clipboard to the end of his bed. “Try and get some rest, okay?”
“Wait,” he called after her.
She stopped and turned back to him.
“What’s my name?” he asked, trying to hide the desperation in his voice.
“Stiles,” she answered. “Stiles Stilinski.”
-------------------------------------------
Stiles let out a sigh as he woke to the sound of voices.
“Just take it easy,” he heard the nurse – Melissa, she’d said her name was – said quietly.
Stiles shifted slightly, pushing himself upright slightly and sitting back against his pillows.
Two men entered the room. The first looked to be middle age, his fawn-brown hair thinning slightly and his face worn with wrinkles. His hazel eyes looked at Stiles with a mix of pain, worry and love. He wore a dark windcheater with a logo on the sleeve that had the letters B.H.P.D embroidered into it and a brown shirt with a gold-plated name badge pinned above his breast pocket that read STILINSKI.
The other man had raven-black hair and a strong jaw shadowed by the thin scruff of a beard. His pale aventurine eyes were mesmerising. He wore a faded grey Henley and a worn black leather jacket.
Stiles looked between the two of them, hoping his nervousness didn’t show.
“Hey, kiddo,” the older man said softly. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” Stiles lied.
The man with the black hair let out a sigh that ended in a breathless chuckle.
“What?” Stiles asked.
“That’s what you always say when ‘fine’ is the last thing you’re feeling,” the man said.
Stiles dropped his gaze.
These two seemed to know him well—one called him ‘kiddo’ and the other could read him.
“Do you know who we are?” the older man asked.
Stiles looked at him, letting his gaze linger as he took in every detail of the man’s face. There was something familiar about the lines on his face—as if every one of them told a story. There was something familiar about the hints of brown in his hazel eyes. There was something familiar about him, but Stiles couldn’t place it—like a word stuck on the tip of his tongue.
Stiles looked at him apologetically and shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright,” the man said.
“Your nametag says Stilinski,” Stiles pointed out. “Melissa said my name was Stilinski.”
“Yeah,” the man replied. “I’m John Stilinski… I’m your dad.”
“My dad?” Stiles repeated back.
“Yeah,” he replied. He looked across to the man who stood at the end of the bed. “And this is Derek.”
Stiles met his gaze.
The corner of Derek’s lips turned up in a soft smile.
“Your boyfriend,” John clarified.
Stiles’ eyes widened with shock. He turned to John. “Seriously?”
John nodded.
Stiles looked at Derek then back at John. “You’re kidding, right? He’s way out of my league.”
Derek let out a low chuckle, bowing his head slightly as he tried to hide the rosy blush that coloured his cheeks.
“John,” Melissa called from the doorway, nodding towards the hallway.
“I’ll be right back,” his dad said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before heading towards the door.
“So,” Stiles started slowly when it was only him and Derek. “How long have we been dating?”
“Six years,” Derek answered. “Nearly seven.”
Stiles was stunned. He bowed his head, his mind reeling as he tried to make sense of everything—tried to grasp at threads of thoughts or hidden memories.
“It’s okay,” Derek said softly. “You don’t have to remember everything right away. It must be weird looking at a stranger and being told you’ve been together six years.”
“It’s a little unnerving,” Stiles admitted.
“Don’t worry; I’m not going to try and kiss you or do anything that’ll make you uncomfortable,” Derek reassured him. “I’ll give you as much space as you want, but I’ll be here if you need me.”
Stiles let out a soft sigh. “Thank you.”
Stiles looked down at the foot of his bed.
“Can you pass me my chart?” Stiles asked.
Derek’s brow furrowed slightly with confusion, but he stepped down to the end of the bed and passed the clipboard to Stiles nonetheless.
Stiles read it.
“Wait,” he said, his brow knitted together as looked down at the page. “That’s not my name.”
Derek stepped over to Stiles side, looking over his shoulder at the clipboard.
“Yeah, it is,” Derek said. “It’s your given name, but you go by Stiles.”
“I don’t even know how to say that,” Stiles said.
“Mieczyslaw.”
“Mieczyslaw,” Stiles repeated. He skimmed down the page as he read aloud, “Broken ribs, fractured left wrist, ligaments in shoulders strained and slightly torn, blunt force trauma to head, bruises and lacerations, memory loss—possible retrograde amnesia.”
He set the clipboard down in his lap, trying to hide the broken look on his face, but apparently Derek knew him better that Stiles thought.
“It’s going to be okay,” he reassured him. “Whatever happens, we’ll get through it.”
Stiles looked up at him, his dark eyes full of gratitude.
Derek offered him a reassuring smile.
Stiles smiled in return.
“What’s your favourite colour?” Stiles asked.
“Orange,” Derek answered. “Like a sunset.”
Stiles thought for a moment. “What’s my favourite colour?”
