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userlando · 1 year

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sweet like honey — daniel ricciardo

daniel ricciardo x fem!reader [4.1k] summary: spending your honeymoon in southern italy is as best as it can get. warnings: 18+ explicit smut & fluff, semi-public sex, established marriage. a/n: first f1 fic I’ve posted so hope y’all like this!! as always, dedicated to my darling @babyleclerc, whom i love very much. i hope this piece of fluffy smut will lift your spirits <3

You felt disoriented, mind all muddled and slow like you’d taken your brain out and ran it through sludge. The process of waking up from your deep slumber wasn’t painful, per se, but you weren’t too happy with being woken up from one of the best naps you’d ever had.

There was a noise somewhere and it took you another few seconds to register the press of lips across your face, one after the other, quick and brief before they moved to the next patch of skin. The noises you were hearing were the exaggerated lips against flesh, and you scrunched your nose up against the onslaught of kiss attacks on your face; Twisting your head and finally opening your eyes to stare at your attacker.

Daniel’s wide smile was the first thing to fill your vision, a perfect picture of bliss and mischief and you let out a laugh at his ridiculous wake up call when your mind finally caught up to the situation you found yourself in.

“You’re insufferable.” You grumbled, voice thick with sleep and Danny tilted his head to the right, eyes never leaving your face as you huffed out a breath and gazed around the room; A little disoriented.

“And yet, you still married me.” He swiped a few stray hairs from your collarbone, bending his head to place a kiss against the delicate skin. “You’re contradicting yourself, Mrs. Ricciardo.”

You let out a hum, a close-lipped smile sneaking up on your face at the name he’d called you. It was new, just one day old, but it still managed to make your chest clench horribly tight; The feeling so incredibly new but welcome. It was still hard to believe that you’d gotten married, laying in the hotel bed on your honeymoon, nonetheless, with your husband.

It was considerably darker now than it had been when you landed. Having sat through a flight from Perth to Italy and completely messed up your time zones in the process. It wasn’t really a surprise when you went straight to the hotel, falling into bed with one another and…

Your gaze drifted to Daniel’s face, your own face heating up a little at the look he was giving you. Like he knew what you were thinking of, like he was proud of the bruises on your hips and the hickeys on your chest.

A little groan left your lips when you shifted in bed, feeling the ache in every part of your body and you would’ve stretched like a cat if Danny wasn’t laying on top of you. Leave it to the six foot something man to act like he was half your size, curling up in your lap any chance he could get.

“What time s’it?” You asked, bringing your hands up to run through the messy locks of his hair. They were damp, almost wet, and you briefly wondered how long you’d been out for, for him to quietly sneak out of bed and have a shower.

It wasn’t a difficult feat though, you always slept like a rock.

“Fuck if I know.” He squinted in the direction of where his phone was thrown on the table, hauling himself up your body so his face was hovering over yours. “It’s late.”

“Good observation.” You complimented him, with only a hint of sarcasm that he picked up on.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a slow kiss and it instantly ignited something in your body. It was a wonder, how two years together didn’t tamper the sheer insatiable need you felt toward him.

It had been like that from the start, having met him through mutual friends and he hadn’t been subtle in the least, but neither had you. You weren’t immune to his charm, immediately being drawn to his big smile, dark eyes and tall figure. He had a natural boyish charm to him, his humor matching yours that instantly reeled you in. It wasn’t a surprise to any one of your friends when you’d announced that you two were dating, receiving looks that screamed ‘is that supposed to be news?’

From then on, you’d been so drawn to each other that you could barely stay away from him. You couldn’t even say no when he asked for you to join him during race weekends, sticking by him and being his pillar when it was needed.

It had been a little rough when he announced his retirement, but you’d found your feet on the ground together and he slowly found his spark again in other hobbies.

Your stomach gave a low grumble that surely vibrated his and it made his lips smile against yours, teeth clacking gently when you both grinned.

“Oh, angry one, aren’t you?” He glanced down at your tummy and you gave him a slap on the shoulder.

“Not my fault that you’re not feeding me.” You wriggled a little until he got the memo, rolling off of you with a groan. A wistful, playful sigh left your lips. “I don’t even know why I married you.”

You weren’t even looking at him, but you could almost feel his eyes widening as he stared at you in mock belief. A startled squeal left your lips when you felt his arms circle your waist, dragging you back into bed with a force that almost knocked the air out of your lungs.

The sound of your giggles filled the room, and Danny would’ve been a little concerned that it was nearing three in the morning and you’d surely get a complaint, but he couldn’t find it in himself to even care when you were underneath him, dressed in nothing but a shirt and squirming as he tickled you. Your smile was radiant, so contagious that he couldn’t help but laugh along.

He didn’t let up until you were screaming mercy, slapping at his hands weakly until he relented and backed off. You were breathing heavily, inhaling as much air as you could with your eyes fastened on him. There was a weariness and distrust in your eyes that he couldn’t help but laugh at, like you were just waiting on him to resume his tickling any minute.

But he had other plans, dark eyes taking in your stretched out body under him and it wasn’t his fault that you looked so delectable, like something he could sink his teeth into and the urge of it was too great for him to resist inching the hem of your shirt up. Just enough to reveal the softness of your stomach.

You were holding your breath, watching him quietly scoot down and pressing light kisses just beneath your belly button. It was almost sinful, the way he looked as his eyes cast upwards to search your face for any reaction.

“Daniel.” Was all you could get out, overwhelmed by the need that suddenly flared up in your body.

Daniel hadn’t really thought much of his name in his life, but coming from your mouth, in that breathy voice of yours? It was his favorite word.

He kissed up your torso, making little humming noises in his throat that made you smile in secret and bring your hands to his hair. The tension evaporated into thin air when your stomach grumbled under his lips, making you groan as he pulled away with a loud laugh.

Who knew that a grumbling stomach could be such a cockblock?

“Let’s get some food into you, aye?” He pulled your shirt down and grabbed your hand to press a kiss into it. “Do you reckon I could charm them into bringing pizza up to the room at this hour?”

The question was ridiculous in itself, really. If anyone could charm someone into doing anything, it was your husband. He just had that natural ability.

“You can try.” You gave him a smile when he rolled his eyes playfully, getting off the bed to grab the telephone.

You used it as your opportunity to sneak off to the bathroom, shedding your clothes and stepping into the shower for a quick wash. The water was hot, exactly what you needed to wash away the multiple hours spent on an airplane and the shuttle car to get to the Amalfi Coast.

Your thoughts drifted to your wedding, recalling the moments of sheer joy you both had felt from the moment you woke up that morning. Nothing had been as easy to say as I do, because you’d known that Daniel was it for you from the moment you laid eyes on him.

It was cheesy to say or think that shit. Love at first sight, because it wasn’t, was it? It’s more like attraction at first sight than anything else, really. But you’d known it deep in your being.

The shower dragged on for longer than you intended to, stepping tentatively out into the room with your bathrobe tied tightly around your waist. Daniel came rounding the corner from the direction of the door, carrying a tray and looking proud of himself and it made you raise your eyebrows in amusement when he opened the mini fridge and slid a tub of ice cream. You didn’t mention that, surely it’d melt before you had a chance to eat it, because you were so focused on him remembering the small things.

It wasn’t really a surprise. Daniel was attentive and paid attention to the smallest details, but it never failed to make your heart squeeze painfully in adoration when he demonstrated just how intimately he knew you. Like with the ice cream. He knew you loved eating it after pizza and he’d gone out of his way to make sure that you had it on standby.

Daniel pulled the balcony door open, nodding his head for you to follow him outside and you did so, wordlessly.

The air outdoors was just on the brink of being too humid, but it felt nice against your wet skin as you settled into a chair in front of the dark haired man. You glanced out over the railing, where there was nothing but a long stretch of sea. It glimmered beautifully in the moonlight, small waves rippling the water. It was an unreal view, like taken out of a painting, one you couldn’t look away from.

“Do you fancy something stronger than soft drinks?” He asked as he set the food down and plated the sliced cheesy pizza.

“You can choose.” You told him softly, resisting the urge to grab him and hold him close when he pressed a kiss to your forehead before disappearing inside.

You marveled a little at the luck you’d had, meeting Daniel and getting to spend the rest of your life with him. The long journey you’d endured and been through, only to end up in Southern Italy on your honeymoon in your bathrobe and eating pizza on the balcony in the middle of the night.

There was also little concern of how you were supposed to get up in the morning. It was your vacation after all.

“Got you Prosecco.” He placed glasses down on the table, along with the bottle and you reached to pop it open.

Your late night dinner was spent chatting quietly as you ate, drinking one too many glasses of Prosecco and jumping from subject to subject. It was the happiest you’d felt and Daniel could tell.

Not only were you smiling from ear to ear, but you were starting to relax a lot more, looking beautiful where you sat across from him with your back leaned against the chair and legs crossed. He reached a foot out and nudged your calf, making you stop talking and glance at him from under your eyelashes. Coy, playful, flirty. The way you always got after a few drinks. Something flared up in his chest that felt a lot like love and he struggled to keep the smile off his face as he regarded you.

“Are you playing footsie with me, Ricciardo?” You asked, laughter in your voice as you reached an arm out to grab your glass.

“Gotta keep the spark going, don’t I?” His eyebrows jumped, making you laugh and tip the glass back so you could get the last dregs of the wine down your hatch.

He watched you set the glass down, eyebrows relaxing a bit as a contemplative look passed your eyes. It was so subtle that he almost missed it, but he’d known you for long enough to see it with the naked eye.

“You alright?” He asked, voice gentle and a little concerned.

You glanced up, eyes a little wide like you were surprised that he’d caught on to your wandering thoughts. “Oh. Yeah, I was just thinking of the last time we were here.”

The smile overtaking his face was inevitable as he caught up, mind immediately going back to a year ago. It had been right after Imola where the two of you had decided that renting a car and driving seven hours to the southern part of the country was a good idea. It had been a car ride filled with car games, belting out to music and even deep conversations before you arrived at your destination.

You had both spent four days in your hotel room, naked and not emerging from your space even once. Cold showers and room service had been your best friends.

It was also the week where he’d made it his life’s mission to memorise every single part of your body, what made you tick and what made you scream. Those were the days that you replayed in your mind whenever Daniel was away and you were alone in your bedroom.

“Anything specific?” He asked, after a moment's silence, voice dropping an octave.

His whole body felt like it was burning up when you uncrossed your legs, teeth sinking into your lower lip. The epitome of bashful but he knew you better than that.

“Just…” You paused for a small sigh. “Trying to remember some things.”

“Is that so?” He bit back a smile and opted to slip out of his chair, getting on his knees with a suppressed groan. He was getting old and his knees weren’t what they used to be.

Your eyes were big and searching, stuck on him as he settled himself between your legs.

He parted them, not with any real force because they splayed open without needing much encouragement and flicked a finger against the flap of your bathrobe.

“You need any help remembering?” He looked up at you from where was kneeled by your feet, and you’d never seen a prettier view - ocean view be damned.

You couldn’t open your mouth to form any words, settling for a mute nod instead and hoping he would allow that. Daniel’s face spread into a slow smile, gripping one leg in his hand to kiss it. He loved on the meat of your thigh, sucking small bruises into it before giving the other thigh the same treatment, winding you up so tight you thought you were about to snap. Like a rubber band being pulled to its limit.

“Daniel, please.” You pleaded, the want gripping your throat like a pair of hands. “More.”

Your husband didn’t say anything but he complied to your strangled request, dragging his bottom lip up your inner thigh until he was close enough to the apex of your legs to feel the heat against his face. He felt a pang of delight hit him straight in the chest when he pulled your bathrobe to the sides to reveal your center, wet and needy. His other hand reached down to grab himself over his shorts, anything to relieve the pressure building in his groin.

“God, baby, you’re so wet already.” He sounded breathless and the sight of his heavy lidded eyes made you warm all over. “My good girl loves when I bruise her up, hm?”

A whimper escaped you and you brought a hand up to cover your mouth, making Danny grin. His eyes roamed your body and he must’ve seen something that bothered him because his eyebrow ticked on his forehead, reaching forward to tug at the loose tie of your robe. It fell open to reveal your naked body and he made a noise in his throat.

You felt very exposed, holding back from covering yourself up because your balcony had a restricted view when it came to other rooms, and unless someone was having a reckless swim in the middle of the ocean, there was no one around to see you but Daniel himself.

And fuck, was he looking. His eyes didn’t stop flitting, like he wasn’t sure where to settle his eyes because the mere sight of you overwhelmed him. It was kind of astonishing, how even after years together, you managed to take his breath away.

“Stop staring.” You grumbled, a little bashful when he hadn’t said anything in a minute. He let his hands slide up your stomach before they grabbed at your breasts, feeling them in his palms before pinching your nipples until you keened in pleasure.

“That’s it.” He encouraged you as a moan escaped your mouth. “Louder, baby.”

You both were playing with fire because you weren’t exactly a quiet person, and Daniel knew this. But there was mischief written all over his face as he scooted closer, grabbing at your thighs to spread them further before he dove in.

He made a noise in his throat when your legs immediately closed, the feel of his tongue against your clit sending a zip of electricity up your spine. You let out a moan, thighs shaking when he started licking and sucking in earnest, opening his mouth wider to cover every inch of you. His tongue swiped between your folds, finding your hole to lick into and you slumped back against the backrest of the chair, tipping your head back when the feeling got to be too much.

“Taste so good.” Daniel pulled back an inch, swiping his tongue over your pussy once just to see your body lock up. “You look beautiful, baby. Look at me.”

You made a noise that sounded a lot like a whimper, shaking your head. Daniel gripped your thighs tighter, pads of his fingers digging into your flesh and it felt like enough of a warning for you to slump your head forward, settling your eyes on him., albeit a little hazily.

Daniel looked absolutely wrecked. There wasn’t a better word for it. His eyes were dark, mouth pink and rubbed raw, and fuck, your slick was glistening on his skin. You ran a hand through his curls, fighting to catch your breath that had been stolen from you, watching him push his head into your hand.

You knew what that small gesture meant, and you complied at the silent request in his eyes by pushing at his head to bring him back to where you were throbbing.

It was unholy, the way he sucked and licked, laving your skin with his tongue like it was an ice cream cone. His eyes were shut, lost in the feeling of your thighs hugging his head and the smell and taste of you surrounding him. Daniel couldn’t get enough, wondering exactly how many orgasms he could pull from you before the reception called up to tell you to keep it down.

The way your thighs started to shake was a clear indicator that you were nearing your end and he kept at it with the same pace as he heard your breathing pick up, his one hand reaching into his shorts and underwear to grip himself. It wouldn’t take much for him to join you, already feeling worked up from just tasting you on his tongue.

“Oh, oh fuck, Danny.” You swore and Daniel would’ve smiled at the way you seemed completely lost in your own pleasure, your little breathy moans climbing in octaves that surely echoed.

It didn’t deter him though, moaning and humming and it was the vibrations of his mouth that finally flung you over the edge you’d been teetering so nicely. You threw caution to the wind, screaming out your climax as your body locked up; Back bowing and hands grabbing at Daniel’s hair to keep him in place. The sting of his hair being pulled made him reach his end, a violent shudder going through his body as he shot his load into his shorts, undoubtedly messing them up but he couldn’t find it in himself to care; Eyes rolling and body jerking.

Daniel realized his jaw was aching when his senses slowly came back, but he stayed until your moans turned into soft whimpers, body relaxing and thighs falling off his shoulders. His eyes traveled up your body where it was displayed for him, a slight sheen of sweat on your skin that made you look otherworldly. He looked his fill, love filling his stomach like lead.

“You with me?” He asked, voice rough.

You let out a hum, a small mmm that made him laugh. It was good enough for him, and he groaned as he hauled himself up on shaky legs. Fuck, he felt like Bambi on ice and the situation in his shorts was wildly uncomfortable now that the deed was done.

He bent at the knees and closed your robe, tying it into a nice little bow and you picked your head up from where it had been hanging off the edge of the backrest; Eyes having been gazing at the sky.

You blinked at him, eyes still a little hazy but way more clearer than they’d been a moment ago, and Daniel grinned at your facial expression.

“You look beautiful.” He said, and your face transformed into a smile. Fuck, you looked as happy as he felt. “Now, I’ve already had my dessert, but we can go for some ice cream, right?”

You let out a breath of laughter, hand slapping lazily at his arm when he walked past you to get inside the room.

His singing voice drifted out onto the balcony, and you smiled fondly as you pulled your hair back from your face, grabbing the half-full bottle of Prosecco and switching seats to sit in the lounge couch with the padded seats instead.

You took a swig of the wine, letting out a small moan when it soothed your parched throat. He’d truly worked you up.

The man in question walked out a few seconds later, carrying the tub of ice cream and clad in a different pair of shorts. He’d switched his previous white t-shirt to a tank top, and you didn’t even try to hide your stare as you took in the broadness of his shoulders and the bulge of his arms.

Your man was truly a marvel.

“Up, up.” He prompted you and you scrambled up, letting him sit down and place the ice cream to the side.

Daniel blinked up at you, patting his thigh and you smiled as you sat back down, both legs on one side of his thighs and feet resting on the unoccupied space of the couch. You stretched your arm out to pick the tub up, laughing at the half-melted mess from being in a fridge rather than a freezer.

“I guess we took too long.” Danny laughed, winding an arm around you to steady your body and keep you from tipping over. “Come on then, let me have the first bite.”

You made a little noise, spoon slicing through the lukewarm ice cream and eating it. Daniel gasped in mock betrayal.

“S’mine.” You mumbled through a mouthful, skin by your eyes crinkling up when you smiled.

Daniel resisted the urge to swipe a thumb over it, having always found it horribly endearing how you’d smile with your whole face. He knew you were well and truly happy when the smile reached your eyes, just like it did now.

“What’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is mine.” He said, opening his mouth comically big when you brought the spoon to his lips; Letting you feed him.

You laughed and waved the oval metal in his face.

“That’s not how the saying goes, baby.” You said and Daniel squinted his eyes in mock confusion, smile wide on his lips.

“No?” He laughed when you did, watching you feed yourself a mouthful of vanilla goods. “I could’ve sworn that’s how it went.”

“Fuck off.” You giggled with a shake of your head.

The banter went on for a while, sharing bites of ice cream in blissful silence and sneaking small and intimate kisses. The sun was starting to climb as the time went on, exchanging the moon and stars for the oranges and pinks.

Daniel looked ethereal where he was half snoozing beneath you, eyes blinking to keep them open and you swiped a strand of hair from his forehead; Leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to the skin there.

If this was marital bliss, then you’d die a happy woman.

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waklman · 1 year

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i seriously need to read bradley and mouse asap!!!! but i’m currently thinking of the chaos that is jake and princess baking. do they even bake? i feel like they wouldn’t have time but occasionally one of them would whip out one of mama seresin’s recipies on a special occasion and make something. i have so many conflicting thoughts of how good of a cook any of the members of the dagger squad are so i’m wondering what your thoughts are on that. anyways, i love you and good luck on your exams, you’re going to ace them!!!! and take your time with the requests <3

prompt: the disasters of jake and princess baking.

warnings: none, fluff, a little steamy kiss (?) i dont know how it took a turn okay, jake being a pest as usual, 18+ blog, minors dni.

side note: honestly i feel like everyone would be a great cook, maybe with the exception of jake he’d probably swear up and down that he’s the best but everyone spits out his food once they try it (sorry jake). and thank you drewbear!! i will be studying my ass off but it will be worth it i hope..!

fake it masterlist

“You better stay right there,” you pause your stirring, letting the whisk rest against the bowl, eyes lifting to where you commanded Jake to stand.

Behind the kitchen counter, Jake’s toes wriggle in his socks, battling the urge to disobey your warning. Dusted across the planes of his shoulders is the baking powder you were trying to use for his mom’s special oatmeal cookie recipe. And on his tongue rests a chunk of raw dough he scooped into his mouth without your permission.

Baking with Jake being present was clearly a mistake, and the only way to correct that was to put him on time out.

“I can’t breath when I’m away from you,” he whines, complaint muffled by the wad of cookie dough in his mouth.

“Okay,” you start, voice as sweet as the mixture you’re beginning to stir again. Jake’s already moving out of his spot, pleased that you’ve decided to forgive him. But then, your tone turns ice cold, “Looks like you’re dying then,” you answer flatly, reverting your attention back to the mixing bowl, as if you didn’t just shoot him down.

At that, Jake retreats back to his original stance with slouched shoulders this time. You’re keeping him on time out.

Though, this isn't exactly his first instance of being put under the spotlight of punishment.

The last time Jake found himself in this much trouble was eight years ago—when he had the grand idea to shove you in the pool. Back then, it was an excuse to get some mouth-on-mouth action with his best friend, because how else would he be able to figure out, if he had a crush on you or not? After letting you drown for a little bit, Jake planned to play life guard. He’d pull you out, lay you flat against the towel he had set up, and plant his lips on yours—to resuscitate you, of course.

But what twelve year old Jake didn’t account for in his poorly laid out scheme, was his mother. Mrs. Seresin had been one foot out the door, plate of freshly cut fruit in hand when she witnessed her son kick you into the deep end, evil grin stretched across his tiny face. Instead of Jake coming to your rescue that afternoon, Evelyn Seresin did. With the platter of neatly decorated fruit dropped to the ground, and her mama-bear instincts cranked to an all time high—she fished you out of the water and wiped away your panicked tears.

Not a second after, Jake got dragged by the ear towards the time out zone, designated just for him.

He was forced to stand off in the corner of the backyard that day, pruned fingers scrunching the bottom of his swim shorts in guilt and waterlogged blond hair sticking to his forehead as the sun began to dry him off.

When he finally lifted his teary eyes up to you, your little fingers were already curled into the shape of a heart, directed right at him. It was a silent assurance that you still loved him, even when he nearly killed you. The very second you caught the pout tugging down his bottom lip, you had forgiven him. That quality about you, was the only reason why Jake had any kind of long-term friendship.

But your patience for him seems to have dialed down over the last eight years—because Jake got thrown into time out again, not by his mother, but by you this time.

Unable to stay still for more than a few minutes, Jake silently stalks over to you. You currently have your back turned from just setting the sheet of cookies into the oven.

“There we g—Jacob! P-Put me down!” In one move, Jake has you flipped around and thrown over his shoulder like a sack of rice. Despite the initial protest, you’re draped limply over his back, surrendering to him entirely.

Coming to a halt in front of the sofa, Jake lazily throws you into the cushions and crawls on top of you. It’s a routine at this point—where Jake’s chin sits over your belly button, large hands slipped under your shirt to rest on your waist, and thumbs sweeping over the goosebumps there. The way your body reacts to him gives him a bit of reassurance, but sometimes—he needs more.

“Would you actually let me die,” he pouts, looking up at you with furrowed brows.

You stiffly blink at him, reminded of the day he drowned you—on purpose. It would be mean to bring it back up when you’ve previously forgiven him, but this is revenge for him messing with you in the kitchen.

“It’s only fair—you almost let me die once,” you put forth, a serious expression dawning on your features. Though, it’s merely an act, because internally—you’re waging a war against yourself, wanting to give into him already.

The furrow of his brows deepen. Jake grips your waist tighter in remorse. “I was tryna’ get it on with you!”

“So you decided to drown me?”

He’s now reminded of how cruel his plan was.

Jake’s face falls flat against your stomach, nose prodding into your flesh. “...Yes,” he mumbles against you. With Jake unable to see you, the tight look you’re wearing dissipates. You silently let out a breath you were holding, dropping the angry act you put up.

Jake continues to sulk, nuzzling his nose against you, resisting the urge to kiss your tummy. Hardly two seconds go by, before the sight of him writhing in his guilt breaks you.

“Jake. I–I think I’m drowning,” you whisper nervously, heart starting to race at your own statement.

Jake stiffens.

Slowly, he lifts his head to rest his chin back onto your stomach. Jake then swallows thickly, wide-eyed as he meets your stare. “...And you need savin’?”

Your hesitation lingers for a grueling moment before you finally nod, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“…Yeah, I think I do.”

Jake jumps into action, seizing the moment his twelve year old self would’ve let you die over. Not expecting his quick reaction, a yelp escapes you as he pulls you down to face him.

His mouth is latched onto yours in an instant.

Jake allows you to set the pace at first, it’s slow, shy, intimate—just as you are. But once he feels your fingers wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him down against your front with a small noise leaving your mouth—Jake is overtaken by a hunger to hear it again.

Your skin runs hot against him now, burning against the couch, burning against his digits under your shirt. With an expert tilt of his head, Jake kisses you deeper—rougher, expelling all the air from your lungs. And it certainly doesn’t help when his warm tongue darts into your mouth, teasingly swirling against your own wet muscle—all while his calloused palms explore further up the oversized tee. The combination was enough to make your head spin, despite laying steady against the cushions.