“Blue,” Derek replied.
Stiles nodded, thinking it over.
“Tell me about yourself,” Stiles said, a hint of pleading in his voice.
“Um… My name’s Derek Hale. I have two sisters—one older, one younger. I was born and raised here in Beacon Hills – like you. I was orphaned when I was fifteen and older sister took us to New York, but we returned a few years later.” Derek thought for a moment. “I like dogs—and we planned to get one as soon as our house is ready.”
“We live together?”
“Yeah, we’ve lived together for three years now,” Derek answered. “We’re building a new house on my family’s land.”
“Wow,” Stiles said quietly, taken aback by how wonderful his life seemed.
“Sorry to interrupt,” John said, stepping back into the room. “Melissa said that maybe some photos will help.”
John set a plastic back down on the table at the end of Stiles’ bed. It had a bright red band across it with bold white letters that spelt out EVIDENCE. John opened it and pulled out the phone inside, passing it to Stiles.
Stiles looked down at the screen as it lit up. The phone was locked by a password.
Stiles swallowed hard against the lump in his throat as he tried to think.
“1107,” Derek said softly.
Stiles looked at him, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“It’s my birthday,” Derek explained.
Stiles typed in the password and the phone opened.
“You’re a romantic,” Derek teased.
Stiles let out a breathless chuckle. He opened the photos on his phone, starting at the most recent – a screenshot of a dog on a rescue site; probably the one they were going to adopt once their house is finished – and scrolling back through the photos.
There were pictures of him and Derek, him and his dad, him and a young man with short brown hair and a khaki police uniform—Jordan, his dad told him. There were several photos of him and Derek hanging out with a group of people that looked to be their age: a girl with copper-coloured hair and soft green eyes, a boy with a mop of brown hair and a crooked smile, a girl with long blonde hair, a boy with dark skin and a kind smile, and another boy with thick blond curls. Derek told him each of their names.
“You don’t remember anything about Scott?” his dad asked.
Stiles looked down at the picture again and shook his head. “Should I?”
“You’ve been best friends since you were four years old,” his dad explained. “Inseparable. Partners in crime. I thought maybe seeing his face would spark a few memories.”
Stiles set the phone down. His dark eyes glistened as tears began to well.
“I’m never going to remember, am I?” he said quietly, his voice strained and breaking. “I don’t remember my best friend, my boyfriend, or my own dad. I didn’t even know my own name until Melissa told me.”
“Hey,” Derek said softly, reaching out to take his hand. “It’s going to be okay. Maybe your memories will come back in a day or two.”
“Or maybe they’ll never come back,” Stiles countered.
“Then you get a second chance at life; not many people get that,” Derek said, trying to stay positive.
“I don’t want a second chance,” Stiles said, his voice quiet. “The life I had sounds pretty good.” He glanced at Derek, feeling shy as he added, “You sound great.” He blinked back his tears, his voice broken as he said, “I want that life back.”
“I know it must be frustrating, but we’ll give it a few days and see if there’s any change, okay?” Derek said, craning his neck to look Stiles in the eye, lovingly and reassuringly.
Stiles met his gaze, feeling the waves of anger and anxiety wash away. The weight in his chest lightened as he let out a calming sigh and nodded. He picked his phone up again and began to scroll through the photos.
There were photos of friends that Derek named for him, a lacrosse team, and a photo of four of them: Stiles, Scott, Lydia, and a young girl with long dark hair.
“That’s—”
“Allison,” Stiles said quietly, interrupting Derek.
Derek looked at him with a mix of confusion and hopeful excitement.
“Allison,” Stiles turned the name over, pulling on the tangled thread of memories.
He remembered her smile, her laugh. He remembered the way she held a bow and arrow with strength and unwavering composure. He remembered the sound of her hand hitting the ground—he hadn’t seen it, but he’d felt it. He remembered slowly returning to consciousness as he and Lydia stumbled out of the darkness and into the cool night air. He remembered the moment his heart broke when he saw her lifeless body cradled in Scott’s arm, her unmoving hand fallen aside.
There was a glimmer of a memory in the corner of his mind. He reached for it; the image of Allison’s silver necklace – a family heirloom in the shape of a crest with a rampant lion in the corner.
It was like a row of dominoes; one crashed into the other and the floodgates burst open. Waves of memories crashed over him.
“Stiles?”
Derek’s voice drew him back to reality.
Stiles looked up at him.
“Gerard,” he said.
“What?” Derek asked.
“Gerard Argent,” Stiles replied. “He’s the one who did this to me.”
“Gerard kidnapped you years ago, Stiles,” his dad said
“No, I remember. He drove me off the road and when I woke up again, I was in some kind of basement. My hands were in chains and I was hanging from the ceiling,” Stiles explained.
“Are you sure you’re remembering what happened a few days ago?” Derek asked.