If he were to stretch his hands any higher, his finger tips would hit the band of your bra. And god, you don’t know if you could handle that.

It's unconscious but you shiver under him, and Jake’s unable to fight the smile making its way onto his face. He slows the movement of his lips against yours, retracting his tongue—despite your weak efforts to get him to return back to his bruising pace, with a pinch of his nape.

His previous need to see you unravel under him is dropped, replaced by a stronger desire to crack a joke instead. Jake pulls back chuckling, hands lowering to your waist again, pinning you down as you try to chase his lips.

Underneath him, you’re flushed with embarrassment, blinking at him like a deer in headlights.

The tongue—that was previously shoved into your mouth is being traced over his bottom lip, in amusement.

“Woulda tried drowning you again, if I knew you were gonna react that way.”

As you open your mouth to scold him, it snaps shut again.

A silence passes through, while you reconsider your reply.

Finally, you shrug underneath him—deciding to supply a more truthful response instead, “I…yeah, I wouldn’t mind.”

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benrunschicago · 2 years

Text

236 Days until Chicago

So much to cover, where to begin!

I became disconsolate when I saw my weight wasn’t budging and I felt big and heavy. There are two months until the next Army unit weigh-in, so I threw nearly everything out the door and said: I got to switch gears. The scale is stubbornly stuck on 91 kilos. In my mind I keep thinking: 15 seconds less per 5 pounds lost, if I lose 40 pounds that would be two minutes per mile, I’d be doing 10 minutes per mile as my easy Zone two pace.

I’ve done some things that should pay off in the long term: I cut out peanut butter, I cut out chocolate, and I eat a big fruit salad everyday with a dozen different types of fruit, nuts, seeds, bee pollen, yogurt, and honey.

But I’m not sure this will cut it. I think I ruined my metabolism by starving myself for previous Army weigh-in’s—sometimes eating a very small handful of real meals over the course of a month—and I think now the solution to fix that is maybe to rebuild my body and change my body composition.

So I spent last week 1) more body-weight exercises 2 do the Bigger Leaner Stronger plan, which is focused on the Big 3 moves: barbell squats, bench press, and dead lifts. Then 3) I wrote out my Army two-mile run program into a ten page infosheet.

As part of that I started doing it. I said, hey, sure, I certainly have built up an aerobic base this past month. I can start doing tempo runs for 10-20 minutes and get a good score in two months when we do the Army Combat Fitness Test.

The basic gist is you run close to your target speed for half a mile, while feeling like you are running “comfortably hard”. From there each time you can you try to add a quarter mile at the same speed. Once you achieve the two mile distance, you increase the speed slowly over time to the target speed. Then there, you once again continue to add more miles until you’re going at least twice as far as you need to. This link to the PDF here shows the whole plan.

I did this, and already it’s been a big boon for me:

My first day I chose 8.5 mph, or 7:04 pace. I did it for half a mile, and a half of a mile felt like a big stretch, but still relatively reasonable, a.k.a. comfortably hard. Mind you, my month and a half of base building I always ran 12:30 or 13:00 min/mile

Two days off

2nd day: hit my C goal, which is always to do as good as I did the previous time, then hit my B goal, which was to hit 0.75 miles at that speed. Next time, I said, I think I can hit 1 mile.

Two days off, plus one run of 7 miles in the park at easy pace.

3rd hard day (today): hit my C and B goals, which I felt confident doing and knew that I would be able to as soon as I hit the half mile mark and felt strong and fresh still. A goal is to go a little farther than I had planned. B goal : 1 mile, so A goal was 1.25. And I hit that and felt good. I even sped up the treadmill two clicks to 8.7 mph for the last quarter mile.

When I did the 7 mile run in the park, I surprised myself by being able to run leisurely and my mile times were dipping below 12:00. I guess speed is paying off already!

If I can truly change my body composition, then these speeds will be even easier to maintain. I looked at my wife and told her how the speed I ran today is the one I hope to run in seven and a half months! But for 25 miles longer.

What else is new?

I did so much toe yoga that I came close to getting a condition, so I backed off. This is related to how I had foot surgery and now that little toe feels useless.

Also I’m very excited to se me that the other big gym here has a few manual treadmills, which are perfect for learning how to run with good form!

0 notes

phantomrose96 · 3 years

Text

Joyrider

(Welcome to another warm-up writing piece. cw for mild body horror)

...

The mall food court doubled rather nicely as a battle-dome.

It fit the bill: a flat and circular arena, crowned two-stories up by a hemisphere of glass windows which lapsed iridescent in the maelstrom of ecto-fire.

Spectator chairs sat empty, hastily shoved back and knocked over by the Amity Park mall patrons who knew to leg it at the first sound of explosions and the first sign of the atmosphere tipping dark. Admittedly, the patron evacuation took longer than Danny anticipated, and he backed himself into a corner playing defense for the 50 some-odd people who, worn-out on the every-day mundanity of ghost alarms, took their time gathering belongings, or shutting off burners, or working in a few last bites of a burger.

So with the crowd gone and the stage their own, Danny found himself pressed back against a vat of french fry oil, hands braced against the handle of a broom he held out horizontally, which the ghost gripped with equal measure and shoved her full weight against.

“Oh, why not take a little dip, Ghost Boy? I hear the water’s nice.”

“No thanks,” Danny answered, shoving harder. “I never was much of a hot tub guy. You on the other hand—”

Danny set a foot forward and pivoted, body fueling the torque as he spun the broom, and tore the ghost with him, a pirouette to swap their spots and jam the ghost back-pressed to the fryer.

“—you seem like you’d like it hot.”

The ghost barked a laugh, jaw stretching lower and loose than Danny was comfortable with.

“Ha! You sure? Not very heroic of you to deep fry this girl I’m possessing.”

Danny faltered. His grip slipped. His blood chilled to ice as the information clicked in place – as he recognized the sensation of a ghost talking through someone. This wasn’t the ghost’s own form. This was some girl. How had he not felt—

A blast took him by the ribs. Danny doubled over, immediately kicked back. A foot found contact with his face, driving him down, until the girl’s wet and slippery fingers pinned him down by the wrists.

Danny strained. He could pivot his wrist a fraction of an inch left or right, but he could not break the hold.

“Get off me!”

And a voice answered from behind him.

“I can help with that.”

Danny craned his neck. Upside down, vantage point from the floor, he registered Sam’s combat boots slam into focus. She bent to one knee, a bazooka locked on the other. It charged, whined, and erupted with an explosion of green light.

The ghost shrieked. It took only an instant of resistance before the ghost tore cleanly from the girl possessed.

“Now if you don’t mind me—” Tucker, by the voice. Danny heard the whine of a Fenton Thermos heating up. “—I’d officially like to change my order from fries to soup.”

The beam burst forth, and the writhing, shrieking, yelping form of the exorcised ghost clawed and scratched in Danny’s direction before the thermos consumed her in full.

“Really? ‘Fries to soup’? Even Danny can do better than that.”

“Hey,” Danny answered.

“I was thinking on my feet, Sam. I didn’t hear any witty quips from you.”

The conversation fell away from Danny’s focus as the full human weight of the possessed girl dropped down on him. Gently, Danny gripped her by the shoulder, lifting her as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

“Your parents’ anti-possession gear is getting good. I don’t think I’ve seen an exorcism work that quickly.” Sam’s voice, now at his side. Danny glanced over, finding her kneeling beside him. “Is she hurt?”

Danny gave the girl a once-over. She was pale, cold, lips seeping blue. A mottled, blackish bruise spread across her temple, partially hidden beneath loose red bangs.

“I don’t… totally know. I didn’t land any hits on her, thankfully. But who knows what that ghost might have done. We should call an ambulance.”

“On it,” Tucker, from behind.

“Do you… do you think the bazooka might have hurt her?” Sam asked.

Danny shook his head. “Mom and Dad have blasted each other with that thing a hundred times. Dad got himself possessed by the box ghost for a trial run. It doesn’t hurt people. …Maybe she just needs a minute.”

“Lay her down, maybe?”

“Good idea.”

Danny eased forward, careful in his movements. Something about his grip slipped, sliding loose and rolling forward, and she fell unceremoniously from his arms, shoulder knocking ground as she lay there partially turned on her side.

“Danny!”

“Sorry! I didn’t—something slipped!”

“Well don’t leave her like—” Sam gripped a hand to the girl’s shoulder, weight behind her wrist to roll the girl fully onto her back. Sam’s hand froze, and then yanked away.

“What?” Danny asked.

“That didn’t feel right.” Sam only stared down, her hand hovering, twitching in increments. “Way too cold… and loose.”

“Loose?”

“Danny, look at her hands. What’s wrong with her hands?”

Danny looked. The skin stretched and wrapped the bones of her fingers as if rotated partway around. Her fingernails sat off-center, twisted around and bunched up like a glove. Sam’s hand came back into view, and she clamped it to the girl’s wrist.

“It’s like jelly. Danny it’s like jelly. Why is she this cold? Danny, I don’t think she’s—”

Something new caught Danny’s eye, a purple discoloration peeking out from the bottom ruffles of the girl’s shirt. His hands seemed to move on their own as he reached down, and pinched the bottom of her shirt, and pulled it back.

Black bruising consumed her torso, caving deep and bloating, pruning around the trails of heavy stitching that ran along the tracks of surgical cuts carving through her abdomen.

Danny yanked his hand away as if burned.

“Danny, she’s not breathing.”

The rest of Danny’s thoughts drowned in the swelling wail of the approaching ambulance siren.

…

Outside the Fenton Portal, green lighting doused the only part of Danny’s form not hidden in shadow, and danced with the fire of his glowing green eyes. Danny uncapped the thermos in his hand, and he trailed his thumb along the eject switch.

A new consuming green light belted forth, lasting only a moment until it vanished with a twin-braided ghost in its wake. The ghost blinked, smoothing over her hair and pulling the ends of her braids over her shoulders.

“Oh, it’s the Ghost Boy again. I thought you’d just throw me back in the Ghost Zone. Are you interested in a round 2?”

“No, not interested,” Danny answered, tone colder than ice.

“Yeesh, you’re quite sour. No more puns?”

“Why were you possessing that girl?”

“Hmm?”

“Why were you possessing her?”

The ghost blinked, green portal light mixing murkily with her purple eyes. “No particular reason. It was just a joyride.”

“A joyr—she was dead.”

Another blink. “Yeah I know. She was sitting in the morgue. She was in like a car crash or something and they already took all her organs. They didn’t need her. And I was gonna give her back, but you had to go and make it a whole thing.” The girl swooped forward, eyes wide and roving over Danny. “You seem mad. Wanna call a truce?” She stuck a hand forward. “I’m Melissa, by the way.”

Danny jolted, eyes flashing brighter. “No, you’re not. That girl was Melissa.”

“Oh for real?” Melissa let out a chuckle. “Crazy coincidence. I like don’t even know that many Melissas. Anyway truce?”

“No.” Danny ran his fingers through his hair. “You were possessing the body of a dead girl and you made me fight her! Don’t you see how that’s—that’s so—how fucked up—that you’d even—”

“Well I mean, I didn’t make you fight me. You made that happen. I was minding my business.”

“Doing what?”

“Shopping. Why else would I take a body for a joyride? I stole some cute clothes to wear. Stole some food to eat. Oh! That outfit I was wearing when we were fighting? Yeah I picked that out. She was in like a hospital gown when I found her. Super cute improvement right?”

An ectoblast sounded and connected with the wall behind Melissa, missing her a foot to the right. Danny’s hand glowed, and his eyes focused with a razor sharpness.

“Stop talking like that, okay? It’s pissing me off. I need you to tell me you know this was fucked up.”

Melissa put a finger to her chin. “I mean I guess stealing is kinda wrong. They were all like, big box corporate stores don’t worry.”

“The. Dead. Body.”

And Melissa fell silent a moment, violet eyes probing deep into Danny’s before widening. “Oh. Oh you’re like for-real mad about that. Like actually. I thought you were like, making an ironic joke.”

“Why the hell would I be joking about this??”

Melissa cocked her head to the side. “Well because you’re doing it too, duh. Like, duh.”

A huff of air cut against Danny’s teeth, an involuntary noise, incredulous, a guffaw he didn’t consciously make. The jelly sensation of decomposing flesh was back under his fingers. “I am not—would never—I’ve never even seen a dead body before this thing with you and I’d never in a million years even think for even a fucking second that I’d want to possess a dead body. What’s wrong with you?!”

Melissa bobbed a little in the air, ends of her braids trailing over the straps of her ephemeral sundress. “See this is why I really can’t tell if you’re joking or not. What are you talking about? You’re doing it right now.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “The black-haired boy whose corpse you’re possessing. Why are you allowed to do it?”

Danny froze. He laughed, heavy, with an uncomfortable force. “Myself, you mean? I’m not possessing myself. I am myself. I’m a half-ghost.”

Melissa met his laugh. “Oh what? No way like, that’s your own corpse? How’d you even get back to it in time? That’s crazy lucky like you must have died right near a portal or something.”

An involuntary shiver traced down Danny’s spine.

“…I’m not dead.” His eyes shifted around, and Danny dropped to the floor. He set a hand against the wall, throwing on the lights to the Fenton basement. Rings swept around his form, green iridescent eyes sweeping blue, white hair seeping black. “Look. Literally look at me. I’m not dead.”

And Melissa swooped closer. She set a finger to her bottom lip and hovered a foot in front of Danny, drinking him in. She swept to the side, like a swimmer in the water, sweeping around him in a full arc. She edged closer and pinched her fingers against the exposed skin on Danny’s arm. He flinched.

“Oh wow there’s like, not even any decay or anything. Your human brain even feels like it’s working it’s all like, electro-magnety. How long were you dead before you got back to your body?”

“I didn’t die.”

“Then what did happen?”

“I got shocked by the Fenton Portal, okay? It was just a lab accident and it gave me powers.”

“Oh. Oh.” Melissa’s eyes shot wide. “Oh you didn’t die near a portal… You died in a portal. You didn’t even have to get back to find your body at all. You must have appeared like practically on top of your own body. That’s crazy lucky. That’s so lucky. Your body was like, probably only dead a microsecond before you hopped back in. No wonder it’s so well-preserved.”

Danny swatted her away. “You’re not listening to me.”

“You’re not listening to me.” Melissa floated backwards. “What do you think is more likely? A bajillion ecto-volts somehow gave you superpowers that exactly mirror everything a regular dead ghost can do? …Or you died, and became a regular old ghost, and did what any regular old ghost can do, which is possess a freshly-dead dead body?”

“…I’m half-ghost,” Danny answered, human heart pounding in his chest. “I know what I am.”

Melissa bobbed back, feet pointed backwards until the soles of her feet skimmed the matrix of the portal. “I see you’ve made up your mind. That’s alright. But it was still pretty mean of you to accuse me like a big hypocrite like that.”

“I’ll destroy you if you ever try that again.”

“Oh I’ll try asking permission next time okay? Promise.” Melissa’s feet sank into the surface of the portal. “But, before I go, I’ve just got one more question to leave you with.”

“Go.”

“Why should a lethal accident do anything other than kill you?”

“Go.”

“Maybe you’ll have an answer for me next time I see you. Byeee!”

A spark of white erupted from the portal, consuming, absorbing, and fizzling out as Melissa’s form vanished into the ether beyond.

…

“Hey! Yo! Danny, come check this out!”

Danny rounded the stairs, unsocked feet creaking the floorboards with each step. Danny yawned, and blinked, and rubbed at his bruised eyes with the sleeve of his pajama top.

“Still asleep? That’s fine! You don’t have to do anything. Just come over here and look at what your old pop’s been up to.”

Danny entered the living room, where Jack sat hunched on the couch surrounded by an arsenal of power tools, rags, oil, soldering equipment, and scrap metal. From beside him he hefted a bazooka into view.

“This is the Fentonzooka 3.2.17. Amped up and equipped with all the latest in ghost-busting and human-saving technology.”

Danny blinked. “3.2.17?”

“Yep. This baby’s got 17 bug patches, tweaks, and internal improvements since the 3.2.0. The 3.2.0 was the advent of the snack compartment in the side. Look!” Jack spun a dial, revealing a chamber half-filled with pistachios.

Danny only stared.

Jack hefted the bazooka onto his shoulder. “Even better, Mads and I finally got rid of the last little sting humans feel when it’s fired. It’s now completely 100% harmless to humans. It feels like the breeze from a standing fan when it hits ya.” Jack turned, and he aimed the barrel at Danny. “Wanna try it out?”

Danny stood, and Danny stared, and Danny said nothing.

What might happen when it hit him?

Would it hit like the gentle breeze of a fan? Wash over him like air conditioning? Tingle cool and pleasant against his human fingers, human face, human skin?

Would it do something else?

Why should a lethal accident do anything other than kill you?

Jack eased the bazooka a bit off center, pulling his eyes away from the sight. He stared directly at Danny. “Danny?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to try it out?”

Danny stood.

Danny stared.

Danny wondered if he’d have an answer for Melissa the next time he saw her.

#danny phantom #dp #dp fanfiction #long post #this idea is actually from uhhhhhh probably like 2 years ago #back when i was still in the midst of not being able to write anything so #stuck this idea in the microwave for this warm up fic

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blessedlance · 4 years

Text

pretty baby.

[r18+]

[wc:] 4k

[cw:] sub!atsumu, softdom!reader, femdom, oral (f. receiving), riding, pegging, mommy kink, puppy kink, minor dacryphilia, collar-play, restraints

! haikyuu manga timeskip spoilers. atsumu is 24. !

a/n: oh my god i haven’t written for leisure in literally 10 years i hope this is bearable LOL. @luvsicksubs wrote a lil tidbit about sub!atsumu a while ago and i have not known peace ever since so big thank you to ari for the inspo! pls enjoi :9

Atsumu’s been gone lately. A lot.

Too much.

You know it’s not his fault. The Jackals' practices have been brutal lately. So when Atsumu does eventually trudge his way back to your shared apartment every evening, he can only muster up enough energy to shower and collapse into bed. You’ve had to wake him more than once, chiding him to get up and at least dry his hair before bed.

“You can’t afford to get yourself sick by sleeping with wet hair, ‘Tsumu.” You’d whisper, shaking him gently awake. Usually he’d just groan in response and bury himself further against your body heat beneath the comforter--unwilling to give up even a second of precious, blissful sleep. You’d even gone so far as to physically pull his heavy, six foot athlete’s body out of the bed and into the bathroom to dry it for him once or twice.

It’s for his health, you reason. You can afford to pamper him a little--especially when he’s been working so hard. And the way his body slumps while he sits, his features softening--long eyelashes kissing the tops of his cheeks as he dozes off into half-sleep at the feel of your fingers tussling his hair with the gentle heat of the blow dryer… He becomes so soft in those moments, like putty in your hands.

It’s dangerous, because it makes you crave the sight of him like this--fragile and reliant on the comfort of your touch--even more.

You sigh. Reminding yourself again, for seemingly the millionth time since this excessive practicing for the championships started,

‘It’s not his fault.’

He’s been good. So, so good. Trying so hard to make sure you know he loves you and he’s sorry. Texting you to check in whenever he has the chance.

> how are you today?

> how’s work going??

> what’s for lunch??? ლ(≧ڡ≦ლ)

Sometimes sending videos of himself and Hinata hashing out new plays (only the ones they’ve mastered, though. You may be intimately familiar with every embarrassing piece of him, but he still wants to try to look cool in front of his girlfriend.)

And it helps. It really does. But you also know the texts are just as much for his own sake as they are for yours. You know how needy Atsumu gets when you two are apart.

You remember the time he’d called you from his hotel room after an away game in Tokyo. How he whined into the phone at the sound of your voice when you whispered.

“Touch yourself for me.”

The way a soft cry escaped him at your command--your name leaving his lips with a breath.

You want to feel him like that again. To see him beneath you, squirming and desperate--begging for you to just touch him, just sit on his face, his cock, anything you want just please--

You abruptly stop your line of thinking--not daring to continue dwelling on this recurring fantasy. Atsumu doesn’t deserve the punishment you crave to dole out on him to relieve this frustration.

… But he might want it.

Championships are tomorrow. Just 24 hours stand between you and the feeling of Atsumu Miya’s taut muscles beneath your fingertips.

You take a breath, summoning the remnants of your willpower.

You could do this. You would make certain that the wait would be worth it.

For both of you.

---

The Black Jackals win their first match because of course they do. Honestly, sometimes you feel a bit bad for the opposing teams. Their skill, their teamwork, their passion, their absolute willpower to win is stifling. Atsumu texts you that they’re going out for celebratory dinner and drinks. Bokuto’s idea. (Obviously). He promises he’ll be home as soon as he can. They’ve all got tomorrow morning off, and a whole day before the next round of matches. Some indulgence is well-deserved.

You type out your reply.

> Take your time and enjoy yourself! You’ve earned it. 💕

Knowing you’ve got at least two hours or more before the boys’ exhaustion ushers them all home, you decide to spend some time... preparing.

You’re reclined on the couch, watching something you can comfortably give your half-assed attention to while scrolling on your phone. You hear the front door unlocking, the handle turning, and your heart leaps into your throat. The thought of finally, finally having Astumu all to yourself makes you absolutely giddy.

You turn expectantly, and can’t help the way your lips curl upward into a smile.

Atsumu pushes the door open and turns toward you, already smiling when he opens his mouth.

“Hey.” You murmur.

“Hey.” He breathes back, and you watch the way his features relax at the sight of you. The way the confident, assiduous Atsumu Miya--a man who wakes up every single day and strives for perfection in everything and every one---melts into something softer.

Something that’s silently begging for you to tear him apart and piece him back together again.

He slips off his shoes, drops his gym bag to the floor, and brings his long, heavy body to lay over yours on the couch.

His face--tinted pink (presumably from the drinks)--buries itself against your neck, lips pressed to your skin.

Your fingers assume their familiar position, nestled in the blonde locks atop his head.

“Missed you…” You say lowly against his ear.

The small shiver that runs down his spine does not escape your notice.

“I’ve been here every night!” He protests.

“You know what I mean.” Your fingers press against his head, tugging on the strands the slightest bit.

“Mmm…” He affirms softly--your skin keenly feeling the gentle hum against its surface. He knows what you mean. He’s been here, yes, but it’s felt more like the ghost of him--wisping into your bed for a few hours and gone again in the morning.

“You were really in the zone today.” You comment. “I felt bad for the other team.”

He huffs out a small laugh. “Don’t. They played fine. We were just better.”

“Hmm…” You take your unoccupied hand and run a single finger up the curve of his spine.

He exhales, and you listen for the tremble in his breath you know will be there.

Just a little more.

“Either way, you were so good.” You can’t contain the coy lilt your voice takes on. You know damn well what you’re doing--using the very words that always make him quiver. He knows what you’re doing, too.

Atsumu thinks he doesn’t mind.

It’s quiet for a beat. The two of you simply basking in the warmth of your bodies pressed against each other. You stretch beneath him, and… readjust yourself in a way that presses your breasts against him just a little bit more...

And Atsumu finally, finally breaks.

He inhales sharply, and lets the subsequent exhale freely pass against your neck. A muffled word that sounds a lot like a plea leaves his throat.

“What was that?” You ask, purposely grazing your lips against his reddening ear.

“Please…” He begs.

You consider being mean for a moment. Consider pushing him to his limit in desperation. The way those sharp brown eyes would turn glassy and tearful, his dark brows pulled together, pleading you to hurry up and take him--touch him--let him touch you--fucking anything. However you want, wherever you want. Make him vocalize that burning desire, and only concede when he well and truly begs.

But that can always be arranged another time.

You’re far too heady with desire yourself to enact such cruelty on him right now. Not after he’s been so good.

You shift your weight, moving to switch your positions by sitting up and pressing him beneath you. Your straddle his hips, purposely pressing your weight down against his pelvis ever-so-slightly.

“You’ve been working so hard, ‘Tsumu…” You murmur, lowering the top half of your body to lean over his. Hands sliding under the hem of his shirt, running up along the taut muscles that tremble at your touch. “Such a good boy…”

Atsumu’s bites his lip in an effort to stifle the deep moan that leaves his chest. The way his body almost involuntarily reacts to that phrase every. single. time… It’s just too good to pass up.

You wet your lips.

“Let me make you feel good.”

And you press those lips ever-so-softly to the juncture between his jaw and neck. Soft touch turning to a light bite, and then back to a soothing kiss.

Atsumu is crumbling--his hardening length pressing insistently against you.

“I got everything ready. We can use whatever you want: rope,” and you press a slow open-mouth kiss to his neck,

“your collar,” then one to his collarbone,

“a toy,” traveling down to his pecs,

“the strap…” ending just beneath his belly button.

You look up at him from beneath your lashes, watching keenly for his expression to shift in interest at any certain one.

Atsumu doesn’t give an immediate answer, his gaze unable to meet your own. Your hands trail back down his body, grazing a nipple with your fingernail just to see the way he twitches at the sensation.

“C’mon baby, how am I supposed to treat my good boy if he doesn’t tell me what he wants?” You purr, bringing your hands to the hem of the worn, oversized t-shirt covering your top half down to the juncture of your thighs. You’d snatched it from his dresser earlier to lounge in. Another carefully plotted detail. You knew just how riled up he got at the sight of you wearing his shirts. Even more so if he lifted it only to find those black and gold lacy panties underneath… Or if there was nothing…

Stretching your body, you pull the shirt up and off of your torso, tossing it aimlessly behind you. Atsumu’s gaze immediately returns to you--spotting that very set’s match: a black bra with intricate gold stitching around the lace adorning your skin. His hands are on you in an instant--palms sliding up your ribs to reach your breasts and gently squeezing around them.

Astumu had never been good with the concept of patience.

Normally, you’d stop those big, calloused setter hands in their tracks--admonishing him for not asking permission, first. But this was about him. About fulfilling every whim his exhausted mind and body had the energy left to want. You could allow a little insubordination tonight.

“You even wore my favorite.” He grins, that cheeky, self important tone of his sneaking back out. You smile coyly and tilt your hips downward, pressing your bare core against his still-restrained cock. He inhales sharply--dropping the attitude once more.

“Part of the reward.” You grin. “Now, what does my good boy want?”

His eyes drift upwards from their fixation on your breasts, meeting your gaze.

“I want…” He bites his lip. “Wanna make you feel good.”

Your eyes widen at the admission, but he’s speaking again before you can inquire.

“You’re always so patient with me when practice gets like this. I just want to... To give you a reward, too.”

You’re taken aback for a beat, pleasantly surprised at the acknowledgement. Atsumu still manages to surprise you with how observant he is. One of the more unexpected traits he shares with Osamu. Your eyes soften and you reach up to gently cup his face. He turns his head to kiss your hand and murmurs against your palm.

"Let me taste you. Please."

He knows how you get when he’s busy like this. How--despite your authority and confidence in the bedroom--you still long for his affection and crave his touch when he’s gone.

And this… This is the perfect way for him to express his gratitude while still pleasing both of you.

“Okay.” You breathe, moving to kneel over his face. “Whatever you want,” you gently drop your weight toward his mouth. “my sweet boy.”

He practically preens at the praise, moaning against your core. Again, Atsumu demonstrates his struggle with patience and savoring the moment. In an instant, he’s gripping your thighs and pulling them closer against the sides of his face. You know you could sit your entire weight atop him and he’d thank you, but tonight calls for something gentler. It’s enough to know you’re the only person who gets to see him like this. The only one who gets to watch the diligent, cocksure Astumu Miya, one of--if not the--best setters in Japan, become so vulnerable and desperate beneath you.

He flattens his tongue and runs it slowly up from the start of your opening to the top of your clit.

“Fuck, ‘Tsumu…” You moan, hands rushing to grasp at his hair. He groans, too, at the sensation of your fingers tugging--the hum sending a vibration through your body. You grind your hips, silently urging him on, and his tongue laves at your clit with small kitten licks. The feeling of those tiny, gentle laps against your most sensitive spot, so diligent and soft--it’s like electricity coursing through you, running up into every limb.

“Mmhmm.” He hums against you. He knows just how you like it. When he services you like this--like the obedient puppy he is. “So wet… Y’taste s’good...” He says, hot breath fanning against you while he catches his breath for a moment.

You press yourself back against him insistently. “Who said you could take a break? Use your fingers, too.”

His mouth is back against you immediately, right hand sliding beneath your thigh to reach your opening. Carefully, he presses two fingers against it--testing the give, while his tongue continues to lick and suck at that sensitive nub. Spit has dribbled down from his mouth to where his fingers are pressed, and he slides his digits against the wetness, adding to the natural lubricant. Then, finally, he pushes those long middle and ring fingers up and into you. They slide in easily despite the way you feel yourself clench around the intrusion. He was right--you’re soaked. He finds a comfortable rhythm to compliment his tongue’s lashings easily and your head falls back, a deep moan escaping past your lips.

“‘Tsumu… ‘Tsumu, fuck just like that--you do it so well for me, baby… Right there--”

You’re cut off by the feeling of his fingers curling within you--searching, and then pressing against that spot so nicely.

Your thigh muscles twitch against his cheeks--breath fleeing from your lungs at the sudden rush.

“Yes, ‘Tsumu--fuck yes.”

You chance a look down at his face. Those long lashes closed, brows knit together in concentration while he pleasures you. Atsumu’s a pretty boy, but you think he’s prettiest like this.

Fuck, you want more of that desperate expression. Want to edge him over and over until he’s drooling and can’t remember his own fucking name.

You’re getting close. That climbing ecstasy rising dangerously high within you. You pull yourself off him before you can climb too high, and the release of suction from his mouth makes a small, wet pop.

“You eat it so well, baby. So, so good for me, pretty boy.” You coo, caressing the sides of his face. His lips are pink and wet and you return your hips to their place atop his length. His lip wobbles with a whimper, back arching against you in search of more.

“I think you’ve earned your reward now, don’t you?” Your eyelids fall, half-closed seductively while you lean your chest toward his face. You reach behind your back and release the clasp of your bra. His hands tighten themselves into fists, trying to restrain the urge to reach up and touch. The fingers of your left hand splay out against his chest, holding your weight, while the right moves down to pull off his boxer briefs. Then, your wet folds are sliding against his erect, bare, length. Slowly, up and down.

“Mmm please can I--can I touch--”

You interrupt him with a small lick against those still-wet lips and chuckle quietly to yourself.

Oh, so now he’s ready to ask first?

“You can.” You affirm, reaching down to line him up with your entrance. His breath is coming harder now, those hardened pecs rising and falling beneath you. The anticipation is rapidly unraveling him. Atsumu’s hands are on your back, tugging your chest back down towards him. As they slide forward around your ribcage to grasp your breasts, his gaze flits up to you.

“Can I--?”

“Mmhmm.” You nod--knowing what he wants. His mouth closes around your nipple, sucking with that perfect amount of harshness to tighten the coiling pressure in your lower body. His tip rests right against your opening. You can see the precum dribbling out of him--can feel the way he’s pushing himself slightly further up--desperate to get inside. Were this any other time, you’d reprimand him for such impertinence. Tie his hands above his head and deny him completely. ‘And you were being so good, too, asking permission and everything. You wanna be inside that bad, maybe I should remind you how it feels to be on the receiving end, hmm?’

But, honestly, he’d nearly tipped you over the edge with just his mouth earlier. You were becoming impatient, yourself.

Finally, blessedly, you sink yourself down onto his cock, revelling in the way his mouth falls open and his head flings backward against the couch pillow with a cry.

“Mmm.. ‘s it that good, baby?” You tease.

“‘S been a while… So tight…” He hisses, almost like it’s too much.

“Yeah?” You tease. Your hips are gradually picking up speed. Slowly rising up, up, up, as far as you can go before it feels like he might just fall out of you, and then your hip fall again, taking his full length deep inside.

“‘Tsumu…” You say, rising back up again. “I wanted to pamper you tonight... “ and you slide back down. “Give my cute, sweet boy a reward for all his hard work.”

Atsumu keens, whimpering beneath you.

“But I think I wanna be a little selfish, too.” You breathe, leaning in close enough for your breath to fan against his face. “Is that ok baby?”

A high pitched moan leaves Atsumu’s throat, and you clench around him.

“Yes…” He sighs between ragged breaths. “Yes... Please, I--”

“Please, what?” You interrupt him.

“P-please…” You watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. “Please, mommy…”

“Ohhhhh, that’s my good boy.” You moan, restarting the rise and fall motion of your cunt around him. “Gonna make you feel so good. Just the way you deserve, ‘Tsumu. But you have to promise you won’t cum until I say so, mmk?” You’re holding his face, running your right index finger along the line of his jaw with a feather-light touch.

And Astumu Miya shudders beneath you, staring up in reverence. The way those big brown watery eyes look at you… He’d look so cute with a collar clasped around his neck right now.

He nods. “I--I won’t. I promise. Please.”

Your hand moves up to stroke his hair softly. “Good boy.”

You restraighten your back in your seated position atop him. Your hands come to rest against his chest for leverage, and you begin riding him in earnest. Atsumu’s eyelids fall closed again, head thrown back while his mouth hangs open in pleasure.

“Is this what you wanted ‘Tsumu? Just want to feel me fuck myself on you until I’m satisfied?” You tease as you bounce. You slow to almost a halt and grind your hips in a circle, feeling the way his cock buries itself to the hilt. Atsumu’s hands are balled into tight fists against the couch. He’s moaning freely now--little cries escaping him as your cunt eagerly swallows him down over and over and over again.

“So good… You’re so good inside me, ‘Tsumu. Stretching me out so much every time. I know you know how good that feels.”

“Ahnn--!” He keens at the memory. The way your soft hands had pressed his legs up against his chest. Wetness from the lube dripping down so tantalizingly slow between his ass cheeks. The cock of your strap buried within him. How utterly full he had felt, stretched around it while you softly cooed praises at him, stroking his cock.

Fuck he wanted to cum like that again.

More than that, he just wanted to cum. His hands clench and unclench--mouth hanging open while he revels in memory--in the feeling of your tight, wet, heat sliding up and down him just how he likes--how he needs.

“I told you it was OK to touch, baby.” You reach down to grasp his hands with your own, bringing them to rest on your hips. “Hold onto me while I fuck myself on you.” You whisper.

Atsumu’s eyes open at that, watching your body bounce on him. HIs left hand hastily comes up to grasp a breast, relishing the feel of the soft, pliable skin in his grasp.

You gasp lightly at the sensation of his hand grazing your sensitive nipple. “Fuck yeah. So good for me baby--so good. Gonna make you cum in me like this--”

Atsumu’s head falls back against the cushions again, his expression knotted in pleasure. “You feel so good. So good… Please… Please I’m-- Ahh!-- I’m getting close.”

“Aww you’re close already? You wanna cum baby?” You shouldn’t tease. You know you’re close, too. That cresting peak getting closer and closer with every push of his cock into your deepest places. Your breath is ragged from the exertion of your body. You reach behind you blindly, refusing to miss an instant of Atsumu’s delicious expression. Eventually, you find the small bullet vibrator you’d stashed beneath the cushions earlier. You bring the toy to your clit and immediately feel it; that powerful wave looming just behind--threatening to take you over the edge. You steele yourself the best you can, inhaling deeply.

Atsumu slides his eyes open at the sound and unleashes the mostly ungodly, moan. His voice trembles when he speaks.

“Can I--can I come? Please--please baby let me come. Let me come.” His hands hold fast to your hips, grip growing steadily tighter as the sensations continue to climb. Faster now--exponentially faster. He’s not sure he could stop if he wanted to.

“Mmmm hearing you beg like that… Good boy. You can cum, baby. I’ll even cum with you for being so good. Go ahead. Cum in this tight pussy.” Your words are rushed, breath catching here and there. “Give it to me.”

And Atsumu shatters.

The way his cry lilts up--high-pitched and unabashed. That wave crashing into him so hard and so completely it takes you down under with him. Atsumu’s mind is empty. Nothing but blinding white as he expends everything he has in him in an instant. His name spills past your lips over and over like a mantra while you ride out your high. The two of you so in-sync, it feels as though your cunt convulses in time with his every pulse. Everything feels so, astonishingly good and intimate.

You’re both breathing heavily, eyes shut tight as that shared bliss slowly dissipates. You let yourself come down to rest on his chest. It’s suddenly very quiet save for your shared breaths. Eventually you rise onto your elbows, face directly over his.

“I love you…” Atsumu murmurs, eyes slightly flitting about while he studies the intricacies of your face. He memorized them all long ago, but even in this he is never sated. Your eyes soften, chest fluttering at his tone: so tender and soft.

“I love you, too.” You say, gently caressing his face. “So much.”

Atsumu can’t help the smile spreading across his face. In one quick motion, his arms are around your neck and tugging your face down toward him. His head tilts, lips melding themselves against yours when they make contact. The kiss is unusually tender, his lips trying to convey what his words cannot: how he is so thankful and lucky to have you. You, who understands how dear his passion, his career, is to him yet helps him remain grounded so that it does not consume him entirely. You, who remains so, so patient when he is away. You, who is always there to help him take care of himself when he is too busy or exhausted. You, who holds him when he finally fractures under the stress of giving his everything all the time--and who helps him put his pieces back together again and get back at it.

Your head returns to its resting place on his chest. His heartbeat steady beneath you, lulling you to sleep. You both need to get up, clean up, and get into your actual bed, but the bliss of finally feeling Atsumu’s hard body beneath you. Knowing it is completely yours, at least for a short while… You don’t want to relinquish it for even a second.

There’s another beat of silence before you speak.

“Wanna go to ‘Samu’s and get tuna tomorrow?” You ask.

Atsumu groans his approval loudly--so much so one would think he hadn’t just finished a massive meal with the Jackals. That signature cheeky grin returns to his face.

“Oh my god I love you.”

#atsumu x reader #atsumu x y/n #sub!atsumu #atsumu smut #haikyuu smut #atsumu such a lil bastard i wanna take him down a peg if u kno what i mean ;)))#miya atsumu

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arvinsescape · 3 years

Note

we really don't see enough imagines of tom teaching y/n how to play golf, it's classic romance. Could you write one? Thanks! x

Golf date.

A/N: I absolutely agree with this!! I feel like he'd be so excited to show you how to play!! Thank you for sending this in!! I hope you enjoy 💕💕

Warnings: Suggestive content. A writer who knows nothing about golf.

You'd been with Tom for almost a year, been to the golf course many times with him, you enjoyed watching him play. You were no good at the sport yourself, no good at all. Usually he went with his dad or Harry, playing with either of them in an intense game as you watched.

This time was a little different, you'd all gone on the golf retreat holiday, only this time you'd all met him there. Usually you'd both have a few days before going, having time to spend together before seeing other people, this time, not so much.

As much as Tom wanted to have an intense round of golf with his dad and Harry, he also wanted to spend time with you. He wanted you close, as close as physically possible to him and watching as you sat and watched wasn't close enough. It wasn't enough for him right now, you'd not seen in each other properly in three weeks and he missed you.

"You guys go on ahead." You heard Tom say as the finished a hole, piquing your interest, he was always eager to move onto the next.

"You not coming?" Harry asked.

"Nah, I'll catch up to you." Tom said and Harry furrowed his brows.

"What? You're not that far behind me." Harry said, Tom was losing this game apparently, none of it made any sense to you but you'd heard enough of his dad and brother's teasing to know he wasn't winning.

"You and dad finish up, I'm dropping out." Tom said as he gestured his head in your direction and Harry made a face to show he understood.

"Ah, yeah, I got you. See you at the end then?" Harry said as Tom nodded. Harry followed after their dad and you furrowed your brows as Tom turned to you.

"Come on." He said as he stretched his hand out for you to take, grabbing his gold gear with the other.

"Didn't wanna lose and listen to them gloat?" You teased and Tom smiled as your hand fell into his, walking slowly to the next hole.

"Something like that." He replied, you both watched as Harry and Dom finished their round to move onto the next. Tom standing behind you as he wrapped his arms around your waist and placed small kisses to your neck in comfort as you talked about anything and everything. Just enjoying each other's company.

"Right," he said as he moved from behind you to stand next to you and you furrowed your brows as he moved for his stuff. It wasn't long before he pulled a club out and made his way back to you.

"Tom, what? I can't play." You laughed as he handed you the club.

"I'm gonna teach you." He smiled as he held the club up higher, gesturing you to take it.

"You are not going to have the patience for my terrible coordination." You snorted, you'd seen how seriously he took the game, he never fooled around when he played.

"I have all the patience in the world for you." Tom defended and you raised your brows.

"We'll see Tom." You said as you took the club. It was surprisingly heavier than you expected, they were in good shape, you'd seen Harry's enough to know what worn clubs looked like and Tom's were the opposite. Pristine condition, he looked after them like they were trophy's.

"Okay, this," he held a tee up to you. "Goes in the ground." He said as he placed it in the grass. "Then you put the ball on top." He finished as he fished a ball from his pocket and put it on top of the tee. "Then you take a swing." He said as he gestured for you to step up.

"That simple?" You asked with raised brows. If that's all it took to play you couldn't understand why people got so angry playing it.

"Well no," he laughed, "but you need to get the hang of this before before we even discuss wind speeds and direction..." You zoned out as you became entranced watching him talk about it. You'd always enjoyed watching him play, watching how deep into it he got, brows furrowed, bottom lip held between his teeth and don't even mention how good he looked in the gear.

"Darling?" He suddenly brought you back to earth with a laugh as you cleared your throat.

"I was listening, sorry." You said and he hummed.

"What was it I was talking about again?" He asked and you silently cursed yourself.

"I wasn't listening." You admitted in defeat and he laughed.

"Okay, come on sweetheart." He said again as he gestured for you take a swing. You held the club back out to him.

"Show me?" You said and he smirked.

"I'm not letting you get distracted." He knew you liked to watch him play, he knew it got you all hot and bothered, the evidence was in the many afternoons you'd practically jumped on him when you'd returned back to the hotel room.

"I won't, I won't." You held your hands up and he raised a brow as you sighed in defeat, he wasn't gonna let you get distracted. "Fine."

You stepped up and stood in front of him, you'd seen him stand enough to know you stood to the side before taking a swing. You stood and Tom laughed, his foot coming between your own and coaxing them apart.

"Feet level with your shoulders darling." You did as he said, placing the club in the position you'd seen a thousand times. "Good, now just swing for it." You did and well, it was awful, you completely missed the ball, somehow. You heard Tom laugh in endearment.

"Okay love, here." He said as he observed your grip on the club. "More like this." He said as he moved your hands, your heart warming at the contact.

"What difference is that gonna make?" You snorted and Tom smiled at you as he moved out of the way.

"You'll see." He said, "try again." He encouraged and you smiled as you swung for the ball again. You hit it this time but it was pathetic, it didn't travel very far at all. You couldn't help the laugh that came from you at the pathetic attempt.

"I think I'm better at mini golf." You laughed, completely amused at how terrible you'd done. "How do you hit it so far?" You turned to him, a smile on his face as he watched you laugh.

"Well, I mean, I do have bigger muscles darling." He said as he flexed his bicep and you snorted as you playfully punched it. "Hey," he laughed.

"Sorry," you playfully said as you 'kissed it better' and brought your hand around it, feeling it. You loved his arms and it was no secret.

"Feeling me up love?" He said as he brought his hand to your cheek and pulled you in for a kiss. It was sweet, innocent, nothing behind it other than having missed one another. You pulled away and placed your forehead against it.

"You wish." You teased as you moved away from him and he smirked.

"You're right, I do." He said and you laughed. "Okay, I'll show you how you hit it further." He said as he grasped your waist, kissing the tip of your nose before turning you around in his hold.

His hands came over yours on the club, your back pressed to his chest, you were half distracted now, distracted by how close he was. "M'okay," he said softly as he guided you. "Keep your eye on the ball before swinging back." He said and you felt his breath hit your neck, you couldn't help but let your head flop back onto his shoulder.

"I thought you weren't gonna let me get distracted." You said and he let out of breathy laugh before kissing your cheek.

"It's not my fault you can't concentrate." He teased as he lifted a hand to poke your side before placing it back over your own. "Okay, eye on the ball," he said as you lifted your head to look at the ball on the tee. "Swing back," he said as he guided you. "You need to follow through, make sure you use your body too, it's not just your arms that you need to make it go further." He explained.

He helped you, showing you what he meant, he practically did it for you, you watched as the ball disappeared. Tom lowered the club, taking it from your grasp. "See? It's mostly in the hip movement." He said and you turned to look at him.

"I think I have that." You said and Tom smirked.

"Oh, I know you have that." He winked and you laughed.

"You're gross."

"You love it." He said as he pulled you closer by your waist and flush against his chest. He placed a kiss to your lips and you hummed into it as you moved away "I love you." He said and you smiled as you used your hand to rub his bicep.

"I love you."

You walked hand in hand to find the ball, it had gone far but nowhere near as far as you'd watched Tom hit it on a good day. You stopped at the ball and took your next swing, it went far better this time, not as far as your previous hit but further than your first.

It wasn't long before you were at the hole, the flag sticking up from it as Tom removed it. You were about to take another shot when Tom laughed.

"Not with that one, wrong club." He said and you let out a quiet 'oh.' "Here." He said as he handed you one of the many clubs he had with him.

"There's different clubs for different things?" You asked as you swapped clubs, this one much lighter and Tom laughed shaking his head.

"You really don't pay any attention when you watch me play do you?"

"Yes. I pay attention." You defended yourself.

"To what exactly?" He raised his brows with an amused smile.

"You never specified what I don't pay attention to." You challenged with a smirk and he rolled his eyes playfully.

"When you say you pay attention, watching my arms and arse doesn't count." He said and you mocked understanding.

"Then I suppose you're right, I don't pay attention." You smirked and Tom laughed, watching as you tapped the ball, it didn't go too far and Tom laughed. "What?"

"You're gonna need to hit it a little harder than that, sweetheart. Can you feel how much lighter that club is in comparison to the other?" He asked and you nodded. "You need a little more force." He said and you nodded again, taking your next shot and watching as it rolled into the hole.

"Yes!" You exclaimed. "I'm not as bad as I thought I was gonna be."

"You're doing great darling." Tom said as he pulled you in for another kiss.

It wasn't long before you found yourself enjoying the game, you were getting slightly better, gaining an understanding for how to play. Tom guided you, talked you through how to get out of situations, laughing as you got angry when you ended up in the sand.

"Right," you said as you stepped up for the last and final hole. "I'm in the lead." You said and Tom smiled, he was definitely letting you win, claiming he was having a very bad game. You knew he was throwing it, you'd seen him when he was having a genuinely bad round and this was not it. He had no frustrations towards himself, no cursing under his breath, he was letting you win.

"I know what I need." You said, mischievous glint in your eye. "I figured out what I'm missing." You said and Tom furrowed his brows as he looked at you.

"What?" He asked and as soon as the words left his lips you'd taken his hat off his head. Placing it upon your own as you laughed, Tom smiled as he let you take it, you looked adorable in it anyway.

"I am the champion." You smirked as you watched the ball roll into the final hole. "You really are off your game today." You teased and you watched as Tom shrugged.

"What can I say? It happens." He said and you hummed.

"Sure Tom, sure."

"Oh, you just wait until I'm having a good day, you'll be sorry." He smirked as he packed his stuff away. "Besides, I couldn't see because of the sun, I could've pulled it back."

"I don't think so, face it, I'm just gonna be a better player than you." You laughed as you walked back to the hotel hand in hand, fingers laced together as they both became wrapped in warmth.

"Oh? You want a rematch? I'll take you tomorrow." He said as he squeezed your hand.

"I'd rather you took me in the shower." You teased and he snorted.

"You are something else." He shook his head.

"Not my fault you look so good in your golf attire." You smirked as you took your hand from his and smacked his behind, Tom grasping your arm and spinning you to face him, pulling you against him.

"Watch it." He raised a suggestive brow.

"Or what? What you gonna do Tom?" You challenged as he pulled you closer, hand leaving your arm as he slapped your arse back, giving a small squeeze after.

"Oh darling, you know exactly what I'll do." He whispered as he kissed you, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth, your quiet gasp filling the air as he pulled back and released it.

"I'd rather you showed me." You whispered, lips ghosting each other's.

"You don't want to carry on teasing me baby, we both know who's better at it." He said and your breath hitched, the atmosphere between you shifting from playful to arousal.

You pulled him in for a kiss, this one more suggestive, bodies pulled close to each other as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you tight against him. One hand going to his hair and the other landing on his bicep, the kiss hot and heavy.

He pulled back for a breath and you took his bottom lip between your teeth as he pulled away, smirk evident on his face. You looked at him innocently, knowing what it would do to him, you had him in the palm of your hand now.

"Shower?" You said and you heard as he hummed before pulling back, stepping away from you.

"I fancy a drink actually. Besides I'm sure that's where dad and Harry will be by now." Tom said as he set off towards the hotel's bar, you scurrying after him.

"Tom!" You said, almost desperately as he turned to you with a smirk you knew all too well.

"I told you darling, we both know who's better at teasing and I'm not finished yet."

#tom holland blurb #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff

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deluluass · 4 years

Text

Then, the dam breaks.

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; dacryphilia; mild infantilization

Kuroo's not a bad person.