“Titus,” Stiles said abruptly. “The dog we adopt, he’s a black Great Dane and we were going to call him Titus. I wanted that name because it’s the name of Damian Wayne’s dog from Batman comics and you agreed because it’s a reference to Shakespeare. You also wanted to adopt the German Sheppard at the shelter but we had to see how he goes with other dogs first. We were going to call him Achilles. But I also saw the way you looked at the Australian Sheppard, the old boxer, and the Bernese. And if we’re both being honest, we know we’re not leaving with only one or two of them.”
Derek just stared at him, stunned.
Stiles turned to his dad. “Whenever you order take out at the station you always order a beef burger with onion, lettuce, tomato, cheese, and ketchup, but Parrish always orders you a salad as well because you’re meant to be looking after your heart health after you were injured eight years ago. Your full name is Noah John Stilinski, but you’ve always gone by John because Noah was your father’s name. My given name is Mieczyslaw – after my maternal grandfather – but I could never pronounce it right so Mum would always jokingly call me ‘Mischief’—although the nickname got more fitting as I got older. And after you and Mum had a falling out with her family, you hated calling me by that name, so you came up with ‘Stiles’ and you’ve called me that ever since.”
He turned back to Derek. “Every morning, you make me a cup of coffee. I never ask for it, you just do it because you love me, and I love you. Your favourite book is The Little Prince because your dad used to read it to you every night when you were little—I got you a hard-cover version of it for your birthday last year.”
He looked between the two of them.
“I remember,” he insisted. “I can even tell you where I hid the ring I was going to propose to Derek with.”
“You were going to propose to me?” Derek asked.
“The night I went missing,” Stiles admitted.
Derek let out a quiet laugh.
“What?” Stiles asked.
“I was going to propose to you that night too,” Derek confessed.
Stiles couldn’t help but laugh.
John stepped out of the room, but from the hallway Stiles could hear his dad call in a police search for Gerard Argent.
“So… Out of curiosity, if I had proposed to you, would you have said yes?” Derek asked hesitantly.
“Without hesitation,” Stiles said, smiling at Derek.
Derek let out a sigh of relief.
“I am still going to propose to you,” Stiles told him. “Just in a more romantic setting than this.”
Derek leant forward and pressed a soft kiss to Stiles’ bruised cheek.
“About the dogs,” Stiles started slowly as Derek sat back in his chair.
“You only want one?” Derek asked, heartbroken.
“Oh no,” Stiles replied. “I want all of them. Including the really old Great Pyrenees and the wrinkly little bulldog puppy.”
A bright smile lit up Derek’s face. “Deal.”
#sterek#sterek au#sterek fic#sterek fanfiction#sterek fanfic#sterek amnesia au#sterek temporary amnesia au#for evanesdust#evanesdust#happy birthday!
162 notes
·
View notes
Text
Jouska [Hotch x Reader]
Chapter 2:
Warnings: Mentions of firearms, stalking. *Tension*
Word Count: 1,843
———
“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.” - Oscar Wilde
------------
You curse yourself as you walk down the concrete path, leading the way for Hotch to follow behind you. Spring in Virginia is unreliable and you suddenly find yourself cold and underdressed in your skirt and turtleneck. The cold is harsh as you hug your arms close to your body, your teeth chattering slightly. Your father advised that maybe it would be best if you and Agent Hotchner got to know one another better, and where better than right here on your father’s sprawling estate, where he could make sure you were safe.
You hear rustling behind you as Hotch catches up. “Here, ma’am. Let me.” You do a double take to see Hotch shrugging off his suit blazer, his shoulders broad and arms strong, gun holstered on his hip. You hold out your arms as he slips the oversized blazer through your arms from behind you, unconsciously rubbing your arm as he does. You steal a quick glance up at him as he stands over you, to find he’s already watching you intently, his gaze flickering to your lips again. You smile and look away.
“Aren’t you cold?” You worry, as he shrugs.
He chuckles and rubs a hand over his beard. “I tend to run a little hot anyway. Besides, my mother would kill me if she knew I hadn’t offered a lady my jacket in the cold.” He finds himself staring at you unwittingly, taken by the sight of his too-big blazer wrapped around your body.
You raise your eyebrows in amusement and laugh. “Ah, so he's a gentleman?” You tease. You cross the blazer over your body and bury your face in the collar, inhaling his scent, something citrusy and musk. It’s warm. Comforting. You feel butterflies in your stomach as you look back up at him and nudge him.
“Thank you. You’re sweet.” You smile.
You both find your stride as you start to walk together, down the concrete steps and towards the grounds. “So. FBI huh? My father tells me you’re a profiler too?” You inquire as you look up at him.