Not even by a long shot. "Bad" is willfully stretching out a leg, hidden like a predator among the bushes; hungry for an unknowing soul who's naively secured with their surroundings and the crack that resounds when face finally meets floor.

Or, murder! Murder is bad, he believes.

No, Kuroo isn't capable of any of those things. He might seem like he has a mean streak about him. What, with his sharp tongue and that incorrigible self-satisfied smirk (according to Yaku) and his words that may or may not sting like a backhanded slap sometimes. But that's all in good humor.

Well-deserved, too, when given to the right asshole. And if he does manage to get under the skin of the wrong person, Kuroo's not above offering an apology.

And he means it. (Occasionally.)

There's no pleasure to be had, if anyone would ask. Because, again , he's not a bad guy. He's sly: he knows that much, though he wouldn't taunt someone into visible pain just for the thrill of it.

There's a method to all this. A purpose. Not a profound one, but a reason all the same.

So he has to admit he's feeling kinda lost figuring out why, of all people, it just really had to be you.

There wasn't much of an option to begin with.

Art clubs had already been full. The other ones, you weren't much interested in. And by the time you realized your homeroom teacher would stop at nothing to remind you that this year was your last chance to do something other than study and prepare for exams, for once— well, it had already been too late to reconsider joining those.

Then a flyer was handed out to you.

"V-volley," the boy trailed off.

Try as you might but you couldn't recognize him. A feat, that, considering his blond mohawk that you could spot among a crowd of thousands.

He seemed like he'd caught a nasty spell that prevented him from meeting anyone's eyes, even as you deliberately searched his face for any sign that he'd explain himself to you. Surely, he must have a lot to say after he'd outright ambushed you from entering the cafeteria.

"You...want me to join?"

You were on the verge of asking for more details, focusing on the black cat (though it didn't look like it) drawn on the center of the curiously damp paper, only to find out that you'd been conversing with an empty hallway.

A soft grumble left you.

"Weird," you concluded, barely a whisper. "Weird, weird, weird ."

You were the volleyball team's manager since then.

"She's not much of a talker."

Lev hunched to his knees again, sounding very much like he's running out of breath.

It should've been Kuroo's cue to gently ( gently) tell him off, that Nekoma's ace would handle a minute of catching a ball with their face with much more tenacity than he does, or that Nekoma's ace shouldn't have to catch the ball with their face in the first place, period.

" Zoning out already, Ace? " he'd planned on jeering, but instead he followed the direction of the overgrown 10 year old's gaze.

Someone was talking to you.

Apologizing , was more like it, if the other student's incessant bowing until his torso fell from his body was any indication. You were outside of the gym, clipboard tucked under an arm, so it was impossible to catch a word you were saying.

Not that you were saying much. Or anything at all. You only nodded. And nodded again. And after what seemed like the world's loudest "I'm so sorry, senpai!",you immediately went back inside to refill the water bottles lined atop the bench.

"Hey," Kenma sighed, the ball in his hand aimed for a toss. "Focus."

And the cycle of Lev being an utter disappointment to the blond setter continued.

Kuroo let out a noncommittal hum, eyes never leaving you, trailing like a lost pup as you handed out water bottles to Nobuyuki and the others.

"Not a talker, huh," he muttered to himself.

How long has it been? Two weeks? Three, maybe? Kuroo could scarcely remember for how many days you'd been showing up to this sweaty pit to perform your duties. On the dot. Always. Without fail.

What he does remember was the first day.

Chin up; head held high. You strutted into their lives as if you were leading an entire militia to battle and had no time to waste.

He teased you for it when you'd already busied yourself with clean up duty a few minutes after your (short) ( extremely concise) introduction.

("Slow down there, general," he told you with a wry chuckle. He expected any reaction from you, really.)

(He just didn't expect you to actually slow down on your cleaning and pick up on the Coach's remaining paperwork right then and there, going through it like a forest fire.)

It would take him a few more days to realize that that's just how you are.

Even when you rejected a tongue-tied Yamamoto when he tried to ask you out. For a meal. With the other boys, of course.

Even when you took a hurtling ball to your leg and lost your footing and had the whole team scrambling for a stretcher, only for you to stand on your good leg, tell everyone "I'm okay," and walk to the nurse's office on your own.

(Kuroo doesn't think he's seen someone limp with so much grace before.)

His throat suddenly felt incredibly dry.

Water . Water was what he needed.

Right.

You didn't see him coming from across the court. You were sitting on the bench and your back was turned, scribbling on that clipboard propped on your lap, yet— like clockwork, your idle hand shot out to give him the last bottle to your left before he could even finish asking for one.

He felt his lips curve as he muttered his thanks around the lid.

"Say," Kuroo began.

You were reading the things you wrote back to yourself.

"Mind telling me what was that about?"

You paused. You blinked up at Kuroo.

The attention hits him like a freight train.

That clear as summer sky gaze, unclouded and bright.

It's nuts how unreal it felt. How can something so elusive be now all on him.

(Just for him.)

"Earlier," he added, licking his lips and feeling silly for the way his chest tightened. "Seemed kinda intense."

"He borrowed my notes," you said. Then back to the clipboard again.

Kuroo made himself comfortable next to you, elbow propped on his knee as he rested his chin against an open palm.

"Got a test coming up?"

"Cram school. He's in the same class."

Of course .

"Of course," Kuroo grinned. "What happened? Heard the guy apologize to you like you were about to kill him."

Laughter bubbled out of his chest. Unfortunately, you didn't seem to find it as funny as he did. Pity.

He sighed.

"Nothing too bad, I hope."

The noise of ballpoint pen scratching against paper halted.

From way at the back, Lev was prattling Kenma's ear off again. Kuroo guessed they were about to leave, walking away from the court, away from the gym and to god knows where. The whole team, too, for that matter.

Everyone seemed to have gone, diminished in that second. He couldn't hear them anymore, didn't bother to see if they're still there.

He was looking at you, after all. Really looking at you. Your grip on the pen was a tad severe, he thought; fingers determined to squeeze the ink out of the barrel.

Your face betrayed nothing. Indeed, anyone could spare you a glance and immediately guess that this is just another empty chat between acquainted individuals, conversation just for the sake of it.

Kuroo wasn't just anyone, though.

Chin up and head held high; as you'd always done. But Kuroo's close enough to see it now, unlike before: the gulps you take in between breaths; the falter in those eyes that only ever looked forward.

Chin up and head held high, but Kuroo sees now that the neck he could easily break with one hand is so tense it's essentially a string pulled too tight that's on the brink of snapping.

Oh.

"Oh," Kuroo whispered.

Oh .

"He lost it didn't he?" Kuroo realized. "Your notes."

And it did snap.

"Just..!" You looked down and bunched your pants in your fist. "No. Of course not. It's nothing," you huffed, putting the ball pen's cap back on.

You were leaving.

Kuroo stood up.

"You look upset, manager-san," he said softly, his larger frame blocking your attempts of escape. "It is bothering you, hm?"

"My notebook got-got ruined, sure," you said. "But juice stains aren't bothering me, Captain ."

There it is. You were meeting his gaze again.

" Too late for that ," Kuroo thought. There's a stutter to your words when there had been none.

Your arms are trembling and you look uncomfortable. He should stop. He knows he should stop , but whatever it is he said is chipping away at that impenetrable wall and he doesn't get what's happening now but damn, damn if that tingle running down his spine doesn't feel so fucking good.

"My bad," he chuckled. "Sorry."

He raised both his arms in a show of defeat.

"I'm- it's fine," you said through gritted teeth. "If you would just— excuse me."

Kuroo shrugged a shoulder.

"Sorry about your notes, still," he said. "Must've been important to you. We all know how much you take your studies very, very seriously."

Kuroo smirked. "You shouldn't have let him have it then."

That made you stop in your tracks.

"What do you mean?" you sought, confusion breaking your voice into what sounds like the smallest it's ever been.

Kuroo felt his breath catch in his throat.

"He needed my help, though," you rushed. "I can't just turn people away."

"Really?" Kuroo sniggered, eyebrows lifting in fascination.

"Could've sworn you were good at it," he said; whispered it so lowly, you couldn't have heard it. But you did.

You heard him, all right. Loud and clear.

Because it was just like watching someone take a bullet to the heart.

First, the disbelief.

Skin, muscles, and ligaments weren't made to be broken like that. A person wasn't created to bleed to death. And when it happens, well, all one can ask is: how could someone hurt me like this?

So you stand before him, immobile, disbelief written in those wide eyes, because how could he hurt me like this?

Then—

Then, the dam breaks.

Kuroo doesn't think that you know it; that you're gaping at him with tears streaming down your face; that you're falling apart and stripping yourself bare the more you try to temper those quivering lips with that cute little nibbling you do.

Kuroo doesn't think you know it, too.

That no one has ever been as beautiful as you are, right in that very moment.

You're not a good person.

Not even by a long shot. "Good" is an open hand, warm and soft and prepared to accept anyone in need of it. It's many things, goodness, but it most certainly isn't a dismissive attitude towards a well-meaning person who only wants to get to know you.

You hadn't gone this far in your uneventful life ignorant of what people say behind your back. "Frigid" is one. "Indifferent" on a good day. "Bitch" when someone feels like being mean.

It's not like you're mad or anything; not as if you'd built up some sort of resentment within you that now you've settled for being perpetually friendless. You have plans, is all. You just can't afford to be a constant helping hand when you've got so much to do.

So you take it.

Be a sport about it, was what you've always been told. Stiff upper lip, as they say. You remain silent about it and you endure and maybe you shed a few tears later as you lie in bed and maybe you entertain the possibility that you'll never see the end of this loneliness.

But that's neither here nor there.

The point is, this time shouldn't have been any different.

(But sometimes even the strongest walls can crumble. All it takes is one crack, then the rest would follow.)

It was a bad day.

You woke up late. You messed up the tally in the first set of practice games. You forgot the homework you'd stayed up all night to do.

And the person whom you've lended your notes to for the college entrance exams lost it.

He lost it. Conveniently just a month before the actual thing.

"I- It's nowhere to be found, senpai," he explained. "I tried looking for it everywhere but- but I.." (You don't remember the rest.)

It's fine, you told yourself. You're fine. You can do something about a little inconvenience like this. You always have.

But then Kuroo Tetsurou asked.

He's an amazing captain; even someone like you who only had a rudimentary knowledge at volleyball could understand the level of skill it requires to do what he does on the court while still managing to reign in the polarizing characters in this team together. And like most people, Kuroo Tetsurou has never cared for you.

That's what you'd always thought, concerning him. Even when there had been times when he'd let slip what he thought about you. ("You're so cold, manager-san," he pouted once after you'd refused to eat with Yamamoto and the others.)

So it blindsided you, to say the least.

The way he looked at you, as if he's privy to your darkest secrets, like he's seen you at your lowest and somehow knows you more than you did.

When he'd jabbed and poked at what you'd only later realize was already a festering wound. (" It is bothering you, hm?" he said.) And before you could think about telling him to stop, to please, please let it go, it had already happened.

(" Could've sworn you were good at it ," he said.)

This isn't news to you. Besides, there have obviously been worse digs.

But hearing it from people who think you're not listening and being told about it to your face are two vastly different things.

(Maybe it's because deep inside you'd always hoped that not everyone disliked you. That even though you're not a good person, you're not entirely bad either.)

Right in front of you, swift and without warning, he spoke only the truth.

You just weren't prepared for how deep it could cut.

"I have to go," you murmured.

It took you a few seconds to realize that you'd been crying. And when you did, you immediately wiped your cheek with the back of your hand, turning away from him and the others still engrossed in their drills.

You let your feet do the thinking, allowing it to take you wherever they wished to go ( not here. not here. anywhere but here ), finding it impossible to do so yourself when your vision is clouded with welling tears.

You moved forward, never once looked back, until you ended up inside the stark darkness of the gym's forgotten neighbor.

The shed has long been abandoned and had nothing but dust, a couple of furniture in disrepair, and the occasional bug to keep it company. It was good enough for you. You didn't need much anyway.

Except for silence.

The breaths that you'd desperately tried to control shook like dried leaves hanging onto frail branches, much like your legs, eventually collapsing at the slightest gust of wind.

All you needed was silence.

Crouched down, the feeling of bones reduced to jelly was a lot more palpable. And despite the pins and needles that you know would eventually appear like a vengeful mistress, you stubbornly pressed your knees closer to your damp face.

Stuttering inhales and short-lived exhales soon enough filled the gnawing emptiness of the shed as you count back to the moment you'd started the day to when your classmate told you that he'd lost your notebook to when you'd been told of how much of a shitty person you are and you wonder how you would've changed your decisions and how could it have gotten to this point how could it go wrong like this what did I do what did I do wrong what went —

"There you are."

You clamped your mouth shut, clenched your teeth so hard to stop their chattering. How useless.

The creaking noise of the door being closed— punctuated by the sound of the latch clicking, rendered that effort futile.

Kuroo Tetsurou locked the door.

"C-can you," you panted. "Can you please leave."

"I need some time alone," you said, every beat of your heart like the ticking clock of a time bomb. "Please."

You waited for him to do as you'd told. Maybe what happened earlier was a mistake, a slip of tongue that hurt more than it should've, and he's here to apologize. Of course. That's it, isn't it? Why else would he be here?

"I- If you want to say something, we can- we can— later."

It was as if the entire world had gone still. He said nothing; neither could you hear any hint of movement. You turned around.

"C-captain..!"

He was right there.

Right in front of you, crouched and staring right back at you. His face a hair's breadth away from yours.

Your legs shot upwards.

"What are you- ah !" You hissed, feeling every cell in your body being incessantly pricked. Finding it impossible to stand on your own, your hands scrambled to get a hold of something, anything, maybe the almost dilapidated table behind you— only to be caught in between large, strong arms.

"Careful, now," he murmured against your neck. His scalding breath like frostbite, chilling you down to your bones until you were numbed from the pain.

He slithered a hand around your waist. With blood thundering to your ears, you bit back a shriek and pushed him away with all your might. But have you forgotten? Despite that indolent swagger of his, you've witnessed how this boy pushes himself to exertion for each match and beyond. What made you think you could win against him?

And when you attempted to open your mouth and yell, he effortlessly covered it with a palm while hauling you towards the table. The thing rocked under your weight. It is amusing, what the fear of falling does to you. One moment you're thrashing your way out; the next, you're holding onto your tormentor for dear life.

"No one's gonna come for you." He shushed you like how one would when placating a rabid animal. "You really believe they would bother? With an attitude like that?"

Down, down, his hand sank to your thigh, kneading the aching flesh until all you could do was mewl out a hoarse, "S-stop. I beg y-you."

Because it's all that's left for you. No one's going to save you. Or maybe someone would. But, who? And would they, really?

(Go on, then. Try. See for yourself.)

"Kuroo-san," you whimpered. " S-stop ."

(Would they even believe you? It's your word against his. Him . Their beloved captain.)

"Tetsurou," he only said, dipping his hand lower, wrapping your freezing legs around him. "Say it."

He's everywhere. Lips tracing your chin, teeth grazing your throat; all the while your weak, pathetic arms stayed on his shoulders, thinking he'd regain his senses because he has to. He has to. He's not a bad person. He wouldn't hurt you, not in that way.

Even when rough palms are already caressing the sides of your breasts and you feel a bulge rutting against your stomach, hot and rock hard and large, his hands grabbing your ass to bring your crotch closer to his—

"Cap- Tetsurou!" You cried, trembling hands back on his chest as you sobbed and pleaded please, please, let me go, I won't say anything, I-I'll keep quiet .

He did stop. But he didn't let you go. (You're a stupid girl if you think he would). Instead, with a forefinger under your chin and a thumb on your lower lip, he gently tilted your head to meet his gaze.

And when your murky vision adjusted to the shadows, the heart that wanted to escape from your chest ceased its clamoring, arresting your breath with it.

The afternoon sun peeked through the crevices of the shed's wooden walls. Red-orange light revealed a pair of iris swallowed by blown pupils, only for it to pass and shroud him back into the darkness.

"Say it again," he whispered, deep voice cracking. " Tetsurou . My name."

You tried to speak and protest once again but only a croaked snivel left you, your babbling becoming less coherent when he began planting soft kisses on both tear-streaked cheeks.

"You've been all alone, haven't you? Keeping everything to yourself all this time."

He kissed your forehead and it was so tender you wanted to die.

"My strong, brave girl," he breathed. "I'll take care of you. I'll take care of you. I- I-"

You heard him chuckle as he pressed his forehead to yours, felt it crease on your skin. "I love you."

No. No, no, no . You shook your head and closed your eyes and prayed to anyone who's listening.

"I love you," he repeated, strongly now, as if he only realized it this time around.

And then he kissed you. Just a peck. And then he kissed you again, deepening it to probe a wet tongue into your mouth. And the hand sitting lax on your neck felt like a gun to your temple.

You remained just as you were, like a plaything to do with as he pleased, as you felt calloused fingers creep inside your sweaty shirt.

"Such pretty tits," he grunted as he raised your bra over your breasts to brush your nipples, rolling and pinching and pulling them with his thumbs.

He muffled the noises you made with his own mouth still when he continued fondling you. You soon enough tasted the salt off of his palm when he left your lips to lick and pepper bites on your neck, on the valley and mounds of your breasts, sucking and lapping the stiff peaks until he was satisfied.

You tried counting, one to whatever. And when that did not work, you tried biting your own tongue to rid of the heat you fear would burst in your belly.

All that went to waste when he reached inside your pants.

"Not- not there!" you gasped, breaking your silence and wriggling out of his grasp.

He cooed. "You'll feel good. I promise."

After hooking long fingers over the hem of your panties, he briskly parted the hair and lips underneath to pull the thin cotton over the folds, over the throbbing nub trapped in the middle.

"Your pussy's so wet, sweetheart," he sighed, the tip of his middle finger drawing light circles on your clothed clit.

It was so lewd and dirty and the fact that your panties were soaked with slick was enough to burn you with shame.

"You like it, hm?"

Perhaps you whimpered out a meek "no." You couldn't tell anymore, heaving out while he continued to toy with a sore nipple as he rubbed your slippery cunt, preying on your puffed out, swollen clit.

"Feel what you do to me." He squeezed your wrist and forced your shivering hand on his crotch. "Take out my cock, baby," he whispered, scattering kisses on your neck.

"Tet-Tetsuro…san," you cried. "I can- I can't."

"Yes. Yes, you can ," he said, not halting the ministrations between your legs. "You're a big girl."

As if held by a string, he guided you, wrapped his hand around yours as he— as you stroked him, scorching and thick, up and down, just like that .

"Good girl. My good little girl," he groaned, parting your panties to the side to tease your dripping hole.

You wept harder, the inevitable only a few seconds away from you. A single finger, at first. And when he added a second one, you realized you preferred having a hand on your mouth than his lips on yours.

(Because then you wouldn't have to think of an excuse why you're suddenly swirling and brushing your tongue in time with his.)

For a while there had been nothing but the sound of two wet lips pursing against each other (along with those embarrassing squelching noises).

He treated you as if you were made of porcelain, your plush walls stroked oh so gently as he circled the sensitive bundle of nerves. Even when he ended the kiss and removed your hand from his cock, spit and pre-cum connecting you to him, he still handled you as if you would break at the drop of a hat.

That's why it snuck up on you, what happened, after he brought his mouth to your ear.

"Don't scream," he whispered.

Then, he rammed his fingers in your mouth.

You tasted yourself as he forced you on your back, slamming you down on the dirty table yet still carrying your weight all throughout, never letting go.

The bitter acceptance of it— that what began earlier can only conclude to this , did not prepare you for the feeling when he finally thrust himself into you.

They say it shouldn't hurt at first. If it does then he's doing it wrong.

You hardly know if it's relief or horror that dawns on you when you realize how he stretched you out so easily, despite his size. Because, by all means, this should be wrong. This is wrong.

"Gonna ruin you," he panted. "Gonna ruin you and— fuck put you back together myself."

He grinded his cock inside you deep and slow and when he hit that spot you couldn't control yourself from jackknifing so hard he had to hold you down. He does this mercilessly, pace growing more delirious until you're nothing but a choked and sputtering fool around his fingers.

"I won't ever leave you. I’m here," he cooed, stroking your hair and kissing your face as you bawled and shattered in his embrace. "I’m here ."

"So cry all you want."

#tw noncon #tw non con haikyuu #yandere kuroo #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #dark content haikyuu

778 notes · View notes

alolowrites · 3 years

Text

Gymtleman

Summary: Nothing irks you more than a random guy ruining your workout session. Luckily, Bakugou sets him straight.

Author’s Note: Helloooooooooo! Yes, it is me popping in with a new fic after almost two months of NOTHING (the dabi story was pissing me off, so i had ignore it ripppp). So this story was born from a video on saw on TikTok where a guy urged men at the gym to be more respectful toward women during their workouts. While I never encounter any harassment at the gym, there are others who have >:(

Inspiration for the title came from a comment section on TikTok. Thought it was pretty clever. Please enjoy ^_^

Warnings: Slight harassment; maybe a few curse words but this is Bakugou so...

Word Count: 884

Gloves? Check.

Water bottle? Check.

Wireless headphones? Check.

You close the gym locker and hit the main floor, determined to get in a good workout tonight. As you walk toward the treadmill, your eyes glance around the place. It’s not as packed as the dreaded peak hours where one must fight to the death for the coveted treadmills or weight benches. You value your life and avoid that bloc like the plague.

Besides, there’s no fuss nor drama during the night sessions. Only a calm vibe that radiates throughout the gym floor thanks to the chilled regulars, or the “night crew,” as you like to call the group. A few stragglers may pop in once in a while, but you would know the familiar faces even while blindfolded. Especially when one has those menacing red eyes that burn through the cloth faster than a sprinter on the treadmill.

Those same eyes briefly land on you as Bakugou chugs down his water bottle while striding past you. He acknowledges you with a curt nod and slight grunt—nothing more than that. Yet, this silent greeting always makes your palms sweaty and your heart race before stepping foot on any machine at this gym. You swallow your nerves to return the gesture.

Despite months of crossing the same paths, you know very little about Bakugou. Sure, you know his usual routine or his preferred machines, but you never heard him speak before. His voice is one big mystery that you are curious to unravel. Unfortunately, Bakugou keeps to himself just like everyone else in the “night crew” since personal space is highly respected—a bright side that’s both a blessing and a curse.

You sigh wistfully, hopping on the treadmill to start your workout. A random man slides on the machine on your left, catching you off guard. He smiles, and you nod stiffly. Right off the bat you know he’s not a regular; his face isn’t familiar, and he’s too close to you. That’s strike one; it irks you, but you act like the bigger person and just ignore him with your music.

The ten minutes fly by in seconds. You wipe down the treadmill, ignoring the man’s wandering gaze on you. Just walk away, you tell yourself as you head over to the dumbbells. Your heart skips a beat when you spot Bakugou standing nearby, his ripped biceps pushing through the pain from his grueling set. He grits his teeth and casts a quick glance at you from the mirror’s reflection—Bakugou lets you stay.

Either he’s in a good mood, or lady luck is working her magic; you smile and take this as a win for tonight.

The giddiness wipes off your face when you see the random man again. He lingers around the area like a shark eying its prey, except he lacks any sense of subtlety. You roll your eyes when the guy sneaks a peek at you: that’s strike two. Obviously, he doesn’t understand the whole “no fuss, no drama” vibe, but you do and focus on lifting your dumbbells.

Eventually, you forget the weirdo as the music blasts through your headphones. You are in the zone, watching as your arms move slowly and in control. Beads of sweat roll down your face to cool down the firestorm soaring along your skin. You push through one more rep before releasing an exhausted but satisfied sigh.

You bend over for a quick stretch when—

“Damn, that’s a nice piece of ass.”

You shot up, appalled. “Excuse you?!”

“Think you can bend over a little lower for me, sweetcheeks?”

The random man finally stands next to you and shamelessly rakes his eyes all over your body like a piece of meat. You growl—that’s strike three.

“What?! No!” You grip the dumbbells with an iron fist, fully prepared to whack the sleazy grin off his disgusting face. “Get away from me!”

“Oh, don’t be like that—”

“Oi, you fucking deaf or something?!”

You nearly drop the dumbbells, snapping your head over your shoulders with astonished eyes. Bakugou spoke. His voice is sharper than the stainless steel barbells and heavier than the iron olympic plates scattered across the room. He stalks closer like a ferocious lion, his red eyes glancing at you momentarily before glaring at the bastard.

He sweats bullets. “H-Hey, man, I-I—”

“Shut the hell up, idiot,” Bakugou snarls, thrusting his finger hard against the guy’s chest. “Quit harassing them and get the fuck outta here before I shove this dumbbell up your own damn sweetcheeks.”

The guy stumbles over a random kettlebell before rushing out the door without looking back.

Bakugou rolls his eyes and peeks over his shoulder. He locks his gaze at you, catching you off guard; you blink and quickly compose yourself, giving him a slight nod.

“Thanks for having my back there. Really appreciate it.”

“Tch, that damn perv was annoying,” Bakugou scoffs. “Bastard should learn some fucking manners.”

“And some human decency,” you snort, placing one hand on your hip. “Too bad he won’t be coming back, though. You shoving that dumbbell up his ass would’ve been a sight.”

Bakugou flashes an amused grin, sauntering toward the racks to continue his set. You smile when he returns and stands at a respectful distance.

Guess chivalry isn’t dead after all.

As always, thanks for reading :D!

Don’t know when I’ll drop another story though slkdjlfrlfek

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #bakugou imagines #mha x reader #tw: harassment

329 notes · View notes

rainydaydream-gal18 · 3 years

Text

(TFATWS) Bucky x Reader: Protective- Part 1

(Author’s Note: I watched TFATWS and loved it. So here we are).

The tension had finally fizzled out an hour or so into the trip- at least for a little while.

Your consulting criminal, Zemo, made himself comfortable as soon as he set foot on the jet. He was leaning back in his seat across from you, looking very pleased as he read a book and took an occasional sip from his champagne glass. His contented demeanor had visibly affected both of your friends, Sam and Bucky, causing their irritation with him to skyrocket earlier. But after some of the confrontations concerning Bucky’s inherited notebook from Steve, Sam’s music, and Zemo’s observations of you, things had finally calmed down.

He was a crafty one. He knew how to push buttons, knew exactly what to say to trigger each individual’s weak points. Things had begun to escalate especially when Zemo turned his attention to you. His piercing gaze had you frozen in place as he made inquiries. While he didn’t ask anything outwardly uncomfortable, the probing questions about your life were starting to make you uneasy.

The other two males didn’t take too kindly to Zemo’s attempts at conversation with you. Bucky stared out the window with his jaw clenched. At one point, Sam let out an exasperated sigh, causing the criminal to halt mid-sentence. He leaned over to raise his brow at you diagonally across the aisle of the jet. “_________, is he bothering you?”

You didn’t have to speak: the look on your face said it all, and Sam shifted in his seat again to look over at Zemo. “Alright, that’s enough.” His tone was firm and leaving no room to question.

Directly across the aisle from you to your right, Bucky’s shoulders relaxed when Zemo followed Sam’s command. The jet had fallen silent except for the muffled whirring sounds of its mechanics.

You pretended to skim through a magazine that you’d found laying on a tray. With one hour down and twelve more to go on the flight, you felt the need to unwind a bit. Everything had happened so fast from the moment you agreed to go with your friends to Berlin to see Zemo. After Thanos’ horrible plan came to an end, things heated up when John Walker went public as “the new Captain America.” He’d even offered you a place working with him since you were part of Team Cap back in the day. You declined, of course, and found yourself even more determined to help Sam and Bucky.

You were happy for Steve. You were. It was still hard to have him gone. For years, ever since the Avengers broke apart over the Sokovia Accords and Bucky’s framing, you’d followed Steve. Even before then, when it was discovered that Hydra had been infiltrating SHIELD, you’d left the broken agency to join him as he continued his fight against threats to the world

You hadn’t imagined that you and the others would be left to keep fighting without him.

“You in the market for a new grill?”

You were drawn from your deep thought to a set of dark blue eyes that looked from you to the magazine page that you hadn’t turned in at least ten minutes. You chuckled and closed the magazine, playing along. “Yes, I figured with all this extra time, I’d do a little shopping.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched up in a brief show of amusement. You rose from the seat to go to his side, kneeling down beside his chair.

“Why does he even have this?” You lowered your voice as you glanced at the eccentric baron, setting the magazine back down onto the tray. “You’d think there would be more European fashion magazines or something.”

Bucky’s eyes flickered to the man in question before leaning in to speak in an equally quiet tone. “I have to admit. We lucked out with him. Not only does he have a lead, but he’s got private transportation so we can stay under the radar.”

“I think we made the the right choice going to him,” you replied.

“We can only hope,” he muttered. “Seriously though, what were you thinking about when you zoned out?”

“Oh.” You averted your gaze, playing with the hem of your jacket. You didn’t want to delve into your train of thought. It was plain as day that Bucky and Sam were both dealing with Steve’s departure in their own ways, and you didn’t want to add to it or open up any healing wounds. So, you settled on being vague. “Just...everything.”

He seemed to know what you meant anyway. The silence that followed made guilt gnaw in your chest, but before you could say anything, Bucky spoke.

“Hey,” he nudged you with his shoulder, making you meet his gaze again. His eyes had softened significantly and forehead smoothed in absence of the lines caused by furrowed brows. It was a nice change from the scowl he had since the mission started. “Sorry we dragged you into this.”

You dismissed the apology with a casual wave of your hand. “You guys didn’t drag me into anything. I was along for the ride from the beginning.”

A comfortable silence fell between you then. He returned to gazing out the window while you stood up and headed back to your seat, sinking into it and letting your head tip forward. You figured that a cat nap was in order since you hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. All that business with an internationally-known criminal breaking out of prison had you on edge. With nothing but the sounds of occasional page-turning from Zemo’s book and Sam tapping his foot lightly to the beat of music he listened to on his phone with earbuds, sweet sleep claimed you in no time.

You were pulled from your dreamless slumber by voices, but your body wasn’t ready to respond just yet. The first thing you noticed was that you were leaning against something on your right side, your face resting on a soft material that held the scent of leather and cologne. Bucky’s scent. It must’ve been his jacket balled up to serve as a pillow. In fact, it was his voice rumbling closest to you.

“Stop looking at her like that.”

“Apologies, James, but I don’t know what you mean.” Zemo’s accented voice was quieter, but there was a sprinkle of amusement in his tone.

“You’re doing it right now.”

“Bucky, come on,” Sam interjected. “We managed to make it a few hours without killing the guy. Don’t let him get to you now.”

Zemo’s tone took on a new intensity, as if he was gripped by fascination. “You seem very protective of __________. The way you move around her is intriguing, as if prepared to defend her at a moment’s notice.”

“Don’t engage,” Sam warned in a low voice.

By now, you were almost fully awake. Despite the potentially awkward situation that Zemo was creating with the analysis of your friend, you figured it would be best to intervene. You shifted, blinking your eyes open.

“What’s going on?” you muttered, voice still a little rough from sleep. “It better be good because I haven’t slept that well in a while.” You lifted your head from Bucky’s jacket, eyes darting up to see him staring out the window again. “Sorry,” you muttered, brushing a bit of drool from his jacket before handing it back to him. He stole a glance in your direction again, not seeming to mind.

“No big deal. You needed the sleep.”

Bucky didn’t say another word, so you turned to Sam for answers. He shrugged with the shake of his head. “Zemo’s being... well, Zemo.”

You nodded in understanding, as if that simple phrase was all the explanation you needed. Zemo caught your gaze, the corners of his lips turning up a smile.

“As I mentioned before, we will have to go undercover to meet with Selby in Madripoor. I was merely thinking of disguises for you and Sam.”

He seemed like was telling the truth, but you didn’t doubt that he relished the added bonus of getting under Bucky’s skin in the process. While Bucky had been protective of you and those who chose to put themselves on the line to prove his innocence when it came to the UN bombing, you hadn’t expected him to be quite that defensive in this situation. As flattering as it was in some ways, it made you worry. Zemo knew what buttons to push. Would he eventually push a button to make things go his way? To forward some plan of his?

You got up to stretch and use the refresher. You took your time since there were still several hours left in the flight. Zemo had informed the group that upon landing, there would be limited window to get into costume and go over your characters before heading to Selby’s club.

- - - - - - -

“Only an American would assume that a fashion-forward black man looks like a pimp,” Zemo complained. You stole a glance at your friend who gave his outfit another displeased look. “You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing. The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger.” He handed his phone over so Sam could get a look at his character’s picture.

“He even has a bad nickname. He does look like me, though.”

“And who am I supposed to be?” you asked, pulling the jacket over your form tighter. You wore a dark blue dress that went to your knees. The material was soft and had a subtle glimmer in the light, and the outfit was complete with a pair of black heels that clacked on the pavement with each step, a shiny silver bracelet, and the black jacket that you were glad to have in the chilly air. The group was walking to the halfway point of the bridge to be picked up.

“You will be my date,” Zemo replied casually.

You gave him an incredulous look. “Really? I’m just the date?”

He released a sigh before launching into explanation. “You don’t exactly resemble any crime bosses. Besides, it’s not uncommon for dates to come and go in this town. No one will be asking who you are. No one will expect what’s coming to them if we need to fight. You may have the greatest advantage out of all of us.”

As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point.

“Just remember to remain at my side at all times,” Zemo continued. “Make it look convincing that we are together.”

You refused to meet his amused look. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

A black car idled just ahead, and Zemo once more reiterated how important it was to stay in character. He told the group about High Town and Low Town, though you were a little distracted by the city lights reflecting off the water.

You squeezed into the backseat between Bucky and Sam. The ride was tense with only the sound of your breaths in the small space. Bucky stared straight ahead through the windshield even as motorcycles surrounded the car and escorted it the rest of the way. The car dropped you all off near the club, and Zemo held out his hand to help you out of the vehicle. He put an arm around your waist at a respectful level, but Bucky took one look and halted.

“Okay, this isn’t going to work,” Bucky snapped. Everyone’s eyes were on him.

Sincerity was written all over Zemo’s features as he responded. “I assure you, it will.” Suddenly, his eyes flickered with realization, though you glanced between the two men in confusion. “I know you don’t trust me, James, and I understand your discomfort. However, you are playing the part of the Winter Soldier. It is best if she remains inconspicuous as my date.”

“Wait, that’s what this is about?” Sam asked in disbelief. “Who ________ pretends to date?” Your eyes fell to the pavement. The situation was already unpleasant. The last thing you wanted was to bring confusing feelings into the mix while in the middle of an important mission.

Bucky began to protest. “No, I-”

“Relax,” Sam said, holding up his hands to show he meant no offense. “________, you can stay by me. Smiling Tiger can have a date, right?” He looked to Zemo for confirmation.

“Excellent idea.” He nodded in approval. “Just remember to stay in character. All of you.”

(Link to Part 2)

#the falcon and the winter soldier #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #tfatws #tfatws bucky #tfatws bucky x reader #mcu bucky x reader #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes imagine #the falcon and the winter soldier reader insert #bucky fanfic #bucky

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no-droids · 4 years

Text

Brown Eyes

Part Nine of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10.1K dont. just dont

Warnings: Smut, AS ALWAYS. Canon typical violence, verbal references masochism/pain kink (NOT ACTUALLY EXPLORED IN THIS CHAPTER MY DUDES, JUST HINTED AT/DISCUSSED), slight degradation, exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, a bit of ass play (!!!), FLUUUUFFFFFF

***

“What?”

“Hm?”

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“What’s the hold up?”

“I’m just…” The helmet looks you up and down, considering. You scrunch your nose at him and rock back and forth on your feet impatiently as he sighs. “It’s going to be like teaching a foundling to read. I’m just trying to figure out where to even begin.”

“Because it’s so fucking pretty here, I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that,” you say pointedly, looking around at the vast field of flowing grass surrounding the two of you and breathing in the warm, fresh air into your lungs. “Your vibe is clashing, Din.”

“Because I don’t really know what that means, I’m also going to pretend you didn’t say that,” he returns, and the child’s giggles float up alongside the breeze as he chases after another, slightly smaller green reptile that you also currently have no name for. He tilts the beskar thoughtfully at you, and you squint against the way the sun catches the visor directly in your eyes from this angle. “What do you want to learn first?”

“I want to shoot a gun,” you blurt without thinking.

“Okay, hand-to-hand it is,” he nods firmly, and then pats his unarmored chest with one bare hand. “Hit me.”

You blink down at the dark fabric stretched across his left pectoral, and then back up at the metallic visor staring back at you.

“Hit me,” he says again in response to your silence. “Hard as you can. Right here.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, lifting your gaze up to him once more with a twist of your mouth, already out of your comfort zone. “What if I hurt you?”

“Are you fucking kidding?” He actually sounds… pissed off. “Hit me.”

You immediately shove your hand up against his chest in response to the sharp order, and your palm makes a quiet slapping sound as it collides with what feels like solid rock concealed underneath black fabric.

Din says absolutely nothing. Almost a… forced silence. Like what he wants to say will very likely be vaguely mean and dismissive of your feelings, so he’s keeping his mouth firmly shut under the helmet. He just pats his chest again, each one purposeful and distinct, easily making twice the amount of noise hitting himself as you did hitting him.

You ball your fist up this time and whack him with it, considerably harder this time and even making a solid thud against his pectoral, though he doesn’t even move a fraction under the blow.

“I am…” he tries to choose his words carefully after another moment of purposeful silence. “…insulted.”

You grit your teeth and raise your arm up and back, swinging it out at him as hard as you physically can, but then the curve of his broad shoulder suddenly jerks back just before you can touch him and your fist is caught from the side with a gentle grip.

“Better. You wound up that time, that gives you momentum. But never come at someone like this,” he tells you, lifting your arm back up to the way it was before and then slowly hinging it down again against his chest. “This is how you were going to hit. See how your pinkie is taking the brunt of the punch when you come down at it from an angle like this?” He pushes your fist against his chest a few times to demonstrate your pinkie squishing against the solid plane of muscle. “No matter how hard you hit me, your hand is going to take that much force, too. That attempt had about half the power you want, but you might’ve broken your finger if I let you make contact like that.”

“Half the power?” You narrow your eyebrows at him. “You’ll break my whole hand.”

Din angles your wrist straight and pushes your closed fist against his chest again, this time head-on instead of at a downward angle. “Always try to use these first two knuckles to reinforce against the impact, they’re the strongest and best aligned with the bones in your wrist. You should also physically brace yourself for it. Flex your arm—create as much rigidity around your joints as you can, keep your fist clenched tight to maintain integrity of the soft tissues in your hand, and your body should protect itself against the blowback as long as you land right. Try again.”

You diligently wind your fist up again and then go to snap your arm straight forward this time, but he steps up and catches your elbow before you can even move. “Wait. Look at this—see this chicken wing?” He flaps your elbow back and forth while his other hand holds your fist in place next to your head. “This is no good, this is where you’re losing half your power. And having your arm up like this is making you open to rib and kidney shots.”

You squirm to the side when he taps the bend of his knuckle against your kidney, and the vulnerable spot is tender even though he barely uses any force. “I’m winding up,” you inform him with a huff.

“You are,” Din acknowledges. “But your movement is limited like this. See where your elbow is compared to your center of gravity?” He flaps it again, and your shoulder pulls uncomfortably when he pushes it back just a bit too far. “You’re restricting yourself, look. Your shoulder is in the way, this is as far as your body will let you go. You’re also using up too much energy trying to swing your whole arm around just to make contact; it’s sloppy technique, it slows you down, and it’ll tire you out. But, if you wind up like this—” Din lowers your elbow until it rests flat against your side, and then hinges it backwards instead of up near your head, “—see how much further away your elbow is from your body now? Instead of swinging outwards, think of a slingshot forwards. Use explosive, forward momentum that you generate from your shoulder—you’re aiming for a sharp, streamlined jab. This way you conserve energy, produce twice as much power, and your arm now covers up all this important stuff under here,” he explains, trying to tap his knuckle against your side once more but being blocked by your forearm. “Good? Now go again.”

He lets you go and steps back, and this time you instinctually plant your foot behind you to give you a solid base foundation that’ll allow you more room to twist, your physics brain lighting up as soon as he said slingshot. His helmet quickly drops to your stance and then immediately lifts back up to your face again.

You do exactly as he said—you wind back, keeping your arm tucked tight to your side, and then explode forward with a sharp spin of your shoulder and snap of your elbow, colliding your clenched fist into his chest as hard as you possibly can.

He grunts and takes two steps back.

You howl.

“FUUUUUCK!” It gets lost in the giant field of grass as you clutch your fist, torn between cradling it to your chest like a baby and shaking it out violently at your side like… something distinctly not a baby. You settle for just bending over and holding it tightly to your stomach, eyes clamped shut and screeching with such fervor that the back of your throat stings sharp with it. “WHAT THE FUCKING—FUCKFUCKFUCK—!?”

“Good!” Din encourages over your wailing. “That was good! How’d that feel? Holy shit—that felt good.”

“What’s the point of hitting you when it hurts me and makes you feel good!?” You cry out over your shoulder, somewhere between genuine hatred and agony.

“That was perfect,” he tells you immediately, almost sounding vaguely… out of breath behind you? “Don’t change a thing—that’s how you punch every single time from now on, okay? That’s how hard you hit. Fuck, that felt fucking good.”

The… something in his voice is enough to take your mind off your throbbing hand for just a second, quickly snapping upright and whirling around to face him with your eyebrows very, very narrowed. He stands there in front of you and you continue to eye him with as much silent skepticism as you can express, until the both of you speak at the same time.

“What was that?”

“Let’s go again.”

Neither of you move, and you feel like your face is scrunched up as tiny as possible at him right now with dubiousness.

“Let’s go again,” Din suddenly grunts out, hooking an arm around your elbow and tugging you to face forward once more.

“Did that turn you on?” You ask him bluntly, your battle wound completely forgotten by your side.

“I swear if you don’t—”

“You get hard when you get hurt?” You ask dumbly, all sorts of lightbulbs suddenly illuminating in dusty, cobwebbed corners of your mind. Maker, that would explain so much. “Is that why you wanted a handjob immediately after I burned a knife wound shut on your back?”

“You wanna learn how to punch today or you wanna learn how to block?” Comes through the helmet, thoroughly unamused at your antics, but you just break into a mischievous little grin in response and push just one more button of his, knowing he’s only mostly joking.

“I’ll punch you,” you purr. “Hold your arms up, show me your ribs.”

There’s a split second of silence before he quickly snaps his fist to his chest once again, oh, but it’s enough. Your shoulders do a little victory shimmy and have to bite your lip to keep from beaming at him, so unbelievably proud of yourself for being able to read him this well without seeing his face.

But—for the very same reason, you also plant your foot behind you and wind your arm back once more, knowing you were already treading on thin ice.

“Am I gonna have to start calling you chicken wing?” Din suddenly barks out, a split second into your forward launch. You almost stumble into him with all the generated momentum and catch yourself just in time, eventually stepping back and resetting with a frustrated huff. Purposefully tucking your arm tight into your side, you pull back once more.

He mmphs when you make equally hard contact in the very same spot but he doesn’t move this time, and you somehow forgot how horribly painful it is to slam your clenched fist directly against a solid object with all your strength—much less, the second time around. You attempt to deaden your response as well, but he has the luxury of the helmet to shield his face. Silencing your scream just makes yours contort unattractively in front of him while your eyes clamp shut and you clutch your wrist, trying to bite back the crippling pain.

“Other hand—use the other hand instead,” he tells you quickly. “You have two of them.”

“I used to!” You snarl through the way you can’t even flex it anymore, how your muscles aren’t working through the angry sparks of acute sensation jumping down your fingers. “Your stupid fucking pecs just broke my good one!”

“Want me to kiss it?” Din asks—quickly, almost like he can’t help himself, and the snarky tone of it through the modulator coupled with the throbbing pain makes you grit your teeth.

“I used to love your body,” you lift your head and growl up at him while you cradle your swollen claw. “Why did you take that from me?”

“Give me your hand,” he says calmly, holding his palm out for you.

“No,” you spit, the pain making you stubborn and resistant to anything you don’t immediately offer yourself, but he’s not impressed. Din easily catches your elbow and brings it up, his other hand gently lacing through your fingers even as you try in vain to pull it away. “Stop it—”

He completely ignores you and looks back over his shoulder at the kid, dwarfed by the tall grass and continuing to hop around behind what will likely be his lunch, before the helmet turns back to you. “Eyes closed.”

“This isn’t fucking funn—”

“Close your eyes,” he tells you once more. “Don’t open them.”

You take a deep breath and grind your teeth, not wanting to be treated like a baby. It irks you that he’s dedicating so much time and effort into just infantilizing you and your very real pain. Though, the pain is so real that it makes it almost impossible to express the sentiment—it comes out sounding childishly short and bratty. “It hurts.”

“I know,” is all he says, soft and lilting and quite possibly as gentle as you’ve ever heard him. “Close your eyes, sweet girl.”

His tone of voice is the only thing that compels you to listen. You finally do as he says and flutter your eyes shut, overly aware of the hard grimace on your face now that you can’t see anything. One of his hands releases you while keeping your numb fingers laced between his, and then a few seconds pass, before you suddenly feel soft lips pressing against your knuckle.

You hiss and tighten up on instinct, more in fear of the pain than the pain itself, but he holds your hand steady as he carefully trails gentle presses of his lips against your knuckles. After a moment, you breathe out shakily, your eyebrows lifting just slightly at the sensation—before his mouth opens and his warm tongue glides delicately across your sensitive skin.

You gasp and your fingers twitch in between his, suddenly able to move again. They knock against cool metal as his tongue slowly drags down the valleys between your knuckles—but then Din abruptly drops your hand at the sudden sound of sunshine giggles coming from afar. Your eyes pop open just as his helmet is yanked down over his jaw once more.

“Let’s…” He clears his throat through the modulator, taking a small step back. “Let’s go again.”

***

You collapse down into a pitiful little pile on the grass, trying to catch your breath. This is ridiculous. You somehow have tender bruises all over your body and yet you’re the only one who’s done any sort of hitting whatsoever.

“That’s fine, we can take a break,” Din says gruffly from above you, but you’re too tired to even comment on the sarcasm. You just groan, flopping down flat on your back while he sits in the grass next to you and silently waits for you to start breathing normally again.

“I hate this,” you pant, resting your numb hands against your forehead and squinting against the late afternoon sun. “I don’t like this. My body hurts and I barely did anything.”

“You’re good at it,” Din is quick to respond, and the blunt sincerity in his voice takes you aback, making you glance over at him in shock. “I know,” he nods once the beskar turns and he sees the look on your face, “I didn’t expect it either.”

His tendency to compliment you while simultaneously insulting you doesn’t go unnoticed, but if anything, you decide to take it as a testament to his honesty and comfort in your presence. Clearly he’d have no issue telling you if you were terrible at this.

Instead of responding, you lace your fingers behind your head and continue to just lay there, closing your eyes against the warm sunshine. It’s gorgeous here, you get why this planet is renown throughout the galaxy. Perfect weather, stunningly green rolling hills for miles, the gentle breeze dancing through the tall grass, brilliant white clouds suspended against a beautiful blue backdrop. The only thing that’s missing is—

“When can we go see the ocean?” You blurt up at the sky, unable to stop the words before they’re out of your mouth.

“What ocean?” Comes tiredly through the modulator, monotone and filtered as he shuffles into a more comfortable position.

“Any of them,” you immediately respond, shrugging your shoulders against the grass. “The closest one. I’m not picky.”

“…Naboo doesn’t have any oceans,” Din tells you blankly.

You startle slightly, jerking your head over at him. “What? But—but I saw it through the transparisteel when we dropped. This whole planet is practically covered in water.”

“It is,” he agrees with a tilt of his helmet, following you with the visor as you finally scramble to sit yourself upright. “But it’s all one big… body of water. Locals call it the Abyss, it stretches across the entire planet through a system of underground caves and tunnels. It only surfaces as rivers and lakes and swamplands, though. No ocean. Not really.”

“Oh.” It’s blank, but it’s… lacking. The sun glinting against metal gives you an excuse to subtly turn your head away from him, and you hold back your sigh of disappointment.

“What’s the matter?” He grunts after a moment, somehow succeeding in sounding mildly disinterested while still bothering to ask. He props his knee upright to rest his elbow on it, apparently able to read you better than ever as well.

“Nothing,” you say on instinct and shake your head, already knowing it’s dumb. You’re being dumb, there’ll be other planets with oceans—you just haven’t had the opportunity to go to one yet.

Din doesn’t say anything after that, but he also keeps the helmet subtly turned towards you, like he’s just… waiting. The quiet almost doesn’t sound quiet anymore, not when there’s such a loud unspoken question still lingering in it.

“It’s just,” you say after a moment, trying to smile, but it doesn’t feel real. It’s nothing more than a movement your mouth makes and it feels at odds with the mild disappointment you’re trying to hide. “I used to be a moisture farmer. Back on Arvala-7, where we first met.”

His continued silence tells you nothing. You don’t know whether he’s confused and you should elaborate, whether he understands and doesn’t need an explanation, whether he’s interested or disinterested. Nothing. So after another few more seconds of nothing, you decide to keep going.