His dimples peek through as he smiles gently, his hands in his pockets now, more relaxed. “Ah not quite. I’m training to be a profiler and I had the requisite training to be on a security detail, so here I am.” He explains. “Your father told me you were supposed to head off to Yale this summer? What’s your major?”
“Poli-Sci.” You lament. “Family tradition, but I’d love to do something like criminology or psychology.” He nods his understanding as you continue. “Ultimately, I know Dad wants me to do whatever makes me happy, but the thought of breaking tradition? It’s scary, you know?”
“Yeah-“ He stops himself. You look up at him as he shakes his head. “Never mind.” You raise your eyebrows and ask for him to go on but he declines by saying it would be breaking protocol.
You stop walking and stare at him a moment and he breaks. “Look it’s okay, I know the feeling. My father, he was a lawyer. His father too. But if you know your heart’s somewhere else, maybe it’s best to go with that.”
“Wow.” You nod and resume walking. “So you’re a gentleman, and a fountain of wisdom. Got it.” You chuckle.
You fall into a comfortable silence, stealing glances at each other, his stride in keeping with yours, bodies just close enough to touch. You pass a row of kept maple trees and down to an old black gazebo where you remember spending your childhood, sheltering yourself from the rain, or playing hostess with your late mother. You perch yourself on the ledge, swinging your legs as Hotch maintains a distance from you.
“Hey, so-“
“-I” He apologises and signals for you to go first.
You wince slightly as you take a breath. “I was just going to say, that I suppose we should talk about the elephant in the room?” His face steels and his chest rises, his mouth open.
“The- I’m sorry. The what?” He enquires.
“I take it my father showed you the pictures the stalker took of me?” You watch his shoulders drop and his face relax as he realises.
“Yes ma’am-”
“Please. No ‘ma’am’. I feel like my grandmother. Just call me by my name.” You joke.
“Sorry.” He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “But to answer your question, yes, I did see the photographs, your father showed me the file. I also saw the uh-”
He pauses, not knowing quite how to continue. “-The notes.” He walks closer to where you’re sat on the ledge, the both of you almost the same height this way as he continues. You watch him try to find the words. “I don’t want to alarm you unnecessarily, but you know this is serious? I mean the notes in and of themselves are a huge issue but given the fact that you’re someone in the public eye, it’s-”
“- I know. It’s why I’ve been living here, which makes it hard because I have an internship and an apartment in Georgetown.” You explain that you love being closer to home, and to your father but not having your independence makes you feel as though you’re suffocating. “But I’m going to be moving back.” You explain.
Aaron stares at you in surprise and immediately advises against it, walking closer to you until you’re face to face to list the reasons why he thinks it’s a bad idea. You understand the gravity of the situation but you can’t help but stare at the way his lips move when he speaks, and how his arms and shoulders seem so strong, his dress shirt fitted just perfectly. How his hair looks so soft and how he still towers over you, his scent all around you. You realise he’s stopped talking and is just staring at you, waiting for you to respond, his hand holding the ledge next to you, encasing you in.
Your breath catches and you swallow, looking up at him with wide eyes as you realise his gaze is fixed on yours, his eyes soft and glancing at your lips. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you can feel heat rising on the back of your neck, your heartbeat pronounced. You swallow again, taking a deep breath and losing your nerve. You hop off the ledge and walk around him, needing some distance. “Look, you make fair points, but seeing as I have permanent security until we catch this son of a bitch, I don’t think it’s too outlandish. I’ve discussed it with my dad, too.” You reason. Hotch is still frozen in place.
You continue, “-Besides, me being locked away here, isn’t going to help catch him. He knows he can’t get to me here. But giving him a chance to think he can get to me might work! And I don’t want to put my entire life on hold because of some psycho who thinks I owe him something. If he gets too close, you can catch him, right? Set some sort of trap or something?” He turns now, watching as you dart around the gazebo reasoning that it could be safe.
He explains that he needs to clear it with his superiors and the Ambassador before he can allow it to happen, but that ultimately, he will try his best to make sure your needs and wants are met. You nod in understanding. “Look, the last I want to do is to put you in an uncomfortable situation, but you get where I’m coming from, right, Agent Hotchner?”
He has a strange feeling in his chest when he hears his name come from your mouth but he plays it off, promising he’ll discuss it with Barnes and your father today. You thank him as you slide past him to get to the steps of the gazebo and return back to the house. You walk back down the path you came from, in a comfortable but buzzing silence, the both of you trying to make sense of the moment you shared back there, as you steal a glance at his face, his brows furrowed and his jaw hard. He catches you, his eyes on yours as he asks, “You okay?”
You take a beat. “Yeah.” You nod. “Yeah, I think I am.” You reply as you bury your nose in the collar of his blazer.