“There's something about water that just… hits different when you spend your entire life on a planet without any,” you say quietly, picking at a few blades of grass by your knees instead of looking at him. “When I was a little girl, I used to think it was as rare in the rest of the galaxy as it was where I was born. A limited resource you had to farm from the atmosphere to drink, because it didn’t occur naturally in liquid form. It was… valuable. Delicate. Crystal clear—never saw more than a few dozen gallons of it at a time. Something to be cherished. Something you’d never want to waste even just dipping your hand into, because the dirt on your skin would contaminate it.”

You smile once more, but this time it feels a little bit better. “You know… the first shower I took on the Crest the day I left that Maker-forsaken planet was the first time I ever felt my hair get wet. We only ever had sonic showers on Arvala-7.” And stars, the memory of it makes you want to shudder. Ultrasonic waves vibrating the dirt and sweat off your body sounds a lot more thorough than it actually is. You never felt truly clean until you were soaking wet on the Crest with shampoo in your hair, giggling like a child in the fresher while you made yourself a soapy little beard.

It springboards into another memory—the moment you first reached for a towel after showering, catching a glimpse of your hands and startling at the sight of your wrinkled, pruny fingertips. You’d never heard of such a phenomena before that point. You thought you’d asked Kuiil about everything, but to be entirely fair, he might not have even realized it happened, not from the leathery texture of his xenospecies’ skin. The questions he did answer for you were plenty though, and you suddenly remember something he said to you years ago that was so jarring and unexpected that it’s stuck with you to this day.

“Kuiil told me once that water was loud,” you suddenly hear yourself say, and though your soft laugh is nostalgic and sincere, you don’t know why, but you instantly tear up as soon as the words leave your mouth. “Loud. How could—could water be loud? What… what noise would it make?”

You sniff and continue to pick at the grass, a bit more vigorously this time, purposefully keeping your eyes down and blinking quickly. “He said… he said streams and brooks… b-bubble. They bubble. And rain… rain is like static—like white noise, but… natural. Not generated by a machine. He said the ocean is the loudest, though. It roars. It’s powerful.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat and glancing up, you try to distract yourself from the memory of your close friend by looking out at the wavy grass, trying to see if you can spot the kid being dwarfed by it. You can’t, not from this low angle, but you can still hear him playing happily in the distance.

“I’ve seen all the others now, thanks to you,” you confess quietly. “Rain, rivers, lakes—but I always wanted to see an ocean. A big, scary one, where the sound would just be… deafening. Water, tons of it, crashing up against rocks and filling the air with mist. Used to dream about them. Wanted to see something I used to think was rare fill my entire field of view. Wanted to see something I always thought was precious turn into something formidable.”

Din continues staring silently at you through your peripheral while you keep picking at the grass absently.

“I just—I don’t know.” You finally look over at him and sigh, smiling softly and shrugging your shoulders. “I just always dreamed of a place where I could go, a place where I could open my eyes and all I’d be able to see—all I could hear—was water.”

You stop talking after that, having run out of things to say and realizing you probably shared a little too much without ever being prompted. The sunlight is gentle and easy, however, and it encourages you to close your eyes and just breathe, letting silent, eternal gratitude to the man next to you fill you. You’d never know any sun that isn’t harsh, you’d never know the greenness of the tall grass in this sprawling field had he not found you, given you a chance to tag along the galaxy with him and his carnivorous little sidekick.

The sun begins making you sleepy the more you sit here in the middle of paradise, eyes closed and tasting the gorgeous air in your lungs. But eventually, Din stands up and steps in front of you, opening both of his bare palms towards the setting sky and bouncing them up and down a few times. “Up. Come on. I’ll teach you how to throw an uppercut before nightfall.”

You groan but lift your hands in his direction all the same, trying not to wince while you make grabby fingers at him, your knuckles slightly bruised and red. He sighs and wraps his hands purposefully around your elbows, urging you up as he takes a few steps backwards.

It’s awkward. You’re still feeling lazy and droopy-eyed, and the cool shadow he casts makes you even more sleepy. You think he’s going to help more than you have to pull yourself up, and he clearly thinks he’s there to be your platform instead of your forklift. What results is just you being dragged uselessly by your arms in front of him, until your torso and legs are stretched in an uncomfortable J-shape on the ground and your forehead bumps into his lower tummy.

He stops and holds you there, before grunting out, “Use your feet.”

“Just let me fall,” you tell him, your lips brushing against the dark fabric while your shoulders and spine pull tight at this angle. “Just leave me here like this.”

The sigh he makes above you feels like he puts his whole entire being into it. Din leaves you propped up against him for a second while he grumbles and readjusts his hold further up near your shoulders, before he maneuvers you until you’re gently settling down on your knees in the grass.

You think (hope) he’s going to release you and let you take a nap, but then you gasp when he shifts and the toe of his boot suddenly wedges itself between your closed thighs. He lifts up on your arms just slightly, enough to take the weight off your knees so he can swipe his foot out and kick one of them open, before plopping you back down again and letting you go.

Up until that point, you’d been good. You were content with being boneless for him and seeing how he’d deal, but then he gracefully crouches down in front of you and wraps one powerful arm around your back, hugging you tight to his chest. Din’s open thighs frame your kneeling figure and you can feel his cock pressed against your tummy from this angle, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

For some reason, he decides to take this next part slow. Maybe it’s because he can probably feel the way your heart is starting to kick up against his unarmored chest right now, but he drags it out. Broad shoulder dropping and his helmet finding a home in the crook of your neck, Din braces you to his chest with one arm while the other slithers down the curve of your ass and then under—his forearm pressing firmly between your cheeks and then his open palm flattening tight along the length of your pussy from behind.

You moan softly next to the helmet while he works the thick muscles in his thighs to gradually lift you both from the ground. Maker, the tips of his fingers are curved hard against your slit through your pants while he rises, pulling you up until gravity causes your thighs to slowly meet around his hand and your legs to dangle.

The feat of strength turns you on just as much as his choice of positioning does. Fuck, you know you’re not the lightest person in the galaxy, but Din carefully sets you down on your feet without even so much as a grunt of effort, his hand staying tucked tight between your legs for longer than necessary. Biting your lip and pressing your face into his shoulder does nothing to stop the quiet whimper you make when he decides to grind his strong fingers up into you just a bit.

“Din,” you whisper, wanting to melt into him, but then he’s instantly ripping his hand away and taking a step back.

You nearly fall over at the sudden lack of support after relying solely on him for it for so long, but you don’t even have enough time to open your mouth in upset. There’s just a split second before a green blur bursts through the tall grass with a squeal and trips over the baggy potato sack around his body.

It’s like it happens in slow motion. You both watch as he flies forward, skidding more than once on the ground and then landing face-down on your shoe, the little thump on your foot feeling so adorably anticlimactic after all the buildup.

Nobody moves for a second, except for the way your eyes flicker up at the visor currently tilted towards the ground. You can tell Din is just holding his breath, just waiting to see if—

A hiccup. You see broad shoulders tighten under the dark fabric, and then a sudden piercing wail is released against your shoe.

“Shit,” Din curses, already scooping the little thing up and bouncing him slightly to pacify him. You bite your lip against the way his ears flop from the movement and he screams even louder. “Hey hey hey, stop. Stop it. Stop crying.”

“Uh oh! Where’d your little friend go?” You ask while Din immediately turns the kid around to face you, your voice pitched soft and high in your register as you step closer. “Did you eat him already?”

He just shudders out a cry, probably an affirmative, his mouth dropping and his little teeth peeking through while he sobs and his giant eyes well with tears.

“Shit,” Din curses again, this time in defeat, but you won’t give up that easy.

“Hey—hey goose, wanna see me beat your daddy up?” You ask, lightly booping the little bump of his nose. “Huh? Wanna see me fight?” You pull your top lip up into a ridiculous little snarl and flex your arms threateningly, and the sobs suddenly stutter to a stop within a few breaths. “Op, yep. See—he knows I’ll kick your ass, Din, he just got scared.”

“Please,” the modulator pfftts quietly, but the kid just blinks at you while you keep growling.

“I’ll hurt him real bad,” you promise him, putting your fists up in front of you and bouncing your weight back and forth like a prized boxing champ. “I’ll, uh…” your list of trash talk repertoire is admittedly rather short, and both of them wait in silence for you to figure it out, the bigger one a lot less entertained than his miniature counterpart. “I’ll punch him just. So hard. So hard that… it’ll bruise. Yeah—I’ll make him bleed underneath his skin.”

“No, this is good, keep going,” Din encourages after a moment of awkward silence. “Maybe you’ll be able to find your way there at some point.”

You ignore him, bobbing and ducking and then popping him one good in the shoulder with an accompanying vocal sound effect—except you quickly jerk your hand away and shake your wrist out, staring up at the helmet like he deeply offended you and mouthing, “Ow.”

A smile. The smallest ghost of one, but you see it on the kid’s teeny green mouth when you flick your eyes down to him.

So, Din spends the rest of the lingering daylight teaching you the proper uppercut technique while he cradles an adorable little bug-eyed baby in one arm. You keep making faces at him while throwing your fist up against his dad’s extended, downturned palm, until he finally starts giggling again.

***

Whelp, turns out you’re a fucking idiot. Or maybe just a selfish bitch, either way. Not a good look.

You thought, from the way the lovely afternoon went, that you were getting better at reading Din. Knowing when to joke around, when to keep pushing, and when to stop talking, all from just his body posture and tone of voice alone. But you’re also an idiot, as you’ve already established.

As you three headed back to the Crest through the dusky twilight evening, you remember telling Din that if there weren’t any oceans on Naboo, then you’ll at least be able to sleep in a bed on this planet. A real one, one with a—oh stars, an actual mattress. The word alone sent shivers down your spine, and the baby cooed while blinking his eyes slowly, well on his way to being tuckered out from the long day outside.

You don’t remember Din directly responding, but then again, that isn’t really all that rare in the grand scheme. Granted, he was arguably more talkative today than ever before, and he did get a little bit quieter after that, but still, you couldn’t have known. Only an incredibly hyper-observant person would’ve noticed in the moment—you’re lucky you can even recall this much in hindsight.

Though, this next part should’ve been more of a direct giveaway. Once you were in the Crest, he put his armor back on.

You still didn’t think. It’s such a normal thing, the beskar fitting tight to magnetic plates around his shoulders, thighs, and chest. It’s normal, he wears it all the time. Having him walking around in broad daylight sans armor and gloves today was odd, that was the outlier.

He flew the vessel to the nearest town, a quaint little village on the edge of a gorgeously full forest. The ride was as gentle as possible—you were feeling soft and decided to hold the baby as he drifted off instead of placing him in the quiet darkness of his cradle. The ears tend to make things a bit awkward, but after months of practice with it, you’re now a pro at rocking the little guy to sleep in your arms.

Din’s continued silence didn’t bother you—or really even register, considering you were trying to be quiet as well. He slung your go-bag around his shoulder and pressed a few buttons on his vambrace to set the kid’s sphere protocols to follow behind him, before pressing a gloved palm to your lower back and leading you down the ramp, the sleepy baby tucked tight into your arms.

There were people in the village mingling while you three walked down the cobblestone path to the nearest inn, giving your ragtag group double-takes as you passed. The innkeeper, however, was blind. Not only did you not receive the same terrified courtesy the barkeep on Canto Bight had afforded you before, but he was clearly used to spotting and swindling newcomers, sightless or not.

“Only room left’s a suite,” he drawled, the cloudy whites of his pupils hovering just between your left shoulder and Mando’s right pauldron. “Five hundred credits a night.”

The color drained from your face, your heart doing a giant flip in your chest and completely fucking up the landing. You turned to Mando to reassure him that absolutely nothing about this was necessary, but he was already dropping the ridiculous amount of credits on the desk without a single word.

That should’ve been the nail in the coffin, to be honest. His immediate willingness to hand over that many credits without the slightest protest, grumble, or sigh was the kicker—that’s how you should’ve known something wasn’t right. He didn’t even allow you to split the cost when you offered to reimburse him on the way to the room.

But again. You’re an idiot, so.

At least the suite is gorgeous. Slightly old-fashioned and moonlit enough to skip even flicking the lights on, illuminated by large open windows with views of the village streets and sprawling mountains and forest beyond. Everything inside is either cream or white, so clean and soft, and being able to feel the breeze billowing through the gauzy curtains is just. After months of traveling in that enclosed ship, it’s restorative. Almost nothing in here is made of metal.

So it’s not until right now—almost immediately after you settled the kid down into the incredibly large guest bed and walked into the master bedroom to find Mando sitting perfectly still on the edge of the mattress—now something feels off. He looks so out of place as you quietly snap the door shut behind you. The enormous floor to ceiling window decorating the far side of the room bathes him in pale light, highlights the blaster marks and bits of dirt clinging to the beskar as he sits on the bed.

“You’re going to get the sheets all dirty,” you, an idiot, tell him, your voice barely above a murmur. “Take off your—”

“I can’t,” he rushes, though he jumps up from the mattress all the same. You snap your mouth shut and freeze. “It’s safe here but it’s… it’s still not a good idea, not if I want to sleep. Not with people around, and all these… windows.”

The words send you reeling. You had no idea, you thought… “Oh. I’m sorry, that—”

You immediately go silent, feeling absolutely fucking awful. You didn’t think. All you could think about was that bed underneath you, and you maybe… blindfolded in some way? And then of course, him, in it—completely naked, helmet off, and laying next to you.

“You’re okay,” Mando tells you with a shrug, not sounding like… anything. He looks like he’s about to say something else—his chestplate lifts with an inhale as he turns to you, but then seems to stop right as he’s about to speak.

“Shit—please sit on the bed, I don’t care if you’re dirty,” you quickly say, just as he blurts out, “You can still take your clothes off though.”

You blink at him for a second, not sure you heard him right. “…What did y—”

“You can, uh.” His voice is soft. “I can… lay down. On top of the sheets. In my armor, just like this, and then you can take your clothes off and just. Rub up on me a little bit. If you want.”

A shudder quite suddenly rockets down your spine at the tone of his voice, the quiet, slightly hesitant murmur through the modulator. The gulp you take is audible through the room, the only other sound being the closest trees rustling in the breeze outside. The spread curtains dance with it, but they’re too sheer and light to make a noise. “O-Okay.”

“Yeah?” He asks lowly, and you quickly nod.

“Yeah,” you whisper, your body beginning to tingle, “sit—sit back down.”

He goes to move but then abruptly stops, and you hold your breath while you watch the visor jerk just a fraction to pin you in place. Something instantly feels… different about him, a silent shift taking place within just a singular moment. Like he all of a sudden realized that he didn’t actually like that very much.

Instead of acquiescing, Mando slowly steps in front of you, straightening up to his full height and absolutely dwarfing you with it, and your palms start to sweat. Maker, when he speaks, it sends shivers down your body and the last thing you hear in his voice is hesitation.

“Take off your clothes,” he tells you, a dangerous edge to his soft tone. The quiet dominance in it feels like the floor beneath you rumbles from it.

On instinct, your eyes flick over his shoulder to the open window and the village outside. It’s barely been a few hours since sundown—townspeople are strolling down winding streets in the distance, ghostly moonlight mixes with the warm glow from large oil lamps lining the pubs and street corners.

You look back at him barely a split second later as he stands there in front of you, waiting.

You startle and immediately move to grab at the hem of your shirt, and your fingers unintentionally tremble as they start to pull it up.

“Stop.”

His voice breaks through the silence, the modulated order halting your movements immediately. You blink up at him, letting your shirt drop back down again, and Mando takes a second to look back at you, studying you from under the beskar.

“Go stand by the window,” he suddenly says, lazily tilting the helmet to gesture at it.

Your blood pounds in your ears during the still moments following, the thrill of it making you nearly go deaf for a second. After you recover from the visceral heatwave that rockets through you, you slowly walk over to the window and then turn your back on the ballooning curtains to look at him. The beskar is still pinned to you over his shoulder, though the rest of his body hasn’t moved.

“Turn around,” he tells you, and you shakily do as he says, rotating to face the open window. You’re close enough to make out people’s expressions from here—friends mingling as they stroll down the sidewalk, their mouths moving but their voices and laughter muted at this distance. An outdoor restaurant serving local cuisine to patrons and out-of-towners, a violinist and cellist performing a silent duet on the street corner.

There’s shuffling behind you. The creak of the bedframe as he lowers himself on it and moves around, before eventually coming to a rest in what you assume is a comfortable position.

“You can keep going,” eventually comes his filtered voice from the bed.

Your eyelashes dip and flutter as more hot sparks of arousal kindle deep in your floor muscles. Lifting your shirt up over your head has never felt like such high stakes before, but even as the fabric falls to the ground, your gaze continuously searches for anyone outside who may catch a glimpse. Though, you’re not sure if it’s in dread or some kind of sick excitement.

The breeze hardens your nipples while you work at your pants, and the hair on your arms stands up when you remember who’s behind you, silently watching you get turned on by this. Along with your underwear, your pants are pushed down your thighs, but instead of moving back from the pool around your ankles, you take a purposeful step forward towards the open window.

“Fuck—you dirty little thing,” you hear him breathe out, and a shiver rolls through you. “Tell me how many people you can see right now, count them.”

You try your best, but give up halfway through and provide a rough estimate. “F-Fifteen.”

“Scanner says seventeen from here,” Mando challenges lowly. “Seventeen pairs of eyes that can look up any second and see your naked body. Stripped bare, shaking, vulnerable. Your gorgeous fucking tits.”

As hard as your teeth dig into your bottom lip at the rasp through the modulator, your nails dig into your palms even harder. Still, you don’t move, and the open drapes flick and brush against your thighs as you hold there, the gentle wind doing absolutely nothing to cool your flushed skin down.

And oh, he waits. He’s good about that, especially when he can probably read your infrared signature through the helmet right now. You’re surprised you haven’t outright blinded him by how white-hot your body feels. But after what feels like a small eternity, he eventually murmurs, “Come over here.”

Once you turn around and see the way he’s just laying back on the bed, relaxing and enchanted with the show, it’s a miracle you don’t trip on anything with how quickly you hurry towards him. You’re already standing next to the edge of the mattress by the time you even register his body is subtly tilted so that his boots are hanging purposefully off the side of it.

Regardless of the hard dominance he’s exhibiting, the symbolic gesture somehow feels like it flips a switch inside you and lights up pure, aching adoration for him. But against every instinct screaming at you to just scramble on top of him and show him how much you appreciate his thoughtfulness, you wait. You wait for him to tell you what to do.

His glove lifts, comes up to gently touch the side of your face and cradle your jaw, and you have to clamp your hands together to stop yourself from reaching for him.

“Are you wet?” Mando murmurs, sounding like his lips barely even brush against each other when they move under the beskar. You don’t trust yourself to say anything without it turning into a desperate plea, so you just close your eyes and jerk your head in a nod, feeling your cheek graze against the leather on his palm with the movement. It’s hard to swallow when your mouth feels so dry, and he lets you just suffer there and tremble for him a little while longer, letting out a quiet hum through the modulator as his thumb carefully rides the line of your cheekbone.

Maker, where does all this fucking patience come from? Under normal circumstances, Mando is probably one of the most impatient people you’ve ever met, and yet. It’s like he stores it all up. Hoards it and refuses to dip into it most of the time—perfectly content to have a quick temper in most interactions, if only so that he can keep it handy for moments like this. If only so he can have a seemingly endless supply of patience to sustain him while your average-sized stockpile is gradually and inevitably being depleted.

“You want to get up here with me?” He asks quietly, and stars, that’s still not a directive, no matter how much it could casually imply one. The ridiculous thing is—he never even told you this was expected of you. Not once did he tell you to follow his words like they're gospel, not once did he say there was something wrong with speaking directly to him without prompting, or acting without explicit instruction. He never even implied anything like that at all, but you still hold your body completely rigid as you jerk a nod against his palm once more.

Stars, it just isn’t fair. He doesn’t look any different from how he looks every single day—there’s no patch of golden skin to tease you, beskar is covering him head to toe, but you’re hotter for him than you think you’ve ever been. He’s stretched out long on the bed, a portion of him darkened by your silhouette but the rest bathed in gorgeous moonlight, breathing slow as he takes you in. You stare silently at the visor, and for some reason, you—you’re quite suddenly struck with how gorgeous he could secretly be under there and you’ll just… you’ll never know. You know his hair is thick and dark, you know the softness of his mouth, the sunkissed color of his skin, the prominent nose and straight teeth on the rare but blissful occasions he’d let you kiss him. His eyes, though. They could be any color. Your credits have been on brown for a while, but the thought of you not knowing for sure… the thought of you actually having to ask him something like that is just—it makes you ache to touch him even more. To give him something tangible at least, when you know the only way to ever have a true visual connection with him is with a dark visor between you.

You try to let the sentiment transfer through your needy expression, hoping he can read it from there. His cock is hard—you can see it in your peripheral, pressing up against the dark fabric of his pants, but it’s like you’re the only one who notices. He’s still admiring your face, or fuck, maybe he’s looking at your body—you can never tell for sure, but regardless, you stare purposefully at wherever you think his eyes ought to be, silently pleading with him and starting to get desperate.

Finally—fucking finally, the helmet rocks to the side just slightly, just the smallest tilt of his head towards his body, but the nonverbal invitation is enough. Air you didn’t realize was even in your lungs suddenly whooshes out of you as you all but launch forwards onto the mattress to try and climb on top of him.

—Except, then his hand quickly drops from your face to press firm against your thighs, blocking the way your far leg tries to lift to swing over him in a straddle. Disappointment crashes through you with an audible whimper and you start to panic a little bit as you shakily plant both knees back on the bed, wondering what you possibly did wrong. Was it because he didn’t specifically say it was okay? Was he just testing your obedience?

The beskar vambrace feels cool against your burning skin, and you try not to let the trembling of your body manifest itself in your breathing as Mando lazily drags his glove along your thighs. Neither one of you says anything as he eventually trails his hand back and around, leather fingers coming to a rest between your legs while his thumb rides high, just under the curve of your ass.

And then he slowly starts pulling, before he gradually leads the leg closest to him up and over his body instead, until you’re settling into a straddle on top of his hips. Backwards.

Everything in you shudders violently as both gloves gently trail up the length of your naked back, letting you brace your hands on the beskar strapped to his thighs and settle on top of him.

“Look at that,” he hums, letting his hands fall back down to the meat of your ass, grabbing handfuls of it and squeezing hard enough to make you bite back a gasp. “Fucking pretty. Pretty girl. Stars, I fucking love looking at you, know that?”

The praise makes you mewl quietly and spread your knees even further, dropping your hips down until the underside of his cock presses up tight into your aching pussy. You arch your back and walk your hands forward just a bit, just until you’re holding onto his knees and you have the right angle to start slowly rocking your body back and forth.

“Maker,” you whisper, your head tipping back while you drag your pussy against his pulsing erection, and his hands keep massaging your ass while the words start falling out of you now that you released the floodgate. “Maker, I love your body. So big, and—and strong. Fucking hard, thick cock. Fuck, I love your cock. I love how fucking hard you get—”

“Bend over,” Mando breathes out behind you, his hands suddenly releasing fistfuls of your ass to grab around your hips and bring you to a stop. “Fuck, keep talking like that, but show me your—just let me… let me look at it.”

Your heart slams against your sternum, your clit pulsing against the hard ridge of his cock, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. Slowly, you bend your upper body over until your tummy lays flat along the cool beskar shielding his thighs and your tits are pressed against his kneecaps. Your arms are long enough to rest your hands on his ankles like this, and your thighs are spread wide to keep your cunt pushed up against his cock. But stars, you know he has a perfect view right now. The slick lips of your pussy smearing against his dark pants, both holes on full display for him in the moonlight.

“Keep—Keep talking,” Mando reminds you after a moment, sounding painfully turned on while his cock jumps against your clit. “Keep going. Use it, get yourself off. Let me watch.”

“Fuck, I love your cock,” you hear yourself repeat, breathless and needy as your hips start grinding down against him once more, the words coming from you without giving them any thought whatsoever. He grunts and pushes it up for you, letting you get at it easier. “I think about it all the time. Think about the first time I felt it, how you were already rock fucking hard for me when I touched you. You came so quick, right in my hand, in your pants—it was so fucking hot.”

“I’d had—” he grits out in his defense, “—shit, I’d had a… a rough day, and your hands were. Fuck, s-soft, and—”

“Maybe,” you concede, biting your lip and closing your eyes against the swirling pleasure spreading hot through your body, the heat that burns you alive hearing the familiar warble through the modulator when he’s starting to lose himself in pleasure. “Or maybe it was because you were half-conscious with a brand new scar on your back.”

His filtered groan rolls down your spine and his cock pulses hard against your cunt through the fabric of his pants, making you spasm in delight. Fuck, your head drops down completely, just dragging yourself back and forth on top of him as you chase your orgasm like this. Shameless—your ass flexing in front of him with every roll of your hips, your lower muscles fluttering with every drag against his cock.