-----------------
You’ve been waiting in the foyer outside of your father’s office for around 40 minutes when the door finally opens. The past 40 minutes had consisted of heated discussions in angry whispers taking place on the other side. Hotch, McCall, Barnes and your father were discussing the matter of whether it would be feasible for you to return to your own apartment, when you had made your opinion more than known. Your father’s assistant calls you in and closes the door behind you as you watch Agents Hotcher and McCall rise from their seats. You hold your breath.
“Well, it appears you can be quite persuasive, young lady.” You rush to his side before he can even finish his sentence, throwing your arms around his shoulders and kissing his cheek. He laughs as he continues, “There are, however, measures that myself and the team will be putting in place to make sure you’re safe while you’re away.” His eyes look tired and worried. “Effective immediately, Agents Hotchner and McCall will be teaching you self-defence and how to safely hold and discharge a firearm. I want you to be in a position to defend yourself, should you need to.”
You feel worry and a twinge of guilt as you realise you are all your father has left in this world. The thought of your father having to think about how you’re to defend yourself from somebody who has made his intentions this clear, fills you with sadness. You hold his hands in yours and squeeze reassuringly. “Thank you, Dad. I know this isn’t easy, but I’m going to be fine. Okay?”
He takes a deep breath and cups your face in his hands, placing a kiss on your forehead. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”
You turn to face Agents Hotchner and McCall to thank them too. You share a knowing smile with Hotch, knowing that while you were indeed persuasive, it was Hotch that would have sealed the deal and that it would have been his idea to implement the self-defence and firearm safety. Your father walks you all out of your office and you turn to reassure him again. He informs you that Agent McCall will be staying for a while longer to finalise the details of the security schedule and that Hotch would drive you to your apartment.
“Well, I guess we should start packing?” Hotch asks as you both walk out of your father’s office.
“Who says I’m not already packed?”
< Prev | > Next
------
Tags: @andromedasstarship @oreogutz
#Hotch#Aaron hotchner#Hotch x reader#hotch x you#Hotch fluff#hotch smut#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#cm fic rec#thomas gibson
136 notes
·
View notes
Text
Motorcycle Sex - Keanu Reeves x Reader
summary : your boyfriend, keanu, shows you his brand new motorcycle...then fucks you on it. hard.
warnings : nsfw, smut. cum heheh. lots of fluff too though! x f! reader.
words : 3.1k
❧ Requested!
notes : well...here ya go ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I know you didn’t ask for smut, wonderful anon friend, but my brain did it anyway. hope you enjoy! please consider leaving comments and feedback, means a ton. xox
“I think you’ll like this one,” an enthusiastic Keanu spills, excited mocha eyes ecstatic, a gentle hold to your hand as he leads you to the garage of your home. A new model of an Arch had been released today, the first piece of its kind reserved for the man behind copious of the creative process. “I really like this one.” He chuckles, the bulk of his hand placed to the small of your back as he allows you into the garage doors first, holding the door open.
The piece stands bold, black, colossal; sharp Michelin tires, a sheened glaze of shined fresh charcoal black paint, stood stout on its carbon wheels. Gasping, your thumb rubs a soothe to the palm of your boyfriend’s hand that holds yours, comforting the rougher skin. “Is that the one, Ke?” You shine, holding back a cheeky grin.
This; spark in his voice, passion of craft coursing inside his flowing blood was your happy place. Him; this way, would always be your happy place.
Beautiful, radiant, his smile burns you piece by piece, the joy exhilarating off his skin is warm; something so au fait. Something special grows inside him, something special the crowds don’t understand.
Ambling up to the bike, you stand hand in hand with your love, his eyes glossing over the fine piece of machinery, before to a lock of eyes with you. There’s an inquisitive twinkle to his gaze, a gentle wonder of assurance brewing on his lips. Your opinion matters to him, you matter to him. “Well?” He asks, brining your bundle of interlocked hands up to his lips for a soft kiss to your fingers. “Neat, right?”
“It’s beautiful, baby.” You beam, soft skin of your dancing fingers velveting over the leather seat. His embrace is inviting, the curve of his neck a safe haven for your arms to loom around. Smiling into his lips, your hand cups his beard embroidered cheek, smiling a warm symphony his way. “Hey, I’m really proud of you.” Whispering, your sprightly fingers rest a squeeze to his skin. “You made something so, so beautiful.” Assuring, a kind kiss daubes to his cheek off your rose stained lips, in awe with the way his eyes décor over your features; stay lost in the embodiment of you. “Almost makes me want to ride one.” You roll a chuckle, feeling his warm hands embed around your waist.
“We could.” Keanu smiles, heavy palms gently moving along your back, soothing, comforting. His smile hardly contains, and the faint freckles speckled to his cheeks warm around a blushy peach hue.
Each day with him, as this, you fall further. Further into this sanctuary, this paradise he’s built with you.