“Fuck—fuck, let me touch your asshole,” Mando whispers suddenly, lifting himself up on one elbow and dragging the other hand up the curve of your cheek. “Just—just a little bit, I won’t pu—”

“Oh stars above, fucking please,” you gasp against one of his legs, nearly jerking back against his hand as your pussy fucking leaks through his pants with it. “I’ll let you do anything you want, you can—can put your thumb inside it—”

His other hand leaves you for a split second, and you think he’s taking his glove off, except then it swings down to crack hard against your ass, making you gasp and instantly go still for him on his lap.

The smooth leather covering the pad of his thumb carefully glides down your crevice, and you hold your breath until it finally brushes over the tight ring of muscle flexing for him.

“That all you’ll let me put in here?” Mando asks quietly, and you let out a complete mess of a whimper, trying your best not to move under the bold touches.

You get another firm smack on the ass for being rendered mute for too long. “Tell me,” he growls, rubbing his thumb against the vulnerable entrance while his cock throbs against your cunt.

“I’ll—I’ll let you do anything you want,” you moan once more, and stars, you can’t help it. Your hips start to grind down against him even harder than before, and Mando curses as he slowly rides your movements with his hand.

“Dirty,” he grits out. “Dirty girl. You ever take it back here before?” And stars, the way his cock drags against your pussy starts to make you lightheaded, how casually he’s talking about this while starting to circle his thumb around it and press firm against it. Not hard enough to push inside, but enough to feel the natural resistance give just a bit.

“No,” you breathe, starting to pant while you work against him. “Boys have tried. But I’d let you.”

“Fuck,” he hisses, suddenly rocking his hips up against yours. You nearly choke and your legs start to lock up, making your movements stunted. “Fuck. I bet you’d let me do it right fucking now, wouldn’t you? Right here in front of this f-fucking window, where everyone can see? Let me flip you over and stretch you out, and then fuck your tight little—virgi—”

“Maker, get your cock out,” you gasp, heat burning at your center and beginning to spread outwards. It tingles hot through your lower abdomen and you start to get frantic, knowing you don’t have much time before your orgasm hits. “Please, just let me ride it, let me cum on it—”

“No,” Mando immediately grunts, and you make a small sound of distress that quickly turns into a high-pitched mewl against his leg when the very tip of his thumb just barely breaches the haloed entrance.

“But—but I’m so wet,” you whisper, “oh stars, can’t you see it? I’m dripping. You could just slide it right in right now, I’d take it so fucking easy—”

He rips his hand away just long enough to smack your ass once again, hard enough to ring through the room and make you gasp. “Quit. You’ll take whatever the fuck you’re given and you’ll endure,” he snaps. “Not here, not tonight.”

You bite back desperate protests. He’d fuck you in a dark alleyway on Canto Bight but not here? As if you haven’t already done so multiple times this evening, you immediately lament your stupid mouth and the thoughtless mattress comment. You wish you could take it all back—you don’t care how nice this bed is, you want to sleep in anything he’ll fuck you in. Nonetheless, your orgasm gallops forward and leaves your body struggling to keep up behind it—but Maker, you want so badly to feel him inside you when it finally hits. You want to sink down on him and feel him break you open just as you start to cum.

“Oh fuck, please give me it,” you whine, sounding on the edge of delirium, the words pressed high and unintentional as your hands clutch at his legs. “Oh Maker, please, please fuck me—fuck me in a real bed, please, just—fuck me right now and I swear I’ll sleep on fucking rocks for you every single night for the rest of m—”

A snarl rips through the modulator and he shoves your hips forward just enough, just enough to rip his waistband down—

You gasp in blinding relief and flip your head over your shoulder to watch, but then subtle movement catches in your peripheral. You glance up just in time to see the doorknob slowly turning.

Thank your lucky stars you react on instinct alone, squealing and jumping off him before quickly shuffling under the covers.

“What the fu—” comes an enraged, filtered growl, metal clanking with how quickly he flips over to reach for you, but then he cuts off and the helmet whips to the door as it unlatches and slowly creaks open.

The blankets are pulled tight under your chin as you shuffle down as far as possible, and though you can’t see the intruder from this angle, Mando is instantly reaching back to rip the pillow out from under the helmet and press it tight over his crotch, huffing out a sigh.

Soon, you’re able to spot one pointy little ear pop up, followed by the rest of the little gremlin scaling the treacherously tall comforter, pulling himself over the edge of the mattress with a determined three-finger hold and then doing a completely unnecessary little barrel roll once he’s on the level springtop. The fact that it’s so fucking adorable just serves to irk you even more, and both of you silently watch the kid push himself up on two feet and then waddle slowly in between you two.

He finds a pillow he likes—one that happens to be placed directly in between you and his dad, before he settles himself down on it like a small bed on top of a much larger one. The little stinker then flutters his abnormally giant eyes closed and seems to instantly fall back asleep.

There’s a few minutes where you just blink across from Mando, flicking your gaze between the chrome visor and the baby’s peaceful face. Is this… is he serious right now?

“Were we being too loud?” You eventually whisper, barely above a breath. “Or is he just being purposefully annoying?”

He doesn’t answer you. And, well, you suppose he has a point. Regardless of why, it appears he's here now.

You let out a slow breath and just try and relax, try and think beyond the flare of annoyance at the interruption, how close you were to feeling him fuck you into this mattress. He’d still have the armor and helmet on, of course, but it would be just domestic enough to ruin you.

But then again—you suppose this, if anything, is even more domestic. Doing your best to calm your racing thoughts so you can eventually fall asleep directly across from him with his mildly aggravating, heartstealing little adopted kid snoring quietly between you.

Quite a while passes before you feel your eyelids growing heavy. You spend almost the entire time studying every single inch of Mando while he faces you on the mattress. The sharp angles and smooth curves of his helmet, concave in places but convex in others. How fitting, you think. To cover a man with a helmet just like him—sharp, smooth, contrasting, and deflective enough about what lies underneath to be reflective.

Then you find yourself thinking about what he’s hiding under it. Once more. You try to picture him, but it’s… it’s difficult. You’re not used to translating things you’ve only touched into visual representations, it’s just not a skill you’ve ever needed to have handy. And what about all the things you can’t, or haven’t been able to feel? Freckles, or birthmarks? Dimples? Are his lashes long or short? Do they stick out in a fringe when he clamps his eyes shut? Does his nose scrunch up when he laughs? Do his ears stick out? Does he have wrinkles on his forehead, or around his eyes?

Maker, what color are they?

You continue to stare at the metal faceplate, blinking droopily at it but forcing yourself to stay awake just a bit longer. Enjoy the feeling of the soft mattress underneath you while you still can, relaxing into the cool sheets and delaying your inevitable descent into dreams. Savoring his extended presence here with you for as long as possible.

“Do you have brown eyes?” You hear yourself murmur to him through the quiet darkness, lips barely touching and the words slurred from exhaustion. You want to know. You want to be able to color in the last paint-by-number of his face before you begin your work on the finer details.

Again, he doesn’t answer, and you figure he’s probably asleep.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #smut #reader insert #star wars #fanfic #no-droids

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dioko · 3 years

Text

NOT JUST ANYONE.

izuku midoriya x gn! reader

Word Count -> ~ 1810

Genre -> oneshot, fluff

Content -> mildly suggestive (spice rating is 1.5/5), drunk reader, swearing, college au! characters, older reader and younger deku | please lemme know if i missed anything!

Summary -> You really did believe a certain Izuku Midoriya had his nose buried in his textbooks 24/7. Your first impression of him had led you to pin him as a downright nerd - boring and young and nowhere near your type.

a/n -> 1. idk about the cover page i jus thought deku looked cool there and the oneshot title is eh 2. this was in my drafts for a long, LONG time and today i finally got it to the point where i didn't hate it. enjoyy <333

Once, you really did believe a certain Izuku Midoriya had his nose buried in his textbooks 24/7. Your first impression of him had led you to pin him down as a nerd - boring, and young and nowhere near your type.

Boy, were you wrong.

The first time you’d met him, he’d smiled at you with such bright, green eyes, it was almost impossible not to smile back.

“Hello, l/n y/n, s’nice to finally meet you! I’m Midoriya Izuku!” He'd very obviously sunken his voice an octave lower, and whether that was on purpose or not, it was still cute. Still innocent, still pure.

Not attractive, whatsoever.

“Yeah,” you'd turned your attention back to your work,“it’s nice to meet you too.”

After that, your ever-so-impatient brother had rushed him into his room, and Midoriya had obliged - not before shooting you one last glance. In hindsight, there might’ve been something just a teeny bit darker that had resided in Midoriya's lively eyes.

Then, weeks passed.

Was it just you, or did college students grow really, really fast?

As he left your brother's work room for the millionth time that month, you found yourself noticing how different he looked compared to when you’d first met him. Now, when Izuku waved a (large, my god) hand at you, he looked taller, broader… older.

“See you," he chirped to his friend, bringing you back to the reality where he was most definitely not older than you.

Wake up, you're practically a senior citizen, you’d chided yourself, there’s no way he’s mature enough for you. Then, another side of you, presumably the devil that sat on your shoulder, tried to argue. You’re not much older, it said, he’s practically the same age as you.

“Oh wait- there was something I had to ask you, l/n-”

“S’fine, you can call me y/n, ‘Zuku.” you didn’t intend to call him something so intimate, the words just.... absent-mindedly slipped out your mouth.

Oopsies daisies!

“Oh! I - I can? Um… ah,” you watched, mildly entertained by the way he tripped up his words, all from a nickname, “we’re all going out tonight, and I was wondering if you wanted to come-”

“Who’s we?”

“Er- me, and… and your brother! And a few others!”

“Oh?” You couldn’t let yourself smile, not yet.

“It’ll be fun!” He sputtered, “a lot of um, a lot of… um, drinking?” It sounded more like a question than a persuasive statement.

You blinked. “Yeah sure, that sound’s good. I didn’t take you for someone who drank.”

“I don’t?”

“Then why are you going?”

“I thought it would be a good way to spend time with y- my friends.”

“Ah, your friends.”

“Yup,” he squeaked.

“Okay then!” You smacked him playfully on his arm - his large, extremely toned, t-shirt-stretching arm - and jolted him out of his fear, “I’ll see you then, ‘Zuku!”

Izuku Midoriya had a surprising number of friends.

He had, in a gentlemanly fashion, offered to walk with you to the bar (though your brother was there too) and when you stepped in, you were taken aback by the several people at your table.

Your guts told you to sit beside the angry one - he looked… fun.

“Who the fuck is this?” The blond talked like you weren’t there.

“Kacchan,” another blond - with a black streak in his hair - chided, “be nice to the pretty birdie!” Was he drunk already?

“Yeah, Kacchan,” you smirked, “respect your elders.”

The first blond just about exploded on the spot.

“Watch your mouth,” he seethed at you.

“Hot,” you muttered, unaware of evergreen eyes that couldn’t seem to peel themselves off your lips; your soft, pink, kissable lips.

“What the fuck?” Kacchan flinched back.

“Sorry,” you grinned, “I meant ‘little snot’.”

“Yeah? I’ll show you little sn-”

Four flirtatious advances from three of Izuku’s friends, two hours and 1 mental breakdown later, you were finally ready to go home - everyone was, really - but where was your brother?”

“Deku,” he’d hissed at the greenette, “I’m not going back to the apartment today, can you take-” he gestured towards you, slumped over a pile of food, “- that thing back to the apartment?”

Izuku opened his mouth, about to ask why he couldn’t but immediately shut up again when he realized it was more time he had to spend with you. “Yeah, no problem.”

“Don’t try anything.”

“Wasn’t gonna!” Awkwardly, Izuku scooched his way past Sero and Uraraka, trying to find a place to put his hands so he could lift you off the table. Luckily, he didn’t have to.

“Ah, ‘Zuku!” You gave him a cheeky grin, “you’re friends are so…” you watched Bakugou, “... cute. Have a drink!” It was almost laughable how quickly you changed from topic to topic. Almost. The only non-laughable part was that Bakugou seemed to be a recurring theme.

Izuku pursed his lips, “no, you’re drunk. One of us has to be clear-minded enough to take you home.”

“You’re so smart! Good boy,” you ruffled his hair with a sticky hand, and your rapid strokes fell to a halt when you realized how soft his green hair was. “Wow,” you whispered, “I love your hair. Lemme smell it-”

“NO, no. We’re going home.”

“We?” A smirk played on your lips.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you frowned when he didn’t stutter - he didn’t even go red. Izuku’s entire demeanor had changed; there was no nervous little college guy right now trying to talk to you, there was a friend (haha) genuinely trying to get you home safely. “Now c’mon, can you walk?”

You stood up and skipped a few steps. “Yup.”

“So, Izuku,” you didn’t bother to hide the fact that you were (very greedily) squeezing his biceps, “gotta girlfriend?”

“N-no.”

“... a boyfriend?”

“Nope,” he popped the ‘p’, and pulled you onto the wall-side of the sidewalk when a car drove by.

“Any significant other...ss?” You added the plural, just in case.

“No,” he smiled slyly at you, “why? Are you interested?”

You’d known him for months, but this was the first time he’d said something so forward, enough to make your cheeks flare so hot they felt cold.

“No way,” you spoke like it was obvious, and then quickly checked to make sure he didn’t look hurt. “Hey! Why do you look so amused?”

“M’not,” he turned his head, so you couldn’t see the smile.

“You are. Why?”

“Ah, I can’t say. We’re here,” he punched in the apartment code. “You should get ready for bed.”

There was a small, comfortable pause before drunk-you decided to ignore his advice and speak again. “So, do ya like anyone?”

“I like a lot of people,” Izuku smirked.

Smirked.

“N-no,” you played with the hem of your sweater, “I meant, do you like-like anyone?”

“Hm,” he thought for a second, “that’s a secret.”

“C’mon ‘Zuku! You can trust me!”

“I know that - gimme your coat,” he set it onto a nearby couch and began to flick on random lights, “I still can’t say it, though.”

“Why not?”

“Y/n,” you froze. He’d called you by your first name before, why did it feel so weird now?

“Yes?”

“I’m taking you to your bedroom.”

“You… you are?”

“You’ve got to sleep.”

Oh. Boringggg.

“I don’t wanna,” you hissed, flopping onto your bed anyways. He took a seat at the foot of it.

“Do you… do you ever remember anything once you're sober again?”

“Nope!” You knew you should’ve lied, but you didn’t, “m’friends say I don’t remember a single thing the next morning.”

He chuckled a little bit, almost in disbelief at you. “That’s not something you can just tell anyone.”

“I know, but you’re not just ‘anyone’.”

“I feel like I’m talking to a child.”

“I’m older than you.”

“Yeah,” he laughed, “it’s kinda hot.”

“What?” Did you mishear? “How do you know what hot means?”

“Y/n! I’m not that young!” He laughed, “sheesh, that hurts.”

“Hurts?”

“Yeah,” he smiled coolly. After all, you weren’t going to remember this conversation.

“”Why does it hurt?”

“... No reason, don’t worry,” he laughs again, for the third time in a row, but it feels dry to you, and empty, too.

“So who do you like?” You chirped again, completely disregarding his ‘I’m pretty sure I just got brother-zoned’ ideology.

“I told you, that’s a secret…” then, he bit his lip, “... but you won’t remember anyways, right?”

“Yep!”

“Then... I like you.”

“Who?” You smiled.

“You.”

“Oh, I like you, too.”

“I like-like you.”

“I like-like you, too.”

“You’re drunk,” he smiled sadly, “sleep.”

“I want fruit.”

“Now? You want me to go get you fruit?”

“Please?”

You inhaled the bucket of raspberries, “anyways, I really do like you. You’re so small and cute.”

“I’m small?”

“No, you’re built like a tank,” you giggled. Sober-you would have called drunk-you an airhead, “I think you’re sexy as hell.”

“Yeah?”

You leaned closer to him. You were sure he could smell alcohol and sugar on your breath, but you didn’t care. “Yeah.”

“Then can I tell you something else?”

“Sure!”

“Kacchan annoys me so much,” he wiped off the juice that dribbled down your chin with his thumb, and you made the mistake of leaning into his touch, “especially when he flirts with you.”

“When’s he ever flirted with me?”

“Tonight,” Izuku pulled back, and you (embarrassingly) fell forward. “I didn’t like it.”

“Were you jealous?”

“Yes,” he admitted, and quite shamelessly - but only because you weren’t sober.

“Aw, don’t be jealous,” you cooed at him, and then randomly, “you remind me of bunnies!”

“That’s cute,” his voice was hoarse, “then, can you promise me something, bunny?”

You flushed hot. “That - that’s not what I meant, I meant you’re my bunny.”

“Sure,” he nodded along.

You shuffled yourself a little closer to him. This wasn’t the Midoriya Izuku you’d come to know, who was he? Why was he so different from the twitchy student who cared so much about his grades?

“What did you want me to promise?” It was a good idea to change the topic, you thought, for his sake, not your own. Definitely.

“Promise me you won’t let Kacchan get so close to you anymore,” he played with your fingers, “you can do that, right? You... can be a good bunny for me?”

“Mhm,” you couldn't refuse when he put it like that.

“Go to bed now, it’s late.”

“On one condition.”

“And what’s that?”

“Kiss me.”

Izuku paused. His eyes were on your lips, that was for sure, but he showed no sign of moving closer. “M’not gonna do that when you're drunk.”

You frowned.

“I’ll sit with you ‘till you're asleep. I’m not… touching you, though.”

“Manly,” you murmured.

“Human decency,” he corrected.

The greenette pulled your covers above your waist and moved to the desk chair in your room, “good night, y/n.”

It was a shame this would all be forgotten, and the two of you would be back to square one by morning.

a/n -> yes the nickname has everything to do with my URL and so what

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mypersonmyg · 3 years

Text

cherry blossom | jjk

pairing: jeongguk x reader

genre: fluff

rating: pg15

wc: 2k (yes it is a drabble shut up)

warnings: swearing

summary: spring is blooming and so are you OR he loves the beanie you knitted for his round ass head

a/n: hello, hi, hey...is this good? idk, but i wrote it because im trying to do that again; this is based on the tebori tapioca couple because i really like them a lot...ALSO i said i would write about beanie boy and here he is :D

tebori tapioca

masterlist

Petals dipped in white are decorated in the jagged pink crawling from the root of thin strengthened stems fluttering like wisps from trees freshly bloomed to kiss at your cheeks, tilted upward toward a sky painted in streaks of voluminous clouds. You lift one hand to trace the expanse of day, finger a brush concentrated on the perfect mural, eyes zeroed to see the work of the blue plained aerial. You grasp a stray petal mid-air, charting the exposure of edges fragile and torn from the efflorescent cherry blossom, its trunk the perfect home for the boy whose head appears anywhere but the moment.

You bring the petal to trace his cheeks seeking the protrusion of his nose, effectively startling the stupor that held him captive. His eyes dance the length of your arm up to your collar, landing on your own gaze in wonder, always amazed by feelings that engulf him like licking flames. He tilts his head until the warmth of his cheek rests in the palm of your hand, cradling perfection and its questioning peep.

“Sorry,” You murmur, thumb soothing circles into pliable skin, eyes doubled in apology despite the fondness stretching the muscles of his face, tugging at the edges of his lids.

“Don’t be,” He hushes plucking the petal, blowing it into the subtle breeze that kicks at the skin of your ankles, traveling the length of your leg, ignorant to the tingle that already resides from the steady grip of a tattooed hand tracing the skin exposed from the ride up of your hoodie. “We came here to be together and I’m zoning out.”

You crook your arm into the grass, still damp from the press of morning dew, petals sticking to your palm as you push forward, Jeongguk cautiously tightening at your waist. The hand that still rests against his cheek sneakily climbs to tendrils peeking from beneath the beanie dressing his head, black knitted and all consuming, wrapping the strands of curls between nimble fingers and urging him to press his lips to your own.

“I don’t mind, I’d rather sit with you in complete silence than listen to Jimin complain about whatever it is he was complaining about today.” You speak after the first heady press, foreheads gathered in collective rest, lashes just missing with each flutter. You can barely recall the words tumbling forward, but you can count on the attentive nature of your chosen lover to keep you on track, his eyes never missing the beat of your quivering lips.

“Hmm, but i wanna give you all of my attention.” He pulls you so you’re falling, forcing you onto his lap of denim, your arms finding rest around his broad shoulders. He nestles his head into the crook of your neck, bringing light to the fabric engulfing his head of curls.

It’s a recent niche, the adornment of the extra layer, a gift from you meant to reside on the side of winter wardrobe. It dresses him well, mirror selfies and dates spent walking the string lit streets of your cozy strip not without the attention of head-on-a-swivel passersby. You don’t mind the look or the attention that you believe present without the added statement, but you often miss the ease of a hand through thick curls and the added volume on humid occasions.

“Now who’s zoning?” Jeongguk teases, nudging the underside of your chin, fingers retreating to avoid your gentle nip.

“I was just thinking about you,” Your words are spoken with lips folding inward to rest between the set of your teeth, hands tugging at the top of his hat, almost pulling it free before he swats at your offending limb tugging it back into place.

“Oh yeah?” You arch into him when a sudden gust of wind wraps around your bodies, biting at your arms left exposed by your insistence of warmth from the saturation of rays that swallow you whole, only missing direct contact by Jeongguk’s insistence that you seek refuge in the crowding branches of the beautiful earthy growth of the ascending blossom.

“Yeah, you and your beanie. Why won’t you let me see your cute ass head, you nerd?”

“Excuse me? I like the beanie, it was a gift you know.”

He’s proud of his counter, head resting against the trunk of the tree before he’s suddenly guiding you from his lap to join in the jump to his feet. You’re like jello, too long spent lounging in the thick of your bubbled comfort, nearly knocking into him out of the habit of proximity and lack of control over your physical being.

“Not only was it a gift,” He continues, clasping your hands, swinging it between you as you once more find the path riddled with abandoned flowers and the remnants of blades from grass freshly mowed, the smell still lingering with each foot forward. He brings your connected palms to press to his lips, holding them in place for a momentary hum before your nerves are tingling under the sensation and you're trying your hardest to pull away amidst squealish giggling. “It was handmade.”

You stutter, feet catching at the tip, threatening to eat concrete were it not for the quick reflexes and unbridled strength of Jeongguk’s arms. He drags you from the center of the path, the resounding tinkering of a child’s bike bell screaming to make way for the train of tasseled training wheels that are suddenly on your trail. It gives you time to recompose, Jeongguk far too busy waving in kind at each passing darling regarding him with various poked tongues and toothy grins.

“Babe, you good?” He finally returns his attention, the rough pad of his thumb coming to swipe at the hairs that fall from the folded lip of the beanie, tickling at the plains of his forehead that hold just enough sheen from the day's heat to allow the dense fibers to stick to his skin. You fight the temptation to replace his hand with your own, always happy to feel him beneath you, feening for the closeness of closed doors and your head tucked beneath his chin, fingers tracing the ever defining muscles that tease through his t-shirt.

“I’m fine...I just didn’t realize you noticed.” You shield yourself in the thick of his hoodie, tugging the sleeve to hide your eyes from his prying gaze and infectious grin. You question your own sanity when the remembrance of his attentive nature and the dreamy sigh he’d emitted upon the first snug of the thick fabric to his skull, only compliments spewing thereafter.

“That I noticed...?” You’re dim witted to the point of ignorance, though his bait works as your face slowly unsticks from the dark material eating his chest, replacing your face with the wrap of your knuckles and the avoidance of eye contact in favor of tracking a peculiar worm inching toward fresh dirt.

“Koo…” You whine, the nickname and high pitched yearning a new habit Jeongguk has taken in kind. His adoration for you only grows more with each day, your habits taking hold of him like the magnet that you are, an attraction unyielding and all consuming. Some would say that it’s a sickness, but the rapid pump of his love organ and the coos that ooz from him with the precision of a clock at your every utterance feels wholesome.

You’re home, a refuge after long days of piping tea and pounds of tapioca, waist deep in the give and take of the service industry. The only being that makes him feel like giving his all is no effort wasted, always looking for more ways to please even with your assurance that just halfway makes your heart soar into a galaxy of his own making.

So he grips you tight and reels you in, inhaling the scent of the light shampoo that laces your scalp and pretends that your whines are only an amusement, a reason for the further push of his pestering. His hands trace the peak of your shoulder blades, easing them of the tension from your bout of shyness.

“Love, why wouldn’t I notice? Why do you think I love to wear it so much?”