You giggle, gaze downcast slight as your fingers smooth to his nape, twirling the ends of his dark chocolate locks. A nervous admission bubbles in your throat, and his eyes furrow ever so slight to your dropping gaze. “I’m just a little scared though,” Confessing, a thick sigh laces your tone, Keanu’s hands removing off your waist in a hearty chuckle, just before his hands hold to your arms, bringing them off his shoulders, in exchange for a loom around his waist. “Well,” He starts, drawing your body closer, flush against his chest. As your arms wrap around his larger body, Keanu’s own circle around you once again, cheeky smile plastered to his lips. “All you have to do is hold on to me.” He muses a deep, throaty chortle, features warmed the way of his love. “I know you can do that.”
Grounded, spellbound in his sincere hold, you absorb a moment to solely,
relish. To sink into the feel of his arms holding you, reminding you that all you have to do, to be alright,
is hold him.
“No,” Giggling, you add. “I meant like, I kind of want to learn how to ride. By myself.” You clear, toying a smooth to a wrinkle that cultivates on the fabric of his black shirt. Engaged, a knit of brows tints to Keanu’s dark, crisp features, a gentle smile twisting his lips to your admitting words. “I’d love to learn, actually; but I’m just…”
Keanu’s ears perk, awaiting the completion of your sentence; yet, as it dies half hearted in your throat, his fingers firm into the skin of your hips, thumbs circling a coax to your figure as he waits. “What, sweetheart?” He wonders, and the crumble of his engaged voice melts in your ears, smiling to the way he listens to each word, each vowel, each syllable that falls your lips. With a gentle bite to your lip, your heavy sigh punctuates with spoken confession, fingers raking a soft run through the dark mane of your boyfriend’s hair.
“I’m scared.” You frown, holding a locked gaze with him for a mere few seconds longer. Rich, Keanu’s chuckle flows through you, the sound of his amuse so delightfully, your beloved remedy. You blush, peachy pastel hues sputtered on curled cheekbones, a roll of eyes his way as he draws in closer, kissing a soft peck to your forehead.
“I was scared too, first. I could teach you, yenno, just how to sit on it, how to control it?” He offers, and his hold around you tightens. “And then, if you want to, maybe you could take a class?” Downcast, his eyes linger for a moment, fishing the right words. “I am a little wary because it can be dangerous, and I can’t have you getting hurt, sweetheart.” The joy in his tone rings in ripples. “But, It’s amazing, Y/N, the sights, the sounds, the views. It’s a heaven of it’s own.” Your gushing boyfriend praises, bulky hand finding yours below. “Is it really something you want to do?” He asks again, fingers interlacing a tender thread with yours.
And with a hopeful grin, you nod, hand coupled to his stubble ridden cheek, gently scratching. “I wouldn’t mind you showing me the controls.” Feverishly grinning, your hand trails suggestively low, groping his ass. “Hot teacher? Sign me up.” You wink, letting go of his frame to move towards the bike.
“How do I sit correctly on this one? It’s a little bigger than your other ones.” You wonder, touching the seat with a trace of your finger. With his hand on the small of your back, Keanu taps your thigh, urging it over.
“Bring this leg over,” He instructs, holding your waist, helping you on. “Alright, how does it feel?” He asks, once you’ve positioned on the leather seat. “Comfortable?’’ He probes, stroking your back in a gentle assure.
“Yeah, feels okay.” You declare, squinting your inquisitive gaze. “Gosh, Ke. How do you control this thing? It feels so heavy.” And with a rich giggle, your helpful boyfriend grasps your forearms, gently guiding them to the sturdy handles. “Hands on here, sweetheart. Annnnnd, rest your feet on the footrests.” He encourages, positioning your hands exactly where they need to be. “Alright, now lean forward a little bit, it helps with the balance.” Detailed with proper instruction, his hands hold your arms. Coincidentally, despite the bike being on its stand; stationary, and there being minimal risk of any harm protruding your way, Keanu still kept a hold on you, perhaps unconsciously; unknowingly.
For Keanu, your safety; you being alright, would always cast his thoughts.
You follow as instructed, leaning forward in optimal stance, smiling when you catch his whiskey gaze gloss over your figure, a knowing grin spread to his own cheeks.
Keanu breathes in a sharp inhale, drinking in the way your delicious figure displays on the bike. Spellbound, his earthy twinned pupils glaze over the curve of your breasts that purse together, hanging lower off your chest, in beautiful definition as you lean forward. To the hike of your hips, your ass looks beautifully plump, peachy from this angle, and he swallows tight; his hands smoothing their way down your arms, finding rest to a hold above yours on the bike handles.