“Because you’re perfect,” You melt, shuffling on the balls of your feet, hands shoved into his pockets to hold steady in a world constantly rotating around you, dressed in whites and pinks, the songs of birds humming in the trees that arch above you. “But seriously, how did you know? I didn’t say anything because I don’t think it’s very good and I almost didn’t even give it to you because—”

“It’s perfect.” He cuts your words with his own followed by a kiss, much longer than the one previous, your face heating under the awareness that you’re no longer shielded by bud kissed branches in your own corner of the world. The same corner that started it all just months prior.

Your palms rest against his chest, a gentle pat urging him to part from you despite your own inward cries of the opposite. He obliges, a smile of coyness splayed along his cheeks, pushing at the scar that kisses the apples of his skin.

“What?”

“I did notice an attempt at the stitching of initials under the lip...still need some practice I see—”

“Love, that’s so mean!” Your pats previously gentle now offer as much force as you can muster, easily sending him staggering on his feet, too consumed by his own childish laughter at your rather rugged stitchwork, a poor attempt at further customization. “Ugh, I didn’t think you would notice.”

He pulls the beanie from his head, hair falling in a mess of dark curl that traces the frame of his cheeks, somehow rounder today than the chiseled jaw that you often find ingrained in your memory. You ache to take him between your palms, a smattering of kisses stored for later use when you aren’t teetering the precipice of embarrassment. A feeling of routine self indulgence that is altogether useless under the watchful eyes of the dream before you.

He delicately dips his finger into the folded hem of the hat, lengthening the elastic trim that suctions around him to keep it secure around his head. He traces the thread that just barely makes out the letters initialling his name, imagining the formation of your lips as you repeat the two syllables with the puncture and withdraw of every stitch.

It’s clear as the blue dyed sky, the vivid poke of your lips when you realize the curve of the ‘J’ is more of a divot than a definition but push on to the ‘K’. You only add the extra inches when your mind begins to overthink when in truth he’ll love anything from your hands, from your mind and the blood pumping through your veins.

It wasn’t the accidental revelation of the stitching when he pulled it from the first wash that clued him in. The fabric unfurled from its position of origin, the letters staring back, accented with the perfect attempt at a heart stitched in white.

No, he finds solace in the patch of thread missing from the edge of the shape meant to mimic the geometry of the organ itself.

It speaks true to the way he feels when he’s not with you, like his heart couldn’t possibly be whole when he’s not taking in the breathlessness of your laugh or the way you pout his name without warning.

It was the tremor in your hands as you delivered the gift wrapped in faux gold, edges of the paper curled from the lack of a package and a mind too jumbled to think of a bag. Your delivery paired with the fumble of words hushed in rushed breath was clue enough of your attempt at discretion.

It’s in these moments, hat in hand and your eyes scrutinizing the thing when you’d told him how handsome it made him look just weeks prior. He gently pinches the scrunch of your nose, forcing your eyes to his own, hat pulled back over his head.

He doesn’t miss the quirk of your lips, the hat no longer an object of disdain when it's a part of him. The day you met was the day that you made your place within him and it's in moments like these that he feels whole.

“I can’t believe you thought for a second that I wouldn’t.”

#jungkook x reader #jeongguk x reader #jungkook fluff #jjk x reader #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfiction #bangtanuniversity #bangtanidx #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub

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yespolkadotkitty · 4 years

Text

Take What You Need

A special treat for the lovely @keeper0fthestars - a flimsy excuse to get railed into next week by Francisco Morales.

Warnings: SMUT. Porn with a flimsy nod to plot. Word count: 2300

Thanking @alwaysbethewest and @songsformonkeys for the beta!!

“All right! You heard the man, wheels up in thirty!” Redfly shouted across the small airfield. “Catch some sleep, eat, do whatever, but I want us all in that helo, in thirty.”

“Copy that,” Pope shouted back, heading off towards the thick bushes surrounding the hangar and aircraft. Ironhead followed, probably to try and talk some sense into him. Ironhead had always been the most sensible of you all.

In fact, it was William who had spoken up for you when Pope suggested you come along.

“She’s good with a rifle,” Ironhead said calmly. “And her Spanish is decent. Way better’n mine and Benny’s, anyways.”

Redfly - the infuriatingly traditional conservative middle-class American man - had ummed and aahed, and you knew it was because you had a vagina.

But here you were, and you’d taken out two of Lorea’s guys from the roof with your rifle, so Redfly could suck your metaphorical dick.

The man in question loped back to the other side of the airfield, towards Pope’s informant, and started to talk to her about something.

“This is a clusterfuck of epic proportions.”

You turned at that voice. A little raspy, a little husky-edged, it sent a shiver up your spine. Always had, and probably always would.

Francisco Morales shook his head when you turned to look at him. His ballcap - dirty, soft - was pulled down low over his head. Hair the colour of milk chocolate curled out from underneath it. He met your gaze, and his own hazelnut eyes were so, so tired.

“It could’ve gone better,” you agreed, letting your eyes trail down his long, lean frame - a little soft in the middle, but you’d always liked his tummy.

Francisco - Catfish to you all, because during special ops training, he’d caught one almost the size of himself - was an enigma of a man. Soft, sometimes. Hard, sometimes.

You’d known him five years now, and during that time you’d seen him pull the trigger a foot from a man’s head without wincing, and you’d seen him comfort a three year old girl left homeless in a war zone, his voice soft, his touch gentle. The yin and yang of him fit, somehow.

Catfish scoffed. “Not sure how it could’ve gone any fucking worse.” He ripped off his cap, and your eyes were drawn to a deep cut on his cheek.

“What’s this?” You automatically reached up to touch his face. His tanned skin was rough under your fingers as you traced the edges of the healing wound. “It might scar.”

Francisco grunted. “Like that’s a concern right now.”

You grinned, dropped your hand. “It’ll be sexy. The scar, I mean.”

“You think?” He laughed without humour, wrung his cap in his hand, and you saw how drawn his starkly handsome face was, the patchy scruff around his jawline grey in places. God, had you thought about kissing that almost-beard, stroking your fingers over his bristly chin. “I wish being sexy was what worried me most. I’m fuckin’ losing my shit here. The scales are off the charts, the helo will never make it to the ocean-” he swore a stream in Spanish, and stuffed his hat back on. The frustration steamed off him in waves.

“Fish.” You braced your hands on his shoulders, looked up into his face, twisted with anger and fear. “We’ll be okay. We’ve had worse than this.”

“Yeah, but we’ve never had worse with you,” he bit off, shrugging off your touch and pacing away, shoving his cap back on, his hair curling at the edges. “Jesus fucking Christ, if anything happens to you, I’ll-”

“Fish!” You shout to be heard over the noise of the aircraft prep, the wind, the sound of Redfly and Pope’s informant arguing. “Nothing will happen to me. You saw me take out Lorea’s guys. And I saved your ass on that mission in Istanbul.”

Francisco shifted, adopting that hands-on-hips stance he always did when he was thinking. “I know.”

“Then what? I’m not a porcelain doll, Francisco.”

And you saw it. His eyes went hot when you used his full name. Hot and sort of.. Dark. Like he wanted to drag you into that hangar and bend you against the corrugated metal wall and rail you into next week.

And boy, you’d let him.

“What?” you challenged. He needed this release. Whether it was shouting at you or whether you wrestled until the fight had gone out of him, he could not fly that helo with your lives and that money at stake in such a state.

He muttered something in Spanish. Your command of the language was very good but his voice was pitched too low for you to make out the syllables.

“Oh, you wanna go?” You lifted your fists in a mock fighting stance. “You ever hit a girl, Morales?”

“There’s always a first time,” he gritted out humourlessly.

You danced around, goading him. “Maybe you’re afraid I’d kick your ass.”

Fish scoffed, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, in the line of his back. He was a loaded powder keg, seconds from a bloody explosion from the heat, the stress, the shooting. “Stop it.”

“Make me.”

You saw the moment his eyes changed - went dark again, and you turned, running for the hangar.

You heard him bark out a laugh as he pursued you, his long legs eating up the terrain. You ran flat out, reaching the hangar in under a minute, Fish hot on your heels. The minute he barrelled through the door you slammed it behind him.

“What the fuck?” he asked, confusion parading over his face - somehow even more alluring when he was dirty, tired, stressed.

You yanked him close and kissed him. It was the first time, and all the times you’d thought about kissing him, an inaurgural kiss, it was never like this. It was in your shitty home town, under some trees, or under the bleachers of the old high school, or by moonlight at the drive-in.

It took a second, and then Francisco was kissing you back, his lips fierce, hard, the kiss almost painful in its intensity. He tasted of terrible coffee and the beef jerky you’d all forced down, and you licked into his mouth, tangling your tongue with his, and the flavour of his little groan was divine.

“We don’t have long,” he whispered harshly. “What - what do you want?”

Your breath was coming in pants. He smelled of clean sweat, the outdoors, and the spring rain, and you were wetter than you’d ever been. This close to Catfish, you couldn’t cope with the well of desire, too long ignored. “You can’t fly us like this, Fish. In this state.”

His hands clenched on your hips. “What?”

“Relieve the pressure.” You slid a hand down his body, cupped him, felt his erection like steel in velvet. Your blood fired. “For us both.”

“Shit.” Francisco leaned down, rested his forehead against yours. “I’ve fucking dreamed of this. But not… not like this, like you’re a cheap fuck. You’re not. You’re… everything.”

The words shook you, and you pressed your lips to his, drinking him in, loving him, like you’d loved him nearly five years, and always been afraid to rock the boat.

Well, now the boat had run aground and it was time.

“You can show me that when we’re safely back on American soil, soldier. For now…” you yanked him close again, pressed your palm to his cock. “Take what you need. Give me what I need.”

“Fuck,” he bit off, and then he was kissing you like a starving man falling upon a banquet, all tongues and teeth and Frankie, and you pressed as close to him as you could.

“How long do we have?” you panted out.

He shot his cuffs, checked his watch. “Quarter hour.”

“Then make every minute count, Morales.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathed. And he got on his knees in front of you, pulling at your jeans.

Your heart leapt into your chest at the first brush of his breath on your bare legs. Frankie rolled the denim down, ghosted a kiss over your underwear.

“You would not believe, baby, how often I’ve jacked off to the thought of having you,” he whispered.

“Fish, if you don’t do something, I swear to God…”

He took off his cap, passed it to you. “Wear this for me.” After you slapped it on your head, he pulled your hand back down, thrust it into his hair. You tugged him close as he yanked your underwear down and proceeded to fucking feast on you.

You’d never experienced Frankie like this. Near feral, his tongue licking at you like you were his last meal, his favourite food, a longed-for treat. He used his hands - hands you’ve wished were on you, inside you - to spread you so he could spear his tongue inside you, nip at your clit, write his name with his tongue, whatever the fuck he was doing, it felt like Heaven.

“Stop. Stop,” you whined, pushing at his hair. “Want to come with you inside me.”

He looked up, those cocoa eyes dark and hot and irresistible, and then he was on his feet in a hot second, and he spun you around to face the wall.

“Hold on to something, baby,” he muttered against your neck before he sank his teeth into the sensitive skin at your pulse point, the tiny hurt only making you wetter.

The sound of his belt buckle being undone and the shove of the denim down his thighs was loud to your ears.

“Please,” you gritted out, arching your back.

Frankie slid a palm down your naked butt, and you heard the growl in his voice when he said, “Sweet girl. When we get back on US soil….” And then he positioned himself and slid home in one smooth, hard thrust, and you gripped the hangar wall hard and cried out at the pleasure and the stretch. He kept going until he bottomed out, curses in English and Spanish falling from his lips in that husky baritone made for pure sin, and then as you groaned in satisfaction, he curled a hand around to your front and rubbed you in maddening circles.

“We don’t have long,” you warned, muscles already fluttering.

“Fuck. Won’t take long. You feel too good. You’re so fucking tight. How - how do you-”

“Fast and hard,” you instructed, and you felt him twitch inside you at your words, heard his moan. “I wanna feel you tomorrow, Francisco.”

“Oh fuck,” he grated out, and then he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in. The force was just what you needed, and you cried out at the wonderful pressure, the push of him inside you, the texture and shape of him. Better, harder, larger than you had imagined.

You spread your legs as much as you could given the denim around your calves, and Frankie fucks you hard, keeping one hand on your hip and the other at the apex of your body, strumming you expertly.

“Wish we had more fucking time,” he rasped into your hair, pressing a frantic kiss there. “Sweet girl. You feel like heaven. Always.. Knew.. you would.”

“The things I’m gonna to do you when we get home,” you shot back, and pressed your hips into him. “Oh God, more, please.”

He upped the tempo, and the sound of your bodies slapping together was obscene. His fingers circled your clit once, twice more, and you flew off that sweet cliff edge, crying out his name and burying your face in your elbow to muffle the sound.

Frankie’s hips faltered as he gave you all he had, thrusting into you at a punishing pace before his hips stuttered.

“Two minute warning!” Ironhead yelled from outside.

“I want to feel you come inside me, Fish,” you whispered over your shoulder.

“Fuck.” And he tumbled over the precipice too, hips shaking. You felt him jerk inside you, felt the hot surge of his climax, and he pressed down hard on your clit, triggering another little orgasm for you, too.

“Jesus. Fuck.” Frankie leant his forehead on your back, panting. “Christ.”

“You gotta get some more swear words, Morales,” you said, but your breath hitched too, and you wiggled your hips, making him shiver.

He pulled out, zipped up, and then took care putting your clothes in order. When he tugged you close for a kiss, you tasted yourself.

“First fucking chance I get,” Frankie rasped, his lips in your hair, “I’m gonna take my sweet time doing everything I want to you. With you.”

“Then get us over those mountains, Francisco, and I’m yours.” You nip at his bottom lip, then sprang apart when Redfly yanked open the hangar door.

“Fuck’s sake, Fish, we thought you’d gone AWOL. It’s go time.”

“Copy that,” Frankie shot back. You let him leave first, glanced down to admire his ass in those jeans.

And you thought, with single-minded determination: We just need to get over these mountains. Then Francisco Morales would be all yours.

Redfly looked at his departing back and then turned to you, eyes narrowed. “Why are you wearing Fish’s hat?”

****

Tagging the Pedro pals: @emmy-dandiliom918 @thirstworldproblemss @cinewhore @poenariuniverse @keeper0fthestars @scarlettvonsass @casually-introverted @knittingqueen13 @phoenixhalliwell @10-96dispatcher @buckstaposition @agirllovespasta @songsformonkeys @gamingaquarius @mstgsmy @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @dornish-queen @maxphillipswasright @winters-buck @mourningbirds1 @pascalitomorales @mrsparknuts @alldatalost @abuttoncalledsmalls @mrschiltoncat @auty-ren @heatherbel

it’s 10.45pm my brain has failed if I left you off I apologize!!

#catfish x fem!reader #frankie morales x fem!reader

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

HASO, “Approaching Countdown.”

Had to write this at work today, so sorry it is short.

The GA chairwoman stood in the oppressive muggy heart of Earth. She really hated it, it made her skin itch and her eyes sting, there wasn’t enough water in their atmosphere to actually cause her any harm, but there was definitely enough of it to make her very uncomfortable. A part of her had hoped that it might rain, forcing her to stay off world for the weather formation, but these humans knew what they were doing and had scheduled the launch for a cloudless day.

She looked up at the yellow earth sun and sighed. The humans had been very excited to invite the GA delegations out to view the launch. Humans were generally very excited to show anyone they could their dangerous past, and looking at the thing that was passing for a spaceship, she could not see how it would get more than a few inches off the ground, much less out of orbit. Supposedly they had dipped into very rare rocket fuel reserves to even do this as it required fossil fuel.

Fossil Fuel!

Let that sink in for a moment.

Liquified dead plant and animal remains mixed with liquid oxygen and some sort of oxidizer. She wasn’t sure what that last part meant, she wasn’t a rocket scientist. She sighed again, personally she wished she didn’t have to be here, for she doubted the launch was going to go as the human expected. In all reality her nerves were shot and she wished that she could just pass out for the next few hours and forget where she was. Everything was out of her hands anyway. Her orders had been given and now all she could do was wait.

She stood in the heat not too distant from her array of human bodyguards,dressed in dark suits and wearing dark glasses to cover their eyes. Somehow they managed to look more intimidating than normal humans did frowning, missing the characteristic tooty smile she had grown to associate with humans.

Shehad spent far too much time with Admiral Vir it seemed.

She sighed at the thought of him and shook her head.

Every time she tried to think about something else, it just circled back around to him. She tried not to think about it, taking a very deep breath.

There was some shuffling behind her and she turned slowly on her knuckles feeling the concrete grinding below her hands as she did. Two Tesraki and one other Rundi stood behind her having been let through by the human guards, who still eyed them with some measure of suspicion.

“Everything is in place, Chancellor.”

She nodded her head once.

“How many?”

There are at least thirty patrolling the borders of the trajectory zone. They will know as soon as he breaches orbit.

“And our engineers?”

“We are having trouble gaining access, but we are still working on it.”

“You better hope that we can.”

She lifted her head towards the sky where she could see the faint line of the moon against the blueness of the sky.

“We better hope.”

***

Captain Richard’s palms were very sweaty. He tried to wipe them discreetly on his pants or more accurately a onesie the scientists were calling a “Liquid Cooling and Ventilation Garment. So like a Onesie with tubes in it. He glanced sidelong over to where Admiral Vir was sitting staring at the antique space suit equipment laid out before them.

He tried not to make it look like he was staring, but he totally was.

Admiral Vir wasn’t much older than him, maybe by a year or two, but that was part of what made being in the same room with him so strange. Every time he, or probably anyone, though of an admiral, they generally thought of some stuffy grey haired fat guy who sat behind a desk and gave orders. But…. this guy…. Well he was nothing like that at all. He was young and stupidly fit, and sure he had some white hair appearing at his temples, but his hair was blond enough you only noticed it in certain light.

And he was very personable, that was the first thing Richards had noticed.

The man knew how to work a room. He was funny, and despite being intimidated by his status, he found himself forgetting constantly that this guy wasn’t someone cool he had just met out at the bar.

As if he could sense someone looking at him, Admiral Vir turned around theappriture of his mechanical eye adjusting slightly. He grinned in a very un-admiral way, “This is so friggin awesome.” The man looked like he was about to jump out of his boots, “Just look at this stuff-” He grinned some more dancing from one foot to the other, “Happiest damn day of my life and I’m wearing a diaper.”

That got the rest of the shuttle crew laughing which then devolved into a discussion about the pros and cons of diapers versus the new suit catheters. There was a surprising split on the discussion as the group of men talked, a conversation that was only broken as a group of scientists stepped in to help them with their suits. The process was rather tedious, the suits were bulky and cumbersome, nothing like the neat, sleek and comfortable suits used on regular ships.

Stepping into the pants of the suit they had to hold their arms up as the upper portion was lowered into place over their heads while others hurried in to pull on their arms and then help them fit into the gloves. He ducked his head as the communications cap was placed over his head. They would be wearing the full suit into orbit, though they would be allowed to take it off on the journey over. A journey which would take roughly three days or more to complete. One of them would stay in orbit while Admiral Vir and Richards himself took the lunar module down to the surface.

It was all supposed to go very smoothly from here.

Once suited up he couldn’t help but be reminded of when he was a child ready to go sledding with his siblings, in his massive snow pants and puffy jacket, waddling across the floor with his arms held out to either side.

He honestly hoped he looked cooler than he felt.

Admiral Vir might have been able to pull it off if he wasn’t nearly skipping, which seemed pretty improbable in the massive ass snowman suit.

Glancing out the long windows and into the horizon, he could see crowds of people set up in the distance. Head was a teenager when the Enterprise Launched, standing in an awed crowd as the massive behemoth hauled herself into the sky. He remembered the thrill, and he remembered the fear as he watched it go higher and higher and higher.

He remembered that day as one that led him to where he was now, and couldn’t believe it.

***

The UN president stood at her lectern feeling a soft breeze blow through her hair. Today was a good day, or at least it was shaping up to be a good day. She had two folders sitting under the lectern like she always did during times like this. One of them was green and one of them was red.

The red one was sitting on top.

She glanced over to where the GA president stood and scowled slightly. She had always thought the little creature was kind of ugly looking like an ant. She had never liked bugs, or bug like things of any kind, which she found to be a common trait among aliens, Drev, Vrul, Gibb, Rundi, Burg.

She looked up at the sky neck stretched out sunning herself in the bright morning.

She could see the rocket in the distance held up on its platform. Admiral Vir would be moving into place now. Most people would see this only as some sort of historical recreation act, but PR analytics suggested that, if the Admiral succeeded, approval rating in the GA would go up almost 3 percent. Human and alien relations had been rockier than most people would like to admit. If Admiral Vir were to fail, the failure would likely shock the aliens senseless, and if he died. It could completely break down human/alien relations for the foreseeable future.

They were on the cusp of cooperation or war, and any single event could push them in that direction.

Relations might have already broken down if it wasn’t for Admiral Vir.

The president reached down a hand brushing the tips of her fingers over the red folder.

***

Jade examined the rocket from the inside of her decontaminated engineer’s suit. She was busy going over final checks before the craft was launched. Personally she thought it was a bad idea. There was no reason to go and do something so dumb when they had perfectly viable technologies available at their fingertips. Of course, she understood the value and importance of major historical events, but that didn’t mean they had to reenact them. I mean it's not like anyone ever wanted toreinaced the titanic or the Berlin wall, or burning down the library of Alexandria, but for some reason some yahoos wanted to strap themselves to a rocket inside a tin can and fly into space.

Using the same EXACT design from TWO THOUSAND years ago.

Might as well start using steam locomotives to get around.

She inched her way along the scaffolding catwalk just a few hundred feet in the air. She didn’t mind heights, butcher wasn’t stupid, and would enver risk herself unecissarily. She examined the bolts holding the ship together passing a critical eye over each and every one of them. If just a single one of them got loose, it might potentially pull the whole panel off. If that happened, the launch trajectory might destabilize and they could begin to spin into the ground and explode.

Off in the distance she heard an alarm calling her down from above.

She would need to leave soon, and so tucked her clipboard under one arm and began to climb down one of the ladders towards the distant ground.

It was then that she noticed something strange. She didn’t know why she noticed it, it was so small, and she was in a hurry but…. There was something…. Strange. She glanced over and squinted towards the strange reflection.

The siren continued to blare.

She should really go.

She started to descend but then.

“You might want to check that again.”

She nearly leaped out of her skin at the voice turning on the spot and pitching ackwards with wide open eyes nearly falling over the rail as she came face to face with a porcelain white face and wide black eyes like pools of onyx. For a second she almost screamed assuming she had gone insane, but then paused as she saw the figure floating before her a gravity belt around it’s waist, and hundreds of white ribbons streaming from it’s back.

A starborn!

She had seen a documentary mentioning them, even with a few images, so she knew who it was. She also knew that they could read minds.

It wasn’t supposed to be able to speak, but this one was wearing translation gloves, and spoke sign language rather fluently.

“You might want to check again.” It repeated

“But I-”

“The Admiral is expecting an attempt on his life, and the best way to do it would be to sabotage the shuttle. You will want to help me because if the Admiral dies, my daughter will be very upset.”

She opened her mouth then closed it, not sure how to respond but eventually turned back to the shuttle and leaned forward pointing to the side of the rocket, “That, right there, can you float over and take a look. The creature floated past her, billowing like smoke as he eased over. He pointed, “This?”

“Yes.”

He touched it.

“Can you feel it/” She wondered.

“It doesn't feel like the rest of the ship though I cannot say how.”

“Keep looking around, I need to call in-”

“NO!”

She frowned hand halfway to her mic.

“Don’t tell them, we don’t want them to know that we have found anything.

She wasn’t so sure about that, but she didn’t feel like pissing this thing off, so reached to her mic, “Mission control this is Engineering, i'll need a postpone on the launch while I finish off my checklist. This is taking longer than I anticipated.”

“Roger that.” mission control responded.

The sirens stopped a moment later as she urged the Starborn forward to prod at the spot. There wasa soft peeling noise, and after a moment, she watched as the creature came away with a strip of tape.

He floated over to her and she examined it. That shouldn’t have been there, this was not the heat resistant sort of tape they used, and it certainly wasn’t something they would have bothered to put on the outside of a ship. The only thing it seemed to do was match the paint color.

She leaned forward glancing at the side of the shi. If this had gone up during exit it would have burned off, and that would reveal.

The loose bolt underneath. Just like she feared.

She could fix it and ordered the starborn to do so following the instructions in her head. After that she ordered him to take her vest camera and fly around the outside of the rocket. She had noticed based on the way the light interacted with the tape as compared to the finish of the rocket’s exterior.

If only she had someone who was good at distinguishing subtle color, and then she remembered.

She called the starborn back.

“Go, get a Drev and hurry back here. I’ll try to stall them.”

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