“Wow,” He sighs, deep and gruff. “You look so sexy, baby. On my bike.” In his pants, a rush of warmth floods to his cock, and he attempts to quell the lust that cascades through his mind, the sinful thoughts of how he could ruin his deliciously beautiful girlfriend, right then, right there. He attempts greatly to shun the immoral depths, yet his efforts prove fruitless when you bite your lip, leaning further, pursing your breasts tighter together in allowance of your cleavage to bloom in front of him, the valley of your breasts on display for his prying eyes to see.
You understood the effect you’d had on him; a prominent tent slowly swelling to the seams of his manhood. Keanu watches you, simpering, smiling a smirk when you climb off the bike to the sight of his heavy hand palming his clothed cock, stroking his jean clad region, murals of your body painting his thoughts.
“You know, baby,” you whisper, suggestive. “You can touch me.” And with a nipped kiss to his jaw, you drip. “Nothing is off limits to you. Only to you.” And to the ring of your tone, Keanu groans a husky exhale, inquisitive palms finding the swell of your breasts, soothing over, gently kneading the soft flesh in his hands, thumbs circling your perked nipples that ache for him.
“Fuck, babygirl,” he moans, low, feeling the weight of your smaller hand travel to his pulsing length, palming over the clothed erection that bulges inside. His lips catch yours in a domineering kiss, before you travel lower, peppering small, mindless kisses across his chests, to his stomach, kneeling in front of him as your fingers work the buckle of his jeans, mouth watering.
Peeling the fabric of his boxers down, you admire his glorious cock in its entirety, beautifully erect, monstrous, rosy tip swollen to a blushy hue. It surrounds in bush of thick hair, similar to the drapes that flow off his head. Peering up, you feel his hand rake in your hair, locking the strands in a hold when your lips find his member, wrapping sinfully around in a warm, wet hold, slowly taking him in inch by inch.
He tastes of salty precum, with a tinge of something sweet, a faint trace of his delicious, creamy release a delicacy to your tongue. “That’s…that’s it baby,” He groans, gently pushing your head further down on him, yet cautious of making sure he doesn’t offer you more than you can manage.
Someday, you want to be able to fit his entire cock; tight, throbbing down your throat.
You’ll get there, someday. You’ll just have to keep practicing…
With an abrupt pop, you allow him to fall out your mouth, raising off your knees as you travel higher, hands resting to the broad of his chest, and his lips capture yours once again, sighing to the feel of your petite hand wrapping around his aching cock, slowly, leisurely pumping, jerking, twisting the sensitive skin that sends coils of shock building inside him. Your breath is hot against his lips, two of his fingers hooking to the waistband of your bottoms, slowly peeling.
“I want to fuck you.” He whispers, deep, gravelly, sending a bubble of want throbbing within your empty cunt walls that soaked, preparing for his taking. Nodding, your chest heaves breathy exhales, taking his hand in a firm lace, quick to lead the way inside, ready for his body to work you so fucking well within the silky sheets of your shared bed, similar to the way he often does, on frequent nights.
Nevertheless, Keanu’s body doesn’t move an inch, his hand gripping your waist before he stops your move, rejecting. “No, darling,” his hand moves to your mound, palming the fabric that shields your modesty from him. “I want to fuck you here, on my bike.” He gruffs, need flooding each inch of his body, the throb of his cock almost painful to how hard it swells for you, sore; tender; desperate to be buried inside your welcoming, warm haven.
Nodding, you feel the heat building inside, realizing this must have been one of your boyfriends sinful, envisaging fantasies.
He adores you, and he adores his bikes. Seeing you on one? It was a recipe for his sex starving thoughts and corruptly swelling desire. Nonetheless; you don’t mind.
Sex with Keanu is irresistible; his expertise, his skill, the girth of his cock and how perfectly it fits inside you,
Your body welcomes him, each and every time, slick arousal and frustrated whines far too frequent when he undresses your body slowly, delicately peeling the fabric off your figure for his eyes to devour. Once fully nude and exposed, Keanu’s lips trail to your breast, swirling a nipple with his warm and wet tongue as you continue to pump his member, slicking smears of dewy pre cum over his thick shaft.
“Here baby, sit on my bike.” He drools, heavy hands planting firm to your bare ass as he lifts you gently, positioning your weary, sex craving frame on the opaque seat of his brand new bike. You abide, trusting him full, devoutly as he tears off the texile of his shirt, exposing his bare chest for you; peppered with flushy patches of rosy pink, impending with need. For release.
“Bring your legs around my waist, sweetheart.” Keanu huffs, grabbing hold of your silken skin as it curls around his waist, and you blush. Despite being with him hundreds of times before, being on display for him, this way, your pussy completely vulnerable and exposed; you still feel your breath hitch when he sees you like this. Once sure that the bike is stable, and won’t collapse when he drills into you, Keanu drinks in the sight of your voluptuous body; stroking his cock in preparation, before gripping his length firm, tapping his shaft to your cunt a couple of times in anticipation.
“I got you, sweetheart, do you trust me?” He asks, holding your body tight in position, and you nod for him, a gentle smile his way. “Are you ready for me, baby?” He probes, lined up with your heated entrance, enhanced by his primitive desire and the weight of his cock resting on your cunt lips. You nod, swallowing tight before taking hold of his biceps for balance, feeling the pads of his callous thumbs sink into your waist. Keanu’s lips kiss you soft, quick, before slowly pushing his entire length into your cushy walls, feeling you tighten around him to the point that it burned, feeling his weight inside your small, fitted entrance.
“Fuck, Y/N,” He snarls gruffly, wasting no time before his needy cock beings pounding your core with an aggressive roll of hips, sweaty palms holding tight to your waist, sure to keep you safe on the limited space of the bike seat. Keanu is fucking you so hard, so well, so rough that you swore you could feel him in your stomach; lewd moans and breathy gasps bouncing off the cold walls of the garage. The raunchy sounds of his thick balls slapping against your pussy echo the walls, and he shivers, throaty growls released as his hands roam the bulk of your breasts, praising the feel.
“Fuck, baby,” He moans, rough and profound. Your walls feel delectably tender, warm, and he loses himself within you, the sounds of your whimpers and cries turning him on tenfold. “Ke, faster, faster,” You yelp, encouraging, feeling your cunt sore to his imperative pace and enticing whispers. “Make me cum, Ke, please make me cum,” You beg, sensitive, feeling him shudder as his thumb moves to circle your clit, toying harsh with the bundle of nerves.
His pace quickens, and he pounds into your body, piercing moans and stifled whimpers only encouraging him before you feel the bubble of ache within you intensify, your orgasm spilling in a tender, excruciating wash over each inch of your body, feeling his member stretch deep, deep inside your pussy as he chases his own nirvana. “Fuck!” You gasp, becoming oversensitive, yet still deliciously full of your boyfriend’s massive cock imploring inside, the baritone moans and breathy heaves of his chests, paired with the way his biceps look delectably toned and bulked as he holds tight to your hips; its all far too gorgeous, and you fall far too deeply within the entirety of him in this moment.
“You gonna cum for me, Ke?” You encourage, soft hand travelling below to massage the fullness of his balls, stimulating a delicate, tender wave of pleasure to his manhood.
“You’re so…so wet,” His breath hitches in his throat, and he slams into you harder, and harder, praises of your name, reciting acclaim for your heavenly pussy sashaying off his love drunk lips before channling a rhythem of fast, profound, hard, almost animalistic thrusts into you, his thick voice warning. “Where do you want it, baby?” In reference to bursting strings of creamy cum that would seep out his cock soon.
“On me.” Dark, lustful, in love, your eyes lock to his, and with a wave of absolute pleasure stinging each of his veins, Keanu’s moans roll deep in his throat as he spills your name, laced with satisfied groans,
His cock pulling out quick, spurting streams of his sticky, glossed white cum all over your bare belly, and you sigh, you moan and lose yourself in the way he looks, a heavy hand firmly wrapped to his relieved erection as he pumps himself, emptying his seed onto your body.
Lowering his head, he sighs, so content, holding your hips as he hovers over you on his bike. “Fuck,” Keanu sighs, breathes rugged as he catches his breath, his forehead connecting against yours as you both relish, floating in a paradise of joint euphoria after your orgasms.
His hair falls, draping, curtaining his eyes, a few tousled strands sticking to his sweaty forehead. Brushing it aside, you kiss his lips soft, brushing your tongue over the sensitive skin before planting your hand to his chest. Neither of you speak, collecting your breaths, smiling goofy grins at each other, thoughts hazed by what just happened.
Quiet, yet thoughtful, Keanu holds you to his chest, arms circled around your frame still positioned on his bike. “You okay babe?” A kiss from his lips to your temple. “Was I too rough?”
“Perfect.” You assure, smoothing your hands over his bulked biceps, sighing content. Below, however, you feel a mixture of your releases coat your thighs; trickles of your mess coating his bike seat. Lip bitten, you connect your eyes to his, concerned. “Shit, Ke, your bike is a little…dirty…” You frown, heart warming to the sound of his generous chuckle, and the weight of his cock still resting heavy on your thigh. Again, as a hundred times before, he’d quenched that satisfying long inside you. Fulfilled you so fucking well, even when you had no idea you’d needed it.
“Well,” He smiles, warm and contagious; a wet kiss to the silky dip of your neck. “At least we broke in the new bike.”
➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴
My taglist will be posted in reblogs, let me know if you want to be added or removed! :)
389 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
gloink
GloInk.
whendidmythoughtsgocrazy
daydreaming
ask-eden
Don't go in the Tall Grass
creativenextraida
I… duh
hollywoodmoviefreedownload
hollywood movies free download